Taiwanese Dream

Bamboo Lake

As the weeks pass and I learn new words in Chinese, I have begun to notice that the MRT stops on the subway are often named after physical landmarks in the countryside.  The stop by my house is named after bamboo.  The next stop on the MRT, going north, is named after red trees.  When I told my Chinese teacher about this discovery, he explained that there isn’t any bamboo there.  There aren’t any red trees either.  Then he told me a funny story.

One time, he was going to the national park located behind my house, called Yang Ming Shan, to find Bamboo Lake.  He looked and looked, but couldn’t see it anywhere.  Finally, he asked someone and they said, you are in it.  All around him were lots and lots of bamboo trees.  There was so much bamboo growing there that they had named the place Bamboo Lake.

The next day, when I was talking to my wife, I told her we had a lake in our house, called Shoes Lake, because she had so many shoes.  Quite bright, she quickly turned around and in Chinese told me that I have Stupid Lake.  So funny, she is.

As I learned to read and write Chinese, it takes me back to when I was little.  I learned a lot of English in the same way, reading books and then trying to write my own stories.  So here is the story of Bamboo Lake told in Chinese.  I’ve had some of my students read it and correct some errors for me.  However, mostly they struggle with the particular expressions I choose to use.  My writing ability is limited to the particular phrases I’ve learned in Chinese and this must sound a little strange to them, just like when I try to correct their stories written inEnglish.

我這個星期在中文課告訴我的老師：

「我的新房子旁邊的捷運很有意思。」

他說「為什麼？」

我說「有一站叫竹圍，

也有一站叫紅樹林。」

他告訴我這個故事。

有一天， 他到陽明山去了。

他對自己說「我想要看竹子湖。」

然後他試試看竹子湖，

可是他不能看。

忽然他看見兩個人，

所以他說「我沒有看看竹子湖。」

「在哪裡？」  他問。

「在這裡啊！」  另一個人說。

在這裡有很多竹子。

我的老師說「  沒有水嗎？ 」

「沒有啊！」 他們一起說。

「嗯…」 我的老師一邊說一邊看看竹子湖。

My First Chinese Story

After taking Chinese lessons for 10 months here in Taiwan, I was finally able to sit down and write a short story about my day in Chinese.  To the average Chinese reader, the story is not much, but to anyone who knows what I went through to get here, it’s a great experience to read.  So enjoy…

我有很多故事.

有一天

我從中山分校

到淡水分校去.

我搭錯了公車

所以我下了公車

然後我又搭錯了公車.

我又下了公車

然後我想走路去.

我給

計程車司機一張淡水分校的名片

然後我問他可以告訴我怎麼去這個地方嗎？

不久有一個人騎機車帶我去.

這個人是台灣人.

他很友善.

這是我的故事.

Wake Up, Insects, Wake Up!

Stink Bug

“众所周知，太阳东升西落。”

Everyone knows the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. It’s one of those universal truths I thought I could take for granted, so much that I never had to stop and think about it. Then, one day, I discovered something completely different, a new truth about the way the sun and earth interact with each other.

I was riding my bicycle across Alaska, when I took a detour in Fairbanks and rented a car, driving north, past the Article Circle, until I finally arrived at the Arctic Ocean, in the town of Deadhorse. Here the sun wasn’t rising in the east and setting in the west at all. It was going in circles around the sky, twenty-four hours a day. I thought I had arrived on another planet. Even the plants and animals growing up around me looked remarkably different from anything I had ever seen before. Here, 1,300 miles south of the North Pole, the sun goes around the sky for sixty-three continuous days, before finally dipping below the horizon again as winter approaches.

In the first week of March this year, I was walking home when I saw lightening nearby. In the three and a half years that I’ve lived in Taiwan, I don’t recall seeing lightening here at all. I’ve seen some killer typhoons come and go, and I’ve heard thunderstorms before, but never experienced lightening. In fact, I’d forgotten all about the phenomenon. So I stored the event in some curious part of my mind, but just then, before arriving home, forgot all about it.

A week later my Chinese teacher asked if I had seen the lightening in the beginning of March. I had, I told him, and he went on to explain that this event was predicted by the Chinese lunar calendar. He taught me the words for spring (春天), summer (夏天), autumn (秋天) and winter (冬天), then thunder (打雷) and lightening (閃電). At last he showed me the word for insect awakening (驚蟄). He knew I had a strong interest in the environment around Taiwan and he held me spell-bound as he taught.

Everyone knows about the four seasons. The concept is as simple as the sun rising and setting everyday. But the lunar calendar works on a system of twenty-four seasons each year, not just four seasons. Now, tell me, is the sun suddenly doing circles around your head? Do you feel like you’ve just stepped off the planet? Let me explain the Chinese lunar calendar to you and see if we can get your feet back on the ground again.

The Chinese lunar calendar in Asia is somewhat like the farmers’ almanac in North America. Starting in 1792, farmers began collecting data to help them manage their crops, including yearly weather patterns, tide tables, astronomical events and planting and harvesting trends out in the field. Now, over 200 years old, the farmers’ almanac has a reputation for being somewhat accurate in predicting climatic occurrences during each season, such as whether or not there will be a drought next summer or heavy snowfall in the winter. But the Chinese lunar calendar has one outstanding feature, when compared to the farmers’ almanac. The lunar calendar was first formulated some time around 2500 B.C. That’s over 4,500 years of compiled data used to determine what’s going to happen each year in the environment. The Chinese lunar calendar, although referring to the moon, is actually more about the sun’s position in the sky. It’s a way for farmers to determine the best time to till the ground, plant seeds, and later in the year, harvest crops.

In northern Alaska, the people living there – know as the Eskimos – find that snow is a big part of their lives. In fact, the Eskimo language has at least seven different words for snow. Now, I know about powdery snow, which is great for snowboarding, and icy snow, which will knock you flat on your back if you’re not careful, but that’s about it. The English language doesn’t place too much focus on snow, because it’s not such an important part of our worldview. Eskimos, on the other hand, talk about ‘aput’ or snow on the ground, ‘gana’ or falling snow, ‘piqsirpoq’ or drifting snow, and ‘qimuqsuq,’ which is the name for a snowdrift. In this same way, ancient Chinese people found that naming only four seasons in the year wasn’t enough. They needed twenty-four seasons to better explain the world around them, a world they were so highly connected to. And just as English doesn’t have very many specific words for snow, we also don’t have English names for all of the seasons in the Chinese lunar calendar. Only our words for spring, summer, autumn and winter can be used to give us some kind of reference point for the time of year being talked about.

The lightening I had noticed in the first week of March marks the beginning of the third season (驚蟄), as predicted by the Chinese lunar calendar. The ground temperature rises, the air gradually warms up, and the sound of thunder acts as a gigantic alarm clock telling insects and animals alike that its time to wake up and start looking for something to eat. In Chinese, this season was originally called (啓蟄), but latter changed to (驚蟄), because the Emperor (漢景帝) preferred that his given name (啓) not appear in the name for the season associated with the waking of hibernating insects and animals.

Here is a list of the twenty-four Chinese seasons, divided into the four western seasons of spring, summer, autumn and winter, as a reference point. The English name given for each season on this list is something I derived by looking over several similar lists and then summing them up. Keep in mind that because this system is based on the movement of the sun and moon around the earth, the date for each season will be adjusted accordingly each year. Also, the seasons do not start and end on the same day in both Taiwan and China. Start by looking at this short list of western seasonal markers for the two countries, as provide by Asian Geographic magazine. Then compare that to when the Chinese lunar calendar says the seasons should begin and end.

The Four Seasons of the Western Calendar
China
Spring March – May
Summer May – August
Autumn September – October
Winter November – February
Taiwan
Spring March – May
Summer June – August
Autumn September – November
Winter December – February
The Twenty-Four Seasons of the Chinese Lunar Calendar

Spring
1. Spring Day (立春) Feb 4 or 15 – spring starts here; the first 15 days of the year.
2. Rain Water (雨水) Feb 19 or 20 – preparations for planting begin; rain is more likely than snow at this time; the second 15 days.
3. Insects Awaken (啓蟄) or (驚蟄) March 5 – a time when hibernating insects and animals awaken; spring thunder is present and the stirring of new life.
4. Spring Equinox (春分) March 20 or 21 – the middle of spring.
5. Pure Brightness (清明) April 4 or 5 – howling southeasterly winds may be present; the sky will appear clear and bright; the weather, sunny and warm; also known as Tomb-Sweeping Day.
6. Grain Rains (穀雨) April 20 – farmers are reminded that seasonal downpours are beginning; rain helps grain grow.

Summer
1. Summer Day (立夏) May 5 or 6–the first day of summer.
2. Little Grain (小滿) May 20 or 21 – grain swells on the stalk; kernels are plump.
3. Grain Day (芒種) June 5 or 6 – wheat becomes ripe; time of harvest.
4. Summer Solstice (夏至) June 21–the sun reaches the highest point; the longest day and the shortest night; summer heat becomes more oppressive.
5. Minor Heat (小暑) July 7 – a time when heat begins to get unbearable; torridity begins.
6. Major Heat (大暑) July 22 or 23 – the hottest time of the year.

Autumn
1. Autumn Day (立秋) Aug 7 – beginning of autumn; temperatures begin to cool.
2. End of Heat (處暑) Aug 22 or 23 – heat ends.
3. White Dew (白露) Sept 7 or 8–condensed moisture makes dew white; dew curdles.
4. Autumnal Equinox (秋分) Sept 22 or 23 – the middle of autumn; the true start of the fall season.
5. Cold Dew (寒露) Oct 8–dew starts to turn to frost; the weather turns cold.
6. Frost’s Descent (霜降) Oct 23 – the appearance of frost and falling temps; winter is near.

Winter
1. Winter Day (立冬) Nov 7 – first day of winter.
2. Light Snow (小雪) Nov 22 – a light snow starts falling.
3. Heavy Snow (大雪) Dec 7 – the season of snowstorms is in full swing; snow becomes heavy; deep winter.
4. Winter Solstice (冬至) Dec 21 or 22 – Winter is at its peak; the shortest day and the longest night.
5. Minor Cold (小寒) Jan 6 – minor cold; cold starts to become a little unbearable.
6. Major Cold (大寒) Jan 20 or 21–severe cold; biting cold; the coldest time of year; the beginning of the new year approaches.

Legends of the East and West

Green Guard

Some say she drowned in a river. Other say she walked off into the misty mountains at the young age of 28 and disappeared forever. Whatever the case, her father’s body had been lost at sea, never to be seen again. For Lin Muo-Niang (林默娘), life was full of tragedy.

Born in 960 AD, on a small island southeast of China, she was the seventh child in an already crowded family. Her mother, feeling the household needed more room, wanted to abandon her at birth. But her father convinced the family to give the little infant a chance. In an ironic twist, she spent her life dedicated to every instruction her mother ever gave her, preferring never to marry.

After her death, the stories around these events began to expand, creating a complex mythological web out of her life. One legend says an immortal being climbed out of a well and gave her a magical amulet at the age of 16. In another legend, she fought and subdued a pair of frightening creatures who were roaming the countryside and stirring up trouble in southeastern China. This is the story of Matsu (媽祖), Goddess of the sea.

According to folklore, one of the creatures, Shun Feng-Er (順風耳), had unusual hearing. It was said he could hear every sound carried on the wind. The other, Chien Li-Yen (千里眼), could see for a thousand miles. The two monsters resisted the girl, but after being defeated by her became her guardians. They flank her statue even today, ever vigilant of approaching danger. Shun Feng-Er (順風耳), called Favoring-wind Ears, can be identified by his red skin. And Chien Li-Yen (千里眼), also knows as Thousand-league Eyes, has green skin. They both have fangs and stand in menacing poses, muscles taught and weapons ready to strike down anyone who might attempt to harm the girl. The history of these two barbarians can be traced far back into ancient Chinese mythology.

Another enticing myth is the story of the four Dragon Kings of the Sea. They include the East Dragon King, Ao Guang (敖廣), the West Dragon King, Ao Run (敖閏), the South Dragon King, Ao Qin (敖欽), and the North Dragon King, Ao Shun (敖順). The East Dragon King is usually depicted with the head of a dragon and the body of a human; in fact, all of the dragon kings have the ability to shape shift into human form. The East Dragon King watches over the largest region of the four Dragon Kings and is an important character in the book, Journey to the West, which is one of the four great classics of Chinese literature. These four Dragon Kings, together with Matsu (媽祖), Goddess of the Sea, and her two monster guards, rule the wind and the waves of the mythological world.

Much like Greek mythology, where real people began to take on superhuman abilities, many characters in Chinese mythology also most likely began as everyday people doing courageous things in the face of tragedy. The story of Lin Muo-Niang (林默娘) can be traced back through history, revealing how events in her life were embellished each time they were written down, according to Taiwanese researcher Li Hsien-chang. Yet this doesn’t stop people from believing that Matsu (媽祖) can protect them from the dangers of the untamed ocean. Today, there are nearly 400 temples in Taiwan alone dedicated to the worship of the Goddess of the Sea. Temples dedicated to Matsu (媽祖) can be found throughout southeastern Asia and as far away as Chinatown in San Francisco, California. Recently, residents of southern Taiwan took part in a 3 day vegetarian-style fast to celebrate the opening of yet another Matsu temple. What can be taken home from a visit to one of these temples, if you don’t believe in the divine nature of the life of Lin Muo-Niang (林默娘)? The same lesson that can be learned from reading any classic Greek text: never fear to go above and beyond when the world around you needs it.

The Chinese pantheon isn’t as clearly defined as the Greek pantheon. The equivalent of Zeus is mostly likely the Jade Emperor, the ruler of all mythological creatures in the East. Yet, just as Zeus is not the most popular character in Greek mythology, so to the Jade Emperor doesn’t quite catch the imagination like Monkey. Monkey would be more equal to Hercules, when it comes to someone whose antics appeals to the masses. The Greek heroes while considered godlike also are anthropomorphic in nature, exhibiting human-like characteristics as they reside in heaven, sometimes making mistakes in their endeavors to better or destroy the world. So to is it with Chinese folklore. What makes Monkey so attractive is his sense of humor. Monkey is a bit of a trickster, playing jokes on people as they go about their daily lives. At one point he even plays tricks on the Jade Emperor, after which the Jade Emperor gives him a task and a promotion to keep him busy. Even this can’t stop Monkey from horse-playing, so Buddha himself must be enlisted to bring Monkey under control.

One creature stands out as unique in the world of mythology; that is, the dragon. The dragon is the only creature that appears in both eastern and western storytelling. Yet the dragon represents something entirely different in each hemisphere. In the west, the dragon is something to be feared, traditionally capturing a young princess, which our brave knight must go and fight, a tale filled with both romance and danger. In more modern children’s stories, the dragon is peaceful and fun loving, such as in the song, Puff the Magic Dragon, wherein the symbolism can’t be missed. In the east, however, the four Dragon Kings are the rulers of the four regions of the sea and must be respected. At one time, Monkey decides he needs a weapon, because tricks alone are not enough to defeat the monsters of this world, so he sneaks into the treasury of the East Dragon King, Ao Guang (敖廣), to steal a magic wishing staff which can expand to fill the universe or shrink to the size of a needle. The idea of dragons hoarding and protecting great treasures is a common element in both eastern and western literature, as we see in J.R.R. Tolkien’s, The Hobbit.

The history of the dragon in eastern mythology dates back thousands of years, long before dragons appeared in western literature. Recently, a 3,700-year-old totem made out of turquoise and looking like a python with a dragon-shaped head was discovered in central China. The artist who constructed this antique relic was clearly influenced by Chinese civilization. The oldest dragon totem in the world, however, is a 7,000-year-old jade sculpture in the shape of a dragon with a pig head. This totem was found in Inner Mongolia and is not Chinese in origin.

Like the modern day comic book story of the X-Men, the characters in both eastern and western mythology usually have some outstanding trait, some single ability that makes them different from everybody else. And by joining together under various coalitions at different times in their lives, they find strength in numbers and reach incredible heights. Lei Zheng-zi had wings and could fly, but only after eating apricots. Nezha could suddenly grow three heads and six arms. Monkey and the Dragon Kings eventually became friends and ruled together. Today, Nezha is recognized as the god of winning lottery numbers, because like Monkey, he enjoys playing tricks on people.

Next time you visit a temple in Taiwan, look closely at the carvings and artwork and see how many of the characters you can identify there. But be sure to remain respectful of the people worshiping there while you look around. Recently I came across a banister commemorating the opening of the new Matsu (媽祖) temple. In the center you can see the Jade Emperor. A collection of eight characters flanks him, four on each side. These are the eight Immortals of Chinese mythology. Each rides a different animal, one on a horse, one on a tiger, and so on. In this banner, there are only two dragons.
If you look closely at the dragon, you’ll find it is actually made up of other animals. It has the horns of a deer, the head of a camel, the neck of a snake, the body of a crocodile, the scales of a fish, the claws of a bird, and the ears of an ox. The Chinese dragon is a symbol of the Chinese people; it is a chimera, or composite animal, each part representing the different animal totems of the northern Chinese tribes. According to legend, the Celestial Dragon had nine sons, and one of these sons became the emperor of China.

These days, as my wife and I travel around Taiwan, I look more closely at the temples we pass. I’m often eager to pull out my camera and learn more about this culture that I’m now a part of. During your time in Taiwan, don’t hesitate to take in the legends growing up all around us!

The Alaska Book

In the summer of 2001, I quit my job and went north to ride my bicycle across Alaska.  What does that have to do with Taiwan, you ask?  When I got home, after riding over 1,200 miles and seeing the Arctic Ocean, I thought the adventure would end.  But it didn’t.  The adventure continues even today. 

Alaska, in a way, brought me to Taiwan.  I set out to write a book about my adventure north, and in the process, became an English teacher in Asia.  While the book was never published, I did manage to put out a children’s book for my Taiwanese students to read, so in some small way I feel like I have become that writer I always dreamed of.

Here are some selected passages from, The Alaska Book, the high points that I remember the most, the times when I wrote what I felt and was not afraid to share it with the world.  I hope by reading this you too will find your passion and follow your dream.  You have to believe there is something out there, or you will never go looking for it.

The Alaska Book – Selected Passages

By Daniel White

I looked out across the landscape for a place to sleep for the night.  Between the mountaintops was a high plain called Glacial Flats.  It was barren of features and the wind moved across it in gusts.  When the wind stopped, there was no sound at all.

…

I found a real curious place. 

Down the road was the faint trace of a turnoff.  Dirt tracks had been half-hidden by the low-lying vegetation that covered the plain.  The tracks led to a homestead of sorts.  Here was a cabin, a cooking area, and a pile of firewood.  Behind it was an outhouse with a half moon cut in the door and another structure that had not been finished.  Time and a lack of use hung on every corner.

…

There was frost on the ground in the morning.  I went out into the woods and found a single ray of sunlight coming down through the trees and stood there a long time, basking in the warmth and beauty of it.  Sometimes I could hear the raven calling, sometimes the eagle.  I couldn’t remember which day of the week it was.  I tried to think back to the last known day, counting forward from there.  This could have been Friday or Saturday, but I wasn’t certain.  I looked inside my journal for answers, but found none.

…

Clouds filled in the sky above, as if they were moving floods of water, drowning every open ounce of space.  A little rain fell down where the clouds overlapped.  Along the mountain rim they collided and splashed.  A storm has come upon me.  Soon I sank into its depths.  A gasp of air here and there as I was buoyed in and out of it.  Rain down my soul and thunder in my nightmare.  Morning brings safety.  Until then, I bare the shrieking winds alone.

…

I have this deep, unexplainable urge to leave everything behind.  I want to go to some place magical, where nothing I have ever known of exists.  It’s something I’ve felt inside me for as long as I can remember.  When I look closely at the land I see kinds of plants I’ve never seen before.  I begin taking pictures, proof that this place exists.  On the western horizon I see a string of calling mountains.  They are calling me to stop the car and head out over the vast landscape. 

…

Here the river flows north past ice-covered lakes.  I want to dive into such a lake, to be surrounded by it, filled up by it, completely becoming the lake.  I want the land to form me – not me always trying to form the land.  I want to give up control with my mind and run freely, no longer determining where I need to be.  I could get lost out here.  I am in another world.  The part of me that makes sense is no longer in control. 

…

I came down from the mountain.  An ethereal world faded out behind me.  I was on my way home again.  As I crossed the mountain pass and began to make my descent, a lightening storm flickered in my rearview mirror.  On the northern side of Antigun Pass I had seen caribou and musk oxen living in the wild.  Across the arctic plains – the expanse between the Brooks Range and the Arctic Ocean – were species of plants that did not exist anywhere else in the world.  That world was now being left behind me on the other side of the continental divide.

…

Some nights I sat wrapped in the mystery of what brought me here.  Was it the smell of the air, the cold, the warmth, the flight of a bird, or friendly play with a dog?  Each still memory is like a moment of silence.  Fading sounds, like the falling of the rain.  The miles, the many miles of searching down the road for a meal, a conversation, or a place to stay.  People living, all old or getting old, much like the land.  To me, a river is a drink of water.  Time is the mountains.  Sleep, exhaustion.  Nothing more.

Ten Little Dumplings

Fried Dumplings

I was getting hungry and needed to explore my Chinese in order to grab something to eat.  Diane was at work and I’d had a busy morning, so finding something edible for lunch was up to me.  I walked down the street and stopped at my favorite dumpling store, where I pointed to a box and showed them the hand sign for “ten,” crossing both of my index fingers in the shape of an “X.”  Within minutes, I was happily rewarded with a set of ten dumplings and I devoured every one of them. 

Now, “ten” is not that hard to say in Chinese:  “shi” (十), with a rising tone.  The challenge comes when you hear it said with a Taiwanese accent.  They tend to drop the “h” when speaking Chinese, sounding more like “si.”  For example, try saying “44” in Chinese, “si shi si” (四十四), then apply the Taiwanese accent, arriving at “si si si.”  If you know the tones well enough, you’ll understand how to say this correctly.  In fact, if you can count to ten clearly in Chinese, you’ve already mastered the tonal side of the language.

The next day, after a busy morning of kindergarten class, I was in desperate need of filling my belly again.  I went back to my favorite dumpling store and decided to order twenty this time.  I gave the same hand signal, the sign of an “X,” but this time I did it twice.  When my order arrived, still the same box of only ten dumplings.  Did they think I’d stuttered in sign language?  Or, when I’d made the “X” two times, was I only adding emphasis and clarity to the ten that I’d indicated?  Regardless, it became clear that I needed to speak Chinese to get exactly what I wanted.

A few days later, kindergarten once more getting the better part of my empty stomach, I went back to try again.  I walked up to the counter and meagerly said, “er shi” (二十), which means “twenty” in Chinese.  Instantly I could see they had no clue what I was talking about.  I said it again, louder this time and with an exaggerated tone, but still that blank look in their faces.  I tried dropping the “h,” sounding like “er si,” but no box of 20 dumplings appeared anywhere in sight.  So I went back to my hand signals and received ten dumplings.

I walked away dejected and hungry.  After I rounded the corner, something occurred to me.  I waited a few moments and then went back to the store, again ordering a box of ten dumplings using hand signals.  Suddenly I had two boxes of ten, or the twenty dumplings my gut was set on.  Maybe surviving in another country wasn’t going to be as hard as I had imagined.

After a few weeks of using this tactic, my wife and I stopped in for a bite to eat at that same dumpling store.  The waiter was familiar with me by this time and asked my wife in Chinese why I always came back for seconds.  When she explained my dilemma to them, they all had a good laugh about it.  But the next time I went to buy dumplings, a new problem arose.  They were so eager to provide the twenty dumplings that I failed to express to them that I only wanted ten this time.  What was I to do on the days when I might be really picky and wish to eat only twelve dumplings, or fifteen?

Hunger is often the driver in our quest to learn new things.  Learning to get what I wanted for lunch on the streets of Taiwan has taught me more about speaking Chinese than any lesson in a classroom back home would.  By living overseas I’ve been learning not only the language, but also putting into practice on a daily basis.  Once you’ve mastered the numbering system and can count fluently in Chinese, you’ll be able to order food, go to the bank, and talk about the weather, the days of the week and the months and the year.  You’ll be able to give an address to a taxi driver or buy extra sets of clothes at the department store.  I’d suggested that if you’re new at speaking Chinese, focus on the numbers first and listen closely to the tones involved.  Then go out and satisfy your hunger by saying something new in Chinese.

River Trails in Northern Taiwan

River Trails

She sprinted past the tombs on her bicycle, fearful that some ghostly apparition might spring up and sweep us away to another world.  I raced around the bend in the river, just ahead of her, eager to put some distance behind us.  The tombs strung across the hillside looked down on us in vacant disregard.  Suddenly the scenery changed and we dropped down below a series of crisscrossing highways.

Diane and I were riding the Keelung River Trail in search of a route to Danshui, a thriving city on the northwestern coast of Taiwan.  Until recently sections of the trail remained unfinished.  Mr. Ma, now president of Tawain, pushed to have the circuit completed while in office as major of Taipei City.  The river trails provide quick access to many points in Taipei County and are a safe alternative to riding on the road, away from cars and traffic headaches.

Mr. Ma’s vision now stands complete.  The Keelung River Trail and the Danshui River Trail run uninterrupted, as if cutting Yangmingshan National Park off from the rest of the island.  Anyone eager to cross the northern tip of Taiwan on a bicycle will find a world of scenic opportunities here, all within a day’s ride away.

The route begins in the port city of Keelung.  Although the eastern side of Taiwan is mountainous, here the river stays flat and is easy to follow.  Once entering Xi Zhi, however, deciding which side of the river to stay on becomes a bit of a logistical nightmare.  After you’re ridden through this section a few times, you’ll know what I mean.  But, until then, just follow someone else and ask for directions whenever needed.

Once you’ve left Taipei County and entered the Taipei City limits, the river becomes less tedious to navigate.  You’ll see that sections of the trail are still under construction, mostly under bridges.  However, alternative routes and trailside maps are easy to find, leaving little chance of getting lost.  Also within the city limits, you’ll find plenty of places to stop and grab a bite to eat or stock up on bicycle accessories, if needed.  

The view from the top of the Dazhi Bridge is remarkable.  To the south of the river is Dajia Riverside Park.  Farther away, across Taipei, is the towering Taipei 101 building.  Dazhi Bridge is a good place to get on and off the trail, if you’ve had enough riding for the day and would like to return again sometime later.  If you don’t have a car, take the road to Yuanshan and throw your bicycle on the MRT.

The distinguished Dazhi Bridge marks the joining of the Danshui and Keelung River Trails.  Still, you’ll still be riding along side the Keelung River for a while longer.  West of the Dazhi Bridge, the trail grows narrower.  Here, also, the crowds get thicker.  Solitary vendors appear at stray intersections, offering bottles of water or small treats to eat.  It wasn’t until we came to the Guangdu Warf, by the Acuatic Birds Marshland, that we found a decent cup of coffee.  Next door to the coffee shop is a donut store and next to that is a bicycle shop.  Guangdu Temple is also an outstanding place to look into the past and admire tradition as it is still practiced today in Taiwan. 

The ride north of Guangdu Warf reveals a glimpse of the vast Danshui River, working its way northward toward the coastline.  Exits at Zhuwei allow you to access to a McDonalds or a KFC, if you’re really missing the calories.  Here you’ll encounter the Hongshulin Mangroves Marshland and birds will swoop down over your head in a race to the finish line.  Hongshulin is also a great place to throw you bicycle on the MRT, if you’re looking for a shortcut home.

Danshui is the final destination.  We got there early in the afternoon and spent an hour snacking along the waterfront at some of the night market shops.  I sampled a curry chicken wrap Indian-style and my wife picked out a sausage skin stuffed with rice.  You can buy a boat tour and cross to the other side of the river, if you’re looking for more places to explore from here.  But we had had enough and decided to save that adventure for another day.

The entire river route from Keelung to Danshui can be ridden in a day, but if you’ve little experience with long distance cycling, be aware that it will cost you around 60 km.  If you’re really an avid rider, getting there and back again in a single day might get your heart pumping.  For alternatives, look into riding the Xidian River Trail and the Danshui River Trail. 

If you’re from out of town and have little time to play, take the MRT to Danshui and rent a bicycle there.  Ride south to Zhuwei and take the alternate route north again, for a casual loop ride.  Or, if you’re feeling strong, push on to the Guangdu Warf before returning home again.  Whatever your flavor, search the Internet for more information before going.  Be sure to get out and enjoy the many routes to bicycle along the rivers in northern Taiwan today!   

Classroom Chatter

Tony

Kindergarten is a great place to learn Chinese.  I mean as a teacher, not as a student.  In Kindergarten, little children are learning to communicate with each other for the first time.  The simple meanings they struggle to convey are short and to the point.  For someone like myself, who’s got the ability to speak Chinese like a three year old, I usually feel like I fit right in.

Often their attention turns to me, the most animated object in the classroom.  I’ve learned how to talk about the size of my belly (肚子好大) and how fat I am (太肥了), how to describe the gray color of my hair (白頭髮) and the shiny bald spot on the top of my head (沒有頭髮).  But I struggle with being called bald (光頭) and I try to let my hair grow long to cover up the inevitable signs of aging (我不是光頭, 我有頭髮).  Nevertheless, little children find these strange characteristics fascinating and relish the excitement that comes from contemplating the way I look.

Teaching older students has given me access to bigger, less personal, phrases.  “Teacher is coming!” (老師來了) and “Is it class time?” (上課了嗎).  What has surprised me more than anything is the level of English conversation I’ve heard in and around my classrooms.

“Teacher, why do we have to go to school on Thursday?” Michael raised his hand and asked before I had time to call on him.

“Because we had a typhoon on Monday,” I replied.

He was silent for a moment as I went back to teaching.  Then he raised his hand again.

“Teacher, why did we have a typhoon on Monday?”

Wow, Socratic method, I thought.  I wonder how long he’ll follow this line of reasoning.

“Because, out in the ocean, we have hot air and cold air and…” I began, but was interrupted.  Tammy raised her hand and started speaking rapidly without my permission – a habit I hoped wouldn’t spread to the rest of the classroom.

“Teacher, teacher, I know.  I know!” she said and ran to the whiteboard.

Before I had time to stop her, she commenced with diagramming an outline of the ocean and the hot and cold air weather patterns, explaining to the class how typhoons worked.  She could have been a weather reporter on TV – she was that good.

By now the class was heading in a new direction, not the one I had intended, but I let it go just to see what would happen.  I’d witnessed this one time before while teaching Kindergarten.  I had just explained to the students that animals have tails and people don’t.  One boy raised his hand and told the class that his mom said we used to all be monkeys.  I felt like some of my students still were monkeys, to be facetious.  However, debating evolution vs. creation wasn’t a road I wanted to go down with a bunch of six year olds.

As Tammy wrapped up her speech on typhoons, I erased her diagram from the whiteboard and sent her back to her seat.  I resumed teaching, yet in the back of my mind I wondered whether or not Michael would ask the next logical question:  why do we have hot and cold air out in the ocean?  Fortunately, he never did and I got through the lesson on time that day. 

When I reflected on these conversations later, I was impressed that my students could understand everything so well, considering English is their second language.  Nothing was ever explained to them in Chinese.  Sometimes, although rarely, there’s a moment of “flow” in my classes when the students begin to comprehend things far greater than anything covered in the teacher’s book.  Those are the moments I wish could happen every day.

Finding My Name

Dan and Diane

I needed a Chinese name. Diane and I had gotten married and I needed to sign a document in Chinese to register our household with the government of Taiwan.

For the first character, we started with “Bi” (白), because my family name is “White.” Wanting a simple name, one that could be easily written in Chinese, I suggested something like “Bi Yi Yi” (白一一). Diane laughed. Then I tried something a little more challenging, like “Bi Er Er” (白二二), which got our friends and family laughing, too. Next I considered “Bi Si Ke” (自行車), which means “bicycle” in Chinese. By now, everyone was laughing at me. Finally, someone came up with “Bi Shi Hong” (白士杭). It was the kind of name that sounded eastern. It sounded mystical and far away. And when I told it to my friends back home, they suddenly realized I’d become a part of a culture they knew little about.

I thought it was a foolproof name that no one could make fun of, but little did I know about the genius of children. When I went back to school the next semester, the kids quickly found out. They’d wait for me to enter the classroom, chanting, “Bi Shi Hong! Bi Shi Hong!” I felt a sense of pride as I stood before them. I took their enthusiasm as a good sign. Then, one day, a young girl named Emily approached me after class. “Shao Shao Hong!” (小小杭) she said with delight. I knew right away that it meant “Little Hong,” the kind of name one child might call another.

I resisted the urge to defend myself. I resisted the need to say something back. But at that very moment, something unexpected happened. A little light went on in the back of my mind. This foreign sounding name suddenly meant something to me – it was a name worth standing up for; it was my name. If the kids believed it was a name worth taunting, then it had to be a real name. That was the day I first began to understand the real meaning behind my Chinese name.

My Name is Fifa

Benson in Class

Fifa likes to play soccer.  So when it came time to pick an English name for him, his parents looked toward the Federation Internationale de Football Association (FIFA) for help.  Fifa is one of the most active boys in my class when we play games.  While the name is unusual, you have to admit that it’s better than calling him, “Soccer.”

 Cases of amusing names show up in a lot of my classes.  One of my most remarkable students was called Dak Forz.  Although the name sounds German, I usually pronounced it, “Dark Force.”  He was young enough to have never seen the Star Wars movies in the theater.  So when I mimicked Darth Vader one day and said, “Use the force!” the joke fell flat.

One of my brightest and most outgoing students is called Euran.  His parents are highly intelligent, I suspect, because they took the word “European” and cut out the “ope” to come up with this unusual name.  As clever as it looks on paper, though, I’m certain they never suspected students would be calling their son a name that sounds like the word for “urine.”

Then there are boys in my classes with names like Golden, King and Master.  While these names might reveal high aspirations on the part of the parents, in English, names like these are simply pretentious.  In some cases, however, the name has been taken from the student’s Chinese name.  One time I even taught a Captain and a General.

More and more parents are choosing to stick with their child’s Chinese name, by finding an English spelling for it.  I taught Efane for over a year before I realized that this was his Chinese name with an English pronunciation.  If the name has something of a western ring to it, this works out, because the name is not that difficult for foreigners to pronounce or remember.  Some Chinese names are like tongue twisters to native English speakers.

In Kindergarten, recently, I noticed a trend toward sticking with Chinese sounding names.  Wei Wei is really common.  But sometimes a name like that may backfire on the student.  In one class that I heard about, there was a girl named Yume.  Whenever they’d finish singing a song, the teacher would say, “You may sit down.”  It took a while to understand why Yume always sat down so quickly and the rest of the students remained standing.  “Yume” sounds like “you may.”

Other girls I’ve taught had names like Cola.  Air was a bright young girl, nothing of an airhead.  Ring’s name had a nice ring to it.  Nina and Sylvia are names found in our class books.  Candy has always been popular.  Daisy and Dolly almost sound like names you’d call your pet. 

I taught Sunny one time, who was a boy, and in the same class we had another Sunny, who was a girl.  Kind of reminds me of that song by Johnny Cash, “A Girl Named Sue.”  I currently have one student called Sun, but he’s not my son.  Sometimes the students like to call him “Evil Sun,” although I’m not sure why. 

Some English names sounds like other English words, and then the nickname gets modified into something of a joke that classmates like to use.  Vicky was often called Whisky.  Euran was branded Uniform.  And Master became Watermelon, although there was no real connection in that case that I could see.  I’ve found that students really like it when you make a big introduction out of their name, as if they were lining up to play baseball or basketball and have just been called into the game.

Then there are the really unusual names.  One of my students is called Borg.  I’m guessing the parents where under something of a Scandinavian influence at the time, or else they might be really big Star Trek fans.  For the longest time I thought Henman was really Herman.  I figured that someone had misspelled the “r” and made it look like an “n” and the name stuck.  Then I found out that there really is someone by the name of Henman out there, Tim Henman, the professional tennis player from Great Britain.  The name wasn’t just a mistake.  When I asked my student if he’d prefer Herman over Henman, he proceeded to stick his tongue out at me.

Whatever the name, it gives someone a face, and if all goes well, the name will stick.  But sometimes, for whatever reason, the name will change.  Brittany became Beth, just because it was easier to pronounce.  Candy became Cindy, after everyone teased her all the time.  Annie had a hard time with her name, because it sounded just like “any” and when I once asked her in front of the class, “Annie, do you have any homework?” the students laughed until she cried.  I never asked that question again; likewise, she always brought her homework to me on time.

One Brittany that I taught became Sophie, which followed the trend of using names that end with the long “e” sound.  In one classroom I taught:  Annie, Emily, Sheri, Tammy, Jimmy, Peggy, Cathy, Sophie and Cindy.  Everyone was so happy and crazy and funny all the time.

Then there’s the case of having more than one student in a class with the same name.  Usually they get tagged as John1 and John2, because they don’t have English last names.  In one class that I taught we had both a Tim1 and Tim2 and a Vivian1 and Vivian2.  I don’t care much for this kind of name, so I encouraged the students to make a simple change.  The two Tims became Tim and Timothy, the two Vivians, Vivi and Vivian.  Right now I have a class with three Erics.  In this case, we call them Eric C. and Eric L. and Eric G.  I often get them mixed up.  Sometimes I’ll just say Eric Z. and see who raises his hand.  Usually it’s none of the above.

Name picking is an art.  It’s a wonderful joy that parents get to experience, and in the case with students learning English in Asia, the parents get to choose both an English name and a Chinese name.  I was required to pick out a Chinese name when I got married to Diane, here in Taiwan.  By the way, Diane used to be Sandy, but that was long before I met her.  If you read my article called, Finding My Name, you’ll know that when my students want to tease me, both my English name and my Chinese name will do.  Any name is fair game, when it comes to getting a laugh out of someone.

Whatever your name, I hope you like it, whether it’s respected or not.  By the way, the names in this article have NOT been changed to protect the innocent!  J