THE BURN

NOTES FROM TAIWAN #9

THE BURN

June 8th, 2008

An immeasurable amount of walking, unforgettable sights and experiences (particularly the past two nights), and countless Beers in the Park. All in 8 days. With the rise of the sun on this Sunday morning began a stage which I like to affectionately call THE BURN.

The past week had rejuvenated me in such a way as I have never felt before. The instant feeling of home and belonging that greeted me as I stepped of the plane was shocking, and very welcome. The wide-eyed excitement and indescribable joy I immediately felt had kept me going through miles of trekking, little to no sleep, and stomach-testing cuisine for eight days. It had amazing combated the immune-system threats ofTaipeis swampy, smoggy air and my hotel rooms questionable cleanliness (why does the bathroom smell like rotting corpses in the morning? and those stains on the comforter couldn't have come from anything good). It had prevented me from going blind after staring at a computer screen for 50+ hours. But it couldn't last forever. There is only so much the human body can endure.

This morning, I awoke feeling something I hadn't felt for a week: tired. From this day on it would be a feeling that would haunt me throughout the day. But as I stood (swaying) staring at myself in the mirror, eyes a bright shade of red, shrinking body frame, I realized there was a choice: collapse under the exhaustion and cede defeat, deciding to call it quites at a reasonable hour of the evening in favor of getting a good nights sleep. Or crank it up to 11 and keep truckin'. I chose the latter. As I always say, I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Today's journey entailed a trip to Danshui, a small seaside town north of Taipei which harbors countess food vendors selling delicious food and troves of carnival games along the boardwalk, several packed streets of even more food vendors and shop wares, and Condom World (which offers some very silly shaped paraphernalia). The red MRT line took us straight there, and upon stepping into the sea-side sun, I realized wearing jeans today may have just been the worst decision I have ever made in my life. At that moment I would have gladly sacrificed my manhood for a pair of shorts.

We had decided upon a trip to Danshui today in hopes of catching some Dragonboat races. This weekend was the Dragonboat festival, an event where dozens upon dozens of dragon boats (similar to crew) race as part of this annual tradition. I must say I think that these stocky 5 foot tall Taiwanese dragonboaters could hold their own against the best of USC's gargantuan women's crew team. And that's saying something: I was at a party once where they had had a little bit to drink, and I was sure one of them was going to pick me up and break me in half.

 

It would seem that we were misinformed, though, and the dragonboat races were in fact taking place elsewhere. So we made haste to the actual location of the races (which escapes me at the moment) and perused the sights there. Every other tourist in Taiwan must've had the same idea as us, because I hadn't seen so many whiteys since departing the U.S. Dozens upon dozens of pale, overweight foreigners wearing cargo khaki shorts and unbuttoned short sleeves shirts wandered the waterfront and watched the races (seriously people, the fanny-pack is a little bit overkill. On behalf of the rest of the Western world, I respectfully decline your offer to make us all seem lame).

As we were watching the races, deafening applause erupted behind us. With no dancing stage in sight, we knew that this time it wasn't us. The champion team was actually taking their victory lap past us. A little later, some of the women-folk in our group asked a few of the particularly handsome boaters for a picture with them. Within seconds, a dozen other eager, excited, half-naked Taiwanese boaters had rushed over to surround the women and pose for the picture. Oh the things one could accomplish here with just blonde hair and boobs.

After wandering a little longer, the clouds above opened their floodgates and down came a torrential rain. Huddling under the tarps of food vendors (which, by the way, could put any American hot dog to shame), we realized that the rain wasn't stopping anytime soon. So we whipped out the umbrellas, which did little to hold back the gallons of water, and made haste to a cab which would return us to base camp.

Some of us decided to stay behind, while others wanted to explore some site in the city, which was now no longer under siege by water). Whipping out the trusty Lonely Planet guidebook, which we had been basing most of our cultural activities on thus far, we browsed the pages, searching for some point of interest. The words "Miniature Museum" stuck out among the small type, and upon reading LP's glowing review of this attraction, we knew we absolutely had to see it. Cool, a place where everything's tiny! Model cars the size of dimes?! Awesome! Entire townships constructed on a bottle cap?! No way! The entire Bible written on a grain of rice?! OMFG!!!

MISTAKE.

Finding the museum was a little difficult, seeing as Lonely Planet had decided to erase an entire section of the city on the map. Apparently at the publishing of the guidebook, these several city blocks had not been constructed. Only recently had someone literally pushed half of the city of Taipei to the west, built several streets and populated them with buildings, and neglected to tell anyone. Don't worry Lonely Planet. It happens all the time.

So when we finally did find this place, we were a little surprised by what waited for us there. Apparently when the book used the word "miniatures", they meant dolls. The females had known this all along, but us men, Ben, Craig and myself, had lost any sense of logic in our boyish excitement to see really tiny shit, and neglected to consider what "miniatures" really meant. After seeing just one doll house, I felt that I had had enough of this cultural experience. We left shortly thereafter.

Not wanting to forfeit the entire afternoon to stupidity, we stopped at the Jade and Flower Market near Daan. A big shopping attraction, this market takes up several blocks under the freeway. Though mostly random stuff that doesn't interest a non-shopper like me much, the market was interesting, and the cool, misted flower tent provided a pleasant haven from the always unrelenting heat. After hanging out in Daan Park for a little while, we returned home.

Our group decided to trust Lonely Planet one more time and have dinner at a famous ostrich meat restaurant. Apparently this place serves just about every part of the bird in delicious dishes. I never had much of an affection for these prehistoric monstrosities, so the thought of eating them sounded good. Unfortunately we neglected to consider that it might be closed on a Sunday night, so one hour later we found ourselves standing outside the closed eatery.

Still famished, we chose to ate at a place nearby. Outside the restaurant sat dozens of aquariums housing every type of seafood known to man. To order, no menus were necessary. Just point at whatever sea creature looks at you the wrong way, and 15 minutes later you're chowing down on its corpse. My eel (which had already been killed when I ordered) was... interesting tasting. When we stopped at the 7/11 later for our beers for BITP, I needed to grab a little snack.

To say I dreaded going back to work in less than 8 hours was an understatement. Though I didn't hate my job, this city just had so much to offer that spending anytime stuck in front of a computer instead of exploring was a little bit unappealing. Oh well. Ya gotta put the kids through school somehow.