9/10/10 Random photos #14

Space test drives the Taiwanese "Sleep Anywhere" technique

"Each seafood is a stylish masterpiece..."

Santa comes from Australia?  Who knew?

Department store lingerie display.
Can you picture this at The Bay?

Mmmm sinew.  At this price you can't go wrong.

Question: What is fish skin?
Answer: Something not on my shopping list.

John offers a "Wednesday" scowl to Harmony and Passion

Faded memories of a long since closed shoe store

Temple watch dogs

Early morning pork butchery

9/10/10 Choosing your own name: sometimes it works

We left the All Star and made our way to the more pleasant atmosphere of Surfer Ken’s Lounge.  There, Iris introduced me to a group of friends, one of whom was named Wednesday.  She explained that she got the name from the Addams Family, but I didn’t need the clarification.  She was tall, very pale and had long black hair.  An Asian Wednesday?  It could work.  The additional trouble was that she was suffering from an acute lack of enthusiasm for life.  She had the personality of Lurch, declaring that everything that everyone was doing, whether it was dancing, playing darts or taking pictures with roses in their mouths was stupid.  I don’t know the translation for the “Philosophy of Yes”, but I wasn’t about to waste my precious trying to explain it to this buzz kill.

Fun and stupidity: not "Wednesday approved" activities

I was reminded of a party at my friend Roshanthi’s house a while back where after an exhausting conversation with one guy I finally decided that I could take no more.  “I’m dumber for having engaged you in conversation” I said as I got up from my chair and walked to the other side of the room.  Name hilarity aside, Wednesday had been a similar waste of time.

9/10/10 Healthy Fear Continued

I met Space at his office after classes were over.  Once his students left, I walked up to him not saying a word and put a bottle of gin and a thick long slice of pork belly on the table.  A momentary look of fear swept over his face as if he was about to be attacked by a swarm of flying face eating squirrels (species Squirrellius Royce).  Then with absolute calm he said “What are we going to do with this?” He didn’t give me time to answer and quickly followed with “Where did you get this?” which was a stupid question since pork practically grows on trees here.  Seriously, the stuff is everywhere.  But I suspect he meant the gin, which is comparatively rare.  You can find the dreaded mijo all over the place (I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s available in nursery school kitchens) as is scotch and vodka.  But gin is an elusive beast.  I managed to find a bottle at a larger grocery store during a visit to find weird foodstuffs to bring home.  Smiling with gin in hand I lost my train of thought when I found the huge slabs of pork belly.  I must have looked like a complete mental case checking out with only those two items, quietly and swiftly destroying the reputation of all foreigners with one simple shopping excursion.

“We’ll save these for later” Space said, “but first we should get some beer”.  Earlier that day while searching for a souvenir shot glass for a friend we found some Taiwanese microbrews in a local craft store.  We vowed to return since Space had tried them once before and insisted they were well worth the price premium over the other swill we had been so eagerly consuming.  We walked the streets, beer in hand (quite civilized no?) but were soon finished Microbrew Round I.  A serious problem presented itself…no bottle opener.  “No problem” I insisted, I would pop off the cap using the sharp metal corner of this lamp post base.

Problem: a small part of the bottle top broke off during the quite violent cap excision.

No problem: turn the bottle upside down for a bit and pour some beer out surely taking any possible traces of glass with it.

Problem: 30 minutes later I felt like I had something in my throat.

We arrived at our destination, the All Star Pub, a place frequented by English speaking residents of Hualien.  Space didn’t go there much anymore because the owner was a little nuts and changed prices in the bar depending on her mood.  But the All Star Pub had live music, so it was the first stop of the night.  There we met Lois, the aunt of Charlie (one of Space’s surfing acquaintances).  Lois was stopping in from England for a couple of days on her way to Australia.  She came to the bar to see Charlie play drums with a new band that had recruited him.

So we’re sitting in the bar having polite conversation with Lois and Charlie when Space says “Do you have the pork?”

“Sure I do, but we’re here now” I replied.

“Don’t worry about it” he said dismissively.

“But don’t we need a plate and some utensils?”  My caveman tendencies had taken a serious blow, likely owing to the fact that we were sitting with a seemingly polite older woman from the UK… that damn accent just sounds so proper!

“Just give it to me” Space said as he tore through the plastic exposing the porky goodness that lay resting inside.



Lois closes her eyes to avoid the tyranny of the bagged pork belly.

 

Lois was horrified.  Like potheads passing the dutchie, we passed the pork belly; it was fantastic.  I tried to get Lois to join in the pork fueled fun, but she stood firm.  Pork belly out of a plastic bag was simply unacceptable.  But as she sat there smugly with her facade of dignity intact I was also content.  Eating pork belly out of a bag in a slimy bar was no worse than a seemingly refined British woman drinking her beer out of a bottle when there were glasses all around.  Lois had broken one of my cardinal rules for women; it was her reputation that had been sullied.

Instructions on proper sink usage:
"Please infuse after throw up"
All Star Pub = classy hangout

9/10/10 My Tasty Legs

I know my legs are tasty because the insects here seem to love them even without a honey glaze.  I have a nagging feeling that word has gotten out that I’m eating everything in sight and causing a food shortage; the insects have been recruited and are mounting an offensive.  Their plan is simple: drain me of all my blood to weaken me and substantially impact my ability to eat.

Their most brutal attack came as I was walking through the Meiluen Shan Park (Hualien’s largest city park).  The park sits on a hill that overlooks the city and is home to a military observation base.  While at the park I made two peculiar observations in addition to noticing that my legs are delicious.

1.      Earphones are optional

Quite a few people will play their hand-held radios aloud…blasting actually…for everyone to hear.  Mostly it’s Taiwanese pop but one particularly happy gentleman was enjoying Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorn”.  I ran into him again a short while later, only this time playing Shania Twain’s “Man I feel Like a Woman”.  As a spot in the city where you’d expect people to come to get away from the noise, they bring it with them!  But I’ve been told that the residents are very good at blocking out sound.  They’d have to be, because even here, up in the trees in the centre of the park, I could hear it: the garbage truck song.  It was inescapable...at least it was for me.

Every Rose Has Its Thorn

2.      Squirrels sound different here

I heard a rustling in the trees beside me and then the call of an animal.  Naturally, I got closer to see if I could spot the thing.  The noise got louder and I half expected the beast to abandon its warning call and proceed straight to jumping on me and eating my face.  Just then, it scurried out of the tree; a squirrel.  Not that squirrels can’t be fierce.  I recall the time when I was living in residence at university.  Our caretaker, an older gentleman named “Royce”, calmly advised us against taking the screens off our windows since squirrels could get in and, in his gentle words, “tear your fucking face off”.  I don’t know what killer mutant attack squirrels Royce had faced off with in his life, or if he had just done a lot of drugs, but I took his advice to heart and have maintained a healthy fear of squirrels ever since.

9/10/10 Garbage Pick-Up: A Musical Odyssey

Unlike Toronto, where consistent service cutbacks in the face of rising property taxes (let me hear you say mismanagement) have lead to garbage being picked up bi-weekly, Hualien enjoys daily garbage pick-up.  That’s right…daily.  While we aren’t doing enough back home, forcing people to live with smelly garbage for up to two weeks in the summer months, Hualien spoils its residents.  The same residents who still seem to litter the streets with abandon.  With collection this often there’s always a garbage truck within throwing distance.

How do I know this?  It’s easy.  Garbage trucks play a song which signals residents to come out of their homes and bring their refuse to the truck.  It’s the most annoying song that plays over and over; like one of those crappy musical greeting cards from years ago (before they got sophisticated).  In another instance of Taiwanese “What The Fuckness” the guy on the back of the truck is there only to say “thank you”, but not actually touch the garbage.  I’d love to know his secret for avoiding insanity while having to listen to that song all day long.

Musical Garbage Collection

9/10/10 Personal space… You must be joking

Space and I spent the morning and early afternoon riding around taking care of some essentials.  I guess I hadn’t really noticed it until now but Space was constantly bothered by the Taiwanese lack of respect for personal space.  As he explained to me: “when so many people live on top of each other, this is the result.”  It’s like a whole society where “close talking” is the rule rather than the exception.

What I had learned to tolerate because “it was part of the culture” and temporary for me was the thing that Space hated because “it was part of the culture”…only it was permanent for him.

9/10/10 The Moji Factory

In an effort to make every day back home “Titty Tuesday” (see corresponding journal entry for the back story) I stopped at the moji factory just down the road from Space’s house.  It was only intended to be a brief stop to buy some things to bring home, but they employees would not let me enter the store area without taking the “mandatory” self guided tour of the facility.  I was all alone watching the process when two tour busses full of people arrived.  Instantly I was swept up in a wave of people who may have been through the place before.  They cared nothing for the history or process which was described in colourful and nostalgic detail; their sole purpose was to get to the store area as quickly as possible, using violent tactics if necessary.

I may have gotten carried away with my purchases; that always happens to me when I’m buying stuff I can eat.  How else do you explain going to a factory that specializes in baked goods and leaving with two jars of dried shrimp?  That’s like going to the Mr. Christie factory and making out with Captain Highliner in the broom closet while the janitor videotapes the whole thing with a hand down his pants… well maybe not exactly the same.  Anyways, I know I bought way too much because I couldn’t fit everything into my backpack or the Irony Horse’s saddlebags.  What I needed was a tour bus!

9/10/10 Milo attacks

Space's dogs, Milo and Ginger, had gotten used to the fact that I’m an early riser.  My door opening in the morning usually signals that a walk is mere moments away.  All of our walks so far had been without incident and all was going well this morning too.  Milo had finished his rounds of the area and had returned to the house on his own, patiently waiting on the steps to be let into the house.  Ginger is a little more leisurely about things so I went to get her.  Just then, Milo took off like a shot; the sound/smell of his arch nemesis a few doors down caused him to spring to action…he was out for blood.  The other dog was scooped to safety by its owner but Milo would have none of it and jumped up to get his enemy, scratching the other man in the process.  I ran over as fast as I could and grabbed Milo by the scruff of the neck.  But it was too late; the damage had been done.

I returned shortly afterwards to offer apologies, but who knows how effective I was with the language barrier.  The man showed me the scratch and insisted that he was “OK”.  Milo’s leash-free walking days with me are over.

9/09/10 Random photos #13

Creative Hualien convertible

The sign at the top reads "more nearly"

9/09/10 Oh Those Russians

Space and I met at Surfer Ken’s Lounge for a couple of gin and tonics; Ken makes the best in town.  Not necessarily because he cares about the way they’re made, of greater importance is about how little he cares about making money.  The glass is tall, the gin is plentiful and the limes are cut just right for chewing.  OK, maybe he does care, but just a little.

The place is typically empty on weekdays anytime before 10:30 PM, but this time we found the whole front of the lounge occupied by a small cast and crew of six filming a Russian soap opera.  We didn’t need a translator to figure out this was a low budget shoot.  Two lights aimed in no particular direction, no microphones and the whole thing was being shot with a digital SLR.  Like some student plays I had watched, the actors only had one body motion to express themselves: shrugged shoulders.  As if the response to every piece of dialogue was the universal sign for “How the fuck should I know?”

9/09/10 The Pine Garden

Weather wise, it had been a miserable day.  The whole country was covered by a storm system that had typhoon potential, but like it was said by my teachers in the past, the storm never applied itself.  It kind of hung there not doing anything.  Rather than resign myself to an afternoon in the confines of Space’s office, I walked out to the Pine Garden.

The Pine Garden was an old hostel used during the Japanese occupation of Taiwan.  It was there that kamikaze pilots would spend their final weeks before departing on their last missions.  At the pine garden they were treated to whatever indulgences they desired; after all, they were about to give up their lives for the benefit of their country.

An odd thing about the Pine Garden: although I could not read any of the signage, Space tells me that there is no mention of its prior purpose and the activities that took place there.  The signs only refer to the beauty of the Hualien coast and there is an art gallery full of landscapes that look strangely European in style.

The rain began to fall hard and I took refuge under one of the covered terraces.  I sat there for a while relaxing with the background soundtrack of rain and a view of the ocean through the tall pines and I was reminded of the message to enjoy every moment I was spending here.  The rain helped in this respect.  With no umbrella, no rain coat and no pressure to do anything other than sit and appreciate.

It wasn’t long before the locals broke the silence.  The younger generation doesn’t quite have this “quiet contemplation” thing figured out.  Any spare moment turns into a photo shoot and there were three of them going on around me.  My ability to ignore my surroundings reached new heights, the ocean was just too peaceful.  But my resolve was broken when a guy started making his girlfriend jump up repeatedly so he could et a shot of her in the air.  I was worried for her because I didn’t think her impossibly skinny toothpick legs could stand the impact of landing.

The rain died down to a drizzle and everyone taking shelter took their leave, including me.  A dark drizzly day…they can’t all be perfect.  As good as things were for me, halfway across the world a tragedy was unfolding.  Sometimes the weather you feel reflects the mood in places you cannot see.

The view from my relaxation post

9/09/10 Jacob’s Treat… A Feast

Jacob offered to take us out for lunch as an early celebration for space’s birthday and to toast my trip to Taiwan.  We went to a Chinese restaurant that specialized in fare from the region where Jacob’s parents came from.

Jacob was in a celebratory mood and he began ticking off all kinds of boxes on the menu.  I didn’t realize what was in store until the food started arriving at the table; plate after plate was placed on the giant lazy susan, it struggled under the weight.  The fact that four of us had ordered so much did not go unnoticed, we had attracted the attention of the patrons at the nearby tables who were suddenly more interested in our food than they were in theirs.

The rundown:

Seaweed salad – Standard stuff, but the addition of cilantro made this the best I had ever had.

Hundred year old eggs – Not really a hundred years old but treated/aged/fermented (I don’t know) in a way that makes them look really old.  With a translucent brown “white” that looked like solidified gravy and a dark green gooey yolk, it certainly looked disgusting, but it tasted fantastic.  Think soft boiled egg, only eggier.

Nice yolk!

Deep fried pig colon – Hey, I had eaten and enjoyed chicken asses so why not pig colon?  Any meat this thin is going to end up super crispy when you deep fry it.  No surprises here.  Didn’t really taste of anything, but the texture was great.

Pork Belly (Dong Po Ro) – Wow!  No wonder the national treasure is a stone carved like the stuff.  This piece of meat blew my mind and had me convinced that anyone who doesn’t eat pork should seek counsel.  To deny yourself this type of food indulgence is criminal.  You cut it with a spoon and it melts in your mouth; the flavour is intense.  When there’s nothing left you pour the juice into your bowl and drink it.  When there’s no juice left, you drink your tears which are not nearly as tasty but provide ample evidence of how good it was and how sad you are that it’s gone.

Dumplings – Jacob ordered 3 different types: pork, crab and shrimp.  Nothing I hadn’t tried before, which is not to say that weren’t good, great in fact, but just more of the same.

Noodle dishes x 2 – One of them was a vegetable dish that had “preserved beef”…go figure.  Iris ate it and she’s a vegetarian so something may have been lost in translation.  The other was spring onion even though fall was coming.  Both were good but the pork belly was making the balance of an otherwise fantastic meal seem anti-climactic.

Oil Cake – Basically fried dough that was, as the name suggests, very oily…and very delicious.  I dipped it into the various sauces at the table but secretly wished that more pork juice would magically appear at the table… I closed my eyes and twitched my nose…no luck.

At the end of the meal our table looked like a war zone, which in culinary terms should always be viewed as a success.  I only needed one more thing, a medic.