Hiking!

I wanted to create a post with all kinds of neat pictures - today's topic is really better described with visual aids - but at the moment I'm using dial-up, and apparently dial-up internet and blogger.com are at war with one another. Blogger.com has imposed sanctions upon said dial-up internet, disallowing the uploading of any cool pictures taken deep in the jugles of Isla Formosa or elsewhere.

So, at least for the moment, you'll have to use your imagination. I hope that isn't too painful for some of you; I know there are at least a few engineers and computer programmers who read this on occasion, and we all know what happens to them when they use their imaginations too much.

And, having thusly warned my readers, I shall hereby continue with the theme for the day. One of the cool things about Taipei is its close proximity to some very large and very forested mountains, making it a great place to live if you like to hike. Hiking here is a unique experience too. Never before in my hiking career have I encountered old men hiking barefoot while singing old folk songs in Taiwanese. Not to my recollection have I seen altars to the Virgin Mary and to Buddha standing side-by-side on a sheer rock face on the side of a next-to-abandoned path, cigarettes propped up on sticks burning quite literally as offerings below them. And I do not recall having ever before seen - not even in California! - any signs warning hikers to beware of the monkeys.

On Saturday my friend Jeff and I took our most recent excursion, to a mountain out of town at a place called Wulai. It was a rather long trek, interspersed with random staircases carved out of the rock face on the side of the mountain and bridges made quite literally of twigs that had been nailed together, some of which were already snapped in two. After a couple of hours we were tired and extremely hot, so when we came across a river we decided to stop and dip our feet in the water, whereupon we were promptly attacked by psycho man-eating shrimp.

The tiny river shrimp literally descended upon us en masse, nibbling on our toes and nipping the arches of our feet with their little pinchers. Never one to be enamoured by slimy things, I retreated to dry land (where I was not entirely safe, I might add; a dragonfly did dive-bomb into my head). Jeff, on the other hand, took his revenge by capturing several of the larger shrimp and confining them to one of his empty water bottles. He packed them along with him, intending to relocate them to another river and thereby put an end to the insurgency*. A little further up the mountain, however, the path got quite steep, and became more of a mountain climb than a hike. Somewhere in the violent shuffle between man and nature the water bottle fell out of Jeff's backpack, and the poor little shrimp went plummeting several hundred feet. I'm certain they either died of shock or were boiled alive in their tiny plastic cage. It was really hot that day.

On the way back down the mountain we encountered an old man sitting under a tarp near a hut on the side of the path. He informed us that some men were bathing in the river, that they were naked, and that - because apparently we weren't aware of this - I am a girl.

"Is that ok?" Asked Jeff.

"Eh," I said. "I'm sure I've seen worse."**

The old man then said in broken English, "Wercum to here."

"Thank you," I said.

"Where you fum?"

"I'm from America," I said, and then added in Chinese, "You speak English very well."

He beamed. "Is becuz you ah so bootiful."

Unsure what my appearance had to do with his language skills but willing to take the compliment all the same, I thanked him and turned turned to follow Jeff down the path. We did come across a river, there were indeed men bathing in it, and they were, in fact, naked. When they saw me they stopped, blushed momentarily, and then made cat calls at me as I crossed a twig-bridge above their heads. After we had passed I could hear them behind us yelling, "Hey! Why didn't you warn us a girl was coming?!"

It was quite an adventure, what with all the naked butts and the murderous shrimp. When I got home that night I went to bed at 8:00 and slept for nearly twelve hours, and I'm actually still sore two days later. I'm pretty sure that entire hike was 500 miles, uphill the whole way. It's funny how you never remember the part of the hike where you actually got to go back down...


*I'm not entirely sure I understand the logic here, but I imagine he was thinking it was something akin to taking John Gotti away from the mob.

**I haven't.

Death is All Around Me!

People ask me periodically whether I ever miss eating meat. For the first couple of years, I'll admit, I did. I'd smell a steak at a restaurant or pass the rack of roasted chicken breast at Safeway and have momentary, albeit very spirited, argument with myself as to whether my activism was really worth anything at all and whether that chicken didn't really want to be eaten in the end anyway. When your imagination is wild enough to anthropomorphize animals in the first place, it isn't hard to expand the concept to chickens willfully lining up to nobly and knowingly sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Or whatever.

But any long-term vegetarian will tell you that after those first couple of years, your mindset really begins to change. At first you simply find yourself not craving meat at all. Your friends eat it in front of you, and you are surprised to find that you are not only not jealous, but that what you see between the hamburger buns is less tasty morsel than it is quarter pound of saturated fat. Pass another year, and the very thought of meat is so nauseating that you have to cross the street when you encounter a Burger King just so you can avoid the smell.

So this morning on my jog, I was suddenly overcome by the nauseating, gut-twisting smell of MEAT. I should add that the air in Taipei at any given time is an amalgam of every kind of aroma, most of them originating in a food stand, and I like it that way. It adds to the atmosphere. But this was the most overpowering smell I have ever experienced in my life. I never knew that meat could smell so strong.

Not thinking, I turned my head to look into the restaurant, wondering what on earth they could be serving that would give off such a pungent odor.

They were butchering a cow! On the table! This chick was sawing off its leg!

My knees almost gave way underneath me. I looked away as fast as I could, but the damage was done: I was so shaken up that I had to walk the rest of the way home. It was only a block, but still...

I'm still not sure what to make of this. Just because I'm a vegetarian - and super sensitive too; I'll admit it - it doesn't mean that I don't know that death is out there or even that I'm overly offended by it. But a little advance warning would have been nice! It was such a creepy sight, and I wasn't emotionally prepared for such an upheaval. I'm an American. I don't want to know where food comes from.

Right now, I am mad at Taiwan. Every time I start to think I'm getting used to it it throws me another curve ball.

Taipei is Going to the Birds

I realize it's been a while since my last post. This is because a) I'm lazy, b) I've been busy and c) I've been having internet trouble. I wish I had more valid excuses than these, but that's all I can come up with for the time being. It's 11:00 pm and I'm not feeling creative.

There is a bird in my air conditioner. He lives there. He wakes me up every morning with a song that would be beautiful any other time of the day but at six a.m. sounds more shrill than a fire alarm. Ned, far from being irritated at the presence of a squatter in his appliances, explained to me that the presence of a bird at one's apartment is a sign of good luck, and that we should be thankful that it chose to rest its overeager little beak here of all places.

And in keeping with this theme, when I was out with my friend Roy a few nights ago a bus passed us while we were waiting on a street corner for the light to turn green. On the door of the bus was a huge red sign that read, "NO BIRDS." Roy, misreading the confused look on my face, quickly sought to explain the prohibition: "It's because of the bird flu."

"Ok, but....you take your birds on the bus?"

"Sure," he said, as though it were simply common knowledge. "Lots of old people like to take their birds for walks. It's especially popular in Hong Kong. People there take their birds with them to eat dim sum."

Seriously? Birds like to go to dim sum? What if someone mistakes them for food? If I were a bird, I'd be terrified.

And while I can't say I'd like to see someone eat my air conditioner bird, I don't think I'd mind if someone put him on a bus to, let's say, Kaohsiung or something. Maybe then I could get some sleep.