“Your soul is not a passive or a theoretical entity that occupies a space in the vicinity of your chest cavity. It is a positive, purposeful force at the core of your being... When the energy of the soul is recognized, acknowledged, and valued, it begins to infuse the life of the personality.” Gary Zukav from The Seat of the Soul.
My latest experience is narrated mostly by my soul, although my personality occasionally takes the reins as well.
Should I stay or should I go?
All of last week, I was obssessed with one Idea for this upcoming weekend: mountains. However, a Friday morning torrential downpour started to flood doubts into my plans. By afternoon, the rains had tapered off but the ominous clouds remained. As is the case every Friday afternoon, hosting Below the Bassline put me in a groovy mood. Feeling so nice after the show, I decide to Go Dutch for a little hit of their creamy cheesecake. I mention to Erik, the owner of the coolest little restaurant in town, that I have been considering hitting the high mountains but have my doubts in terms of weather. “Ah, don't base your decision on the weather in Tainan. It could rain here and be beautifully sunny up there”, he offered in his laid-back Seattle accent.
By the end of the afternoon, the sky clears amazingly to display a stunning orangy-pink sunset. In a rare Tainan moment, the rains team up with the wind to plow away the habitual layer of pollution, leaving the mountains in plain view from Jackie's eastward facing apartment on Dongmen Street. Tempting. I am firmly caught between two minds (what's new? eh, Dan). Alright, who can I coax into joining me? The list of rejections is long. Michele is coming off a week of sickness. Asif is scared off by the weather reports. Dave has to work on Saturday morning. Dan has plans. Siv's out of town...etc. There are special times where I demand to take off by myself; unfortunately, this isn't one of those times. Alas, maybe it just isn't meant to be.
Or is it. More than his words, it was Erik's look of envy when I told him I planned to hit Yakou. “Man, why do I need anyone else anyhow?” I start convincing myself, “you're going, accompanied or not”. My personality interjects. “You shouldn't go alone, it's too dangerous. Remember what Jackie's Mom said about the poor road conditions up there. Besides, won't you get bored all by yourself. What if it's raining and cold all weekend?”. I won't bore you with the listing of my personality's endless fears. I signal for my personality to hush and this is what I say in the kindest and firmest of tones, “Pack away your fears and get your things together. Unless it's pissing down, we leave in the morn”.
Now, as I see it on this here Saturday morning, the sun's already up and inviting me to take off eh. I get ready and say goodbye to my sweet lady. “Looks like it cleared up after all", she says, " wasn't sure it would after last night's rain”. “Good thing I hadn't heard the rains during the night or I would have surely called it off”, mutters my personality. After a light dan ping breakfast, I mount Berthe and press play on my MP3 and let the cool sounds of Joe Bataan's Black Coffee set the tone.
In top flight, as the new day sun already beats down hard on my exposed arms, I'm thankful to be leaving early. The prospect of an adventurous weekend on my own Time (kairologic time if you recall) plus the driving salsa and latin beats get my blood boiling. The reality of the immense, multiple-layered peaks sitting buddha-like in the distance are highly inspiring. I can't wait to just be right up there.
Just before noon, after several hours of motoring and having now just entered the lower mountains, I stop by some stairs by the side of the highway. As I turn the key to Berthe's ignition to the left, the sound of running water trickles into my ears, replacing Berthe's rather noisy gait. A quick scout mission tells me it's the perfect spot to sip tea and have a little sit down in the shade. It turns out that not only is there a stream but there is decent waterfall here as well. I have to hurdle a few rocks to get up close and in my excitement to clamber up as fast as possible, I misjudge a detour around a fallen branch. The unusually sharp branch catches on to my pant leg and creates a tear. “What's the rush, laddie?”, I remind my personality. Sometimes, he is such a child. But then again, that's also part of his charm.
Standing near the falls, I can see its main jet ricocheting off one or two projecting rocks, before it tumbles down about 30 ft. In a flash, I've stripped down to cool down. The loudness of the crash is almost deafening as the powerful jet thumps my head. People pay good money at spas in Taiwan for this very same treatment. And, just like the spa, all I have to do is move slightly to the side to get a less potent yet just as pleasurable jet. Then, a colourful surprise. I am suddenly encircled by rainbows. Small ones which follow me which ever way I turn. I'm no physics genius and I don't know the theory behind wave particles and such so as to be able to explain this phenomenon to you. All I can do is pass on the image and try explain the sheer delight of being massaged by Nature while rainbows dance all around me. And now I am finding that mere words can not do the feeling justice as I now dry off in the sun. Overhead, a group of thugged out rain clouds moves in to block the sun. It doesn't dampen my present mood, though. I brew up some tea and sip in the sweet silence.
I'm starting to feel peckish so I decide to have lunch in the nearby town of Meilan. I order a fried rice and some mountain vegetable from a local restaurant run by aboriginals. There is an older but not elderly couple sitting down enjoying their meal. They are curious about the foreigner and instantly strike up conversation as I walk by. Turns out they are also from Tainan. They are curious as to my meticulously planned schedule for the weekend. I tell what little of them I possess but refrain from getting into the whole no-plan philosophy. In return, they enthusiastically divulge their entire agenda.
Once I exhaust my limited conversational Mandarin, I sit down and wait for my food. Ah, the snail's mountain pace can be felt even though my food comes quickly.Yums. And even before I am done, in true representation of the warm aboriginal hospitality I've encountered time and time again iin Taiwan, one of the owners offers me a local delicacy called xiao mi. It's a kind of dumpling filled with crushed peanuts and something sweet. Who cares what it is, it's delicious! Following that, I watch as the woman from Tainan jumps out of the passenger seat, runs over to me, and hands me a bag of fresh wax apples. Feeling blessed from all these unexpected gifts, I'm all smiles with thanks as I strap my helmet back on and start up Berthe for the next stage of the journey.
Up, Up and Away
From past experience, I remember to stop in at the Meishan visitor centre to pre-order my supper at the Yakou hostel. Being so high up and isolated from any cities (by Taiwanese standards anyway), they must know you're coming in advance or else you starve. I learned that one the hungry way. I run into some communication difficulties with the teenage kid at the reception. He is so embarrassed to be talking to a foreigner that he is unable to concentrate. The best he can come up when we are in a communication stalemate is, “ni hen shuai” (You're handsome). They are the perfect words to diffuse my frustration at my lack of being able to convey a simple desire to eat supper that night. Oh well, I may starve but at least I'm handsome to this guy. Anyway, he finally calls for back-up and it all gets sorted. And with the sun shining strong, I decide to camp that night and refrain from ordering a room. I know it will be cold up there but I am sufficiently prepared for that. As long as it doesn't rain...
Amazingly, not ten minutes after leaving the visitor centre, still on cloud nine, the god Murphy asserts his omnipresence by envoying a convoy of clouds to roll in suddenly like those alien ships from Independence Day (never ever thought I'd make reference to that crap movie) and I start to feel a few innocents drops from the sky. Is it too late to go back and order a room? I decide to suck it up, whatever conditions I'm dealt. After all, I won't die now will I? To dawn or dismiss rain apparel, that is the current question. I decide to put it on. Five minutes later the rain stops. That Murphy character sure does have a sense of humour.
However, by the time I reach my next stop in Tianshih, after an hour or more of steady upwards spiralling, the clouds have completed their hostile takeover of the sky. They are moving hurriedly, like worker ants with a task to finish. The unpredictable mountain weather is demonstrating itself at an accelerated pace. I cover my tent and sleeping bag before climbing the steep steps leading to, - you'll never believe it - in Taiwan of all places, a temple! Before reaching the top however, an audio sensation snags my attention. It is distinctly the sound of monks chanting, and rather loudly at that. I immediately envision monks performing a sacred meditational ritual upon the mountain peak. However, when I reach the shrine, the shaved-headed holy men I had imagined are actually a small tape-palying device and a few speakers. Tricknology! The shrine is a memorial for the souls who lost their lives during the construction of the Southern Cross Highway as it is known. I say a prayer of thanks to them for without their sacrifice I might not be here right now.
Decidedly, the weather in the PM cannot be more different than the AM. The blue skies have been taken over by fleets and fleets of various types of grey clouds, from ghostly thin vaporous ones to fat moonless-night coloured ones. The likelyhood of rain doesn't stop me from exploring the area behind the temple.
The lake I had read about is no more than a pond in reality. There is a trail behind it which eventually leads into the forest. Had I suddenly slipped, banged my head and contracted amnesia, I would have sworn I was in BC judging by the size of the trees. Indeed these multi-limbed giants are from an era long past. Within seconds, the wind makes me stop in my tracks and commands my attention. I listen carefully and respectfully. Once it has spoken its piece, the quiet that follows the monologue makes up for months of constant Tainan city noise. I can't get over how lush everything is. Songbirds brag to one another about how many little critters they've gobbled up. A few swoop down into my path just millimetres ahead of my stride in a display of precise stealth flight. Velvety moss and lichen drape the trees' ankles. A slight rain begins but there are so many trees to use as cover that I fail to get wet. That is, until it starts to pour down. I decide to seek cover under a particularly massive umbrella-like pine. It is here that I encounter another human moving in the opposite direction. I never did catch his name but he is a real character from Taipei. You don't encounter too many unpleasant people when walking in the forest I've noticed. My guess is that their souls have also taken over their personalities in Nature's splendour.
I return to the temple around in the late afternoon. I quench my thirst by eating some of the juicy wax apples I had been given earlier that day. I decide to sit on the steps facing the valley and watch the clouds for a bit. Mesmerizing. Surreal, too. Giant masses of vapourous spirits colliding invisibly, often travelling in completely opposite directions; the beauty of chaos. And what is my place is all this? Humble observer. When out of the blue, a patch of perfect azur sky magically opens up, high above the dizzying clouds, I gasp in amazement while applauding the spectacle. However, with the hunch that the day's end nears, I decide to leave the cloud show and make a move to the hostel.
The interminable night
As I slowly rise in altitude, clouds still racing frantically about me, I find my hands are beginning to sting from the cold. I'm forced to add an extra layer in the form of my ever-dependable MEC fleece. You gotta hand it to that company, they make stuff that endures. Even though I've prepared myself for the year round cold of Yakou, the reality of driving in it remains a challenge. As I pass through the infamous weather changing tunnel, I wonder what the view will be like on the eastern side. The western side usually holds the favourable weather until you hit that dank, creepy tunnel which often leads to gloomy weather on the other side. The weather is already gloomy though so I can't see it getting any worse.
Sure enough, it is marginally nicer on the other side as I am welcomed by the sight of a glorious sea of clouds, immobile and restful. I stop to admire my new setting briefly before cruising down to where the isolated hostel lays nestled on a small plateau.
With Berthe's engine cut for a well-deserved rest, the first thing I notice is a difference in the strength of the wind up here. It's wailing; a worrying factor if I am to spend the night in a tent. I'm already starting to regret not reserving a room. And when I scope the parking lot, I notice the dreaded tour bus. Surely a full bus will fill the hostel. A couple are outside their van checking out the scene as well. It turns out they too are also from Tainan. We go in together and soon learn that they are indeed completely booked. Where is my saviour, Peter, this time around?
As it is only 7 o'clock, I contemplate eating my reserved supper and then making a run for Lidao, the next village over. Not a mouth-watering prospect in the dark, especially after a long day of driving already, but doable. For what though? The sake of comfort? That 's when the stubborn part of my personality, the part that believes strongly in self-sacrifice and and rigorous challenges as a means of learning to live without comforts, takes control. “We're staying. You said you'd tough it out, so tough it out tough guy”. Did I mention that I make it a point to never argue with my personality?
After dinner, I return outside. The couple introduce me to Kevin, their son. They invite me to come over and try some the taro cakes and soup they had been concocting under the shelter. Though freshly full, it would have been rude to not accept. Plus, I was curious to try these reknowned tarot delicacies from Jian Shan I had often seen but never tried. Again, I try to converse with them as much as possible, practising as much Mandarin as I can while the opportunity is there.
Then I set up my tent. I am advised to set up right next to main entrance of the hostel as it is the best place in terms of priority number one: wind protection. Once it's up, I try it on for size by lying down and faking sleep, unconvinced that concrete will provide any sort of rest this night. Beneath my delicate spine and the tent's thin layer of vinyl, I feel only rigidity. Bob Marley's words, "Cold ground was my bed last night/and rock was my pillow too.." spring instantly to mind. I think back to my rainbow waterfall; the sunshine, the elation and freshness of it all and have to question whether or not that was really earlier today. The yin and the yang. I resolve here and now to make the best of it and deal with situation I have put myself into with as much grace as possible.
The couple beckons me over yet again. This time for some sake to warm us up. After my first small cup, the wind suddenly gusts violently and my tent responds by leaping in the air and dazzling us with a lovely pirouette. However the landing is less impressive as it folds over on itself and crumples in an injured heap. I react immediately by mending the minor damage and then gathering four fair-sized pieces of metamorphic rock residing in the neighbourhood and tying them with string to the tent. I return to finish the rest of the sake in this increasingly blistery environment. The family ask if it would be ok to camp out beside me. With all the hospitality and good will they have shown me, do you think I am about to refuse? All I can really offer them in return are some grapes, which I do, and of which the mother eats one out of politeness. Oh well, I can't exactly force them to accept.
For a very long time now, after milleniums of lying awake, invariably woken up each time just as I am on the verge of sleep by a severe feeling of discomfort resulting from the unyielding ground beneath me. I have resisted looking at the time on my cell phone -even though my personality leeps asking if he can check - because I am all too certain that I will see an earlier number that I desire. Each time I get close to sleep, I suddenly realize that if I don't remove my shoulder blade digging into the concrete this instant, I may never regain feeling in it again. I'm cerain this seemingly endless cycle of near sleep and extreme discomfort could only get worse by checking the time, triggering spiralling, negative thoughts of how much longer there is to endure. Why bother counting?
The wind is unrelentless. Often I can hear it howling way off in the distance beforehand,so I prepare for its imminent arrival by bracing myself. Sure enough, when it reaches the tent, it swoops down and sweeps it up in a brash demonstration of power. I can't believe the tent is holding up as well as it is. I decide to dub the tent George, after George Chuvalo the Italian-Canadian boxer who withstood punishing rounds with such boxing legends as Mohammed Ali, Joe Frazier without ever being knocked out.
A gleam of hope perhaps. The noise of awake and chatty people is clearly audible now. Sure it's another source of sleep deprivation, but if people are up and about, then maybe I've survived the interminable night after all. My personality can no longer resist the temptation and reaches for my phone, unable to ignore the time any longer. It reads 4:02. "now why did you have to go do that?" I scold.
A few times during the night, I think of my friends in Tainan. Are they struggling to sleep due to intense +30 degree humid heat while I lay here wondering if I am going to contract hemrrhoids? Ironic! Well, it's almost seven now, so I might as well make my way to the cafeteria and wait for my pre-ordered breakfast to emerge. I take out a book in an effort to stay awake. I'm physically exausted yet strangely, I feel an inner strength. It occurs to me that I did not once feel myself turning negative throughout the entire nocturunal ordeal. Sure, I second guessed my decision and my stubborness in accepting my fate rather than attempting to make it to Lidao, but on the whole I'm happy with how I've dealt with it. Not once have I succumbed to despair as I easily as I could have. This feeling is echoed in the smile I give the curious little boy who keeps interrupting my reading by saying only "hello" and then running off.
A breakfast of eggs, shredded pork, a steamed bun, rice porridge, cabbage and pickled something or other is devoured in record time. Now to decide on the course of my day. High on the list of temptation is renting out a room and making up for valuable lost sleep. Alternatively, I could suck it up and start exploring mountain country. The weather does nothing to ease my decision-making. It remains storm cloudy, cold and windy. I decide to wait it out until 8 o'clock to see if there is a change in the sky by then. Dreary thoughts of returning home -of quitting - undoubtedly brought on by the ominous clouds, start to get seriously entertained.
As I pack George up , an audience- small both in number and in size- consisting of the same curious boy along with his brother and sister watch my every move. They find it tremendously funny every time the wind blows through to mess up the fold and I have to run to repair it. So content were they with the foreigner show that they did not even think of coming down from their comfortable perch to help me out, the little brats! To kill time afterwards, I go back inside and try to read in between dozes.
At 8 am, I make my way to the very front of the hostel grounds to check out the weather again. A shiver runs through me as the cold wind whistles through. I have to crouch low in order to see under the tall pines blocking the view of the valley. Is that sun I see reflecting on the face of the mountain in the valley beyond? I turn around and look behind me. Dark rainclouds pervade. Still unsure. One thing I do know is that I've got to move. “Well, I'm going to get on Berthe, start her up and when I get to the highway, I will either turn right or left and my decision will be made.” Poor Berthe has trouble getting going, evidence that she has also suffered last night.
Paradise re-visited
Sun vs Cloud. Hot vs Cold. Elation vs Suffering. Me vs Personality. These are the major battles so far this trip. It is only on these weekend excursions to the mountains, on my own, that I become more vocal and cast a shadow over my control-obssessive personality. No, that isn't quite right. It's like my personality is hushed by Nature and allows my wisdom to be heard. In the city, my personality is much too distracted by the myriad of city life social activity to be worried about the Big Picture. As splintered a being as we are, we still have much to learn from one another. And because there are no other personalities present to sway, influence and relate to, my personality is all ears for once when I have something to say.
So it is I which gives the commands to turn right, towards the light, when I reach the highway junction. No sooner then I begin to head east does a full dose of sunshine strike the valley brilliantly, supporting my decision immediately. From this particular point on the road, at an altitude of 3000 some odd metres, it is all downhill until you reach the Pacific. I rejoice in slipping the bike into neutral, thereby severely diminshing the noice factor (she is vocal with her raspy voice that Berthe) and increasing the peace. Even after a short stop at the side of the road to inspect a never-before-seen strikingly violet feathery friend, I merely point the bike back onto the sweet path of momentum to get going once again.
It's time for the Neutral Game! The rules are simple: put it into gear and you lose. It means that sometimes you may slow down so much from a slight incline that you come agonizingly close to stopping. A rookie would then be tempted to slip into gear, for speed's sake. But the wily veteran will exert patience, knowing that holding out those few extra metres will reap rewards of steep declines to follow. I stop again at another spot further down where the entire baricade, designed to protect from landslides has been completely wiped out. The remains of the wall can be seen further down in the trees following the sheer drop-off. Mental note: stay humble and aware.
The worries and doubts I had at the top of the mountain disppear as quickly as my motorcycle drops in kilometres. The temperature also plummets rapidly and it isn't long before I can strip off the burdensome layers. My next decision is the following: to go to paradise right away or on the way back from Wulu. My aching body from the interminable night confirms paradise would very much be appreciated as soon as possible. If you recall the Paradise Found monthly, paradise in this region comes in the form of a unique hot waterfall. The water comes down scalding hot in small jets, which in turn form small pools. People have allowed some of the cool river water to seep into those pools to make them just right for a natural hot tub.
I make it down to the gate and pack a half day ration of food. I will be munching on fruit and snacks until dinner. Aside from a parked green BMW, it is all quiet. So quiet in fact, that I strain my eyes to match the machine-like hovering noise that has peaked my curiosity. A squadron of giant bees or wasps have come to check me out. A little bit further down the path, I hear some strange cawing noise. If it's a bird, then it's a strange one. My suspicion is soon confirmed as a band of monkeys greet me with loud noises and snarls from a safe distance. They are a quintet and the reason they may be so agitated is because there is a baby on board. It's rare to see monkeys in the wild in Taiwan (yes people, Taiwan not Thailand) so I'm quite excited to see my distant cousins again. However, they share neither my enthusiasm nor my curiosity so I decide to keep moving, past the pig sty and the unfriendly chained up dogs (I'd be sour too if I were chained up all day), leading to the path down deep into the valley.
The path down to paradise is as steep as I remember. I hope it isn't slippery from the recent rains but it isn't too bad. A few slips and slides, without the away. Once riverside, I decide to give the beemer crew some time alone in paradise. Plus, I am feeling mighty hot and could use a cool down before the spa. I set down my bag and start hopping and skipping over the rocks with an extra zing in my step. Suddenly, as I stand on a massive piece of rock, I flash back to grade 4 at Jeanne Lajoie. I'm playing on the jungle gym, stalled and standing on the green iron bars that are meant to be crawled upon, maintaining perfect balance. When I reopen my eyes, I'm back to this very same spot on top of the rock. No wonder I'm so happy when I come here. This is my natural jungle gym. And I realize that all that training I had at Jeanne Lajoie has made me a fearless climber even now.
I'm careful not to step on the gazzillion tadpoles near the surface as I enter the water. It's ice cold! A refrigerated shock runs through my entire body when I plunge in head first. When I exit the water after a short swim, my back remains icy cold for a good minute. The swim is just what I need. Now I'm hyper-awake. I brew up some tea and let time pass away in a Pooh styleh. A large spider crawls onto my bag. I manage to convince it that my bag will make a poor home. A fat, brown bird comes to say hello. Then the sun and the clouds start their back and forth, brother-sister squabbling about who rules the sky again.
Time to hit paradise. Populating it is a group of youts (gotta say that one a la Joe Pesci). My guess is that they are classmates in their last year of high school. About 6 guys and one girl in total. Funny age. Lots of horseplay, like pulling each others bathing suits off and loud screams when taunting one another to dive into the cold river. How lucky, two sets of monkeys in one day! Just joking, I got along fine with them, all the while remembering that I was very much the same age once upon a time.
It isn't until a quarter the way through the climb back up, feeling my entire t-shirt heavily soaked through and through, that I recall the intensity of the heat and humidity from my previous climbs. Again, the blessing of my upbringing strikes me. I used to go down into Wilcket Creek and find little paths (eventually leading up to Sunnybrook) and spend hours just scrambling up and down them in the dirt. Or, when we would stop for a water break at the fountain on the way back from a bicycle ride, I'd take a quick sip of water and then beeline for the path and sprint up and ski down the path until my parents would call me to leave again. Getting down on all fours is almost as natural as walking to me!
Now back up on the highway, my plan is to continue eastbound, by-passing the town of Lidao and exploring further down into the Wulu Gorge, unchartered territory for me. I apologize in advance for this one, but what a gorge-ous area! It consists of a deep canyon with high walls rising high on either side of the narrow, brilliantly turquoise river. In the distance from where I am now stopped, I can see a road which possibly leads down to the river. However, the longer it descends, the worse the roads gets. Finally, I decide to turn around as I have no intention of getting stuck and stranded on this rarely trodden path. But first, I might as well take a peek just to see how far... At least the distance of Paradise and back and to be honest, my legs are still a bit wobbly from this morning.
On the way back up now, I spot a suspension bridge. Being a heights enthusiast, I must check it out. Wooha, it's up there. When I peer over the edge of the bridge, seeing the 1000 foot of emptyness between me and river and rock, I feel a tinge of excitement. I always get the urge to jump. Not to kill myself mind you, but maybe it's that desire to feel that flying sensation. I hawk a lugey and it takes it about 8 seconds before it hits the river bed. The view is stunning. On the other side of the bridge, there is a staircase. My personality starts to climb again out of curiosity, (or is it addiction?) before I stop the insanity. Have we not had enough gruelling exercise for one day? When I look down at my trembling legs, I know they are grateful for the decision.
Heading back up towards Yakou, the weather turns sour. The rains come and they aren't messing around. I make a quick decision in Yakou to keep driving until I hit Meishan where I can get a room. It will mean an extra 1-2 hours of driving in the cold rain after having driven a fair bit already, too. But it won't be dark and I feel sufficiently energized to do it. And strategically, it will make a huge difference for the drive back tomorrow morning. And so I ride slowly and carefully in the pounding rain. When I finally reach Meishan, it is dark. I am soaked down to the marrow and exhausted from the required concentration of driving in the rain. I settle a room in the otherwise vacant hostel and, once my stuff is hung up to dry, I relish jumping into the womb-like comfort of a hot shower. I stay in that stall much longer than necessary.
I spend a quiet night in the hostel. It's Mother's Day today and luckily, there is a cell phone antennae practically outside my window. The reception is so good that Maman sounds as if she is in the next room. Then I listen to an old Bill Cosby stand up routine before letting the rain massage me into a sleep as deep as the Wulu gorge.
The rain has ceased when I wake up. When I open the curtains, it takes me a good minute to adjust to the light. I feel like a gremlin. The sky appears overcast but leaning more towards clearing up than more precipitation. I eat the last of the supplies: an orange, a star fruit and some young mangoes, before setting off.
The air is magnificently fresh from the rain. I am literally intoxicated from it. The entire time I remain in the mountains, I make sure to consciously inhale as much of this natural air as possible before returning to the city. Lusher than lush valleys are my delight for the first hour or so. I do not rush this part of the journey. I make a stop in Jiashan for a banana milk and some noodles.Then, the fine selection of latin jazz, latin-funk and salsa rhythms propels me home with a wide grin pasted on my face.
Funny, but it isn't until I reach the town of Shinhua, just outside of Tainan, that the heat starts to get to me. All that concrete and lack of greenery makes a huge difference. The traffic and the frantic driving also gets my mountain goat. Why can't everyone just chill? “You all need a trip to the mountains my friends”, I suggest to all the city folk. Nobody listens. Th reality of work, errands and everyday city life slowly consumes my thought process. I can feel the transformation coming on. My personality is about to take over again and there is nothing I can do to stop it. At least, not for the time being. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Movin' on Up
Blasted mozzies! As soon as the temperature heats up even slightly, I'm reminded of how these minute, six-legged creatures - and their incessant buzzing in my ears (nothing, aside from a depleted amte stock, makes me cringe more) and their lump leaving itchy bites on any uncovered section of my body - continue to be the bane of my existence. I'm just hoping for some sweet karmic revenge in the next lifetime. That is how karma works, isn't it? All the suffering inflicted upon you in this life, you get to do back, with interest, in the next one? Hope so coz I've been banking on it with the mosquito in mind...
It's very late or very early, depending on which end of the age spectrum you find yourself. The clock reads 04:14. Darkness still pervades the outside world. The restless nite owls are reaching the climax of their days while the early risers are eagerly beginning theirs. I am neither, or sometimes both; but I happen to be up this time not only because of a mozzie but also due to a rare case of insomnia.
However, and this is the part that strikes me as odd, the lack of sleep isn't driving me crazy the way sleeplessness normally afflicts one. My brain just seems to be alert, and I feel well rested - despite not having properly slept. Can't quite figure it out. I'm not in a worried state of mind. I didn't have any caffeine beyond a morning mate. I even went for a 2 hour bike ride this afternoon where I exerted myself to the fullest so I'm not exercise-deprived either. And yet despite frequent lion-like yawns and seeming fatigue of the body, my brain is as zingy as if it were post-mate. And even with the covers brought right up to the chin (I'll say it again, sub-tropical my ass!), the ever-persistent mosquito, not so much desperate for survival as plain greedy, has managed to pierce into my cheek (twice) and my neck. Enough's enough, you win you blood-sucking little beast!
And so, I take advantage of the special serenity of the dawn of a new day to get down to my long overdue letter.
I'm writing to you from my new home. After over a year of visiting this space I used to call my girlfriend's, I'm slowly getting used to the idea of not calling it “Michele's place” anymore, but, mine too. I moved in at the beginning of March. Not a trying move considering my former house and this apartment are a mere 5 minute walk away from each other. And because of my minimal possessions and lack of anything too big or heavy (i.e fridge, stove, bed etc), I didn't have to hire the infamous blue truck movers (whose little trucks have more of a reputation for bad driving than for moving). Yep, I could feel myself turning Taiwanese as I piled a celiling fan here and a bookcase there onto Michele's tiny hair-dryer-for-an-engine of a scooter. A few equilibrium-challenged zings to and fro pretty much did the trick. One classic trip had me on the back dragging my mammoth suitcase as Michele piloted us slowly through the tiny, zig zaggy streets. The noise from the wheels dragging kept our ears ringing for the rest of the night. I also made several trips on foot, walking through the park and its constants of old folks cold chillin' on the concrete ledge staring - and occasionally glaring - at the atoga while the young kids playing on the jungle gym threw out their "hallo"s each time I passed carrying some different item, be it a kitchen rack, a chair, or a patio umbrella. South Central Tainan baby, keepin' it real in the hood!
Truth be known, Michele and I considered looking for a new place and even went as far as checking a few out. But in the end, the proximity to both the Trees (a small but rare forest next to a farmer's field I've often cited) and the canal (with a stench I've surprisingly grown accustomed to – truly, we humans can get used to anything!), a rare vehicle-free zone close to a giant sports park and a beautiful temple, were the best thing for little Flea. Flea is the impressive-eared street dog Michele nearly hit then decided to rescue two years ago. When she's not rolling in dung or dead animals, she's the cutest thing since Mochichi! I'm already very much enjoying the routine of taking her to the Trees in the morning and then walking off dinner down by the canal at night. It's also pretty special to have someone extremely overjoyed - and genuinely at that – greet me every time I come home. Now if only Flea would take after Michele's behaviour! Yes, the unconditional love and loyalty of the pet dog cannot be overrated – even when she follows my every step around the apt as if her existence depended upon mine. I always wanted a pet shadow.
Getting out of the old place wasn't as smooth as we had envisioned. The landlords, Dr. Tu and his wife, were far nit pickier than I suspected they would be. I knew there was an element of anal retentiveness to their collective personality but when there is no room for compromise or even discussion it can be frustrating. "She's the boss" I can still hear Dr. Tu say with a nervous laugh after his wife would groan out yet another complaint about a missing light bulb or huff and puff because the blinds had a slight bend on one of the layers. Basically, they expected the house to be in the exact same state it was in when it was rented out to us two years ago. And I mean exactly. Admittedly, our lack of regular up keep came back to haunt us but to expect a house to not go through any changes in two years seems a little unreasonable to me. In fact, it downright goes against the laws of physics and Dr. Tu is a man of science...
And even the home improvements we thought we had made came back to bite us in the ass. We replaced the intensely bright living room fixture with a ceiling fan during a moment of heat-induced insanity during our first summer. Instead of simply buying a lamp so as to have light and a fan for the taxing summer ahead, we were required to hire a technician to take it down and put in a new light fixture. We also put in many hours of sweeping, mopping, moving and tossing. Junk piled up outside the house. It didn't take longer than the first item to be carried out before passer-bys were eyeing the unwanted goods and applying on those squeaky brakes in order to get a good look, raid gleeming in their eyes. Dave commented that the locals were a little like the old Cretan ladies scavenging Madame Hortense's place. In the end, it all got done - as it always does - and we got most our deposit back.
Going to the electric and water company proved to be an intersting experience too. Because Dan was back in England this whole time for a funeral (RIP Grandpa), I was by default the chosen one to perform the task of telling them we had moved out due to my fluency in Chinese. Yeah right, as if terms like “meter”, “gauge” and “pay” are even in my vocabulary. And even if I knew those words, there was always the likeliness of getting the tones messed up and end up saying “lizard”, doorknob” and murder” instead.
The first time I went to the water company, it was dark and I wondered whether they were even open. When the fantom appeared out of the corner of the caged payout area, I tried to tell her we wer moving. She gave me a long-winded response, in a mix of Taiwanese and Chinese characteristic of Tainan, of which I understood almost nothing.Thankfully, another customer spoke English and was able to convey her monologue. When I went back the next afternoon, I had to wonder if I was in the same place. It was lit up like a tv set and there was a huge line-up snaking almost out of the building. A far cry from the ghost town from the previous day. Maybe there was some sort of mass refund I hadn't heard about. I joined the cue. Then I realized that it must be because the bills must had been sent out. Bad timing for this lost, little foreigner. Luckily, I ran into a lady I coincidentally knew from a vegetarian restaurant I often go to and she helped find the right desk. After lots of painfully bad attempts at using my Chinese, much shrugging, waiting and uncomfortable laughter following a language stalemate, I was finally shown a number I had to equal in cash. Done.
Sometimes frustrating but often amusing, it remains a daily challenge to live in Tainan.
So far I have been in my new place for about 2 weeks. The apartment has been well-lived in by transitional-minded foreigners for about 5 years now. That translates to lots of accumulated junk. We've got our share of gutting and cleaning ahead of us – a challenge we're ready for. We can both see what we want to do with the place, the vision is there, so it's up to how much time we are allotted by Father Time to do it. The way it's looking as far as Michele's schedule is concerned, the place should be ship-shape sometime in the fall of 2008. She's a busy one these days. No matter, baby steps, right?. Baby steps. Baby steps. (What About Bob? anyone?)
Last weekend was a positive start though as we spontaneously braved cold and rainy weather and an even more severe language barrier (once again) to hit the B & Q (AKA Canadian Tire/Walmart) to buy some paint. This time we had five employees corner us in the aisle. One poor guy, probably from the car part section, got dragged into it because he spoke a few English words. I could see the regret in his eyes for having bragged about his English skills on his resume. After a while, they stopped even talking to us and formed a huddle of their own while Michele and I pretended to look at the different styles of brushes on sale. Somehow we succeeded on our mission and spent the weekend painting what will be our chill out/stretching/guest room. We plan to put tatami mats down with loads of cushions from Bali, a Thai triangle cushion (the bomb for reading) a low table and some lamps for just hanging out. I've been wanting a space like this for a while now.
I might as well describe the rest of the apartment while were on the topic. It is a two-floored place situated on the 9th floor (though is says '10' on the elevator button because the '4' is missing. The '4',of course, is an evil number in Chinese superstition and their equivalent to unlucky 13.) in the "Datung World" complex. The lobby is beautifully adorned with a Japanese garden, amazing rocks and minerals and a lovely pond with all sorts of exotic marine life. Not! It's about as drab as a lobby can be with ugly, antiquitous Christmas and Chinese New Year decorations and a few fake plants. You'd think the guards might spend a little time doing it up since they spend 8 hours just sitting around but apparently it isn't in the job description. However, since the building goes no higher than the 10th floor, I guess that means we live in the penthouse. "You heard me right Weezy, we got ourselves the penthouse", I can just hear George Jefferson exclaim.
The bottom floor consists of the aforementioned soon to be dubbed the Cafe Del Merde chill out room plus another room, yet to be gutted, painted and transformed into an arts room for Michele and the numerous projects she's got bubbling and simmering in her soul but ain't got the time for right now. There is a decent-sized kitchen that spreads out into the salon where we watch ancient episodes of Seinfeld and SCTV on dvd. From the entrance, if you don't go straight into the appartment, you can take the stairs up to the this very little enclave where the computer is set up. Take a left from there and enter the sizeable master bedroom and adjacent bathroom. Outside our room, you can step out onto a massive, tiled rooftop deck which we plan to clean up and maybe set up a garden. After a typhoon, you can see mountains!
Not a bad pad for roughly 350$ Canadian per month, n'est-ce pas?
I'm very happy and excited with this new beginning. Good habits that I've felt I've needed in my life have already started forming, like cooking and cleaning for example. And most of all, I'm living with the girl who brings daily sunshine in my life. Sure, it was a little weird at first but every change for me is strange at first. But then I settle in and get my groove on and it's all good. It's my pattern.
I want to end on that high-pitched note so let's revert back to the mosquito. When I was travelling through Thailand several years ago, I met this hippie-ish traveller who acted as though he had become enlightened because he refused to kill mosquitoes. He said to even hurt these pesty creatures was equal to murder in karmic terms. Another friend who was there jeered and scoffed when he heard this; I was sympathetic to his ideology but also wondered whether he was taking it a bit far. Now I regret not standing up for him. Sure I slagged them blood-sukers to start this off, but that's exactly where the lesson lies. Their annoyance is their lesson just like every bad driver, every tragedy and every perceived mistake you encounter out there. He started to think with his heart and that's what made him see the world in a different light. It's not a better light, but it is a more appropriate, eventually leading to a higher consciousness; a higher form of evolution beyond petty human concerns. Hold on a second, there's something nibbling at my ankles, making it hard for me to type. Slap! Got it! Shit, no killing.
Baby steps, baby steps, baby steps...
oj
It's very late or very early, depending on which end of the age spectrum you find yourself. The clock reads 04:14. Darkness still pervades the outside world. The restless nite owls are reaching the climax of their days while the early risers are eagerly beginning theirs. I am neither, or sometimes both; but I happen to be up this time not only because of a mozzie but also due to a rare case of insomnia.
However, and this is the part that strikes me as odd, the lack of sleep isn't driving me crazy the way sleeplessness normally afflicts one. My brain just seems to be alert, and I feel well rested - despite not having properly slept. Can't quite figure it out. I'm not in a worried state of mind. I didn't have any caffeine beyond a morning mate. I even went for a 2 hour bike ride this afternoon where I exerted myself to the fullest so I'm not exercise-deprived either. And yet despite frequent lion-like yawns and seeming fatigue of the body, my brain is as zingy as if it were post-mate. And even with the covers brought right up to the chin (I'll say it again, sub-tropical my ass!), the ever-persistent mosquito, not so much desperate for survival as plain greedy, has managed to pierce into my cheek (twice) and my neck. Enough's enough, you win you blood-sucking little beast!
And so, I take advantage of the special serenity of the dawn of a new day to get down to my long overdue letter.
I'm writing to you from my new home. After over a year of visiting this space I used to call my girlfriend's, I'm slowly getting used to the idea of not calling it “Michele's place” anymore, but, mine too. I moved in at the beginning of March. Not a trying move considering my former house and this apartment are a mere 5 minute walk away from each other. And because of my minimal possessions and lack of anything too big or heavy (i.e fridge, stove, bed etc), I didn't have to hire the infamous blue truck movers (whose little trucks have more of a reputation for bad driving than for moving). Yep, I could feel myself turning Taiwanese as I piled a celiling fan here and a bookcase there onto Michele's tiny hair-dryer-for-an-engine of a scooter. A few equilibrium-challenged zings to and fro pretty much did the trick. One classic trip had me on the back dragging my mammoth suitcase as Michele piloted us slowly through the tiny, zig zaggy streets. The noise from the wheels dragging kept our ears ringing for the rest of the night. I also made several trips on foot, walking through the park and its constants of old folks cold chillin' on the concrete ledge staring - and occasionally glaring - at the atoga while the young kids playing on the jungle gym threw out their "hallo"s each time I passed carrying some different item, be it a kitchen rack, a chair, or a patio umbrella. South Central Tainan baby, keepin' it real in the hood!
Truth be known, Michele and I considered looking for a new place and even went as far as checking a few out. But in the end, the proximity to both the Trees (a small but rare forest next to a farmer's field I've often cited) and the canal (with a stench I've surprisingly grown accustomed to – truly, we humans can get used to anything!), a rare vehicle-free zone close to a giant sports park and a beautiful temple, were the best thing for little Flea. Flea is the impressive-eared street dog Michele nearly hit then decided to rescue two years ago. When she's not rolling in dung or dead animals, she's the cutest thing since Mochichi! I'm already very much enjoying the routine of taking her to the Trees in the morning and then walking off dinner down by the canal at night. It's also pretty special to have someone extremely overjoyed - and genuinely at that – greet me every time I come home. Now if only Flea would take after Michele's behaviour! Yes, the unconditional love and loyalty of the pet dog cannot be overrated – even when she follows my every step around the apt as if her existence depended upon mine. I always wanted a pet shadow.
Getting out of the old place wasn't as smooth as we had envisioned. The landlords, Dr. Tu and his wife, were far nit pickier than I suspected they would be. I knew there was an element of anal retentiveness to their collective personality but when there is no room for compromise or even discussion it can be frustrating. "She's the boss" I can still hear Dr. Tu say with a nervous laugh after his wife would groan out yet another complaint about a missing light bulb or huff and puff because the blinds had a slight bend on one of the layers. Basically, they expected the house to be in the exact same state it was in when it was rented out to us two years ago. And I mean exactly. Admittedly, our lack of regular up keep came back to haunt us but to expect a house to not go through any changes in two years seems a little unreasonable to me. In fact, it downright goes against the laws of physics and Dr. Tu is a man of science...
And even the home improvements we thought we had made came back to bite us in the ass. We replaced the intensely bright living room fixture with a ceiling fan during a moment of heat-induced insanity during our first summer. Instead of simply buying a lamp so as to have light and a fan for the taxing summer ahead, we were required to hire a technician to take it down and put in a new light fixture. We also put in many hours of sweeping, mopping, moving and tossing. Junk piled up outside the house. It didn't take longer than the first item to be carried out before passer-bys were eyeing the unwanted goods and applying on those squeaky brakes in order to get a good look, raid gleeming in their eyes. Dave commented that the locals were a little like the old Cretan ladies scavenging Madame Hortense's place. In the end, it all got done - as it always does - and we got most our deposit back.
Going to the electric and water company proved to be an intersting experience too. Because Dan was back in England this whole time for a funeral (RIP Grandpa), I was by default the chosen one to perform the task of telling them we had moved out due to my fluency in Chinese. Yeah right, as if terms like “meter”, “gauge” and “pay” are even in my vocabulary. And even if I knew those words, there was always the likeliness of getting the tones messed up and end up saying “lizard”, doorknob” and murder” instead.
The first time I went to the water company, it was dark and I wondered whether they were even open. When the fantom appeared out of the corner of the caged payout area, I tried to tell her we wer moving. She gave me a long-winded response, in a mix of Taiwanese and Chinese characteristic of Tainan, of which I understood almost nothing.Thankfully, another customer spoke English and was able to convey her monologue. When I went back the next afternoon, I had to wonder if I was in the same place. It was lit up like a tv set and there was a huge line-up snaking almost out of the building. A far cry from the ghost town from the previous day. Maybe there was some sort of mass refund I hadn't heard about. I joined the cue. Then I realized that it must be because the bills must had been sent out. Bad timing for this lost, little foreigner. Luckily, I ran into a lady I coincidentally knew from a vegetarian restaurant I often go to and she helped find the right desk. After lots of painfully bad attempts at using my Chinese, much shrugging, waiting and uncomfortable laughter following a language stalemate, I was finally shown a number I had to equal in cash. Done.
Sometimes frustrating but often amusing, it remains a daily challenge to live in Tainan.
So far I have been in my new place for about 2 weeks. The apartment has been well-lived in by transitional-minded foreigners for about 5 years now. That translates to lots of accumulated junk. We've got our share of gutting and cleaning ahead of us – a challenge we're ready for. We can both see what we want to do with the place, the vision is there, so it's up to how much time we are allotted by Father Time to do it. The way it's looking as far as Michele's schedule is concerned, the place should be ship-shape sometime in the fall of 2008. She's a busy one these days. No matter, baby steps, right?. Baby steps. Baby steps. (What About Bob? anyone?)
Last weekend was a positive start though as we spontaneously braved cold and rainy weather and an even more severe language barrier (once again) to hit the B & Q (AKA Canadian Tire/Walmart) to buy some paint. This time we had five employees corner us in the aisle. One poor guy, probably from the car part section, got dragged into it because he spoke a few English words. I could see the regret in his eyes for having bragged about his English skills on his resume. After a while, they stopped even talking to us and formed a huddle of their own while Michele and I pretended to look at the different styles of brushes on sale. Somehow we succeeded on our mission and spent the weekend painting what will be our chill out/stretching/guest room. We plan to put tatami mats down with loads of cushions from Bali, a Thai triangle cushion (the bomb for reading) a low table and some lamps for just hanging out. I've been wanting a space like this for a while now.
I might as well describe the rest of the apartment while were on the topic. It is a two-floored place situated on the 9th floor (though is says '10' on the elevator button because the '4' is missing. The '4',of course, is an evil number in Chinese superstition and their equivalent to unlucky 13.) in the "Datung World" complex. The lobby is beautifully adorned with a Japanese garden, amazing rocks and minerals and a lovely pond with all sorts of exotic marine life. Not! It's about as drab as a lobby can be with ugly, antiquitous Christmas and Chinese New Year decorations and a few fake plants. You'd think the guards might spend a little time doing it up since they spend 8 hours just sitting around but apparently it isn't in the job description. However, since the building goes no higher than the 10th floor, I guess that means we live in the penthouse. "You heard me right Weezy, we got ourselves the penthouse", I can just hear George Jefferson exclaim.
The bottom floor consists of the aforementioned soon to be dubbed the Cafe Del Merde chill out room plus another room, yet to be gutted, painted and transformed into an arts room for Michele and the numerous projects she's got bubbling and simmering in her soul but ain't got the time for right now. There is a decent-sized kitchen that spreads out into the salon where we watch ancient episodes of Seinfeld and SCTV on dvd. From the entrance, if you don't go straight into the appartment, you can take the stairs up to the this very little enclave where the computer is set up. Take a left from there and enter the sizeable master bedroom and adjacent bathroom. Outside our room, you can step out onto a massive, tiled rooftop deck which we plan to clean up and maybe set up a garden. After a typhoon, you can see mountains!
Not a bad pad for roughly 350$ Canadian per month, n'est-ce pas?
I'm very happy and excited with this new beginning. Good habits that I've felt I've needed in my life have already started forming, like cooking and cleaning for example. And most of all, I'm living with the girl who brings daily sunshine in my life. Sure, it was a little weird at first but every change for me is strange at first. But then I settle in and get my groove on and it's all good. It's my pattern.
I want to end on that high-pitched note so let's revert back to the mosquito. When I was travelling through Thailand several years ago, I met this hippie-ish traveller who acted as though he had become enlightened because he refused to kill mosquitoes. He said to even hurt these pesty creatures was equal to murder in karmic terms. Another friend who was there jeered and scoffed when he heard this; I was sympathetic to his ideology but also wondered whether he was taking it a bit far. Now I regret not standing up for him. Sure I slagged them blood-sukers to start this off, but that's exactly where the lesson lies. Their annoyance is their lesson just like every bad driver, every tragedy and every perceived mistake you encounter out there. He started to think with his heart and that's what made him see the world in a different light. It's not a better light, but it is a more appropriate, eventually leading to a higher consciousness; a higher form of evolution beyond petty human concerns. Hold on a second, there's something nibbling at my ankles, making it hard for me to type. Slap! Got it! Shit, no killing.
Baby steps, baby steps, baby steps...
oj
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Above the Clouds
"Above the crowds/ above the clouds/ where the sounds are original/infinite skills create miracles/warriors spiritual/above the clouds raining down/holding it down" -Chorus to Gangstarr's Above the Clouds
I sit on a shaded, miniature bench in the Sports Park on this splendid Sunday morning so reminiscent of the finest day summer has to offer back home. My journal is spread out, my budget pen ready to wield my imprisoned, impassioned feelings and thoughts barely able to contain themselves within any longer, my lemon-honey green tea (iced) standing at attention ready to quench my unrelenting thirst. Flea is sprawled out, patiently waiting, having already relieved herself several times during our walk alongside the canal. I've only had a couple of hours of sleep and yet I feel energized, as if I've slept for ten hours or more. What could possibly explain this phenomenon of not being tired despite a clear lack of sleep?
P P P P P P P Premier P P P P P P P Premier... P P P P P P Premier...
Anyone who has heard a Dj Premier mix tape will recognize. For those poor souls who haven't even heard of Dj Premier (inciting me to wonder what planet you live on) - or Primo as he is known in the game - he simply is the best hip hop dj/producer of all time. You won't find many heads contesting that one. "That's a bit of a pretentious dj name, don't ya think?", was one comment I heard during the week. When I thought about it, Jay was right. It is a braggadocious name. But bigging up oneself is simply part of hip hop. And besides, I challenge anyone to name better dj. With countless classic singles, albums, remixes and beats under his belt, the man is a true champion in the hip hop game. And though it was our birthdays and not Christmas, Dan and I couldn't help singing it, "Dj Pri-mo's comin' to town". And we wondered just what sorts of treats he would be bringing in his vinyl gift sack...
I try desperately to keep my expectations to a minimum. After all, to be perfectly honest, Primo's beats have become somewhat formulaic as of late. And besides, the ghosts of too many disappointing hip hop shows from the past continue to haunt me in the present. The doubts creep in like fog. Won't it be expensive to go all the way up to Taipei just for one night? The cover will be hefty as will be the drink prices. And then there's the fact that the bill is lined up as Premier with emcee Big Shug. For all I know, Big Shug has just released a mediocre album and that's what will be featured. Maybe Premier's set will be cut short and therefore not worth the time and money? Or what if he forgoes the real to play crap club hop - crowd pleasers for the predominantly hip hop unitiated Taipei audience?
(I'm constantly amazed at how my brain works, conjuring up such ridiculous doubts before even experiencing the event. And if it's not thinking of the worst, then it's doing the opposite by fantasizing about the ideallic outcome. Either way, it always seems to stray from the now. Positive or negative, it's clearly dangerous to plant the seeds of expectations. )
But any doubts I had were erased on Friday afternoon when I went into the Shining Radio studio to do my weekly radio show.* An hour long set of DJ Premier produced music was enough to convince me that I had to go. Shit, DJ Premier in Deep Concentration alone was enough to slap me back to the present. Sure, part of me wanted to go for nostalgia's sake. Is that wrong? Is it so wrong to hear the music I love even if it is old school? So long as I don't cling to it, depend on it, and still get turned on by recent joints then I reckon it's healthy. As the day of the concert approaches, one by one, doubts are washed away as swiftly as the incoming tide erases footprints from the shore.
We are giddy on the four hour trip up to Taipei, maxin' and relaxin' on the comfy deluxe He Shin buses. The seats are so broad and massive that even Mr. Incredible's frame would have no trouble snuggling comfortably into them. Small piece of advice though: steer clear of the free water. And once we arrive into the big city, us country bumpkin Tainanians can only stare wide-eyed at the large, bustling boulevards and the fast-paced vibe. We ease into Taipei the right way before deciding on some food at a trendy hot pot spot.
By the time we arrive at the Luxy, it is busy and there is already a sizeable queue. The square-shouldered monkeys in grey suits and girly ties who work the door oversee the queue with painted stern looks. Whenever I see them, I can't help but scoff at these ogres who look and act so ridiculous, almost always giving themselves an air of self-importance. We try the old act-like-you-belong bud-in near the front of the line but we are caught by one of the monkeys, who promptly sends us to the back of the line. "But don't you know who I am?", protests Dj TwoHands. Sorry Dan, no one knows you in the big city. As luck would have it, we coincidentally arrive just after a flock of young Taiwanese hotties wearing practically nothing. Is this a punishment or a reward? Michele is not as impressed as the boys are by this circumstance. Before long, however, they are handpicked to the front of the line by one of the monkeys so our innocent gawking is short-lived. It's been ages since I've had to wait in line to get in somewhere, highlighting the fact that I don't get out much anymore... In any case, after waiting in lines during freezing cold January weather back home, the mild low twenties temperature is certainly bearable on this night.
The Luxy's core is alive to the entropic energy unique to that time frame just prior to live shows. I feel as if it is Christmas Eve, I'm 6 years-old and I can't sleep a wink. The suspense! Even though I have a hunch as to what Santa will give me (after all, I've written an extensive detailed letter outlining my wishlist), the wait is killing me! A local dj is warming up the crowd. He is a good mixer and is clearly enjoying himself up there; however, he's playing the clubtastic hip hop joints for which I normally don't have much patience. And yet, in light of what's to come, I can ignore the ignant lyrics for now while concentrating on acclimatizing myself to the hecticity buzzing all around me. Finally, at around midnight, the opening Taiwanese acts take the stage.
I believe the first group is from Taipei. Not bad. And following them is Tainan's very own MC Dawgy. He's a large boy with kinky big hair. He reminds of Phat Al so I take an instant liking to him. Accompanying him are his dj and another rapper/singer to feed off of. He more than holds his own up there in front of a demanding audience. Of course, I don't know what he is saying. Even if I catch the odd word, that word could have a number of meanings. And beyond the standard Mandarin meaning, what hip hop slang does it symbolize? Maybe it's a good thing as it'll spare me the details of hearing how good he is, how many women he bags after each show and the beatings he duly administered to the other sucka emcees before the show. I can take the emcee bravado if it is put in a creative way - or, if the beat is nice - but when they're clearly taking a piss, well, I have no time for that crap. As far as Dawgy is concerned, I'm keying in on his flow. After all he is a poet and you can hear whether or not he's got a sense of timing and rhythm. And he's got it. Also, it's an amusing challenge to see if I can catch some of the Chinese and even more amusing to try to distinguish between what's Mandarin and Taiwanese. It occurs to me that due to the commonality of identical sounds and words, Chinese has to be one of the easiest languages to rhyme to.
And then it hits me - again. Hip hop is a worldwide phenomenon. I have heard groups from Scandanavia, Japan, South Africa, Brazil etc. and even here in little Taiwan the trend has caught on. There must be something to this music my jazz-obssessed Dad could not tolerate - even when I introduced him to some of the best hip hop jazz fusions (Buckshot Lefonque project, Fresstyle Fellowship). But he was a purist and purists are less inclined towards accepting experimentation. The roots of hip hop steep in creative expression. Especially for youths who have that ravaging desire to break free from the molds forced upon them by society and family, hip hop allows them to release. It's a plausible reason why hip hop is popular among all socio-economic classes - the basic need as human beings to be creative. And what's more, whichever of its elements - djing, emceeing, breaking (dance), graffiti writing - you look at, each one demands spontaneous creativity. In my mind, this spontaneous ability to create is the most underrated aspect of hip hop.
But we've seen her suffer through much change. She used to be young and pretty, with a great sense of humour. Recently however, she has become crusty, aggressive and uncaring as she reaches puberty. She now acts like the teenage rebel who doesn't know herself, who has grown up too quickly, and, unable to face that reality, feels inclined to mount fronts and defenses in order to protect her softer side. Thankfully, there are still some artists out there - names like Talib Kwali, Mos Def and Common, The Grouch spring to mind - who aren't afraid to point out its softer sides and often even make a point of doing so in the name of education.
Another influential hip hop educator is DJ Premier. In an industry obssessed with being real or fake , Gangstarr has always professed keeping it real. Although he didn't preach, Doctor Primo came to deliver a lecture in hip hop 101. Never afraid to speak his mind, he came to Taipei intent on educating and enlightening the Taiwanese crowd. He is more than just a dj and producer. He is well of hip hop knowledge whose source originates from deep in the underground.
The set
Before I talk about the set, a little anecdote:
New York City, June of 2004, 2 hours after the famed power outage.
It is Friday night and we're out on the town looking for something to do. But New York is uncharacteristically - and I hesitate to use this word, but damned if I have to - lifeless. Folks is just staying in their cribs hibernating. After circling around in a cab for anything that looks decent, we finally spot a joint that looks like it has potential. We eagerly jump out to check it out. The small placard out front has the following written in obscene yellow chalk: DJ Premier, $10 cover. I can't believe my luck. I approach the bouncer and ask him if it's for real. "Don't make me pay $10 to see some Primo impersonator, now!". "Come on bro, I ain't frontin', he retaliates. "My man Primo is down there right now spinning some live shit."
I figure a $10 gamble to catch Premier simply spinning in a small club is well worth the risk. Actually, for the little time I spend in NYC, it's worth about $50! When I walk in, sure enough, Primo is up there on the decks. My man Ian goes straight for the bar but I'm not worried about drinking right about now. I mean, the Dj Premier is up there on the loonies and twonies!!!! He mixes in the next song with Primo timeliness and tastefullness. He puts the record back in its sleeve and then I'm suddenly concerned by his next action. "Um, why is he putting all of his records into his carrier box? He's not packin' em away... It can't be...." But it too is. Noooooooooooooo! So close! The bar is dead, he got paid so it must be time to get back to the lab. As Primo passes me, I do the only thing I can do: stick out my fist and say "Yo Primo, respect". Sure enough, he gives me a pound and walks up the stairs and out the door. Secretly, I hope the contact with his hand will somehow transfer some of his dj magic into me through osmosis.
And now, two years later, I'm once again in the presence of the master - though cirumstances are much different. This time, rather than a quaint NY club, I am here in a jam-packed megaclub in Asia. And more importantly, he is taking out his needles rather than putting them away. After the Taiwanese acts, the same loal dj has taken over to play a few tracks while Primo readies himself. As a budding dj, I can't help but put myself in the other dj's position. Can there be any more pressure when mixing than having a legend standing behind you getting ready to take over. My hands are jittering nervously just imagining it was me. Involuntary poop in the pants about...now. I can tell my man is a little unnerved as he isn't quite as loose and carefree as he was an hour ago. Can't blame him. At last he steps up, bringing several records with him. Xiao Jei's and xieng sheng's, the moment you've all been waiting for...
First, a short speech to address the crowd and then he asks us if we're ready. Hmm, let me think about that one. Let's see, I've been listening to the last ten years of your music non-stop in my Ipod all week long, so, yeah, you could say I'm pretty much ready. And by the way, can't you see the Angel Falls of drool flowing from my lower lip? And then the classic beat from "MC's Act Like They Don't Know" drops and we all know that it's on - Primo is in the house!
The first set is nothing but early nineties hip hop classics. One after another, the beats that have made us giddy throughout the years are slapped onto those spinning wheels of steel mixed in Primo's sublime and unique style. The length of each song depends entirely on the next one; some have a short-lived playing time, a mere bar or two to give us a tease of what could have been. It's as if, through his selections, Premier is saying, "Careful not to get too attached because guess what other little surprise I've got in store for you." That's the sign of master. Let them know what they're missing and even hurt them with it intentionally so that when you drop the next one, they'll be even more excited for it. Plus, it's a cunning technique to sow seeds for the next time...
Meanwhile, Primo is making sure we are still with him by encouraging crowd participation through command and repeat. People are slags for being told what to do and I'm no exception. I feel like one of my kindergarten students and Primo is the teacher. Whatever you want me to say, I'll say it. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. Why? Because it's fun and I'm mad for it!!! Oh, here comes another intro to a classic and I'm jumping up and down again in frenetic anticipation. Normally a somewhat subdued dude, I am up there consciously losing it and not giving a damn who sees me! And despite playing footy all afternoon, I jump higher now than I did for any of the headers during the game. Often, it takes only a few notes before I erupt with joy at the prospect of another classic. And not only does he know the words to every song he plays but he unashamedly sings along with them loudly into the mic, encouraging us to do the same. This goes on for an hour or longer before he graciously allows us to rest by inviting Big Shug onto the stage.
Thanks to Big Shug, I had a buffer with which to catch my breath, pee, claim my complimentary drink and wriggle my way back near the front. Big Shug is, well, hai hao (so-so). He's a big boy who likes to talk about being big. Yet he lacks the originality or the stage presence of a gifted emcee. He's not terrible yet neither is he inspiring. I can only assume he is Primo's boy. Primo makes sure to support him as best he can; doing his best with what he's got to work with. This is nothing new however, as he's often worked with emcees whose skills aren't on par with his production talent (um, can you say Group Home).
Now it's Primo's turn again. He takes the mic once again and declares in his steadfast way that he is going to take us back to where hip hop all began. Back to the roots is it? The tingling, the shivers and the newly secreted adrenalin are all instant reactions by my nervous system, responding hastily to the information my brain has processed: in short, here come the breaks!!! So, if he is going back, way back, which song do you think he begins with? Go on, I'll give you a guess. Louis Armstrong? Cab Calloway? Good guesses but we aren't going that way back. Apache? Ooh, another good guess. What was that? Herbie Hancock's Rockit? Best guess yet. Many a dj revert back to the immensely popular Rockit video where they first saw the scratch performed by DJ Grand Mixer DXT as their inspiration for wanting to dj. Well sorry, but you never had a chance. And don't even try to tell me Tears For Fears was your next guess!
Ok, now I can feel you starting to disbelieve. What does Tears For Fears have to do with hip hop? Well, let's not forget that Premier is a hip hop producer, and the only thing a hip hop producer looks for when he or she is making a beat is the sample; as in, a bar or a sound to use found on any given record, no matter how random it may be. Consequently, anything from country, to classical, to 80's pop to Hawaiian ukelele ensembles are game to use in a beat. Primo came to teach that there are indeed no boundaries when it comes to the heart of hip hop. Because it's all about the music. Throughout the remainder of the night, he would refer to what's real and that attitude didn't let up even when he played ACDC's Back In Black, Queen's Another One Bites The Dust, Steve Miller's The Joker, Blondie's Rapture, Rush's Tom Sawyer (a dj fav), Pink Floyd's The Wall (I would have chosen a different Floyd track myself) and even Nirvana's Teenage Spirit wasn't a stretch. And we haven't even touched the funk and soul classics like Jimmy Castor's It's Just Begun and AWB's Pick Up the Pieces and some James Brown joints just to name a few. He drops one bomb after another and I get more excited with each one again. A personal fav is Bob James' Nautilus, a track I had mysteriously been pining for recently...
Then it's back to hip hop to close it out. First a predictable yet always satisfying dedication set to all the fallen rappers. Big L, Ghostface Killah, Biggie, Tupac and Big Pun. Then it's time to show off some of the newest joints. For the finale, I decide to join my buddy Jordan, who has planted himself front and centre. Premier's set is so long (3+ hours) that a good chunk of the crowd has already evaporated by now. We are directly in front of the bass speakers. I'm wading in the intense vibrations the bass-heavy track is providing. And when he throws on the second last track, Dead Prez' Bigger Than Hip Hop, the vibrations intensify tenfold. For all those who are familiar with the song, need I remind you of my location? It certainly gets my vote for one of the sickest bass line in hip hop's story. Jordan and I flash each other a knowing look before hunching over and surfing our heads right down with the beat, lower and lower, until that seemingly fathomless and unending/no beginning bass line shimmies throughout our entire bodies.
Primo then closes out the set with a classic Gangstarr track and, with a bow, he announces that he is done. What? Only 3+ hours? That's it? I'm joking, of course, as I honestly don't think I can take any more. And yet, unbelievably, the drunken Taiwanese youths are demanding more of him. While they chant, "One more, one more", I independently counter it with "No more, no more". When you get hit with the real deal for three hours, jumping, screaming and goin' buckwild with every ounce you've got to give, then the tank becomes empty at some point.
I go up to see Dan, who is now sitting on a stool, rubbing his knee tenderly. Poor Old Man Dan. His bum knee is acting up from all the leaping and bounding. I sink into the seat next to him. "That was an epiphany", he says, practically teary-eyed. Speechless, breathless, I can only nod in agreement. He and I will surely reminisce about this one while playing cards when we're in our eighties...
Xie xie Primo for temporarily lifting me above the clouds, keeping me suspended in time and, most importantly, for blowin' up the spot.
* give a listen, especially you West Coasters at http://fm881.stut.edu.tw:8000 (you will get many ? because it's in Chinese. Click on the third icon from the left (3?) to listen.
Live on Fridays from 1-3 PM local time and rebroadcast Sundays at the same time)
I sit on a shaded, miniature bench in the Sports Park on this splendid Sunday morning so reminiscent of the finest day summer has to offer back home. My journal is spread out, my budget pen ready to wield my imprisoned, impassioned feelings and thoughts barely able to contain themselves within any longer, my lemon-honey green tea (iced) standing at attention ready to quench my unrelenting thirst. Flea is sprawled out, patiently waiting, having already relieved herself several times during our walk alongside the canal. I've only had a couple of hours of sleep and yet I feel energized, as if I've slept for ten hours or more. What could possibly explain this phenomenon of not being tired despite a clear lack of sleep?
P P P P P P P Premier P P P P P P P Premier... P P P P P P Premier...
Anyone who has heard a Dj Premier mix tape will recognize. For those poor souls who haven't even heard of Dj Premier (inciting me to wonder what planet you live on) - or Primo as he is known in the game - he simply is the best hip hop dj/producer of all time. You won't find many heads contesting that one. "That's a bit of a pretentious dj name, don't ya think?", was one comment I heard during the week. When I thought about it, Jay was right. It is a braggadocious name. But bigging up oneself is simply part of hip hop. And besides, I challenge anyone to name better dj. With countless classic singles, albums, remixes and beats under his belt, the man is a true champion in the hip hop game. And though it was our birthdays and not Christmas, Dan and I couldn't help singing it, "Dj Pri-mo's comin' to town". And we wondered just what sorts of treats he would be bringing in his vinyl gift sack...
I try desperately to keep my expectations to a minimum. After all, to be perfectly honest, Primo's beats have become somewhat formulaic as of late. And besides, the ghosts of too many disappointing hip hop shows from the past continue to haunt me in the present. The doubts creep in like fog. Won't it be expensive to go all the way up to Taipei just for one night? The cover will be hefty as will be the drink prices. And then there's the fact that the bill is lined up as Premier with emcee Big Shug. For all I know, Big Shug has just released a mediocre album and that's what will be featured. Maybe Premier's set will be cut short and therefore not worth the time and money? Or what if he forgoes the real to play crap club hop - crowd pleasers for the predominantly hip hop unitiated Taipei audience?
(I'm constantly amazed at how my brain works, conjuring up such ridiculous doubts before even experiencing the event. And if it's not thinking of the worst, then it's doing the opposite by fantasizing about the ideallic outcome. Either way, it always seems to stray from the now. Positive or negative, it's clearly dangerous to plant the seeds of expectations. )
But any doubts I had were erased on Friday afternoon when I went into the Shining Radio studio to do my weekly radio show.* An hour long set of DJ Premier produced music was enough to convince me that I had to go. Shit, DJ Premier in Deep Concentration alone was enough to slap me back to the present. Sure, part of me wanted to go for nostalgia's sake. Is that wrong? Is it so wrong to hear the music I love even if it is old school? So long as I don't cling to it, depend on it, and still get turned on by recent joints then I reckon it's healthy. As the day of the concert approaches, one by one, doubts are washed away as swiftly as the incoming tide erases footprints from the shore.
We are giddy on the four hour trip up to Taipei, maxin' and relaxin' on the comfy deluxe He Shin buses. The seats are so broad and massive that even Mr. Incredible's frame would have no trouble snuggling comfortably into them. Small piece of advice though: steer clear of the free water. And once we arrive into the big city, us country bumpkin Tainanians can only stare wide-eyed at the large, bustling boulevards and the fast-paced vibe. We ease into Taipei the right way before deciding on some food at a trendy hot pot spot.
By the time we arrive at the Luxy, it is busy and there is already a sizeable queue. The square-shouldered monkeys in grey suits and girly ties who work the door oversee the queue with painted stern looks. Whenever I see them, I can't help but scoff at these ogres who look and act so ridiculous, almost always giving themselves an air of self-importance. We try the old act-like-you-belong bud-in near the front of the line but we are caught by one of the monkeys, who promptly sends us to the back of the line. "But don't you know who I am?", protests Dj TwoHands. Sorry Dan, no one knows you in the big city. As luck would have it, we coincidentally arrive just after a flock of young Taiwanese hotties wearing practically nothing. Is this a punishment or a reward? Michele is not as impressed as the boys are by this circumstance. Before long, however, they are handpicked to the front of the line by one of the monkeys so our innocent gawking is short-lived. It's been ages since I've had to wait in line to get in somewhere, highlighting the fact that I don't get out much anymore... In any case, after waiting in lines during freezing cold January weather back home, the mild low twenties temperature is certainly bearable on this night.
The Luxy's core is alive to the entropic energy unique to that time frame just prior to live shows. I feel as if it is Christmas Eve, I'm 6 years-old and I can't sleep a wink. The suspense! Even though I have a hunch as to what Santa will give me (after all, I've written an extensive detailed letter outlining my wishlist), the wait is killing me! A local dj is warming up the crowd. He is a good mixer and is clearly enjoying himself up there; however, he's playing the clubtastic hip hop joints for which I normally don't have much patience. And yet, in light of what's to come, I can ignore the ignant lyrics for now while concentrating on acclimatizing myself to the hecticity buzzing all around me. Finally, at around midnight, the opening Taiwanese acts take the stage.
I believe the first group is from Taipei. Not bad. And following them is Tainan's very own MC Dawgy. He's a large boy with kinky big hair. He reminds of Phat Al so I take an instant liking to him. Accompanying him are his dj and another rapper/singer to feed off of. He more than holds his own up there in front of a demanding audience. Of course, I don't know what he is saying. Even if I catch the odd word, that word could have a number of meanings. And beyond the standard Mandarin meaning, what hip hop slang does it symbolize? Maybe it's a good thing as it'll spare me the details of hearing how good he is, how many women he bags after each show and the beatings he duly administered to the other sucka emcees before the show. I can take the emcee bravado if it is put in a creative way - or, if the beat is nice - but when they're clearly taking a piss, well, I have no time for that crap. As far as Dawgy is concerned, I'm keying in on his flow. After all he is a poet and you can hear whether or not he's got a sense of timing and rhythm. And he's got it. Also, it's an amusing challenge to see if I can catch some of the Chinese and even more amusing to try to distinguish between what's Mandarin and Taiwanese. It occurs to me that due to the commonality of identical sounds and words, Chinese has to be one of the easiest languages to rhyme to.
And then it hits me - again. Hip hop is a worldwide phenomenon. I have heard groups from Scandanavia, Japan, South Africa, Brazil etc. and even here in little Taiwan the trend has caught on. There must be something to this music my jazz-obssessed Dad could not tolerate - even when I introduced him to some of the best hip hop jazz fusions (Buckshot Lefonque project, Fresstyle Fellowship). But he was a purist and purists are less inclined towards accepting experimentation. The roots of hip hop steep in creative expression. Especially for youths who have that ravaging desire to break free from the molds forced upon them by society and family, hip hop allows them to release. It's a plausible reason why hip hop is popular among all socio-economic classes - the basic need as human beings to be creative. And what's more, whichever of its elements - djing, emceeing, breaking (dance), graffiti writing - you look at, each one demands spontaneous creativity. In my mind, this spontaneous ability to create is the most underrated aspect of hip hop.
But we've seen her suffer through much change. She used to be young and pretty, with a great sense of humour. Recently however, she has become crusty, aggressive and uncaring as she reaches puberty. She now acts like the teenage rebel who doesn't know herself, who has grown up too quickly, and, unable to face that reality, feels inclined to mount fronts and defenses in order to protect her softer side. Thankfully, there are still some artists out there - names like Talib Kwali, Mos Def and Common, The Grouch spring to mind - who aren't afraid to point out its softer sides and often even make a point of doing so in the name of education.
Another influential hip hop educator is DJ Premier. In an industry obssessed with being real or fake , Gangstarr has always professed keeping it real. Although he didn't preach, Doctor Primo came to deliver a lecture in hip hop 101. Never afraid to speak his mind, he came to Taipei intent on educating and enlightening the Taiwanese crowd. He is more than just a dj and producer. He is well of hip hop knowledge whose source originates from deep in the underground.
The set
Before I talk about the set, a little anecdote:
New York City, June of 2004, 2 hours after the famed power outage.
It is Friday night and we're out on the town looking for something to do. But New York is uncharacteristically - and I hesitate to use this word, but damned if I have to - lifeless. Folks is just staying in their cribs hibernating. After circling around in a cab for anything that looks decent, we finally spot a joint that looks like it has potential. We eagerly jump out to check it out. The small placard out front has the following written in obscene yellow chalk: DJ Premier, $10 cover. I can't believe my luck. I approach the bouncer and ask him if it's for real. "Don't make me pay $10 to see some Primo impersonator, now!". "Come on bro, I ain't frontin', he retaliates. "My man Primo is down there right now spinning some live shit."
I figure a $10 gamble to catch Premier simply spinning in a small club is well worth the risk. Actually, for the little time I spend in NYC, it's worth about $50! When I walk in, sure enough, Primo is up there on the decks. My man Ian goes straight for the bar but I'm not worried about drinking right about now. I mean, the Dj Premier is up there on the loonies and twonies!!!! He mixes in the next song with Primo timeliness and tastefullness. He puts the record back in its sleeve and then I'm suddenly concerned by his next action. "Um, why is he putting all of his records into his carrier box? He's not packin' em away... It can't be...." But it too is. Noooooooooooooo! So close! The bar is dead, he got paid so it must be time to get back to the lab. As Primo passes me, I do the only thing I can do: stick out my fist and say "Yo Primo, respect". Sure enough, he gives me a pound and walks up the stairs and out the door. Secretly, I hope the contact with his hand will somehow transfer some of his dj magic into me through osmosis.
And now, two years later, I'm once again in the presence of the master - though cirumstances are much different. This time, rather than a quaint NY club, I am here in a jam-packed megaclub in Asia. And more importantly, he is taking out his needles rather than putting them away. After the Taiwanese acts, the same loal dj has taken over to play a few tracks while Primo readies himself. As a budding dj, I can't help but put myself in the other dj's position. Can there be any more pressure when mixing than having a legend standing behind you getting ready to take over. My hands are jittering nervously just imagining it was me. Involuntary poop in the pants about...now. I can tell my man is a little unnerved as he isn't quite as loose and carefree as he was an hour ago. Can't blame him. At last he steps up, bringing several records with him. Xiao Jei's and xieng sheng's, the moment you've all been waiting for...
First, a short speech to address the crowd and then he asks us if we're ready. Hmm, let me think about that one. Let's see, I've been listening to the last ten years of your music non-stop in my Ipod all week long, so, yeah, you could say I'm pretty much ready. And by the way, can't you see the Angel Falls of drool flowing from my lower lip? And then the classic beat from "MC's Act Like They Don't Know" drops and we all know that it's on - Primo is in the house!
The first set is nothing but early nineties hip hop classics. One after another, the beats that have made us giddy throughout the years are slapped onto those spinning wheels of steel mixed in Primo's sublime and unique style. The length of each song depends entirely on the next one; some have a short-lived playing time, a mere bar or two to give us a tease of what could have been. It's as if, through his selections, Premier is saying, "Careful not to get too attached because guess what other little surprise I've got in store for you." That's the sign of master. Let them know what they're missing and even hurt them with it intentionally so that when you drop the next one, they'll be even more excited for it. Plus, it's a cunning technique to sow seeds for the next time...
Meanwhile, Primo is making sure we are still with him by encouraging crowd participation through command and repeat. People are slags for being told what to do and I'm no exception. I feel like one of my kindergarten students and Primo is the teacher. Whatever you want me to say, I'll say it. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. Why? Because it's fun and I'm mad for it!!! Oh, here comes another intro to a classic and I'm jumping up and down again in frenetic anticipation. Normally a somewhat subdued dude, I am up there consciously losing it and not giving a damn who sees me! And despite playing footy all afternoon, I jump higher now than I did for any of the headers during the game. Often, it takes only a few notes before I erupt with joy at the prospect of another classic. And not only does he know the words to every song he plays but he unashamedly sings along with them loudly into the mic, encouraging us to do the same. This goes on for an hour or longer before he graciously allows us to rest by inviting Big Shug onto the stage.
Thanks to Big Shug, I had a buffer with which to catch my breath, pee, claim my complimentary drink and wriggle my way back near the front. Big Shug is, well, hai hao (so-so). He's a big boy who likes to talk about being big. Yet he lacks the originality or the stage presence of a gifted emcee. He's not terrible yet neither is he inspiring. I can only assume he is Primo's boy. Primo makes sure to support him as best he can; doing his best with what he's got to work with. This is nothing new however, as he's often worked with emcees whose skills aren't on par with his production talent (um, can you say Group Home).
Now it's Primo's turn again. He takes the mic once again and declares in his steadfast way that he is going to take us back to where hip hop all began. Back to the roots is it? The tingling, the shivers and the newly secreted adrenalin are all instant reactions by my nervous system, responding hastily to the information my brain has processed: in short, here come the breaks!!! So, if he is going back, way back, which song do you think he begins with? Go on, I'll give you a guess. Louis Armstrong? Cab Calloway? Good guesses but we aren't going that way back. Apache? Ooh, another good guess. What was that? Herbie Hancock's Rockit? Best guess yet. Many a dj revert back to the immensely popular Rockit video where they first saw the scratch performed by DJ Grand Mixer DXT as their inspiration for wanting to dj. Well sorry, but you never had a chance. And don't even try to tell me Tears For Fears was your next guess!
Ok, now I can feel you starting to disbelieve. What does Tears For Fears have to do with hip hop? Well, let's not forget that Premier is a hip hop producer, and the only thing a hip hop producer looks for when he or she is making a beat is the sample; as in, a bar or a sound to use found on any given record, no matter how random it may be. Consequently, anything from country, to classical, to 80's pop to Hawaiian ukelele ensembles are game to use in a beat. Primo came to teach that there are indeed no boundaries when it comes to the heart of hip hop. Because it's all about the music. Throughout the remainder of the night, he would refer to what's real and that attitude didn't let up even when he played ACDC's Back In Black, Queen's Another One Bites The Dust, Steve Miller's The Joker, Blondie's Rapture, Rush's Tom Sawyer (a dj fav), Pink Floyd's The Wall (I would have chosen a different Floyd track myself) and even Nirvana's Teenage Spirit wasn't a stretch. And we haven't even touched the funk and soul classics like Jimmy Castor's It's Just Begun and AWB's Pick Up the Pieces and some James Brown joints just to name a few. He drops one bomb after another and I get more excited with each one again. A personal fav is Bob James' Nautilus, a track I had mysteriously been pining for recently...
Then it's back to hip hop to close it out. First a predictable yet always satisfying dedication set to all the fallen rappers. Big L, Ghostface Killah, Biggie, Tupac and Big Pun. Then it's time to show off some of the newest joints. For the finale, I decide to join my buddy Jordan, who has planted himself front and centre. Premier's set is so long (3+ hours) that a good chunk of the crowd has already evaporated by now. We are directly in front of the bass speakers. I'm wading in the intense vibrations the bass-heavy track is providing. And when he throws on the second last track, Dead Prez' Bigger Than Hip Hop, the vibrations intensify tenfold. For all those who are familiar with the song, need I remind you of my location? It certainly gets my vote for one of the sickest bass line in hip hop's story. Jordan and I flash each other a knowing look before hunching over and surfing our heads right down with the beat, lower and lower, until that seemingly fathomless and unending/no beginning bass line shimmies throughout our entire bodies.
Primo then closes out the set with a classic Gangstarr track and, with a bow, he announces that he is done. What? Only 3+ hours? That's it? I'm joking, of course, as I honestly don't think I can take any more. And yet, unbelievably, the drunken Taiwanese youths are demanding more of him. While they chant, "One more, one more", I independently counter it with "No more, no more". When you get hit with the real deal for three hours, jumping, screaming and goin' buckwild with every ounce you've got to give, then the tank becomes empty at some point.
I go up to see Dan, who is now sitting on a stool, rubbing his knee tenderly. Poor Old Man Dan. His bum knee is acting up from all the leaping and bounding. I sink into the seat next to him. "That was an epiphany", he says, practically teary-eyed. Speechless, breathless, I can only nod in agreement. He and I will surely reminisce about this one while playing cards when we're in our eighties...
Xie xie Primo for temporarily lifting me above the clouds, keeping me suspended in time and, most importantly, for blowin' up the spot.
* give a listen, especially you West Coasters at http://fm881.stut.edu.tw:8000 (you will get many ? because it's in Chinese. Click on the third icon from the left (3?) to listen.
Live on Fridays from 1-3 PM local time and rebroadcast Sundays at the same time)
Saturday, January 1, 2005
3 years and counting
It's the mad 6 o'clock rush in Tainan City as I sit down at one of my semi-regular eateries, a small restaurant enveloped in bamboo at the corner of Minchuan and Kangle streets. I order the usual neo rou mian - gan de (beef noodles - dry) and have a seat at a corner table. In the few minutes it takes for my big bowl of yumminess to arrive, scooters, bicycles and cars zoom in a constant stream of noise, blending together into one single hum. After 3 years in Tainan, I have of course grown accustomed to the chaotic nature of the roads here and yet, as I sit here, quietly observant, I am glad that it still amazes. I haven't lost all sense of reality just yet.
My deep bowl arrives and just as I'm about to pinch my first heap of noodles with the chopsticks, I notice a short, bing lang (beetle nut)chewing man on the road remove the cigarette from his mouth and apply it to the lit end of a group of longish sticks who in turn start to glow. Oh shit, I know exactly what is going to happen now. With somewhat ageing ninja-like reflexes, I set down my chopsticks and place my hands over my ears just as the initial KABLANGs! KABLINGs! and KAPOWs! echo and shake the fragile bamboo walls. Even muted, it is shockingly loud. Have the Chinese finally lauched thier attack? Guess again. It is merely a temple celebration, something witnessed almost daily in this, the traditional and cultural capital of Taiwan. It is a unique place where the ancient superstitions, rituals and traditions now slowly fading in mainland China continue to be practiced faithfully. The noise produced by the firecrackers are meant to either get the attention of the gods or scare them away, depending on the god and the nature of the celebration. With over 80 temples in this old city - each with varied days and times and gods to appease - the setting off of firecrackers in the middle of the street is a common occurrence. Sometimes there is no warning and, driving along minding your own business, one might suddenly run into a blasting zone.
When the mist of smoke finally dissipates, a procession of uniformed men carrying a bouncy alter swing past while the musicians blare out unmelodious music using high-pitched, unfamiliar and strange-sounding instruments. If I were a god, I can assure you that it would drive me away very quickly. And then, as the tune fades into the distance, it's suddenly over. I take a second, shell-shocked. At last, when I am sure it is safe, I remove my paws from my ears. I glance over to the owner of the restaurant. She simply shakes her bandana-wrapped head and her face, so full of stories, shows obvious disgust for the ritual she and her poor, little restaurant are subjected to so frequently. I pick up my two wooden sticks and resuming my business of eating. After unabashedly sucking up my noodles in a manner any North American child would be scolded for at the table - yet perfectly accepteable here - I take 5 minutes to watch the old , classic kung fu flick they are running on a big screen outside the temple before going off to work. Apparently, the gods enjoy a good laugh and kung fu just as much as us mortals...
Yes, I am certainly back in Taiwan. My trip to Tibet - the subject of my latest semi-yearly - is quickly becoming a vague memory already. When we came home at the end of September, after such a long time "off", it was a bit strange to be back in the modern world. Back to cell phones, hectic driving, pseudo work, social engagements, daily responsibilities etc. Back to the hecticity in the hectic city which I consider home for now. In other words, back to anything but the simple lifestyle we had been enjoying during our 6 weeks of travel in the remote region of Kham in eastern Tibet. I admit that I've been overwhelmed by the intensity compared to the relaxed pace of Tibet.
Having much too much on our plates immediately upon return, October was a blur. Things calmed down in November and I began to have the time to write things down but progress has been slow due to the sheer amount I would like to write versus what you good folks have the time to read. And here we are in December with Christmas already come and gone and New Year's celebration tomorrow! Autumn and its sublime weather whizzed by with winter coming much too early as always. Don't laugh. We may not get temperatures that dip below freezing but riding a motorcycle at 40km/h into strong headwinds in low teen, humid temperatures is pretty damn cold. On the chilliest of nights, long johns and gloves are essential. And it's important to note that in Taiwan there is no such thing as central heating; the walls are concrete and there are no carpets to keep our feet warm. Slippers are worn at all times. The air in the apartment is colder than the air outside. Flea and Michele shiver constantly. For a few days, the wind howled relentlessly. People complain about the cold much the same as they do back home.
But we got our first taste of winter back in August when the snow was just starting to cover the tops mountains outside of our tent, pegged down at roughly 4200 m, just outside Siqu town. Ahhh, Tibet. By far one of the most intriguing places I've been to, perhaps due to my immense curiosity I had for its people and geography even before departing. My already notoriously long letters would be dwarfed by the prospect of sharing the entire trip. What I will do is attach a snippet of adventure so you can at least get an idea. I will include a short piece I submitted to a local magazine (Kham Adventure) and the extended raw dog mix for all my hardcore readers (Adventures).
As it is holiday season, many of you should have the time to print it up and read it at your convenience; maybe even in front of the fire (I feel a sudden surge of envy). Wish I could be there in person with each and every one of you, glass of rum n' eggnog in hand, to further explain or better yet show you the stack of pictures to go along with it. Speaking of which, a few weekends ago, Michele had a phenomenally successful charity photo exhibition where she featured 25 of her photos from the thousand+ she took on the trip. Not only did she sell over half of them (blown up and framed), but she also managed to raise a lot of money for two separate orphanages we visited while in Tibet. I'm so proud of ma Belle Michele. Watch out, the girl's got talent oozing out of her!
As we embark upon this new year, I shan't pepper you with the usual malarky about bettering yourselves or resoluting till the yaks come home. I simply wish you all the best for the rest of your friggin lives!
Happy holidays my friends/Joyeuses fetes mes amis
oj
My deep bowl arrives and just as I'm about to pinch my first heap of noodles with the chopsticks, I notice a short, bing lang (beetle nut)chewing man on the road remove the cigarette from his mouth and apply it to the lit end of a group of longish sticks who in turn start to glow. Oh shit, I know exactly what is going to happen now. With somewhat ageing ninja-like reflexes, I set down my chopsticks and place my hands over my ears just as the initial KABLANGs! KABLINGs! and KAPOWs! echo and shake the fragile bamboo walls. Even muted, it is shockingly loud. Have the Chinese finally lauched thier attack? Guess again. It is merely a temple celebration, something witnessed almost daily in this, the traditional and cultural capital of Taiwan. It is a unique place where the ancient superstitions, rituals and traditions now slowly fading in mainland China continue to be practiced faithfully. The noise produced by the firecrackers are meant to either get the attention of the gods or scare them away, depending on the god and the nature of the celebration. With over 80 temples in this old city - each with varied days and times and gods to appease - the setting off of firecrackers in the middle of the street is a common occurrence. Sometimes there is no warning and, driving along minding your own business, one might suddenly run into a blasting zone.
When the mist of smoke finally dissipates, a procession of uniformed men carrying a bouncy alter swing past while the musicians blare out unmelodious music using high-pitched, unfamiliar and strange-sounding instruments. If I were a god, I can assure you that it would drive me away very quickly. And then, as the tune fades into the distance, it's suddenly over. I take a second, shell-shocked. At last, when I am sure it is safe, I remove my paws from my ears. I glance over to the owner of the restaurant. She simply shakes her bandana-wrapped head and her face, so full of stories, shows obvious disgust for the ritual she and her poor, little restaurant are subjected to so frequently. I pick up my two wooden sticks and resuming my business of eating. After unabashedly sucking up my noodles in a manner any North American child would be scolded for at the table - yet perfectly accepteable here - I take 5 minutes to watch the old , classic kung fu flick they are running on a big screen outside the temple before going off to work. Apparently, the gods enjoy a good laugh and kung fu just as much as us mortals...
Yes, I am certainly back in Taiwan. My trip to Tibet - the subject of my latest semi-yearly - is quickly becoming a vague memory already. When we came home at the end of September, after such a long time "off", it was a bit strange to be back in the modern world. Back to cell phones, hectic driving, pseudo work, social engagements, daily responsibilities etc. Back to the hecticity in the hectic city which I consider home for now. In other words, back to anything but the simple lifestyle we had been enjoying during our 6 weeks of travel in the remote region of Kham in eastern Tibet. I admit that I've been overwhelmed by the intensity compared to the relaxed pace of Tibet.
Having much too much on our plates immediately upon return, October was a blur. Things calmed down in November and I began to have the time to write things down but progress has been slow due to the sheer amount I would like to write versus what you good folks have the time to read. And here we are in December with Christmas already come and gone and New Year's celebration tomorrow! Autumn and its sublime weather whizzed by with winter coming much too early as always. Don't laugh. We may not get temperatures that dip below freezing but riding a motorcycle at 40km/h into strong headwinds in low teen, humid temperatures is pretty damn cold. On the chilliest of nights, long johns and gloves are essential. And it's important to note that in Taiwan there is no such thing as central heating; the walls are concrete and there are no carpets to keep our feet warm. Slippers are worn at all times. The air in the apartment is colder than the air outside. Flea and Michele shiver constantly. For a few days, the wind howled relentlessly. People complain about the cold much the same as they do back home.
But we got our first taste of winter back in August when the snow was just starting to cover the tops mountains outside of our tent, pegged down at roughly 4200 m, just outside Siqu town. Ahhh, Tibet. By far one of the most intriguing places I've been to, perhaps due to my immense curiosity I had for its people and geography even before departing. My already notoriously long letters would be dwarfed by the prospect of sharing the entire trip. What I will do is attach a snippet of adventure so you can at least get an idea. I will include a short piece I submitted to a local magazine (Kham Adventure) and the extended raw dog mix for all my hardcore readers (Adventures).
As it is holiday season, many of you should have the time to print it up and read it at your convenience; maybe even in front of the fire (I feel a sudden surge of envy). Wish I could be there in person with each and every one of you, glass of rum n' eggnog in hand, to further explain or better yet show you the stack of pictures to go along with it. Speaking of which, a few weekends ago, Michele had a phenomenally successful charity photo exhibition where she featured 25 of her photos from the thousand+ she took on the trip. Not only did she sell over half of them (blown up and framed), but she also managed to raise a lot of money for two separate orphanages we visited while in Tibet. I'm so proud of ma Belle Michele. Watch out, the girl's got talent oozing out of her!
As we embark upon this new year, I shan't pepper you with the usual malarky about bettering yourselves or resoluting till the yaks come home. I simply wish you all the best for the rest of your friggin lives!
Happy holidays my friends/Joyeuses fetes mes amis
oj
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