Last weekend, a teacher friend and I were invited to a private wedding ceremony of our two little students, aged 6 and 4. Positively the cutest children that you will ever see, they have been star-students of ours for nearly 2 years. Since becoming great friends with the parents and family members of these two little friends, I usually get together with them and their families once a month and have been granted such love and kindness from their young mother and father that I feel as if I am part of the family already.



The wedding ceremony was the children’s mother’s younger brother, age 28, marrying a gorgeous Taiwanese woman who is 24. Anticipating the big day, we were told that the ceremony would be at the ungodly weekend hour of 8:30am. A stark contrast to the sunset and afternoon ceremonies in the United States, Taiwanese weddings are a vetted tradition of Daoism, Buddhist practices and the flare for the budget busting receptions.

The wedding began in the groom’s family home, where 20 or so close relatives and friends would congregate beforehand and exchange pleasantries. After having communal tea with the men of the family, around a small table on the porch where we drank oolong tea, the tea from the mountains in Alishan, we got in the cars to make the pilgrimage to the bride’s house. Upon departure, the grandfather sets off firecrackers in the driveway to ward off ghosts. (Upon living in Taiwan, one will notice that ghosts are an ever present danger and all ghosts are not mutually exclusive; they are all evil.




When we arrived at the bride’s house, the mothers got together and ran the event like a pleasant drill sergeant, instructing us to eat this, drink this and pretty much taking hospitality to the point where it can get to be too much. Photographs were taken and the bride and groom gathered in separate cars to return to the groom’s family home. However, upon departure, the bride must have a bamboo umbrella to keep the sun off her head. (Taiwanese women are petrified of the sun, for a tan shows commonality with farmers). If she is pregnant, then the umbrella must be black to protect the unborn child.



In the car, a slab of bacon was placed. Not cooked, but a fatty piece of prime-cut pork. Since the practice of traveling to different homes was introduced on mainland China hundreds of years ago, cars were not always a luxury, and the bride and groom would ride on animals. However, keeping the trend of ghosts, the spirits of these departed animals have the ability to follow the wedding train. Thus our slab of Wilbur in a bag. Also, a large bamboo broom was exposed outside on the rear end of the car, to ensure that no “animal” droppings would be left behind the tailpipe of the BMW X5 SUV.

When we arrived back at the groom’s house, bride in tow this time, both newlyweds ascended the staircases to the bedroom. However, all mirrors had to be covered in advance, because it is bad luck to see one’s reflection on their wedding day. The bride and groom are also not allowed to touch the bed, however, the children are required to jump, yes, jump on the bed. This ensures that, come wedding night (no pun intended), the bride will become pregnant.

After all the guests have departed, the main reception takes place, which is an overly extravagant celebration involving each and every person the bride and groom have ever come into contact with. This is a more western party, where different toasts and pleasantries are exchanged. Soon, the party dwindles and the quests depart.

Surfing in Southern Taiwan

I have just returned from a trip down south to Jialeshuei to both work and surf. Since making some great friends that run a wonderful bed and breakfast above the beach, hidden in the palm trees and green foliage, I have been returning to this southern gem once a month. A chance to relax and reflect upon my life here in Taiwan, I have found comfort and solitude in the waves that grace the shore.

During the winter I found a beautiful classic motorcycle that I have been able to fix up and use as my principle means of transportation. Starting from Changhua, I am able to take either the coastal highway (Route 17) or the mountain roads throughout the Nantou and Alishan mountain regions (Route 3). The coastal road goes through towns of varying sizes, along an industrialized, and not too glamorous, western coastline, while the sinuous mountain route is far more beautiful and traverses the sloping foothills of the central Taiwan mountain chain.

Over the past few rides, I have noticed how the bamboo leaves have been turning their color and making the mountains look more like vestiges of Minnesota, rather than a Far East landscape. Along Route 17, the caricature of Taiwan ranges from cosmopolitan and town dwelling people, to a very archaic and rustic atmosphere of plantations and aboriginal villages. The mountain road, from the Changhua and Taichung region, will take about 6 hours, even though the distance is far greater. However, Route 3 through the mountains has the luxury of bypassing all the cities and placing you squarely in the middle of Pingtung City, which is more of a large town. From there you will hit the ocean, and have a beautiful one hour drive along Route 1 and the coastline.

Literally looking as if you have descended from the North Shore of Kuai’i, or out of a scene from Jurassic Park, this strip of road is the tail of Taiwan. By looking at a map, Taiwan will look like a sweet potato with a tail, and this tail is called Pingtung County, where the infamous Kenting and Jialeshuei lie.

However, there is another small gem that lies before Kenting and Jialeshuei; Hengchun. A rather traditional town, Hengchun used to be an aboriginal garrison city and is fortressed by a barrier that used to circumnavigate the town. Today, portions of this stone edifice remain, with the middle of the town harboring the main gate (“da men” in Chinese), with the main town road encircling the structure in a type of Taiwanese Arc de Triumph.

By passing through Hengchun, the traveler can bypass the chaos of Kenting, and traverse inland to reach Jialeshuei. On the way, about 1km down the road, is an amazing set of natural gas fires that have been roaring for the past few decades. Viewers are able to literally dance through the flames, however this is not recommended. The National Park service overseas the project, which is incredible while illuminated at night. Almost humorously, one can buy JiffyPop and roast it over the fires, while some tourists choose to bring their own skillets with bacon and eggs. I stayed content with my purchased sparkler, determining that a cooked breakfast over an open natural geyser of fire was not on my itinerary to-do list.

Once reaching Jialeshuei, it is possible to either choose to stay in one of the beautiful bed and breakfasts (I recommend Summer Point for the incredible staff and perfect English – full disclosure, they are also very good friends of mine), and a simple hostel called Winson House. One can rent surfboards from any of the establishments there and the prices are fair. However, there is no place to buy extra food, either a cheap beer or snack, due to Jialeshuei’s distance from either Kenting or Hengchun.

Across the street, on patch of palm trees about 100 meters long and nestled in cleared out foliage above the ocean, is a place where people can camp. However, since people rarely venture from the monopolized and overpriced campsites of Kenting, there are few that know this. Each time I go, I bring my camping gear, strapped to the back of the motorcycle, and tuck my tent in between the palm trees. This last weekend, I even saw people put hammocks in between the trees and use that as a domicile. The wind does come up at night, so it is important to be aware that a sturdy structure is needed. But nevertheless, I have spent 10 consecutive nights perfectly perched atop this Cliffside hideaway. The experience is legendary, for falling asleep to the gently crashing waves and silence of the night is only relinquished to the hissing and yelping of monkeys in the morning.

Once dawn approaches, a few faithful surfers will appear on the point break that is below the camp and hostel site. Paddling out, be it morning or evening, there is an overwhelming sense of acceptance and welcome-“ness” that is not found anywhere else in the world. I have surfed and bodyboarded throughout the Pacific Ocean and have never met such positive spirits in the lineup. Upon paddling out, even with a soft-top board, the Taiwanese locals will acknowledge you and try, in very broken English, to see how you are doing, where you are from, or what brings you to their doorstep. Truly a mixture of the Hawai’ian aloha spirit, or southern hospitality, surfing in Jialeshuei is a soothing experience.

There are two separate types of waves at Jialeshuei. There is the point break on the left, which seems to break best during lower tides. This break will give you a great 300 meter run and usually, on a good day, last anywhere from 15 to 30 seconds. Some rides go all the way to the beach, making the paddle back a little longer. Getting out at the point break is no problem, for the water simply shuffles (to the surfer’s) left and recycles back out. However, if you are swimming, be advised, the drop-off is serious and even experienced swimmers have found trouble making it back in. One other concern is the rocky bottom during low tide and the coral that grows just short of the break.

The other break is a shore break that is about 400m out. On a good day, this wave can get super hollow and is a great place for shortboarders and bodyboarders. The drop is steep, but the reward is well worth it. There are usually some powerful rip currents that make it easy for surfers to get out, and some rides are manageable all the way to the beach. I have never encountered any rocks here and don’t think that any exist, due to the consistent sandbar formations. Usually this wave is a right, but if you are willing to get caught up in the wash a little, then dropping through the left side can be fun (especially if it is busy).

To be mentioned one last time is the amount of hospitality in the waves. While most Taiwanese are petrified of water, the community of surfers are very welcoming to new arrivals. Many will try to make conversation with you and will even recommend other places to surf. I have only positive things to say during my past year and a half experience at this spot. There is also an incredible amount of outstanding female surfers and bodyboarders that frequent these spots. All-in-all, this is paradise.

Chinese New Year

This is a story about an adventurous week. We began with a tradition Chinese New Year dinner, where they literally pay you to eat. Having been invited by a fellow teacher’s family, Jeff and I arrived, dressed as if we came out of a J. Crew catalog. After walking to the door, we realized the address was a pharmacy. To our chagrin, every family has a store of some sort, and if you walk through the back door, you will enter the living room. The next room was the kitchen. We sat down to a dinner that was 12 courses wide! On a lazy Susan, all the dishes were served, the most bizarre being Shark Fin soup (I did not eat it out of environmental protest, but I kept that to myself). The funny thing is, however, that they don’t drink when they eat. All the food has some kind of liquid served alongside (such as soups), so there is no need for it. Dehydrated, Jeff and I motioned for glasses, but they believed that we needed whiskey. The Taiwanese love their expensive scotch. So, we were served glasses of 18-year old scotch-whiskey, no water, and the rest is history.

We stayed up until 3am that night, when we had to catch our train for Kenting in the South China Sea. Kenting National Park is the southern most region of Taiwan and by far the most beautiful. With warm weather, we had a week that was filled with discovery and adventure. Upon our first night, we discovered a camping ground that cost 3 US dollars per night. We setup our tent and found ourselves on the edge of a coral reef that dropped deep into the ocean like a cliff. Here we were only 50 meters away from the ocean, on a grassy knoll that overlooked the coral. Each evening, we would put on masks and walk across the jagged coral, ready ourselves, and free dive. People would gather at our tent to see if we were ok, for no one in Taiwan really swims. I would usually go by myself (Jeff had a tough ear thing going on) and the freedom of diving as the sun set was phenomenal. I could swim 20 feet down to the bottom, where I was greeted by caves and crevasses that were explored.

However, the serenity of this experience was soon broken when we awoke the following morning. It being Chinese New Year, every person and their grandparents (literally grandma and grandpa came too) came to the campsite. We found ourselves cramped next to people with their cars and every camping accessory that could be purchased. We decided that we felt like we were in a UN refugee camp rather than paradise, so we rented some very fast motorbikes and left for Jialesheui on the East coast.

Jialesheui and its surroundings are known in Taiwan as “The Lost World.” This place was incredible. We camped for free under palm trees on the shore. Sand and grass beneath us, and palm leaves above us, we were in a state of bliss. We discovered that Jialesheui had one surf shop and one café. We would spend the evenings in this surf café, eating dinner and watching surf movies on their projectors., petting the puppies they had as the dogs would fall asleep in our laps. We were some of the only people there! After the movies, we would wander through the palm trees, the sound of the ocean leading our way, to our tent. There were nights that I slept outside, warm and listening to the rustle of leaves above me and the cacophony of sea beside me.

During the day, Jialeshui lit up! There was an amazing point break where the waves would go on for 30-second rides. Some days we surfed, while some days we bodyboarded. I grew up bodyboarding rocky spots, such as Lover’s Point and the reef section of Asilomar and Spanish Bay, so this was natural. The central part of Jialeshui, or the middles, were a faster wave that on Friday, turned into a great overhead session.

During on of the middle days of the trip, we took our motorbikes, at 85mph, through the mountains and into the central part of the national forest. No people, just full of life! The luscious jungle reminded me of scenes from Kuaui’s North Shore (Ne Pali Coast) and movies such as Jurassic Park and the Beach. We hiked through these mountains, visited the aborigine villages along the way (where people looked more Polynesian than Taiwanese) and stopped by some natural hot springs. In one of these springs, fish would come up and eat the material (dead I hoped) on our feet. This was a special pool that was for people to sit on the side and have a free pedicure from our fishy friends. 20 fish sucking and nibbling on your feet is an incredible experience; I recommend it!

The final day was hell and I would rather not attempt to recount the errand of getting back. 10 hours of traveling on what is a 4-hour trip. The experience of Kenting was liberating from some of the more mundane aspects of life in the city here. I felt revived from the spirit of aloha and everything the waves and sea had to offer.

The Night Market

The night’s air has a soft iridescent glow through the back alleys and meandering streets of Changhua. In this small city enclave, there is not a drop of personal space that is left undisturbed. I sometimes feel that I have to fight for the freedom to breathe, where other times, I feel like I am alive and living hand-in-hand with the vibrancy and gentle hum of a well-tuned machine. This evening, I have just returned from the Friday night market, where mother, father and little children alike flock to sample the week’s tastes, smells and sights.



The night market is something not completely endemic to Taiwanese life. As a reflection of a pan-Asian culture, the night market marks a crescendo for a section of the city’s workforce; a celebration of work completed and a chance to forget a crowded living place’s dullness. There are the grandmas, the grandpas and babies alike, mingling at tables and stands to satisfy their palate. However, each area of residency in the city embodies a different feel to this soirée des goûts.



Sometimes I like to wander over after work, around 10 in the evening, into this pit of chaotic combustion. Eyes will flock towards the one “May Guo Ren,” or American. Short quips of hello and what’s your name are echoed as if from a chorus line of high school boys and girls, however, few will return a greeting, afraid to use socially 10 years of private English instruction. (This is a constant reminder to us foreign English teachers of the timidity of our students when confronted with real world problems that don’t utilize fake world answer grid solutions).



The olfactory delights are intriguing. What smells sweet will usually be some variety of mountain fruit, while the smell of pig’s testacies and chicken intestines, will, well, be Pig testacies and chicken intestines. There are few tricks that Taiwanese dishes play in regards to smell; what you “see” is what you get. However, all is taken in as part of the evening experience.



I am reminded to the innocence of life in Taiwan from watching the children at these markets. They play their simple antique pinball machines on their mother’s lap or carefully watch the lone foreigner attempt his hand at chopsticks. Not remarking or embellishing us in any way, but just observing, as if the most important thing is to gaze, to view, to watch.

One such example of this is a child that I spend about an hour with every week. We rarely speak to each other, but he just sits with me, watching. He is about 4 years old and a boy of perky qualities. He has short black hair that is thin like most young boys in this area of the world. Dark piercing eyes look into mine as I glance at him; eyes that can hold time in their grasp, eyes that seem mysterious in an innocent way. But he just watches, never releasing his hold on what I am doing. I can be preparing a lesson, studying Chinese, or simply eating “gee row chow fan,” fried rice. He will just watch. A careful observer with a trained skill that few can appreciate. The more time that I spend with this child, the more that I envy him.



I have attempted to do more of my own gazing lately. I feel that as life’s pace increases in a busy city, exclusion and emulsion into the world of the self is necessary. This past weekend I cycled up the Nantou Mountain Range for 5 hours into a place called Sun Moon Lake. Once there, I disembarked down to the water’s edge on the other side of this 8-mile long body of water and made camp on the water’s edge. Away from civilization and emboldened by not having to speak Chinese, I watched the sun fall over the cascades nearby and drifted to sleep.



I was awakened by lights shining through my tent. Hearing voices and whispers (along with, in Chinese, phrases such as, “is someone there,” “I don’t know, let’s look”). I figured it an opportune time to get out. I unzipped my one-man and was immediately interrogated by 25 high school students on a nature walk. Not knowing what to do, I sat down with them next to my tent and chatted for about half-an-hour. Amazed that someone would venture out into the woods alone, they tried to warn me that it was dangerous. (Side note, most Taiwanese are afraid of what most people from California would consider something non-fearful, wading in ocean water, surfing, climbing on rocks, or generally being an outdoorsy person). One student even tried to warn me that it gets dark at night. Not being able to hold my laughter in, I quipped that I would keep that in mind the next time the sun went down.



The next morning I was able to watch the sun rise over the misty lake from the vantage point of my sleeping bag. Beautiful, truly beautiful. Feeling refreshed, I packed everything up in my pack and zipped back down the mountain; a 45 mph glide for 2 straight hours of NO PEDDLING!