The Real Huang Di Dian- 這才是真正的皇帝殿

Went back for round 2 of Huang Di Dian, determined not to get lost this time.  I was met by Carly, a new arrival in Taiwan who teaches for International Schools.  Man has she got a cushy gig; I had to pick my eyes up from off the ground when she told me how much her monthly rent costs.  Hess: the McDonald's of English cram schools indeed.

Walk past that bridge, turn left, and you're on your way to Huang Di Dian.

In the distance you can see people washing away the heat of a summer day.  Seeing them made me curse my lack of a swimsuit.

This time around I make sure of the route before getting on, so we don't have to abandon ship half-way in.  We have to wait for the second bus to hell (the 666), but the wait isn't long at all.  Once in the small town of Shiding, finding the trail entrance is so embarrassingly easy that I wonder how I screwed up last time.  Oh, that's right.  Because the bus driver dropped us off in the completely wrong area.  We get off from the bus stop, walk thirty yards, turn left and keep going until we see a plaza where people are sitting, drinking iced tea.  Turning right and walking along the river, marveling at the limpid blue waters, we continue until we see signs bidding us turn left.  Past the parking lot, and we're climbing up the usual flight of ugly concrete stairs.

Most blogs online complain that the stairs persist for about an hour, but they must be scrawny bitches because I'm pretty sure our feet hit dirt trail after forty minutes or so, if that.  Besides, now that I think about it, what's wrong with stairs, besides being aesthetically wanting?  If you think they're tiring, you've never gone up a trail that switchbacks twenty times.  And if you think they're tedious, well you may be right, but that alone isn't enough to dampen my spirit.

Anyway the dirt trail proves more interesting.  At parts it narrows to little more than a foot path, climbing steeply over minor hills and winding around randomly planted boulders, the discarded playthings of giants.  We hit our first chain ladder and after that the chains and ropes become more numerous.  I remark to Carly that I don't do well with heights, but strangely enough I'm not bothered by it on this hike.  I can look down while I'm climbing up the rope without experiencing any weakness in the knees.  I regularly climb at the very tip of the ridges, exposed to heights that would normally set my gums itching.  Perhaps all the climbing around in Taiwan has cured me of my fear?  Or perhaps I'm that much more intent on seeking out higher places, to face my fear and to win this life-long staring contest.  Now, I just have to get down to Green Island and conquer my fear of the great, wide ocean.  As much as I label myself a badass, my two worst fears are pretty limiting when it comes to seeking adventure.

All the ropes and ladders here were like the other places I'd been, only...more so.

Had some beautiful views on the ridge, as well as some heavenly breezes.

From the other blogs I've read, it seems that those ropes weren't always there, and the top of the rock was not always chiseled flat.  I can understand the need, but damn me if I don't wish I'd climbed this trail ten years past.

Carly, my hiking companion

I was shocked by how much this guy's body actually looked like a leaf, complete with brown spots and thin veins.

Our hike ends up taking us from West Peak to East Peak, and the sun is shining gloriously throughout the whole day.  Breezes blow often, and we pause, grateful for these mini-respites from the heat.  On the way over to East Peak, I chat with a young hiker, and the kid tells me that there's a wall further on that reaches the haloed 90 degree angle...or close enough not to matter.  I laugh at what can only be youthful hyperbole.

Not quite 90 degrees.

I could tell you more about Huang Di Dian, but honestly it was a lot like other hikes I've been on, just bigger.  Brian and I found this hike after searching online under "tough hikes in Taipei," and if this is the best you have to throw at me I am not impressed.  If you're reading this Brian, the hike we did getting lost trying to find Huang Di Dian was harder than Huang Di Dian itself.  Definitely more vertical, with the exclusion of the rope climbs.  There's one last trail that's supposed to be challenging, Wu Liao Jian, so I guess I should keep my mouth shut until I tackle that one.  If I find it lacking though, at least in hardship factor, I guess I'll have to find a nice mountain to climb...

A real mountain:

Yushan, Jade Mountain.

A last note: I'm not 'over' hiking in Taiwan, there are plenty of intimate trails and nice little jaunts to keep someone busy for a lifetime.  But the hiking here just really pales in comparison to that back home.  One redeeming quality here is the ease of getting around, even compared with the relatively short drives back home.  But even with this ease of transportation I find myself longing for the sharp scent of pine, the bracing wind, and the close friends with whom to share such pleasures.

Waiting for that next Reunion of Heroes

Traveling Taiwan, Day Six and the return- Farewell Kenting, Hello Kaoshiung, City of Fallen Dreams- 墾丁bye-bye, 歡迎來高雄,毀夢之城

Not going to lie, almost two weeks have transpired since returning from the trip, and both time and work are conspiring against my memory.  Looking at the pictures I've taken always brings a smile to my face, and awakens new inspiration in me when I find myself overwhelmed with the amount of writing remaining.  It would be nice to freeze time until this saga in my life is neatly wrapped up and compartmentalized; alas, life marches on.  So, little by little, I've cranked these out, sacrificing my mornings to the siren call of the keyboard, dreading the inexorable crawl of the clock above my dancing fingers.  Two hours to work...one hour...thirty minutes.

What a funny thing memory is, I find myself thinking back to the journals Mom made my brother and I write in Germany.  Some days I'd be paying lip service to the whole affair with maybe three terse sentences, rivaling the literary genius of Hop on Pop.  Other days would see me put pen to paper with zeal, eager to record all the wonderful things I'd seen.  I now see the wisdom behind all this, not only for posterity's sake, but also to cultivate in me an early appreciation of the difficulty of writing, and the rewards that come with it.  Things have changed since then, but the end results are the same.  Then, I wrote because I was made to.  Now I write, because I must.  My mind is constantly brimming with observations, thoughts and ideas, all threatening to spill over; I must remain vigilant with some means of catching and housing them, lest they seep through the cracks of time and be forever lost.  Maybe even more so than those childish journals in Germany, the intellectual and spiritual rewards of writing can be so uplifting.

Brian, by now, has spent his first full day in Thailand, and this thought alone makes the events of the vacation seem remote.  I can only pin down these events so long before they take flight and scatter, insubstantial as a mist.

Let's get cracking then.

The morning of our last day in Kenting, we know we have plenty of time before Maoxin comes and picks us up.  Though the beaches here remain overrated, we figure it's our last chance to enjoy them, and we decide to make for Nanwan.  Everything here is so chaotic that if a lifeguard blows his whistle we can easily ignore him without causing a scene.  To our surprise, especially since it's a Friday, the beach is hardly crowded at all, and the waves crashing in have some height to them.  It seems Kenting is keen on making up for past misconceptions, and wants to send us off in style.  The waves do more than that, picking us up and hurtling us back towards shore, cartwheeling, barrel-rolling, completely at the mercy of Poseidon's wrath.  It is, needless to say, A GREAT CORE WORKOUT (#8?)!  Not a few times, we're sent hurtling into the shallow sand, cuts opening up on our arms and knees, limbs wrenched apart.  Ok, so maybe you didn't appreciate us saying your beaches suck Kenting.  Well, suck it.  You're going to have to do a lot better than that.  Poseidon answers handily, sending wave after wave at us.  Every time I bring up my head it seems I immediately have to go ducking back in to avoid the next one.

Alright, shit, I get the point.

Getting out, I ask someone the time and realize we've been here for well over two hours.  Running up to my scooter, I arrive just in time to hear my phone ringing.  Maoxin's on the other line, saying he's finished up and he'll be over shortly.  Hah, I must live a charmed life.  We head back towards the hostel, and it's not long before we're shaking hands with the smiling Pingtong native and squeezing into the front of his delivery truck.  It's another enjoyable ride, though there's not much for me to write about, except for the fact that Maoxin offers to take us straightaway to Kaohsiung, skipping Fangliao and the train we have to take.  We tell him we can't impose, but he insists, as he's got nothing to do anyway.  Sweet!  We stop at Maoxin's company before he takes us to his house.  While he's changing, I snap a few photos.  He had said that he doesn't make much money, and indeed his monthly wages are lower than mine, but stepping into his house feels like stepping into a palace.  Spacious, with care taken to the decor...what am I doing living in Taipei?  I should just move down here and see what my money can buy.

We're chatting with his wife while he gets his car ready.  She's about to mention how noisy it is when a sonic-boom rips through the neighborhood and briefly causes my eardrums to recede behind my eyes.  Muscle car ready, we roar on towards Kaohsiung.  Back in Hualien, Toby arranged for us to meet the guy he couchsurfed with, and Brian is texting him as we fight through rush hour.  I get an appreciation for how spread out Kaohsiung is, my eyes constantly roaming around for new sights.  Tuntex Sky Tower, Kaohsiung's tallest building, sticks out prominently like a miniature Taipei 101 (I bet it hears that comparison all the time).  I point out a Ferris wheel to Brian:

Brian: "There's no Ferris wheel there."
Me: "Yes there is."
Brian: "Who's going to build a Ferris wheel out on the middle of some stupid hill."
Me: "Y'know what?  I trust my eyes more than your common sense."

I ask Maoxin, and nod condescendingly to Brian when he backs me up.  Brian ignores me.  As we get closer to our meeting place with Boris, the guy hosting us, I feel regret that we won't be seeing Maoxin again.  He's done so much for us, and all we can do our make promises that if he ever comes to the US, we'll treat him like a king.  These promises are well-intentioned, though we all know we'll likely never make good on them.  Out in front of a corner McDonalds, we take one last shot with Maoxin, and then bid him fond farewell.

Boris picks right up where Maoxin leaves, speaking a curiously British-accented English, despite having never been there.  We cram into a taxi, the other passenger, Peter (from Hungary?), filling us in on all the places in Asia he's been.  He talks in a slow, methodical manner, and his speech alone sounds more interesting than the words he's speaking.

(the rest of the post is not PG-rated, proceed at your own risk)

We eventually get to the place we'll be staying at and I realize how exhausted I am from getting slammed by the waves all morning.  Boris's friend Danny comes over, and we shoot the shit before going to dinner.  Dinner is a challenging affair; I feel like pillowing my head under my arms right there in the restaurant, and the beer doesn't help.  Boris asks us multiple times what we would like to eat, ignoring our repeated claims of indifference.  I know he means well, but this politeness is a tad stifling.  Brian finally chooses something and we sit down.  Danny and Boris both speak excellent English, and they make good use of it.  Through the two, we learn more about how they met and became friends:

Brian: "So you guys met at a club?"
Boris: "Yeah, we met and then we started hanging out more.  Why, is that weird?"
Brian: "No, well, you just don't see that in the states.  Usually people just go to a club looking to fuck or have a good time.  Nobody really makes friends at a club, it's awesome that you two did."

I second this.  We pass through the dishes one by one, ending things with Boris's favorite: fish entrails.  Not wanting to offend, I pick up a blackened piece of intestines and chew on it thoughtfully.  It tastes like liver and dog shit had a child and miscarried along the way.  Remembering that food is overrated, I swallow without flinching and reach for another piece.  It's not like Taiwan has impressed me in the culinary field anyway.  It definitely tastes like there's shit in here...somewhere.  In my imagination, partially digested globs of algae cling with a tenacity the water faucet cannot overcome, lining the walls of freshly stir-fried fish intestines.  After a few more bites I'm forced to surrender to this epicurean abortion, but I take heart in my defeat: I TASTE!  I LIVE!

We head back to our apartment and rest up before heading out to the clubs.  After Boris and Danny leave I turn to Brian:

Me: "Did they come off as gay to you?"
Brian: "No, not really."
*pause*
Brian: "What if they thought the same thing about us?"
Me: "HAHAHAHAHA"

While Brian takes a shower, I start doing push-ups randomly because I'm tired of having gotten no exercise this whole vacation.  Which itself is an absurd thought.  After my own shower, I spray on the deodorant I bought in Hualien (forgot to pack mine), put on my muscle shirt, and am ready for the clubs.  Brian says I smell like the Mexicans back home.  I am extremely offended by this comment.  Just kidding, I laugh like the racist half-Korean I am.  He insists that I help him drink the Suntory he bought and I remind him of how much I hate whiskey.

"You've changed man.  I thought I knew you."

This line has me buckled over laughing, and cursing under my breath I grab the vial of amber liquid from his hands.  Chasing with Apple Sidra helps take away some of the bite, and I have a medium buzz going by the time we leave the apartment.

We meet up in front of a club called Brickyard.  I'm getting good vibes from this place.  Especially when one of the bouncers introduces himself as Arcadius.  Bad-ass.  I want to drink here.

Instead, Boris takes us off to some fucking douchy club called Dreams.  I am not pleased.  I wish to learn more about Arcadius and the multiple dragons he has slain.  Boris really sells Dreams by telling us it's not the greatest place to hang out at.  Awesome, thanks.  He tries to spin the same bullshit about Brickyard, but I'm having none of it.  No common den of iniquity would hire a hero like Arcadius.

Getting into Dreams is cheap and easy, and the bottomless drinks that come with the cover mollifies me greatly.  An Italian at the entrance curses leaving his passport behind, and without hesitation Brian slips him his expired driver's license.  The Italian thanks him, and upon seeing him inside, high-fives are exchanged with much rejoicing.  Immediately, I spot a circle of five Hong Kong girls and start talking them up.  I mention my ethnicity, and that coupled with my Chinese skills and good looks...draws only their most practiced skepticism.  What?  I'm suddenly beset upon by all sides by taunts that I'm a player.  They ask me how many girlfriends I have right now, and other questions carefully selected to show how they won't fall for my 'wiles'.  I start laughing because it's all so ridiculous, and proceed to tell them the truth: that I'm a teacher in Taiwan here on vacation, and have 0 girlfriends .  Several of the girls roll their eyes as they nod condescendingly.  Hahaha, fuck you bitches, I'm outta here.

Brian is taking his whiskey with water and getting fucked up like a champ.  At one point I see him playing Duck, Duck, Goose with random patrons, patting them on the head and giggling as they ignore him.  Choking on my screwdriver, I have a sudden thought: Brian's like Redbull; he makes drinking more fun.

I start talking to a chick in a neon-yellow tank-top, and we have a good thing going.  I can actually talk to her without having to defend myself.  After a bit, she pulls me in close for a deep kiss, and I think Dreams lives up to its namesake.

That's when everything goes to shit.  Pulling a 180 on me, neon tank-top girl starts talking about fate and destiny, and how at her age she's looking for a steady partner.  Wha-where is this going?  Then she lets the big guns out:

Neon bitch: "I know you're a Chinese major and all, but not every Taiwanese girl is 'soft'."
Me (thinking): "No, goddamit, don't you do this."

WHAT THE FUCK?!  Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you the one who started making out with me?  We were having a good time and now you want to shit all over everything with this?!  She makes one last gesture towards the rest of the crowd, "If you're looking for a one-night stand, there's all these other girls, otherwise...?" and ends things with an exaggerated shrug.  I feel myself visibly deflate, and, knowing there's nothing else to be said, take my leave. 

Back at the bar trying to shrug off my rejection, I see Brian and tell him about my luck.  He waves it off and leads a pair of girls over.  I engage one, but find myself blindly grasping for the thread of conversation, forcing laughter when it should come naturally.  Ugh, this night is fucked.  Might as well just cut my losses.  The girl makes for dull company, obviously interested in talking, but wanting me to put in all the work.  Before long Brian comes over, asking me to translate for some guy who barely reaches my shoulders.  He asks me in aggrieved tones if my friend was the one going around touching people's heads.

Goddamit.  Some people just can't handle their Redbull.

I look past him at a pouting girl impossibly shorter than he is.  She has the look of a spoiled gangster's daughter, used to getting what she wants and able to back it up.  Wow, really?  You're starting this shit because someone touched your head?  I tell the guy I don't know if my friend touched her head or not, and begin to turn away.  This isn't good enough because the guy grabs me and repeats his question.  You better watch who you're grabbing pencil-dick, I could floss my teeth with you.  I shrug offhandedly and tell him even if he did, it's all in good fun.  This has the intended effect, as the guy's face twists and he starts forward.  Boris, happens to be around and he intercedes on our behalf, going up greatly in my esteem.  I don't see what he says, because I'm done with this small-fry and his ward, though they're not quite done with us.

About a half-hour later Small-fry is back, accompanied by a handful of goons, only one of which looks to have any real muscle about him.  The others are tall and skinny, but have the swagger of someone who's never been in a real fight before.  Someday, someone's going to show you exactly how invincible you're not, but it won't be tonight, and it won't be me.  I know they're going to keep bugging us all night if we ignore them, and they seem intent on finishing this shit like men.  I motion for Brian to walk outside and as we follow them I size up the group, hoping my battle-plan is purely academic.  The big guy's going to be a problem for sure if it comes to a fight.  If I can get in close and ruin his knee with a well-placed stomp it should demoralize his friends enough to give us the upper hand.  Brian's a wild-card in all of this: he's drunk enough that he could easily trip over himself, or fly into a berserker rage.

Thankfully, it turns out there spokesperson, a girl with a perpetually jaded expression, is just as intent as we are on avoiding some shit.  Other people in the group want Brian to kow-tow to her, but she cuts them off with a imperious wave and says that he need only apologize to the mafia princess.  I translate, all while a dorky guy in glasses is talking smack, buzzing around in my ear.  I finally snap and bark in his face, asking him if he's going to let me translate.  He pauses a beat and returns in kind, asking me what the hell I'm doing shouting his face.  We stare at each other.  Actually I change my mind.  Let me show you how invincible you're not.

The girl gets between us and I finish translating for Brian.  He shakes his head and apologizes to the girl, and we go back inside.  I make to wave apologetically at the girl but she bats away my hand in disgust.  Fine, I'll give you that one.  The bouncer spouts some platitudes of us needing to be careful since we don't know the area.  Yeah, a lot of fucking good you were.

I find myself in the bar with little desire to do anything but leave.  Spotting the bigger guy at the bar I look at him before sighing and patting him on the shoulder:

Me: "I'm sorry about my friend, for all this shit."
Big Guy: "No, it's all cool.  It's not a big deal.  Sometimes you just have to back up your friends."
Me: "Yeah, I hear you."

Guy turns out to be really cool about it.  Glad we didn't start shit.  And as a bonus, I don't have to worry about getting jumped anymore!  After this bright point, my mood quickly sours though, and I realize just why I hate clubs so goddamn much: most of the people in them suck.

There is no happy ending to this story.  Dreams fails to live up to its name, and as I sit on the steps, waiting for Brian to putter out with another stuck-up tart, my eyes follow the drunkards staggering into taxis.  Pretty soon it will be our turn.  At least I didn't do anything I regretted- oh wait, yes I did, I came to this fucking club.

The next morning dawns bright and early through sheer curtains.  I try to ignore the sunlight streaming in, but at last I heave out of bed with a groan and make for the bathroom.  As I'm washing the grit from my eyes in the shower, I catch sight of this delightful surprise:

Yeah, I posted it Brian.

Brian feels like a mountain fell on him and I want to get the hell out of Kaohsiung, so we pack our shit up, let Boris know we're taking off early, and make for Taipei.  I could tell you about the trip back, but there's no need, just another overly air-conditioned train ride.

Fezzik: You don't look so good.  You don't smell so good either.
Inigo: Perhaps no, but I feel fine.

And that's it.  That's my vacation through Taiwan.  No pithy, meaningful ending BECAUSE NOW I HAVE MY MORNINGS BACK.  Honestly, it's probably going to be a while until I get to go on the next one.  Until then, I'll just have to post tutorials about how to eat tropical fruit.  Was that a joke, or am I serious?  Stay tuned...

Traveling Taiwan, Day 5- Fairy caves and demon-eyed merriment- 墾丁國家森林游樂區, 不顧眼紅玩人體衝浪

(Couldn't find a map that goes as far north as we traveled)

Entrance to Kenting National Park

So over the beaches in Kenting.  This is what we were thinking after getting up on the fifth day.  The waterfalls had convinced us there was more to see here than just beaches; literally around the corner from our hostel lay the Kenting National Park, home to what people call 'exposed coral caves'.  It's as good a place as any.  As we're parking our bikes, a German man tells us to beware of the mosquitoes.  We take due notice.

Apparently the park is teeming with wildlife as well, though we didn't see much evidence of this, not knowing where to look.  Near the beginning of our hike though we did spot this though:

It's a little difficult to see, but there's a hawk in the middle of this picture.

A better picture of what we saw.

The area around is thick with banyan trees and crawling vines, blocking out most of the sun.  The park area isn't too large, and it's about a twenty minute walk before we reach the first of the exposed caves, Fairy Cave.  We immediately plunge in, eager to take a respite from the drowning humidity of the jungle.  The cave is interesting enough, with fanciful stalactite formations and narrow passageways, but this time it's my turn to be a little underwhelmed.  When you've plumbed the depths of a cave almost 300 meters, walking down steps slick with moisture, your breath coming out in great plumes...then the caves here are a bit anti-climactic.  Now Germany, what a place for caves!  Caves with pits that swallow light, stalagmites that spiral up to reach the ceiling, and stalactites large enough around to compete with old growth cedars.  Now those, those are caves.

Going down into Fairy Cave, a land of whimsical enchantment and pixie dust.

-Sorry, this is about Kenting.  Yeah Fairy Cave is pretty cool, and we take our time before we're out again, making our way for the observation tower.  Up we go, and I'm unprepared for the view at the top:

360 degrees of breath-taking beauty.  Naturally, we linger here for a bit.  I mean, what else is there to see, caves?  There's a restaurant a floor below us and we stop by briefly to get a couple of drinks.  The old women running the counter ask us if we're surfers.  This is not the first time we've been asked this.  I want to tell them that back in the US, it's not just surfers who wear less clothing when they're hot, especially with beaches nearby.  The best my sun-beaten brain can come up with is, "No, we're not surfers."  Wow, good call with the wit there, genius.

After the tower, we squeeze through the narrow passages of Silver Dragon Cave, and then set off searching for the only primate in Taiwan, the endemic Formosan Rock Macaque.  It must be monkey siesta time, because even in the Cliff of Apes we see nothing overhead but dappled sunlight and bits and pieces of the sky above.

Doesn't want to leave the hole.

Brian's artistic direction for this shot: pretend you're being born again, and you're passing through the hole.  It was an intense photo-shoot.

Exiting Silver Dragon Cave

Looping around, we check out the First Ravine, then laugh, puzzled, as it ends a scant twenty or so meters later.  Wow, that was worth putting a sign in front of.  One-Line Sky is much cooler, as the ravine seems to close above us, leaving only a fine ribbon of blue overhead.  As we're climbing up the stairs, one woman is so overwhelmed by our tuffness that she stumbles over backwards...while we're still a good twenty feet away from her.  Whoops?

First Ravine

One-line Sky

We continue on to the Valley of Hanging Banyans- whoa, sounds like a place in that show Legends of the Hidden Temple, anybody else watch that show?- where a banyan's exposed roots creep all the way from the cliff's edge to the jungle floor.  Past that, and we're looping back to the entrance of the park.

Should've had Brian stand next to it to show scale. 

En route we stop at the Visitor Center, and I wait for Brian to take the world's longest shit.  On my way over to ask him if he needs assistance, a construction guy outside tells me he's long gone.  Ah, fuck me.  I start jogging briskly back to the entrance, see Brian loitering around, and start laughing.  We climb aboard our scooters and head west, hoping to take a quick cooling dip in the ocean.

We find no beaches at Eluanbi, only hordes of Chinese tourists, moving stealthily under the cover of umbrellas.  Deciding on Baishawan, a ride of ten minutes or so takes us to its coarse-sand shores.  Immediately we dive in, strong fluid strokes carrying us towards the roughest waves we've seen yet.  Riding them back in, we see a squat lifeguard blowing his whistle at us as he hurries over.  I get ready to translate and am struck dumb with astonishment.  Brian notices the look on my face and asks me what's up.

Me: "He's telling us we can't swim here because we're good swimmers."
Brian: "What?"
Me: "Yeah, he's not concerned about us, but he says if people see us going out and swimming they'll follow us into the water."
Brian: "What the fuck?"
Me: "Yeah, I'm pretty pissed off too."

Never have I heard a more sorry-ass excuse for not letting people swim at a beach.  You want to punish us for the inadequacies of others because you don't want to do your job?  If people follow us out, and you don't think they're up to the task of swimming, then you can let them know.  Or better yet, you can wait and see if there's an actual problem, then swim out and help them.  You know, do the job you're paid to do.  This kind of blanket solution is laziness of the worst kind; it's like covering furniture in linoleum.  Sure, you don't have bother with cleaning, but you never really get true satisfaction out of that easy-chair you have.  We leave in disgust, heading north along the western coast.

We took a detour through a bumpy dirt-trail never intended for scooters.  Hoping it'd take us to some secluded beach, we were instead deposited at a chicken coop.  Brian commented that it was like riding through Vietnam.  Though neither of us has been there, I couldn't help but agree.

For a while we just cruise, as all the beaches here are rocky and barren.  We stop at a town whose name I don't even remember and grab a few beers.  A bridge is being built near the shore, and we survey it while drinking Taiwan Beer.  A man gets used to that stuff when it's the cheapest ale available.  He even comes to like it.  Some kids are playing around an ugly concrete structure, and we start horsing around with them.  Initially scared of us, they begin to lead us around their little fort area, running across planks set across muddy pools, climbing up hills littered with empty bottles of gaoliang and soy sauce.  It reminds me of the time back in China when I visited a village with Pat.  There too we played with the local children, though the area was much poorer.  And this time I have no bag of candies to toss around.  The children have to leave, or that is the excuse they give, and head off on their bikes.  Dropping off our empty bottles at the small convenience store, we take the scenic route back towards Kenting.

I have no pictures of this ride, only the satisfaction at staring out over rolling green hills, scooting by distinctive tile-faced houses, some with faux roman columns, others with even more eclectic designs.  We pass by a German man and his wife, the same one we met at the National Park, and he waves at us.  On we ride, past fields of rippling green and gold, mountains on our left, sea on our right.  My grip on the handles is relaxed, sure, and gazing out over everything, I feel all my cares and worries sublimate.

Naturally I get us lost, and we have to turn around to make it to our last destination, Sichongxi, an area famous for its hot springs.  I have no idea where to go, but we follow signs up a hill to a hotel and adjoining hotspring park.  Checking out the mini waterfalls and artfully placed cherubs I shake my head ruefully.  Something a little more subdued would have sufficed, but we're here anyway so...I look up at the prices.

Me: "300 NT?!"
Brian: "I'm not paying that."

There must be another reasonable way of getting in without paying.  Nope, there isn't.  So we walk through the front gate and see if anybody stops us.  No one bats an eye.

Guangong admiring the sunset on his temple-top throne.

There are many pools inside, hot ones, cold ones, ones with fish that nibble at your dead skin.  I won't bore you with the details, not when the ride back is the exciting part of the story.  The rain picks up as we leave, and we're already pretty wet by the time we pull out of the parking lot.  Wind gusts force me to squeeze my eyes against the piercing rain.  If it gets much worse, I know I'll be essentially driving blind, my eyes already red with pain.  Well, things get worse, and up ahead I see Brian steering with one hand and shielding his face with the other.  I do some quick math: driving blind < driving with one hand.  Mimicking him, I find driving easier, though by now it feels like we're driving through a monsoon, with the wind conspiring to tilt me off the road.  People, already decked out in full rain gear, are stopping off to the side, and I know they must be staring at us, incongruous in our tank-tops and shorts.  Fifteen more minutes of riding through this, and suddenly we're driving on dry highway.  I give the engine some gas and edge alongside Brian, grinning madly.  Goddamn what a stimulating ride!

We pull into our hostel, clothes nearly dry now from the rest of the ride, and walk upstairs.  I frown as my sandals squelch with each step.  The shower I take is heavenly, and toweling myself off, I look in the mirror.  I look like one of the deities guarding a Buddhist temple, for my eyes are as red as garnets.  To the other residents I must look like a demon.  Hopefully that goes away.  Flopping down on my bed, I do a fare imitation of reading before sleep takes me.

24

Note: Probably want to skip this if you're here for the travel articles.

Taking a break from writing about my Taiwan trip, not because anything momentous happened on Saturday, but just to switch things up.  I met up with Tyler, who I haven't seen since his first tattoo session.  He's not going to like this, but more than his arm, I was shocked to see how much thinner he'd gotten.  From arms the size of tree trunks during training six months ago, he had dwindled down to a shadow of his former self.  Hess had really fucked him in his placement.  Away from gyms, or any easy access to them, and I was now more heavily built than he was.  His arm looks fucking cool though, like something straight out of Berserk.

I'd arranged to meet up with him because I was certain that Brian would want to celebrate his last weekend in Taiwan before his big Thailand trip.  Turns out Brian not only fucked up his ankle the day before, but he's running a fever and is bed-ridden.  I frown when Ethan sends me the news.  Sick?  Brian?  Guess there's a first time for everything.

In Choir Cafe, home of some tasty burgers

Walking around Ximending taking pictures of the graffiti.

Attack on Titan has really taken off.

With those plans shot to hell, Tyler and I grab a drink out on the famous outdoor pub area in Ximen.  I don't know why I always find myself here, because the dick to boob ratio is highly unfavorable if you're a straight man.  It's the most convenient place to sit down and grab a drink though, unless you're eager to put a few away in the classy decor of a 7-11.  I start telling every person passing by, female or otherwise, to have a drink with us.  Most people, mistaking my cordiality for drunken boorishness, hardly deign to cast their eyes in my direction.  One guy agrees then asks me if I have room for 15.  This little quip irritates me until Tyler points out that no one is going to say yes and then just sit down.  Yeah, I know everyone is a spineless coward, it doesn't make me any happier.

Tyler's not much of a drinker, and I quickly outpace him, though I can tell the guy taking care of us thinks I'm the drunker one.  After our four beers I feel mildly intoxicated, the burgers we had at Choir Cafe soaking up most of the Tiger we've been drinking.  Tyler says he's feeling good and I have to agree with him.  Ethan texts us that he's heading out to Luxy after checking up on Brian.  I've heard this place is a little exclusive, but the reality is it's a little exclusive.  The bouncers all frown at me when they see I'm not wearing pants, and no amount of pleading is going to sway them.

Bouncer: "You need to go home."
Me: "I live in Xizhi."
Bouncer: "Then go back to Xizhi."
Me: "That'll take forty minutes."
Bouncer: "Then buy some pants."

You piece of shit.  Bet you enjoy this part of your job, don't you?  I size him up and think I could take him.  A quick pole-axing kick to the knee and then I'd be stepping on your windpipe.  Buy some pants?  How about I take yours, you greasy-haired fuck?  Then I remember I'm not in a Guy Ritchie film and the actions I take have actual consequences, especially as an EDUCATOR OF CHILDREN.  Tyler gets me to calm down by pointing out that he's merely doing his job, not lording it over us peasantry.  You know, basically all the reasonable shit you don't want to hear when you're pissed at your own fuck ups, but appreciate when you're not get your face kicked in by three big dudes.

So...looks like I'm off to buy some pants.

Easier said than done, I note, seeing every major clothes store closed down.  The only places still open are women's boutiques, and giggling, I peek my head in, wondering if any of their pants will fit me.  Their tights (for this is all they have) don't even look like they'd fit around my wrist, so I abandon that idea.  I briefly consider trying to buy some pants off of people, but everyone in the area looks like they're on a mission, and that mission is getting into Luxy.  The Iron Code of Shadak prevents me from mugging somebody for their pants, regardless of how hilarious this might be.  Imagine leaving somebody slumped over in an alley, wallet and smart phone left respectfully in their shoes, whitey tighties covered in gutter grime...yeah, I actually thought about this for a split second.

I'm forced to admit defeat to all the other asexual douchebags with Bieber haircuts and ass-riding pants, staring forlornly at the soulless wenches strutting around in their finest.  Tyler nods glumly and we make back to my place, hopping on the MRT.  I apologize in advance about the layer of dust in my studio, and my soiled sheets.  Honest to a fault, I mention how they've yet to grace the cleansing waters of a laundry machine since their purchasing six months ago, when he cuts me off.

Tyler: "We're going back."
Me: "Uh, what?"
Tyler: "I've already missed my bus back home.  I'm committed, and I sure has hell don't want to go back to your place at midnight on a Saturday.  Fuck Luxy, we'll find someplace else to get drunk."
Me: "Uh, yeah.  YEAH, HELL YEAH."

Just like that, we're switching trains and heading back.  I know a place that's got a selection most spice closets would envy, though none of the liquor there is legitimate.  By legitimate, I mean none of these liquors produced in the US are meant for domestic consumption.  What should be Jack Daniels instead reads Fire Water Whiskey, and features a stoic Native American chief on the label.  Oh the trouble you would get in back home:

Can't really complain for $50 NT a shot though.  For some reason, Tyler insists on drinking Absinthe.  I wonder aloud at the wisdom of this decision, but Tyler waves me off insisting Absinthe is good at getting you fucked up.  I'm sold.  I throw back the liquid and can't really say I notice any difference between it and Jager.  Then, detonating like a depth charge, the full force of the liquor punches me in the stomach, coiling upward and lighting my esophagus on fire.  I have never taken a shot of something that causes to me salivate instantaneously.  I tell Tyler that I might be making an offering to the porcelain gods tonight.  He responds by ordering another shot.  Faced with a wide selection of dubious liquors and my ham-fisted prodding, Tyler sticks to his guns by saying, "I don't want to mix liquors."  Jesus, who still believes that shit?  Fine.  We stick to vomit-in-a-glass, and every swallow is a fight against my rebelling stomach.  To his credit, Tyler waits between shots, probably because he wants to walk out of here unassisted, speaking something other than heavily-slurred drunkese.

I'm surprised too see that two of the bartenders from last time are there, which was at least five months ago.  They recognize me, and I even remember the name of one of them, Leyla.  I tell her I lost my cell phone and I need her number again.  She starts off in a huff asking if I think she's easy.  Why do women always feel the need to show a strong front like that, as if giving out your number makes you a wanton slut.  Trust me, I'm not thinking you're easy when you make things difficult.  I'm thinking I should talk to someone else.  I ask her again and she acquiesces.  Wow, that was easy.  Did she just read my mind?

Tyler notes the absence of females in this bar, and I feel him, though with my track record I doubt we're seeing any action tonight.  If I knew I'd try sleeping on the street that night I might've tried to be more proactive, but instead I while away the night chatting with Tyler.  And despite the slowly thinning crowd, already small to begin with, the night does not seem like such a failure spent in the company of another kindred spirit in a foreign land.  We rail against the inadequacies of our company, share frustrations about our students, co-workers and life in Taiwan, and share in our small triumphs.  Liquor loosens our tongues and we find ourselves ranging over topics vast and taboo.  The third shot of absinthe roils around with the contents of my stomach, and almost as soon as it touches my tongue I can feel my salivary glands getting to work.  Chasing with water proves ineffective, only masking the burn as it passes through.  Knowing this cannot last, I switch over to tequila for the last shot, and then we set about to the task of annoying the bartenders as they're trying to close down.  I cringe inwardly as I know how annoying it is to close a bar down with people asking you stupid shit.  After the fourth shot Tyler is wearing a big grin on his face.  I feel almost nothing, and part of me is jealous.

Since he's intent on continuing his drinking, and I can't really refuse, we get one of the bartenders to take us to a small little jazz bar.  As we're getting ready I bum a cigarette off of Leyla.  She rolls her eyes at me with practiced contempt, asking me why foreigners never have their own cigarettes.  I tell her where I come from, some people are smokers, and some people are social smokers.  She seems to understand, and forks one over.  The bartender who's taking us (forgot her name, some English name that didn't suit her) calls a taxi and we get in.  At this point the coffee I drank has long worn off, and without feeling drunk, my body begins to question what it's doing still up at three in the morning.  The music here is subdued, atmospheric jazz, and the bartenders look spiffy enough in their vests and bowties.  I order a margarita and with practiced ease the bartender swirls Jose Cuervo (ugh), triple sec, and lime juice together, and shakes it all together in his cute little three-piece shaker.  No one in Taiwan seems to use Boston shakers.  He rims a martini glass with salt and serves the concoction to me up.  I almost laugh.  A Jose Cuervo margarita served up?  The only other time I've seen a more incongruent cocktail is when I did the same thing in MY FIRST BARTENDING GIG EVER.  This guy looks like he's supposed to know his shit.  Ah well, maybe he does.  Maybe that's how they do things in this country.  I take a sip.  Predictably underwhelming.  Meanwhile, Tyler goes on at great length about Joe Rogan and how great of a human being he is.  I listen with half an ear, sleep beckoning.  Nearing closing time he switches gears and starts laying into me about how I fucked up the night by not bringing pants.  Goddamnit.  I know he's ribbing me, but the grin fades from my face as he keeps at it.  This lasts several minutes and the bartenders both tactfully decline to choose a side as he calls in support for this roast.  By the end I'm sitting stony-faced, already pissed that we have to somehow piss away two hours before the trains start running again, without having to listen to this clown too.  When he finishes, I stand up and make for the door, thanking the bartender for my half-finished margarita.  As soon as we're safely away from the bar I turn and let him have it.

"HOW DARE YOU SAY THIS SHIT WHEN I'VE HAD TO BABYSIT YOU, YOU FUCKER?  You thought it was funny, me sitting there taking that shit in front of everybody, embarrassing me in front of all those people (four people)?"

 I'm fucking livid, my nerves short from lack of food and sleep, but still, this explosion is unjustified for a little bit of playful hating.  Despite his drunkenness, Tyler recognizes my rage and backpedals.  "I didn't know your tell, honest man, I didn't know your tell."  I fling his apology in his face with the maturity of a grade-schooler and the invectives keep coming.  Repeatedly Tyler tries to fix things, but I'm beyond reasoning, and with the tide of blood rushing into my ears, his patient voice takes on a whiny, pleading quality, angering me further.  I cut him off, "JUST STOP TALKING.  DON'T EVEN TALK.  YOUR APOLOGIES ARE USELESS RIGHT NOW."

Not my proudest moment.  Tyler realizes that nothing he can say will change things, realizes I want to be angry for the sake of being angry, and lapses into silence.

We go into a 7-11, get food and sit down on the street.  The silence between us becomes uncomfortable, until Tyler breaks it by handing me a can of coconut water.  I thank him thusly:

Me: "This is the shittiest coconut water I've ever tasted."
Tyler: "It's better when you're not wasted."

God bless him for being the bigger man.

After that we start walking, looking for a likely place to sleep.  I see a cat on the way and get it to follow us, delighted in my good fortune.  Most cats here avoid me like the plague, but this one is different.  Its fur is soft and it wears a collar, but it's obviously roaming around.  Curious.

Keeping a watchful eye for us.

I wish I could take you home.

Tyler finds an unused garage and hunkers down.  As exhausted as I am I have trouble falling asleep out in the open.  Visions of getting my throat slit (in crime-ridden Taiwan, I know, I know) flash through my thoughts every time my eyes close.  Instead, I sit on some steps nearby and content myself with petting the cat, flicking my eyes in Tyler's direction every once in a while.  He has no problem sleeping on the dusty concrete floor of the garage, despite the flies and mosquitoes.  At 5:30 I wake him up, and he gives me the look of a man condemned to execution at dawn.  I give him a tight nod, feeling like the gods have trampled me underfoot and thrown me to the wolves.  We find a taxi, make for the nearest MRT and ride back towards Taipei Main, barely able to stand.  Twenty minutes later I make the torturous walk to my apartment and wearily push open the door to my studio.  As I slip into bed I glance at the clock.  6:45.

Huh.  When was the last time I was up for 24 hours?