New traditions

Though it may be hard to believe from the poor-quality photograph above (taken in poor lighting on an overcast afternoon), these are pretty flowers. What you are looking at are the blossoms of the t'úng​ 桐 tree, an annual floral event that happens at this time of year in central T'ái​wān​ 台灣. A important part of the culture of the Hakka people 客家, Taiwanese poets of centuries past penned odes to the beauty of the tung blossom 桐花, while groups of people would gather under the trees when the flowers were in full bloom, to drink tea and engage in merriment…

…or so the tourist authorities would have you believe. In actuality, until about ten years ago, few people gave much thought to the humble tung blossom. The trees had always been there, but they hardly registered on the radars of most Taiwanese. What changed was that in the early part of this century (around the year 2002), the government implemented a five-day work week. This, in turn, triggered a leisure boom among the local populace. With the standard litany of sightseeing spots having been exhausted long ago, there was suddenly a demand for new places to visit, and new things to do, on the weekends. Some bright mind (or minds) took note of the beautiful tung trees flowering every April or May, and conjured up an image of the white blossoms that had fallen to the ground looking like a carpet of snow. On this island of almost-perpetual warm weather, snow is of great interest, and it wasn’t long before the tour buses and family cars descended on those areas blessed (or cursed?) with numerous t'úng trees. And, thus, a new tradition was born.

The above picture was taken on Tuesday afternoon in the hills of the Tà​k'ēng​ area 大坑風景區, but THE place to see the tung blossoms has to be Sān​'ì 三義​, in Miáo​lì​ County 苗栗縣. Sanyi itself has greatly benefited from the five-day work week. There was a time when the town was known only for its wood sculptures (and sculptors), and people would go there to browse in the shops, and perhaps come home with a nice souvenir. Back then, the disused Shèng​hsīng​ train station 勝興車站 was just that – an abandoned stop on a discontinued rail line that no one gave much thought to. At the turn of this century, when my wife and I first started seeing each other, she took me to Shengxing. I recall there being only a couple of restaurants and very few (if any) souvenir stands. It may have been possible that that we were the only two visitors there that afternoon. In any case, it was definitely a far cry from the present day, when even on weekdays, you can find a lot of people walking around, and doing what Taiwanese tourists do best – taking pictures of themselves, eating high-calorie snack foods and buying tacky souvenirs. If you go on weekends, be prepared – words like “circus” or “zoo” can’t begin to describe the way in which this part of Sān​'ì has “benefited” from the ongoing leisure boom.

(BTW, I was so intent on photographing the t'úng blossoms that I failed to notice the huge Formosan macaque [T'ái​wān mí​hóu​] 台灣獼猴​ sitting on a branch in that very tree…until it jumped over to the next tree, leaping with a loud crash, before disappearing into the forest before I had a chance to point the camera at it. A pheasant scurrying along the ground a few minutes earlier also eluded my attempts to get a picture of it. I’m not destined to be a nature photographer.)

Just when you think you’ve seen all the reminders of the past around here, something else pops up from history’s dusty drawer. While walking around the area near Sān​mín​ Road 三民路 in T'ái​chūng​ 臺中 this evening in search of a tea stand, I passed this building, which looked to date from the Japanese period 台灣日治時期. It turns out it did. According to a plaque on the outside, upon its erection in 1921, it served as the site of the Department of Food, part of the Bureau of Agriculture and Business in the Taiwan Governor’s 台灣總督府「台湾総督府」 Office. These days, the building is still a functioning government location, acting as the Taichung branch of the Council of Agriculture 行政院農業委員會. Kudos go out to those who not only elected to keep the structure intact, but to maintain it as an active workplace, as opposed to a dusty museum.

Let's Japanese in Taiwan

Look around anywhere you go in T'ái​wān 台灣​, and it isn't hard to spot something written in Japanese (just walk into any supermarket or convenience store, and peer at the products on the shelves, for example). Next to English, Japanese is the most popular foreign language studied here, the result first of a long colonial legacy (which left its linguistic imprint on the local dialect), and then by the close economic and social ties in the years that have followed. Despite the recent popularity of the "Korean Wave", "Cool Japan" still has a hold on Taiwanese both young and old. The island is awash with signs written in kanji 漢字, hiragana 平仮名, katakana 片仮名 and even rōmaji ローマ字. Here are some representative examples of the good, the bad and the ugly, all taken within the past week in the central city of T'ái​chūng​ 臺中​.

This is probably the most common example in that it uses three languages to get its point across (and no doubt to make a "local" product appear to be more "cosmopolitan"): the largest fonts are reserved for Mandarin, of course (fènglísū 鳳梨酥), followed by English ("Pineapple Shortcake") and Japanese (painappuru kēki パイナップルケーキ, with the Japanese translation itself being a loan word from English).

Compared to a tonal language like Mandarin, Japanese is easier to pronounce, but the grammar is much more complex. This label on a box of cakes is a good example of the difficulties involved - oishigeda is a case of an adjectival form being incorrectly used, resulting in an awkward meaning, something along the lines of "it has deliciousness". Forgivable, unlike the next example...

We've all seen some very strange spellings of English words here in Taiwan, and have wondered why the writer didn't simply take a few moments to look up the word in a dictionary, or have the material proofread by someone more proficient in the language before going ahead with publication or production. The same occurs with Japanese as well. The writing in the bottom left corner of the package above, ichigo kūki いちごクーキ, is either trying to say "Strawberry Cookie" (ichigo kukkī クッキー) or "Strawberry Cake" (ichigo kēki ケーキ), but has gotten it wrong on both counts.

There's nothing wrong with this sign for a Tōkyō 東京 (Shinjuku 新宿) tonkatsu 豚カツ restaurant called Saboten さぼてん. The name has been transliterated into Mandarin as Shèngpótièn 勝博殿. (Those of you who are unfamiliar with tonkatsu can read the Wikipedia entry on the subject. The word in Chinese is chàchūp’ái 炸豬排)

For a Taiwanese person, the name on the sign reads Liùpěnmù Square (Liùpěnmù kuǎngch’ǎng) 六本木廣場. For anyone who has spent time in Tokyo, the name Roppongi 六本木 conjures up a lot of different, and sometimes clashing, images: foreign ghetto; big-city clubs and discos; fashionable boutiques and restaurants; sleazy dives, meat markets and pick-up joints; yakuza ヤクザ and G.I.'s; stunningly beautiful women; and, in recent times, upscale developments. Like so many other transplanted young Westerners, I spent most of my weekends during my first year in Tokyo hanging out there, then avoided the area like the plague for most of the ensuing years afterward. In any case, the above picture is an example of a Japanese place-name being used to appeal to the young and the impressionable, er, fashionable.

Some signs are just plain strange. "Just&Love" followed by a heart sign ♥, and then the Japanese loan word shō (as in "show")...It's from a boutique located in a district frequented by university students, if that helps.

This final example shows a tendency among some sign-makers to get "busy" when it comes to the writing (the おいしげだ picture above also demonstrates this trait). Also commonplace with English signage, it involves cramming lots of small text onto the sign. The effect isn't to inform, as the words (in both English and Japanese) often make little sense, and contain lots of mistakes. Instead, the intent is to dazzle the passerby with lots of "exotic" writing, and attract their attention to the more important stuff written in Mandarin. Certainly, very few Taiwanese are going to stop in their tracks in order to try and work out what is written. No, that sort of thing is best to left to strange folks such as myself.

In this case, the words on the left are pretty easy to understand with a quick glance: オリーブオイルでパンを楽しむ basically just means something like "enjoy bread in olive oil". For all that writing on the other side, I was prepared to take some time after getting back home to figure out what all that was trying to say. It was only after I had uploaded the photo, and had taken a closer look, that I realized it was merely the hiragana script, one of the two syllabic alphabets used in Japanese (see here for a table of the symbols). It would the same as if I moved back to the States, opened a "Taiwanese-style" bakery, and then erected a sign out front plastered with the Bopomofo ㄅㄆㄇㄈ syllables and tone marks.

A note to the editors and translators at Compass Magazine: are you really sure 'Jing Tai Lang Japanese Cuisine" is the right rendering of the characters 金太郎日式料理? Yes, I'm aware that here is Taiwan, but wouldn't "Kintarō" better convey what kind of experience diners will have at that restaurant, especially as 金太郎 is the name of a Japanese folk hero? You should try Google sometimes - you might be surprised at what you can find out.

A short Kyōdō News 共同通信社 article from yesterday's Japan Times ジャパンタイムズ ("Ads thank Taiwanese for aid"):

"Advertisements paid for by Japanese citizens ran in two Taiwan newspapers Tuesday thanking the Taiwanese people for their support in the wake of the March 11 earthquake and tsunami. The half-page ads in the Chinese-language Liberty Times 自由時報 and United Daily 聯合報 say 'Arigatō, Taiwan" ありがとう台湾 beneath illustrations of a red plum blossom 梅花「ウメ」 — the national flower of Taiwan — next to a pink Japanese cherry blossom サクラ (樱花). 'Your support . . . is much appreciated and warms our heart. . . . We will forever remember your friendship,' they said. The ads stem from a campaign by designer Maiko Kissaka on Twitter last month to buy ads in Taiwanese media outlets thanking the Taiwanese for their support after the Tōhoku disaster 東北地方太平洋沖地震."

Banging those drums

Every year just before Mother's Day, Amber's kindergarten puts on a show. Each class performs for the assembled family members, lot of pictures and videos are taken and a good time is had by all, even if it does mean sacrificing the chance to sleep in on a Sunday morning (not that I get to do that very often. I live with a five year-old, after all). As they have in the past, Amber and her classmates set their routine to the sounds of pounding on taiko drums 和太鼓. One of the prerogatives of being a parent is getting to inflict images and sounds of our offspring on the rest of the world, so this one's for you 大家

:

After the show, Amber unveiled her Mother's Day portrait, which also featured a barefoot Dad with what appears to be either an earring or a teabag dangling from my right earlobe:

Amber insists, however, that it's merely "dust".

Following lunch at the in-laws' house, the Kaminoge brood drove over to the Diore swimming pool, where I was happy to see that nearly five years' worth of water familiarization classes/swimming lessons has paid off handsomely. I also was glad to finally have the opportunity to give my prescription diving mask a workout - for the first time in my life, I was actually able to see clearly underwater. I'm definitely looking forward to utilizing it this summer in Okinawa 沖縄 (gods be willing).

About the only thing to put a crimp (albeit, a small one) on the afternoon's enjoyment was the couple of times when Amber went down the long, winding slide into the pool, only to be hit from behind as she reached the bottom by some older children who couldn't wait for her to get safely ahead of them before they launched themselves at full speed toward the water. Fortunately, Amber wasn't hurt, but as is sadly too often the case in T'ái​wān​ 台灣, complaining to those supposedly "in charge" and asking them to "do something" was a complete waste of time. The pool had a "lifeguard" who sat up on a high chair directly in front of the bottom of the slide, but who did absolutely nothing about preventing any potentially dangerous behavior. He flashed the appropriate look of sympathy when I complained about the older kids getting too physically close to my little girl on the slide, but that was the extent of his "supervision". It makes me think that perhaps the next time we go swimming, it will be to the beach, where there would more space for Amber play around in the water, and not to an allegedly "supervised" pool.

Taiwan​ is full of officials and persons of authority who look, but fail to act, the part. They run the gamut from police officers who do nothing while motorists drive through red lights at intersections, to restaurant owners who prefer not to intervene while an obnoxious diner ruins it for everyone else and apartment building security guards who sit in their small offices bravely watching TV most of the night until there is some kind of disturbance, at which point they are nowhere to be seen. It's no surprise, then, that for all the genuine kindness that has been remarked upon by visitors to this fair island, there is also an offsetting lack of simple acts of civility in too many everyday situations. T'ái​wān​ might be the libertarian's idea of paradise, but it just adds an extra layer to stress to the usual laundry list of things to worry about when trying to raise a child in this country.

Enough ranting (I'll blame it on Samuel Adams). We did have a pretty good day, and that's all that matters for now. I'll leave this post with a couple of links, both from today's Japan Times ジャパンタイムズ. The first is a nice letter from Feng Chi-tai, T'ái​wān's representative to Japan: "Taiwanese cheering for Japan". The other is an interesting article on an exhibition of Kyōto's 京都 modern architecture ("modern" as in having been built during the period from the 1920's to the 1970's). "Making Kyoto's modern architecture part of the city's heritage" shows a different side to a city known more being the representative example of all things "traditional" when it comes to Japan.

Saturday in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July...

No, it turned out to be the Thirtieth of April, but one could be forgiven for thinking it was Independence Day, what with all the fireworks going off in the distance, no doubt in honor of some Taoist god's birthday. Amber and I did go to the park this afternoon, though, where my daughter celebrated the recent breaking of her high fever, and subsequent return to 元気-ness, by riding her bike, playing baseball and hide-and-seek with her old man, and generally running around and expending energy. It was great to see her back to normal. Tomorrow morning, Amber and her kindergarten classmates will be giving their annual Mother's Day performance, so there will be no sleeping in on this particular Sunday.

Amber wields her stick in front of a banyan tree (júng​shù) 榕樹, a ubiquitous sight in these here parts.

Another not-uncommon thing to see is Tibetan prayer flags, like these on a nearby rooftop. Tibetan Buddhism, or Tsàng​ch'uán​ Fó​chiào​ 藏傳佛教 has a large following in T'ái​wān​ 台灣, and the Dalai Lama is a popular figure here. This doesn't seem to automatically translate into widespread support for the cause of Tibetan independence, however. During the few times I've brought up the subject in my adult classes, the results were uncomfortable silences on the parts of my students. While many Taiwanese would probably favor formal independence from China under the right circumstances, I doubt many of them would feel sympathetic towards giving minorities such as the Tibetans, Uighurs and Mongolians the same freedom from Han Chinese (Hàn​tsú) 漢族 suzerainty. ​

Back on the home front, mother and daughter enjoy a game of Wéi​ch'í 圍棋, the ancient Chinese board game better known in the rest of the world by its Japanese name, Go 囲碁 「いご」.

Early mornin' out 'n' about

For one reason or another, I hadn't been able to get out into the hills and mountains to have a much-needed breather from the noise, dirt and general chaos that is life in urbanized T'ái​wān 台灣​. One Tuesday was a national holiday, which meant I was engaged in the waseigo 和製語 term "family service" ファミリーサービス. The following Tuesday my kindergarten class had a field trip to a "farm". Last Tuesday I needed to visit the psychiatric clinic at the local general hospital, part of a long, ongoing story that I hope to blog on once the mess has been finally settled. And this Tuesday I had to stay home and take care of my daughter, who unfortunately has come down with a nasty cold.

So it was that this morning I found myself free as a result of the above-mentioned "situation", and decided to take advantage while the window of opportunity was open. However, said opening meant having to wake up and be out the door by around 5:20am. This is what the streets of downtown Fēng​yuán​ 豐原 look like at half-past five in the morning:

It felt good to be out on the trails in the hills behind Chūng​chèng​ Park 中正園, and the one-hour walk will hopefully leave me in better shape for when I return the mountains of Tà​k'ēng​ 大坑 next week, weather permitting. However, I was far from alone this morning, for the hills were alive with sounds of Taiwanese talking and listening to music on portable radios. At times, the beautiful melodies of the birds singing in the early-morning air were drowned out by the cacophony of "hikers" enjoying the "outdoors". There's a good reason I usually venture out on weekday afternoons, instead.

Speaking of birds, I caught sight of this magnificent creature on the way back to my scooter:

Thanks to the efforts of my old college friend Andrea (via the modern miracle of Facebook), I'm pretty confident this is a Malayan Night Heron, or hēi​kuān​má​lù​ 黑冠麻鷺 (see here and here).

Later in the day, on the way home after picking up Amber from her kindergarten, I noticed something odd about the license plate on one of those ubiquitous blue pickup trucks you see everywhere on this island:

Why does it read "Shinjuku" 新宿 next to the numbers? Perhaps it's an attempt to look cosmopolitan, like those ridiculous European Union license plate frames that seem to be popular these days (for those who don't know, Shinjuku is one of Tōkyō's 東京 biggest and busiest districts). If so, it should be pointed out to the truck driver that Tōkyō-area license plates either read "Shinagawa" 品川, "Nerima" 練馬, "Adachi" 足立, "Hachiōji" 八王子 or "Tama" 多摩 (the districts where the prefecture's motor vehicle bureaus are located), with "Shinagawa" by far holding the top position on the coolativity scale, with Kanagawa Prefecture's 神奈川県 "Yokohama" 横浜 plate running a close second. 

Cats 貓

Hope everyone had a nice Easter 復活節. Amber was up early this morning, looking for the chocolate Kinder Surprises the Easter Bunny had hidden during the night in both her room and the living room. The weather was very pleasant today, so of course I took advantage of it by staying indoors the entire day, and giving the apartment a thorough spring cleaning from top to bottom. Our two cats were much smarter than me:

Happy 黑皮 (Hēi​p'í)

​

Momo

This caricature of Amber was drawn by the thirteen- or fourteen year-old daughter of one of my wife's friends, Watermelon Fish (yes, that is her English name). It certainly brings out the アニメ/漫画 side of my child:

According to legend, Easter celebrates the resurrection of Jesus. Not many people know, however, that Christ actually escaped crucifixion and eventually made his way to northern Japan 東北地方, where he married, had kids and lived to be 106, almost as old the celebrated "Kinsan Ginsan" きんさんぎんさん twins. You can visit his grave in the Aomori Prefecture 青森県 village of Shingō 新郷, the "Home of Christ" キリストの墓. You can read about the story on Wikipedia or watch this video posted on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/user/RoninDave

Gray areas

For quite some time now, I've been using a combination of my Washington state driver's license and a valid International Driving Permit in order to drive legally (or so I thought) here in T'ái​wān​ 台灣. However, I was recently informed by the police that as I'm a resident here, I'm required to get a Taiwanese license (a fact which I knew, but I'm a firm believer in the concept of "plausible denial"). So this afternoon, my wife and I went to the local motor vehicles office to get the skinny on having my present driving papers changed over to the coveted Taiwanese chià​shǐ​hchíh​chào​. I cooled my heels outside while Pamela did the inquiring indoors. She emerged about 15 minutes later with a paper in Chinese that (according to her) says everything is hunky-dory with my current arrangement, and that therefore there is no need to get the local license. Apparently it has something to do with the principle of reciprocity, as the state of Washington allows Taiwanese drivers to use THEIR 駕駛執照 in conjunction with an IDP. Actually, very little is spelled out clearly, and the paper says nothing about motorcycles or scooters. Anyone who has been in Taiwan​ for a while can tell you it's not uncommon (in fact it's very common) to be told different things regarding laws and regulations by different officials working in different sections of the government. Now I need to keep the "explanatory" DMV document with me while I'm driving or riding just in case I end up being interrogated by a member of the local constabulary. TIT - This is Taiwan​.

This is also Taiwan - a car parked illegally outside the motor vehicles office:

A couple of signs espied this evening in T'ái​chūng​​ 臺中:

This food stand selling sushi 寿司 (shòu​ssū 壽司 in Chinese) and oden おでん (kuān​tūngchǔ​​ 關東煮 in the local lingo) is called "House" ハウス in Japanese. At least it thinks it is. Unfortunately, the characters 八咫屋 can't be read in this manner. Yes, this is also Taiwan​ :-)

This sign advertises full body and foot massages. For Japanese tourists, getting a マッサージ (legitimate and otherwise) is a popular activity in this country.