The Bala Daily - 巴樂日報

全線預備！ Ready down the line! - Part 2

2011-11-23T16:44:00.001+08:00

Continued from Part 1.

"Morale sound off!" (「精神答數!」), the officer of the day yelled. We chanted out the cadence based on Chiang Kai-shek's list of qualities a good soldier should have, interspersed with shouts of "LOUDER!" (「大聲！」) from our drill sergeants...

「雄壯！」 (Honorable)

「威武！」 (Majestic)

「嚴肅！」 (Solemn)

「剛直！」 (Upright)

「安靜！」 (Silent - somewhat ironic since we were hollering at the top of our lungs)

「堅強！」 (Enduring)

「確實！」 (Precise)

「速決！」 (Expeditious)

「沈著！」 (Taciturn)

「忍耐！」 (Persevering)

「機警！」 (Vigilant)

「勇敢！」 (Courageous)

It was a beautiful day in southern Taiwan. We marched down the road from base, passing through orchards of mango, guava, and bananas. Finally, we stopped at the calibration range beside the road, surrounded by trees, with paper targets pasted to wooden stands behind which was a large earthen barrier. Forming into waves of 12, we lined up behind our designated targets. Clearing our rifles as we had been instructed, we held our unloaded rifles upright in both hands with firing bolts locked.

Our battalion CO, a lieutenant colonel, raised his bullhorn:

"Attention! Commencing live fire target practice in 5 minutes. All nonessential personnel clear the target area."

"Remember", our drill sergeant told us as he handed out foam earplugs, "we've been through the procedure dozens of times already. When called you will proceed to your firing alley. Do not load until instructed. You will fire two volleys of 3 shots each. After firing you will examine the target with the sergeant next to you. The recruit behind you will paste a new paper shooting target after you finish examining the results of your second volley. You will then take your used paper target, clear your rifle again, hand your bulletproof vest to the next recruit in line, and proceed to the analysis area off to the side. Also, the shock waves will be more intense as they bounce off the ground, so you can get away with sussing just a single earplug in your left ear."

A warning siren sounded. The battalion CO began issuing orders:

"Shooters proceed to firing points!" (「射手上把台！」)

I marched up to my firing point along with the rest of my wave of recruits and stood at attention, rifle held upright in both hands.

"Prepare for target practice in lying position!" (「臥射預備！」)

"Preparing for target practice in lying position!", we yelled, taking a step to the left and dropping onto the ground.

"Load three bullets, release bolt!" (「三發子彈，送上槍機！」)

"Loading three bullets, releasing bolt!", I yelled while inserting the filled magazine (oooh, heavy) the sergeant provided and pushing the bolt release catch on the side of our rifles. The drill sergeant next to me knocked the back of my helmet.

"What is this, a confidence building session? Shut up and just perform the moves."

"Ready on the left!" (「左線預備！」)

I flipped the selector switch from S to 1 (single shot), and tried sighting the target.

"Ready on the right!" (「右線預備！」)

I sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep my hands steady as I extended my finger over the trigger.

"Ready along the line!" (「全線預備！」)

I slowly curled my finger backwards, the trigger gave easily enough as I slowly pulled. Odd, when is it going to-

POP!

My ears were momentarily overloaded as the rifle recoiled backwards. Up close, the sound was more of a very loud sharp popping noise, rather than the bang that I had been expecting.

Two more shots to go.

POP!

POP!

By the third shot, both my ears were ringing. I could barely hear the sergeant next to me as the cease fire order was issued. We all safety-ed our rifles, placed them down, then walked towards our targets as a range safety officer stood waving a red warning flag.

"Not bad. Your shots came pretty close to where they should be at this distance, and they're clustered closely together, so it looks like your aim hasn't shifted too much between shots."

Between the recoil, the loud pops, and the increasing blurriness in my right eye, I eventually settled in an odd sense of zen like calm as I fired off the second volley.

I was jerked back into reality by the sergeant next to me slapping my helmet.

"You're empty, you can stop pulling the trigger now."

We rose, picked up our rifles, did a left face, and walked off the firing points to the sides where we cleared our rifles. Carrying our target papers, we tried to listen as a sergeant came up with suggestions on how improve our shooting technique, while the rest of the company took their turns. There was a minor incident where one recruit apparently couldn't tell the difference between the 1 and the A on his selector switch, and ended up with the dubious honor of being the only person in our company who ever fired a rifle on full auto.

I noticed absent-mindedly how the shots sounded less like pops, and more like dull thuds from a distance. High frequency acoustic waves are probably damped more easily than low frequency waves, the physicist in me thought.

Everything else went by in a blur. In no time at all, it seemed, we were marching back to base through a light rain, our rifles tucked under our ponchos.

"Keep marching. The CO has ordered the kitchen to make ginger soup for lunch today."

Ginger soup (薑湯, note: link goes to failed civilian procedure) is a bit of a tradition in the ROC military whenever cold weather (by Taiwan standards) or getting drenched in the rain is involved. The procedure for making it is fairly simple, as our drill sergeants relayed it: take the oldest, most gnarled chunk of ginger root you can find. Whack it a few times with the blunt side of a heavy cleaver, then throw it into a pot of boiling water. Boil down till the liquid is reduced by about half. Saturate the final liquid with as much rock sugar as physically possible. The resulting concoction burns all the way down, and is a folk remedy for the common cold.

As lunchtime drew near, those of us in the mess squad marched down to the mess hall with the usual baskets of trays and utensils, as well as the large pots of food from the kitchen. A couple of us hauled down two large pots filled with the steaming hot ginger soup to be served to the company.

Unfortunately, news of the ginger soup was not successfully relayed to everyone in the mess squad. One overtly enthusiastic recruit promptly poured both pots out as food waste before they could be served.

The CO was not pleased, to say the least.

全線預備！ Ready down the line! - Part 1

2011-11-22T07:48:00.001+08:00

You can repair almost anything with blousing rubbers (綁腿).

In Taiwan military parlance, certain individuals are referred to as "heavenly soldiers" (天兵, pronounced: tien bing), as in "Good heavens, where did this idiot come from?" This is often used as an adjective: "When did the head of 1st squad get so heavenly?" (「一班的班頭什麼時候變那麼天啊？」)

And they say that Asians don't get sarcasm...

By our fourth day of real training, the heavenly soldiers (technically we were all airmen, but the Chinese term doesn't distinguish between service branches) in our company were fairly well known to everyone. Like Dwa Koh (大軀, Taiwanese for Fatty) over in 1st squad who managed to break 3 folding stools by sitting on them: real heavenly. Or that small vegetarian kid who tried whistling at a female sergeant major in the mess hall the other day: if he were any more heavenly they'd be paying him with ghost money.

We weren't entirely convinced that they really were that dense. It was widely suspected that many knew full well what they were doing, but choose to act idiotically either out of personal amusement, or as a practical way of escaping extra duties after the drill sergeants classified them as unreliable idiots. They also provided the very useful function of deflecting the unwanted attention of our superiors from the rest of us.

It is always useful to have a few heavenly soldiers in your company to act as decoys for the ire of your superiors.

Our first day of live fire target practice came within a week of the start of our training. Up till then, we had endured countless drills on basic targeting, T65-K2 rifle maintenance, and the target practice SOP. The previous night, our CO had warned us that we would depart for the 25 meter calibration range first thing in the morning. "I strongly suggest that you sleep in your BDUs, and have everything ready to go once you wake up in the morning", he said.

The wake up call came as usual at 0530, though most of us had been up by 0510, folding our blankets and mosquito nets, arranging our bunks, and doing everything we could to prepare short of stepping onto the barracks floor (strictly forbidden before 0530). At the moment the wake up call sounded, I hit the floor, slipped into my boots, bloused my pant legs, and began the process of donning all the gear that we'd been issued since induction, mentally checking off the items as I strapped them on ...

M-1 helmet... check.

Gas mask in carrying pouch strapped to shoulder and waist... check.

Utility belt (now containing my canteen, two ammo pouches with four empty magazines, bayonet in scabbard, and a pouch with a copy of the ROC Army Basic Infantry Manual)... check.

ID badge with colored dot denoting the proper day of week... check.

Shovel jammed into the space between my belt and back... check.

Rain poncho stuffed behind the shovel... check.

Folding chair hooked onto my belt over the canteen and infantry manual... check.

There was a loud crash, followed by cursing as the recruit we would dub Brother Elevator (電梯哥) fell out of his second level bunk, while folding his blanket. I moved on to the list of things to check before leaving the barracks...

Locker properly arranged in order of BDUs and workout uniform, with arms neatly tied behind... check.

Everything else thrown into the bottom of the locker and neatly covered with a towel draped from blousing rubbers hooked exactly 20 notches from the bottom... check.

No easily visible trash on the floor... check.

I joined the cascade of recruits dashing out of the barracks to muster on the company assembly grounds outside before the deadline at 0540.

"Hey, you did remember to shut the upper windows right?"

"What? I thought you did that!"

"No, I thought you did."

"幹!" (F__K!)

I dashed back inside the barracks past the last of the recruits charging in the opposite direction, clambered onto the top bunks, and slammed the upper windows closed in our squad's section. I then attempted to leap down gracefully onto the floor.

Unfortunately, the handle of my shovel caught on the top bunk, and I ended up landing on my side and rolling like a paratrooper hitting the ground, eventually coming to a stop at the feet of my squad leader.

"Get off the floor and get outside with everyone else!"

I dashed out the door just as the officer of the day started to take roll. One recruit from 1st squad was standing in front of the company with three fingers pointed in front of his face on one hand, and two on the other - he had apparently been shifting his weight from one leg to another, colloquially known as a 3/7-ths stance (三七步).

Swallowing a deep breath, I ran in front of the officer of the day, did an about right, and pulled off the snappiest salute I could manage...

"Reporting sir, New Recruit ___ requests to join formation." (「報告值星官，新兵___請示入列！」)

"Why are you late?"

"Reporting sir, I was closing the windows in the barracks."

He glared at me for what looked like an eternity, as the rest of the company stared on in silence. I prayed that he was in a good mood.

"Join ranks. And don't forget to close the windows in the future."

Relieved at having dodged this bullet, I joined formation. Our rifles were issued after a quick breakfast of stewed pork in steamed buns (割包). Slinging the guns over our shoulders, we marched off base towards the range.

Continued on Part 2.

POA

2011-11-13T03:28:00.001+08:00

"Hey, why isn't G doing dishes with the rest of us?"

"Didn't you hear? He said he injured his leg or something, so he's in POA's office for further observation. He's temporarily excused from mess squad duties."

In Taiwan, every company level military unit has a resident psychologist / counselor. The counselor, almost always a junior officer, provides chaplain-like functions, personnel decisions based upon aptitude testing, morale boosting activities, and provides a sympathetic ear to the junior enlisted troops. In most units, the counselor acts as the good cop to the CO's (commanding officer) bad cop.

The counselor's official title is 輔導長 (lead counselor). In practice, he/she is almost universally referred to as "POA" (noun, pronounced "poe-eh"). I used to think that POA was an acronym for something. Turns out, like many slang terms in Taiwan, its an English transliteration of the Taiwanese nickname for the counselor: 輔仔.

I have seen good officers and lousy officers. However, my experience with the POA's at all my units has been universally positive. It is a thankless position - often dealing with draftees with various real or imagined physical or psychological disorders. I haven't yet met a POA who didn't at some point go the extra mile for the troops under their charge, many of whom in no way deserved the level of courtesy that POA showed them.

Our POA was a young female 1st Lieutenant, whom most people would describe as "kind of cute". As far as the new recruits in our company, deprived of cell phones, outside company, and subject to round-the-clock military discipline, were concerned, she might as well have been a supermodel. POA was almost always working overtime dealing with the various criseses associated with new conscripts - more than one of whom admitted faking some condition just to spend time excused from training, and in her presence.

Although as conscripts none of us were interested in a military career, most of us (either through pride, ego, or loyalty to our fellow recruits) had decided to see the whole thing through by this point. Nonetheless, the ROC military does leave a way out for individuals with pre-existing or acquired physical or psychological conditions. This is referred to as 驗退 (medical discharge after examination), and is attainable only after a lengthy process of appeal and examination by a military doctor.

"Hey, why is G still gone? He's been in POA's office for two days now."

"Didn't you hear? POA sent him off to the military hospital in Kaohsiung along with the rest of the sick bus this morning so he could get his leg X-rayed."

Although receiving such an early discharge was often the subject of jokes between us ("Hey, run over my foot with the wheelbarrow so I can apply for a medical discharge"), few actually considered intentionally pursuing it. For a few however, getting out early via a medical discharge was an appealing prospect.

"Hey, did you hear about what happened to G at the hospital today?"

"No. And why isn't he back here by now? I had to handle his cleaning duties on top of mine today."

"They say he went nuts at the hospital. Suddenly started ranting, foaming at the mouth, and peeing all over the floor. Said he wanted to kill himself."

"WTF? He was perfectly normal when he left."

"The docs there want to hold him in the psych ward for a week or so for further observation."

"That asshole... so we have to do his work for him now, while he gets to lounge around in bed all day?"

G would eventually return to the mess squad two weeks later, the doctors having decided that his "mental breakdown" was a farce. His efforts were not all for naught however, as he did recieve a consolation prize: his leg was enough to earn him a "full stop" (全休) to most physical training. Along with individuals with similar classification, he was still required to serve his full service term, but would be exempt from nearly all PT and field training. To balance this out, the squad formed by such individuals ended up being assigned to handle various menial tasks to free up other recruits. As a result, those of us in the mess squad finally got to participate in morning PT with the rest of the company.

As a conscript, slacking off, or "drifting" (飄) as its referred to colloquially is a time honored tradition. However, the biggest corollary to this is Thou Shalt Not Inconvenience Thy Fellow Conscripts Through Thy Slacking Off. Individuals repeatedly violating this find themselves rapidly ostracized from the rest of the group, as their assigned workload would have to be picked up by someone else. Consequently, individuals acquiring full stop or medical discharge status are viewed with suspicion by fellow troops and officers alike. Individuals known to have done so fraudulently are held in very low esteem by everyone. G's reputation amongst the rest of the recruits would never fully recover.

Despite this, there was always a steady trickle of individuals who would attempt to follow the same path (there are tons of discussions online on how to do this). I would often run into them while delivering their meal trays to POA's office at mealtime, where they sat lounging around.

"So, what's your story?"

"I sprained my ankle during field exercises."

"Oh, sorry to hear that. Get well soon."

"Oh no. I plan to stay crippled for as long as I can so I can keep skipping PT."

"Oh. Well, best of luck not getting well soon."

"Thanks. So, what happened today after I left?"

"Oh, the usual. Sorry, got to head back to the mess hall, still more work to be done there."

你是哪裡人？ "And where are you from?"

2011-11-10T19:18:00.004+08:00

"... and to be honest, as section leader, my first impression of your class has been very very poor."

As one of the most senior NCOs in our training company, we typically addressed the staff sergeant (E-6) by his position, as is common in the ROC armed forces: section leader (組長). Word was, he'd been in the Army for 12 years. He stared at us with a look that seemed to mix disdain with general apathy - his usual attitude toward us new recruits. This had a tendency of changing on select occasions. Our first introduction to him was in the mess hall when one of the mess squads from an adjacent company failed to don surgical masks while dishing out chow. The explosion of profanity and clang of trays being thrown frisbee-style across the room could be heard throughout the building.

Now, we were gathered around him in a semicircle, sweating in full combat gear, for our first real introduction to using our T-65K2 assault rifles for their intended purpose... namely, passing our final qualification exam at the end of basic training.

"Your objective will be to land 4 out of 6 rounds within the designated target area at 175 meters during your final exam (監測) at the end of basic training. In a few days, you will have your first target practice outing, firing at calibration targets at a distance of 25 meters - a piece of cake."

He paused for dramatic effect...

"We will now practice for your first outing using simulated targets at 25 meters. You may rest your unloaded rifles on sandbags while in the lying position that you will be assuming at the firing range. You will follow a precise procedure at the range that we will practice now...

Listen up. After the first round is fired your IQs will go from 60 to 30. After the second round, they'll go negative."

We lined up behind half a dozen sandbags placed on the ground, next to several foam mats. Wooden targets resembling an inverted U were placed some distance away.

"Now I hope you've been reading the material we've issued you to carry around in your pockets. What trajectory does a bullet take upon leaving the muzzle of your rifle?"

*Long pause*

"Are you all mutes or something?"

"Reporting sergeant! A parabolic trajectory!" (「報告組長，拋物線！」), a rather brave (and obese) recruit yelled.

"And where are you from?" (「你是哪裡人？」)

"Reporting sergeant, New Taipei City!" (「報告組長，新北市！」)

"What, are you from everywhere in New Taipei?" (「怎樣，全新北都是你家喔？」)

"Reporting sergeant, Tamsui!"(「報告組長，淡水！」)

"Tamsui? Looks like you've been eating too much A-gei (a Tamsui specialty dish consisting of noodles wrapped in tofu)" (「淡水？我看你是啊給吃太多。」)

Sarge proceeded to go down the line, asking everyone where they were from, and coming up with a specific insult corresponding to each.

"Now listen up. Since your bullets will not be flying in a straight line, at 25 meters your bullets should fall about 2.4 centimeters below the target if your aim is true."

We then proceeded to act out the standard operating procedure for target practice:

"Prepare for target practice in lying position!" (「臥射預備！」)

"Preparing for target practice in lying position!", we yelled, taking a step to the left and dropping onto the mats, while resting the stocks of our rifles on the sandbags pointed towards the target.

"Load three bullets, release bolt!" (「三發子彈，送上槍機！」)

"Loading three bullets, releasing bolt!", we yelled while inserting an empty magazine and pushing the bolt release catch on the side of our rifles.

The bolt snapped forward with a satisfying metallic clack, which would have chambered a bullet from the magazine, had there actually been any. If you've ever seen an action movie where a character slaps the side of his rifle after inserting a new magazine, this is what he was doing. We were expressly forbidden from slapping our rifles (Too much potential for weapons damage, our company commander had said).

"Ready on the left!" (「左線預備！」)

"Disengaging safety" (「開保險！」)

"Ready on the right!" (「右線預備！」)

"Taking a deep breath!" (「深呼吸！」)

"Ready along the line!" (「全線預備！」)

"Opening fire!" (「開始射擊！」)

A series of clicks echoed along the line as everyone pulled their triggers.

"You should press the stock of your rifles to your chest during target practice, since your aim will tend to shift when pulling the trigger. We will practice by placing NT$1 coins (about the size of a US penny) on the barrels of your rifles. If you are holding your rifles steady, the coin should not fall off when you pull the trigger.

You will continue this exercise until you have pulled the trigger 20 consecutive times without the coin falling off the barrel."

We proceeded to do just that. Sweating in my steel helmet and long sleeved BDUs in the tropical heat and humidity, I yanked the charging lever of my rifle backwards to cock the firing pin. Another recruit placed placed an NT$1 coin on the barrel. I inhaled and held my breath, and carefully lined up the sights on my rifle, before gently squeezing the trigger using the second joint of my index finger as we were instructed...

Click.

By luck, or by skill, the coin stayed put. Maybe I'd get the hang of this after all.

I repeated the process meticulously, sweat starting to pool up under the lining of my helmet. Taiwan still uses the classic US M1-style steel helmet in basic training and other roles where looks or budgets are at a premium (eg. the honor guard). While being heavier and providing less protection than the newer Kevlar versions, it is unmistakably more stylish in a Saving Private Ryan-sort of way.

Click.

And again.

Click.

By now, sweat was running down my face, the rim of my helmet was sliding down over my eyes, and I was struggling to keep my eyes open through the stinging sweat and the increasing blurriness from keeping my right eye open. (Remember, you only have about 15 seconds of effective vision when sighting your target, sarge had warned.)

Click.

Click. CLINK!

The unmistakable sound of the coin falling off my rifle barrel jolted me out of whatever zen state I was previously in.

It may sound trivial, but by the end of the hour, no one had managed to go for 20 consecutive shots without the coins falling off their rifle barrels to sounds of frustrated cursing.

It eventually dawned on us that like so many other things in basic training, we were being set up to fail.

"That was pathetic", Sarge said at the end of the session.

"I'm.... I'm sorry sergeant!" (「報...報告組長，對不起！」), one recruit ventured.

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to the country!" (「現在不是對不起我，是對不起國家！」)

驗槍開始！ Commence firearms inspection!

2011-10-30T01:35:00.000+08:00

The longer of my two guns. (Original image: Wikimedia Commons)

"All new recruits, proceed to check out your firearms."

Our first real exposure to firearms came on our second day of training. Proceeding single file, we checked out our rifles, as well as a bayonet and scabbard (which doubled as a combat knife - or would have had it actually been sharpened), and two ammo pouches to add to our ever growing utility belts, each containing two empty magazines. The recruits in the firearms squad thrust all of these into our hands, before we all rushed back to the parade grounds.

As with the mess squad that I'd been assigned to, another squad of new recruits had been designated as the firearms squad - responsible for the upkeep, regular maintenance, and storage of the company's firearms. Although we would all eventually become versed in the basics of firearms maintenance by way of on the job training, the existence of the firearms squad (as well as the mess squad, equipment squad, and political warfare squad) was one of the consequences of the shortened one month basic training period - too many tasks to handle, with too little time and too few personnel. The preferred solution being to parcel out specific tasks to specific squads of new recruits.

Private firearms ownership is generally illegal in Taiwan, although most kids have had some prior exposure to the whole concept via computer games, movies, and military ed classes in high school and college. As for me, having spent most of my life in the US, I appreciated the option of owning a firearm, and appreciated even more the fact that I never felt the need to actually exercise it. Nonetheless, I'm no gun nut, and had only the vaguest idea of how to handle a modern firearm ("Insert magazine. Point muzzle away from self. Pull trigger.")

We were issued the T-65K2 assault rifle. Functionally and visually, it is similar to the U.S. M-16 assault rifle used in Vietnam, although the T-65K2 is also capable of firing in full auto. While some units now use the newer T-91 (similar to the U.S. M-4), the T-65K2 remains the mainstay of most reservist and non-direct combat military units in Taiwan.

Lined up on the parade grounds with our rifles in our hands, and our bayonets on our belts, you could feel the anticipation as the captain raised his bullhorn, ordering a vocal tally of the rifles in the company. This had to be done by each recruit belting out his number in incremental order and kneeling down after reporting. This procedure would be repeated every time firearms were issued and returned to ensure that all issued weapons were accounted for.

After the requisite three or four repetitions it took us to get this right, we learned our first SOP with the T-65K2: group firearms inspection, intended to ensure that the firing chamber was clear.

"Commence firearms inspection!" (驗槍開始！), the captain yelled.

"Kneeling down for firearms inspection!" (驗槍蹲下！), we shouted, holding our rifles with the butts down on the ground.

Naturally, the basic training version of this was unnecessarily elaborate, and required full group synchronization and recitation. We spent an hour trying to get this right.

Our superiors took great pleasure in ordering us to hold our rifles aloft pointed skyward while in a half kneeling position using only our left hand for extended periods of time, ostensibly to check whether there were any foreign objects in the chamber (「通視槍膛！」). Unloaded, the T-65K2 weighs 3.31 kilograms. After 10 seconds in this position, it might as well be 3.31 tons. Arms were shaking up and down the line, interspersed with yelling from the drill sergeants directed at recruits whose rifles were deemed to be less than near vertical.

Lesson: The Army can turn anything into a hazing ritual.

The SOP ends with the synchronized testing of the triggers of the now confirmed empty rifles:

"Fire! Fire again!" (擊發！再擊發！)

Sloppy rendition of the firearms inspection SOP, sans firearms.

It is worth noting that firearms are euphemisms for certain male body parts in many cultures, and Taiwan is no exception. The unofficial lyrics of one popular military marching song goes "I have two guns. One is longer than the other..." (「我有兩支槍，長短不一樣...」).

That evening, a group of new recruits decided to perform a group recital of the firearms inspection SOP in the company showers, complete with requisite sound effects. They had barely gotten to the part about test firing when a gaggle of drill sergeants burst in demanding the identities of those involved. When no answer was forthcoming, everyone in the showers was hauled off to the company office pending further investigation.

取水壺！ Retrieve canteens!

2011-10-24T21:17:00.088+08:00

"God, why do they keep giving us lukewarm seawater to drink?"

"Well, the drill sergeants add hydration salts to all our drinking water, and you remember the captain's little speech about only drinking warm water to keep us from catching colds..."

"Yeah? Well its 30 degrees Celsius out right now. And if he's so worried, why the vending machines?"

"Well, if you want to risk getting cold water from the talking drinking fountain next to the company office that vocally thanks you for perusing cold water, then be my guest."

The dozen or so of us in the mess squad sat beneath the trees lining the outdoors company dishwashing area for a much needed break. The mountain of pots, pans, and trays from breakfast finally scrubbed, organized, and hauled back to their storage areas, and the bins of food waste and hogwash hauled off to the garbage dumpsters. On the other side of the building, the rest of our training company was assembling for our first real day of basic training after their half hour post-breakfast break.

Although we would soon join the rest of the company, our squad leaders had allowed us a short breather. Most of my squad mates took the opportunity to smoke cigarettes, or buy cold beverages from the two vending machines. Taiwanese kids are fond of soft drinks, a passion that turns to a full blown addiction when exposed to the rigid control, long contraband list, and high stress of basic training. Not to mention the only other beverage option being the warm, salty drinking water in our canteens. The vending machines were replenished every couple of days, but were almost always sold out within a few hours of being resupplied. The vending machines and the drinks they sold, however humble, were a rare connection to the outside world that we happily availed ourselves to whenever possible. Consequently, vending machine use was also one of the privileges our superiors repeatedly threatened to take away in the event of bad behavior.

Our brief respite (all rest times are too short as far as the troops are concerned) over, we hurriedly donned our BDUs, helmets, and utility belts (with canteen hooked on). Folding stools in hand, we hastily rejoined the rest of the company outside already standing in formation, with the captain commanding our company standing in front, ready to address the troops.

After the requisite pre-assembly pleasantries from the squad leaders ("DID I AUTHORIZE YOU TO SCRATCH YOUR EARS? I SAID STAND AT ATTENTION!"), we formed up into three platoons, each consisting of three companies. Megaphone in hand, the captain spoke and those of us positioned at the flanks of the formation strained to hear what he had to say.

"Today we begin your first real day of training. We will begin with basic drill commands teaching you how march in formation without looking like a mob of delinquents. Platoon 1 will proceed to... Platoon 2 will proceed to the front of the building for ... Platoon 3 will..."

"What did he just say?"

"Uh, I can't make out what he's saying. Where are we supposed to-"

"... any questions? Now move to your assigned positions!"

"What? Where are we supposed to go?"

"Did you hear?"

"No, I-"

"QUIT TALKING AND START MOVING!", one of the squad leaders yelled.

"Where are we supposed to-"

"DO YOU HAVE FORESKIN GROWING ON YOUR EARS? MOVE!"

And thus came our first exposure to what would become a common occurrence throughout basic training - communications failures. The ad hoc solution to this boils down to: "Follow the guy next to you. (And hope that he knows what he's doing)"

Each day in basic training is broken down into class periods, punctuated by short 5 minute breaks, as well as lunch around 1130, followed by a nap till 1300, more classes till dinner time at 1730, then evening classes till around 2100. The day ends with evening roll call, then a brief period of shower/free time until lights out at 2200.

Basic drill (基本教練) consists of the basic commands for assembling, marching in formation, and saluting. Classes in basic drill are a continuous occurrence throughout basic training, and are typically noted for being long, and rather dull repetitions of marching, about face, left / right face, followed by more marching. Actions considered deviant or otherwise unsatisfactory typically result in further repetition.

As far as the Army is concerned, obsessive compulsive disorder is a plus in these matters, and I've long since lost track of the number of times everyone in our platoon was ordered to redo our last move because a single individual didn't have their fingers lined up with their pant seams while at attention / rotated in the wrong direction / moved the wrong foot.

"QUIT KICKING UP YOUR HEELS WHEN DOING AN ABOUT FACE! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, A HONG KONG COP?" (「向後轉幹嘛甩腿？你以為你是香港警察喔？」)

After an hour of this under the hot tropical sun and steamy humidity of southern Taiwan wearing our steel helmets and long sleeved heavy cotton/polyester BDUs, you can understand why the threat of more basic drill practice is often employed as a punishment in basic training and beyond.

After performing yet another formation march around the company parade grounds, one of the drill sergeants blew his whistle for the platoon to assemble. Facing us, he produced a small folded card that would accompany us during our entire time in basic training.

"This is the Hydration Card (飲水記錄卡) that you have each been issued. You will always carry this card with you, and will record the amount of water that you will be ordered to drink from your canteens at specified times throughout the day. On my command you will repeat and execute the following orders to drink 300 c.c.s of water."

We stared at each other in resigned silence: Great, another SOP to memorize.

"Retrieve canteens!" (「取水壺！」)

"Retrieve canteens!", we repeated.

"LOUDER! And hold the canteens in front of your faces with both hands!"

"Retrieve canteens!", we repeated again, holding our canteens before our faces as if we were making an offering of our salty metallic tasting canteen water to the gods.

"Open lids!"(「打開瓶蓋！」)

"Open lids!", we shouted, unscrewing the lids with our right hands.

"Post drill hydration..." (「操課後飲水...」) He paused, "Say the amount!"

"300 c.c.s!", we yelled, as if our lives depended on it.

"Drink!"(「喝水！」)

As he watched us chugging down the contents of our canteens, the drill sergeant pointed again to our Hydration Cards - a fairly new development prompted by too many past cases of new recruits passing out from heat stroke.

"After hydrating, you will record the prescribed amount of water on your card at the matching time slot. The first member of your squad will collect your hydration cards every night before lights out, and turn them in to your squad leaders for review. Anyone who fails to do so will be severely punished. (This would be the cause of many a last minute pre-lights out scramble) I do not care if you actually drink that amount, but you will record it on your card. At the top slot for each day you will record your weight and body temperature. Since there are close to 150 of you, you will record whatever you feel is correct, if you actually feel like you have a fever, then notify me and we'll deal with it then."

The latter order was later amended to "Any value between 36 - 37.5 degrees Celsius" after some genius put down a body temperature of 28 degrees Celsius.

"Finally, at the end of the day, you will draw a circle at the top of your card if you made a successful bowl movement, or an X if you did not. If you go for 3 days without passing stool, tell your squad leader. I have a nice little pill here guaranteed to cure what ails you."

This happened more often than you might think. Between the hectic daily schedule and constant pressure, its easy to go for an extended period of time without clearing your bowels.

"現在時間0530...": "The current time is 0530 hours..."

2011-07-14T21:56:00.001+08:00

Naturally, the pocket notebooks have to be emblazoned with the characters for "success".

I was awakened early the next morning by my still sleeping bunkmate kicking me in the face through the mosquito netting that lined our respective beds (our drill instructors had arranged us so that adjacent new recruits slept head to foot, in order to keep us from breathing in each others faces as we slept). A few seconds later, my wristwatch alarm that I had set for 5AM went off, followed by several others from the surrounding bunks. Slowly, we awoke one by one, sitting up groggily staring at the scene around us. Oh yeah, I'm here now. Official wake up time is 5:30 isn't it? Better get to work before that rolls around.

Reaching for the heavy white blanket that I'd somehow kicked off during the night, I started to fold it in the method prescribed by retired military people I'd talked to before coming in. Fold in half along the long edge, quarter folds at the front and back, then fold everything in half again to create a nice rectangular package. Tug corners to smooth out the wrinkles. Tuck in the corners of the folds with your finger or a toothbrush handle to create nice sharp edges. Use of water to create sharp corners is optional. Done.

As I contemplated whether I should handle my mosquito netting the same way, the loudspeakers crackled to life:

"The current time is 0530 hours. All new recruits out of bed."

A gaggle of drill instructors marched down the center aisle of our barracks. "This is day 2 of your adjustment period" one of them announced. "We will now demonstrate how you will be required to fold and arrange your bedding." He glanced at my meticulously folded block of oversized tofu. "Unfold that, you did it wrong."

Fold in thirds along the long edge, then fold in thirds the other way, leaving enough space between the folds so the whole thing stands up as a rectangular block. Tug out the wrinkles and tuck in the corners to form nice right angles. Water and toothbrush handle not necessary. Handle the mosquito netting the old way (bunkmate assistance required). Place folded mosquito netting atop pillow placed on edge of mattress. Place the folded blanket behind that. Done.

The loudspeaker blared again: "The current time is now 0545 hours. All new recruits assemble outside on the company assembly grounds in gym outfits. You have 1 minute. Move."

The fifty some odd new recruits in the same barracks as me dashed towards the exit in a mass frenzy punctuated by swearing, and the occasional bang from someone falling out of a top bunk in what is known colloquially as "taking the elevator" (坐電梯). This was followed by running around in panicked circles on the basketball court outside as we tried to find our designated positions in one of the 9 half remembered squads from the previous day.

"ATTENTION!" The sergeant of the day yelled into a bullhorn.

"Attention!" came the ragged cry from a few people. Oh shit, we were supposed to repeat that, weren't we?

"WHEN I CALL YOU TO ATTENTION, YOU WILL REPEAT THE WORD AND STOP MOVING! ATTENTION!!"

"ATTENTION!", we yelled.

"It has been over 3 minutes and you still aren't properly assembled. Did you bump your heads and forget about everything from yesterday? Figure out the recruit at the head of your squad (班頭) and line up after him by number. Now go back into your barracks and reassemble when I give the order! You have 10 seconds to get out of my sight!"

I'll spare you the details of what happened next, but I'm sure you can imagine the controlled chaos that transpired. About 5 minutes later we were finally assembled back outside in our designated order.

"Mess squad, break formation!", one of the sergeants yelled. "Everyone else, assemble in horizontal formation!"

As the dozen or so of us in the mess squad were led away by our squad leaders, hauling stainless steel baskets full of trays and utensils, I turned back and saw the rest of our company positioning themselves for pushups. The night before, our squad leaders had told us that given our extra work load as mess squad, we would be given certain privileges as compensation. Apparently, being exempt from this morning's physical training (PT) was one of them. I was actually somewhat disappointed, having done some previous preparation before starting basic.

My disappointment at not participating in PT was short-lived. We soon arrived at the ground level exit to the battalion kitchen where the cooks (also soldiers) were already rolling out breakfast.

"The dumb-waiter is down again today" our squad leader announced. "You will carry the food for our company downstairs to the mess hall by hand. Be careful not to drop anything, and watch out for the stairs, they're slippery. Last class we had a recruit end up with 2nd degree burns all over after he slipped while hauling a cauldron of soup."

Two by two, we carried giant stainless steel cauldrons filled with rice porridge, scalding hot tea, and the other breakfast side dishes down the ramp from the kitchen, around the building, and down the steep flight of stairs to the basement mess hall. I soon realized why the mess squad would be frequently excused from PT... we already got plenty of upper body exercise hauling food and utensils for 100+ new recruits as well as their officers and NCOs three times a day.

After setting the utensils for the officers and NCOs, as well as the communal pots of beverages and rice at the table for each squad, we hurriedly slurped up what breakfast we could, while the projection TV at the end of the mess hall was turned on to broadcast Taiwan Television (our only source of outside information while on base). Watered down soy / rice milk or scalding hot tea was the norm beverage-wise. This was followed by scrambled eggs mixed with corn or diced ham, pickles, and fried gluten (麵筋). The rice porridge was occasionally mixed with egg or canned corn (I've never seen anyone add either one of these to rice porridge outside the military). No need for the usual required mechanical eating movements here that everyone else had to abide by - another fringe benefit of being in the mess squad.

"The company is here, ASSUME YOUR POSITIONS!", someone yelled.

Four of us wearing white aprons, caps, and sleeve covers charged towards the pots of food, which had been placed in the hallway leading into the mess hall. Troops from the other companies in our brigade sharing the mess hall charged with similar tasks ran to their respective stations, as lines of tray bearing recruits appeared.

Unsure of what we were expected to do, we ladled food onto the trays of the new recruits marching in as best we could.

"Watch your portion sizes", one of our squad leaders said, "if you run out, then everyone else goes hungry."

Eventually, we would get better at estimating portion sizes. But during our first outing, the first recruits to arrive while the pots appeared to be full ended up with larger portions. Recruits arriving in the middle ended up with less, as we experienced a "Holy shit, where does this line end?"-moment; while recruits near the end ended up with their trays overflowing with surplus food as we realized we'd been too conservative with the portions as the end of the line came into sight.

Sorry. We're new at this too, in case you didn't notice.

All too soon, the new recruits finished breakfast, and the company filed out of the mess hall to wash their own trays. The mess squad was responsible for washing the communal pots, as well as the utensils for the officers and NCOs. As well as mopping the mess hall floor and wiping the tables. And hauling the food waste out to the rubbish pile for resale as pig feed.

By the time we managed to finish all this, the usual after-breakfast break time that the other recruits were enjoying was over.

The rest of the three day adjustment period passed in much the same way. Mundane administrative chores punctuated by the early departure of those of us in the mess squad near mealtimes. We worked on our thick stacks of forms in between group and individual photo shoots, chest x-rays, cleaning, and optional blood donation. Almost everyone volunteered to donate blood simply to spend half an hour in the air conditioned bloodmobile sipping the juice boxes offered to donors.

"No rush", one of the new recruits sitting next to me told the civilian nurse drawing our blood, who nodded knowingly.

On the morning of the fourth day, our real training began.

Our company assembled in formation on the parade ground in full BDUs (which we had slept in the night before) along with the new recruits from the rest of the brigade to take the formal oath, followed by a long address from a brigadier general who had dropped by especially for the occasion.

The rest of the mess squad and I watched this from the sidelines, as we hauled the day's breakfast down to the mess hall yet again. For us, there was no oath, no formal pep talk from the commanding general. When the rest of the company finally trooped down into the mess hall half an hour later, the tables were set, and we were at our designated positions wearing the white caps and aprons.

A few of my fellow mess squad troops congratulated each other on our "good luck". This sucks, I thought.

打飯班: Mess Squad

2011-06-05T12:49:00.061+08:00

I have heard that basic training has been described as "Hurry up and wait". The hours that followed our first arrival on base certainly lived up to that description. Our squad leaders - a mix of sergeants and a few corporals (I later learned that the sergeants were career military, while the corporals were experienced draftees), hurriedly shuffled us between what seemed to be a maze of buildings, where upon arrival, we spent long moments sitting outside on our stools filling out paperwork that ranged from background checks ("List the names, addresses, and contact information of 3 male, and 3 female friends", "Do you have any direct relations living or working in Mainland China?"), to medical questionnaires ("Do you have any long term medical ailments?", "How would you classify your personality?"), and more practical matters ("Who do you wish to list as the main beneficiary of your military life insurance policy?").

With all the new recruits being shuffled around base, it took an effort not to get separated from one's squad, or to avoid losing any of the items we were hauling around.

"You're lucky that nowadays the brass have mandated a 3 day adjustment period for all new recruits", one of the sergeants warned as another hospital gown-wearing new recruit belatedly rushed back into the medical examination room for his gym clothes that he'd forgotten to put back on. "If you think this is hard, wait till the real work begins."

Finally, after yet another trip to wait outside yet another room containing yet another bored looking officer with more forms to fill out, our squad leaders led us all back to the basketball court outside our company barracks. Steel racks containing steel utensils sat at the front.

Ten dozen surgical mask-wearing young men with a variety of hairdos... mostly the shaggy "birdsnest hair" (鳥巢頭) that seems to be all the rage these days, stared at each other, shuffling from foot to foot. "We sure don't look like an army", I thought, "and this sure doesn't feel like how you always expect boot camp to be".

One of the sergeants spoke up: loud enough to be heard, but still no real yelling. "You will now proceed to the front squad by squad, where you will receive your mess kit. You will use the same items during your entire stay here, so don't lose anything."

Proceeding one by one to the head of the line, we each received a steel bowl, steel chopsticks, and a steel tray etched with "ARMY" (陸軍), or in several cases "TAIWAN GARRISON COMMAND" (警總) - the long defunct martial law era secret police agency disbanded in 1992. It is perhaps telling of how far Taiwan has come from those days that most of my fellow new recruits had never heard of the once feared state security body, or their creative applications of toothbrushes and car batteries to "subversive elements".

In other good news, the modern ROC military is really into recycling.

We were once again paraded single file into the battalion mess hall, where faceless troops wearing white aprons and baseball caps dumped portions of food onto our trays, before we were randomly led to one of the many square tables running up and down the length of the mess hall, each one with steel pots of rice, a watery soup-like liquid, and smaller steel bowls of pickles, and something resembling meat broth (滷汁).

"Remember" my friends had told me, "the military views mealtime as a hazing ritual. Act in groups when ordered, sit straight. They're expecting to nail you the first day when you don't know all the rules."

Armed with this bit of intelligence, I braced myself for a chewing out as several of the new recruits simply dropped their trays on the table, pulled out their stools, and started eating. To my surprise, none came.

"Sit down and listen up while you eat", a sergeant said, "I'm only going to explain this once."

He sat down at our table, his back remaining ramrod straight. "In the future, you will set your trays down at the table and pull out your benches silently as a group, only when ordered. Pass me the rice pot."

The rice pot made its way over in front of him, he filled his bowl methodically, placing the bowl below the outside rim of the pot. "You will not stand up until the meal is over. If you want something, ask your fellow soldiers to pass it over to you. When filling your bowl with rice or soup, never hold your bowl above the rim of the pot - that makes it look as if you're planning to dump food back in".

Holding the filled bowl in his left hand, he picked up his chopsticks and continued: "Your chopsticks are only for moving food between your tray, your bowl, and your mouth. When you are chewing your food, your chopsticks are to remain still. If your jaws are moving, your chopsticks should not be."

He then proceeded to eat methodically in a method befitting a robot. The rest of us attempted to emulate him, often failing. Till then, I'd never noticed how often I tend to shovel food with my chopsticks while chewing the previous bite.

The food that first night was representative of what we would be subsisting on for the rest of our stay in basic training. A thin cut of pork with the consistency of cardboard boiled in what appeared to be a watered down, fluorescent yellow curry, some limp green vegetable - boiled, something that looked like potatoes and canned corn boiled in the same curry sauce as the meat, and a few slices of dried tofu with a few crumbs of ground mystery meat. "On average, we have a daily food budget of about NT$30 per person here", the captain commanding our training company had said, "So its not haute cuisine, but it'll keep you alive".

As I contemplated whether I was authorized to dump the corn into my rice bowl from my tray to avoid having to pick up individual kernels, the sergeant finished his meal.

"When you are finished" he said, "Place your chopsticks back onto the largest space on your tray in front of you, then place your rice bowl upside down on top of it to signal to your fellow new recruits that you are done eating. When you have all finished, you will leave as a group as ordered by your table leader. Today, I will give the orders."

"All rise!", he ordered.

Everyone rose to their feet, with the sound of benches grinding against the tiled floor.

"You will rise together, and silently!", the sergeant said. And in what would become a refrain in basic training: "Redo that last action!"

We rose, trying not to bump into our benches, while stepping over them.

"Replace benches!", the sergeant ordered.

We shoved our benches back under the table as quietly as we could, and stood back at attention.

"Did I tell you to come back to attention?", the sergeant said. "Redo that last move. Keep your hands on the benches when you're done pushing them back, and look towards the person giving the orders so he knows when you're all ready. Do not come to attention till I order you to."

We pushed the benches back, kept our hands on the benches, and started back sideways at the sergeant from our bent over positions.

"Come to attention!" he ordered. "Retrieve trays!"

After another 5 minutes of breaking down that particular activity into its constituent parts, we were finally led out of the mess hall to the line of sinks outside our barracks, where we were each issued a piece of sponge the size of a postage stamp (for kids of my generation or younger, this is about the size of an SD memory card). Proceeding slowly forward, we dumped any remaining food into the first bin (to be sold to nearby farmers as pig feed - Taiwan is very much into garbage reduction: The pigs eat our scraps, then we eat the pigs), then scooped up soapy water from the second bin, before finally scrubbing our utensils in the sink.

Maybe it was the result of the watered down detergent or maybe it was the tiny sponges, but either way, our tableware retained a distinctly greasy feel throughout our entire stay. Its kind of romantic if you think about it: lubricating your utensils with food scraps for future generations of new recruits.

The trays went back into the steel baskets for each squad, carefully lined up in numerical order. The bowls, chopsticks, and sponges went back into our lockers.

Eventually, we were led back into the mess hall, from which the communal pots had suddenly disappeared. A quartet of middle aged ladies wielding hair clippers stood at one end, rapidly shearing the hair off an endless line of new recruits, lined up like lambs at the slaughterhouse. Everyone got the treatment, from the kid with the most elaborate salon styled hair, to the ones who'd already gone through the trouble of shaving their heads beforehand. There were no combs on the clippers, no wash, no blow dry, and no brush at the end.

Relieved of our hair, and still wearing our surgical masks, it was now all but impossible to tell people apart from one another.

"Squad 3, assemble!", one of the drill instructors shouted. We were led back up to the sinks to face one of our two corporal squad leaders, as well as what seemed like a mountain of dirty pots, pans, and vats. "So that's where all the communal stuff went", I thought.

The corporal looked at us grimly. "Squad 3", he said, "you have been selected as the mess squad (打飯班) for our company. For the duration of your stay in basic training, you will be responsible for setting up, clearing, and cleaning the mess hall, as well as for washing all the communal utensils."

The dozen or so of us started at each other in the fading light, as well as back towards the barracks where the rest of our company was seated out in front, still filling out paperwork.

"I'm warning you ahead of time", the corporal said, "you will have much more work to do and less rest time, compared to the other new recruits in your company. Now get to work."

It was another hour before we finished, and another three hours after that of other random work, before dashing to the shower room for 2 minute combat showers (6 showers shared between close to four dozen new recruits), meticulously arranging our toiletries and personal items under our beds (toothbrushes must be placed in our metal cups, pointed towards the front of the room), and standing at attention for bedtime inspection, before we hurriedly crawled under our mosquito-netting into bed for lights out. The footsteps of our squad leaders echoed from the walkway as they periodically patrolled the barracks to make sure we were all lying in bed, as our first day finally drew to a close.

九個班: 9 Squads

2011-05-20T22:23:00.074+08:00

Longtian (隆田) is a small town nestled amongst rice fields and mango orchards in rural Tainan, along the main eastern rail line. The town would be wholly unremarkable for one of its size, except for its close proximity to the army bases at Guantian（官田）, Danei（大內） , and Shinjhong（新中）.

Taiwan has changed a great deal over the past two decades, and the ROC military has been no exception. Far from the old "Reconquer the Mainland"（反攻大陸）martial law days, the armed forces have since been de-politicized and placed under civilian control. The armed forces have also moved into a defensive role, with the army establishing reserve units patterned on the U.S. Army National Guard. Amongst other things, the bases near Longtian are home to several of these army reserve infantry brigades charged with providing basic training for new Army and Air Force recruits.

Longtian Station
As our train pulled into the station in the early afternoon, I stumbled out into the bright southern Taiwan sunshine and heat, along with a few hundred other new Air Force recruits from around the north. Led by our flag wielding civilian handlers, we were hurriedly escorted out of the station into a fleet of waiting busses. Safely inside the air conditioned motorcoaches, the fleet of busses rumbled down broad avenues running through rice fields, while the onboard TVs blared. Outside, the pastoral scenes were broken occasionally by small shops hawking stir-fry (熱炒), karaoke, and agricultural equipment.

"This is the middle of nowhere", one of the Taipei city kids grumbled as others dozed off.

The town of Longtian. Any contact with the town was incidental on the way to and back home from base.

Eventually, the busses pulled up to a gate in a long concrete wall guarded by rifle wielding soldiers. "We're there!", someone shouted, as everyone ripped open the curtains to peek outside as we drove in.

Driving onto base, our busses passed between three story faux-brick facade buildings, each surrounding a basketball court now filled with folding metal stools topped with white drawing boards. Some of the stools were already filled by other luggage carrying kids in civilian clothes. Trees dotted the scene along with somewhat ornate looking lamp posts. Except for the large central parade area and the green camouflage Humvees parked along the roads, we might as well have been looking at dormitories on move-in day from any decently sized university.

Our bus pulled to a stop before one of the buildings. An army officer wearing camouflage fatigues (the military's working clothes of choice) climbed aboard. 45 new recruits braced ourselves for the expected chewing out that you see in the movies...

Instead, the officer pulled out a spray bottle of disinfectant and box of disposable surgical masks, one of which he promptly donned. "Hands out for disinfection!" he said matter-of-factly, as he walked down the aisle distributing the masks. "Put your surgical masks on and do not take them off until ordered. We don't want one of you making everyone else sick."

Eventually, we were shuttled off the bus to the stools lined up in front of one of the buildings, each of which was a barracks housing a single company （連） of new recruits. Underneath the drawing board on each stool was a large brown envelope containing a stack of forms. Remember, I was told by my friends who had been through before, you will spend your first few days filling out mounds of paperwork.

Another soldier walked in front of us wearing a yellow armband bearing the words "Duty Squad Leader" (值星班長). I strained to see the rank insignia on his collar: two thin chevrons atop one thick chevron: a sergeant（中士）. What happened next has been blurred in my memory by a month of similar events, but the main gist of it should be familiar to anyone who has been through it.

"Pick up your stools, drawing boards, luggage, and form up into nine squads facing me!" （「在我面前排成九個班！」）, he said in a firm, but not especially menacing voice.

Roughly ten dozen new recruits in civvies shuffled around thoroughly confused by what was just said. After a few more moments of confused movement with no end in sight, the sergeant spoke again:

"When I say 'squads', I mean rows. Now form up into 9 squads facing me." he said, this time with a slight edge in his voice.

Ten dozen new recruits started to move.

"Did I tell you to move yet?" he said, the volume of his voice going up.

Ten dozen new recruits froze.

"You do not move until I order you to move!" he said. "Now move!"

In physics, seemingly chaotic motions can lead to the eventual formation of coherent patterns. Somehow in the running, pushing, and shoving, 9 lines started to form.

"Attention!"（「注意！」） the sergeant said.

Everyone looked up.

"When I say 'Attention', you will stop whatever it is you are doing and repeat the word 'Attention'! Now Attention!" he said.

"Attention", came the ragged cry from the confused masses.

Sarge somehow conveyed disgust without changing his overall expression. "Do you think you're at summer camp or something?" he said. "Attention!"

"Attention!" came the reply.

"Attention!" he repeated.

"ATTENTION!" everyone yelled.

"Is forming into 9 squads really that difficult?" he said. "I want the same number of men in each squad, arranged from shortest at the rear to tallest at the front. You have 10 seconds. Now move!"

In the ensuing confusion, I dashed for the front end of one of the squads near the front. After some jockeying and further rearrangement, I found myself randomly positioned as the second member of the third squad.

I didn't know it at the time, but this seemingly random arrangement would end up having a massive impact on my experience in basic training.

Seated in our new positions, we waited to see what would happen next.

The sergeant spoke again: "Now listen carefully. On the second floor, you will be issued your uniforms and accessories. There are tables with sample camouflage fatigue hats, shirts, as well as combat boots of various sizes. You will first determine which size fits you for each of these. You will then report these sizes to the soldier in the room at the end, who will issue you the supplies. You will then return here with the supplies. Perform this action squad by squad. Replace the sample items neatly as you found them. Now move."

Fatigues are work clothes meant for hard physical work. When not dressed in your gym outfit you will be wearing fatigues. The conclusion is left as an exercise for the reader.

Doing as we were told, we dutifully reported our hat, shirt, and shoe sizes to the soldiers standing in the room at the end. We were issued a metal washbasin filled with a steel cup, three new olive drab undershirts (Proudly Made in Taiwan), three white underpants, a green camouflage web belt, a long and short set of dark blue sport pants, and a red white and blue sports jacket. Further piled atop this were two sets of fatigues in tropical camouflage pattern, a camouflage cap with the ROC's white sun and blue sky emblem, a steel canteen and cover, a set of new combat boots wrapped in plastic, and a new pair of white running shoes in a blue shoebox bearing the insignia of the Ministry of National Defense.

All of this was heaped into a large mound in our arms that we struggled (often unsuccessfully), to carry back to our seats downstairs in a single load.

"It took you all long enough", the sergeant said at the end of the process. "We're all running late since you ladies decided to take your time getting here. Inside the barracks, you will find your bunks and lockers arranged by number. There will be four squads in the room on each level. You will carry all your things into your rooms. For now, throw everything on your bed. Change into the gym outfit you were just issued, then report back here in formation. For now, don't bother with the running shoes. You have 5 minutes. Move!"

Following another mess of running, collisions, and accessories flying everywhere, we dashed into our respective rooms. Inside, we found what was to be our home for the next month: two rows of narrow bunk beds, topped with individual mattresses barely a foot and a half wide, and flanked by tall steel lockers. A heavy blanket and mosquito netting were neatly folded onto the pillow of each spot.

Throwing what were now our only worldly possessions on our beds, we hurriedly ripped our gym outfits and olive drab undershirts out of their coverings. Donning our new outfits, there was no time for contemplation as we dashed back outside towards our new lives.

“保護我們的台北家園” - "Defend our Taipei homes"

2011-05-20T01:10:00.072+08:00

In old war movies, you almost always see that scene of the emotional sendoff of military-bound young men by their families and girlfriends at the train station, the "with your shield or on it"-speech, complete with tears, flags, and that lone figure chasing the train as it pulls out of the station to an uncertain fate.

On my induction day, the train station part was real.

Our assembly point at the North 2 Gate of Taipei Main Station is one of those places you usually walk through without really paying much attention to. Induction Day was like any other morning with commuters and travelers hurrying on their way. But today, there was an additional contingent of middle aged men and women wearing red vests and yellow arm bands from the draft boards of district offices across Taipei. A couple dozen young men in various states of resignation milled around. Most came alone, a few came with family or girlfriends. Some were bespectacled student looking types, while others with shaggy manes of dyed hair milled around outside smoking cigarettes. A few had even already shaved the hair off their heads to the stubble that the military prefers for its new recruits. All wore the yellow passes issued by the draft board, bearing the markings of their home district, and "Air Force".

At 8:30AM, an authoritative looking man with a bullhorn ordered everyone to assemble by district. 12 red vested civil servants held up signs, each bearing the name of one of the 12 administrative districts of Taipei. We queued up, hauling our luggage with us. I silently congratulated myself on my decision to reduce my worldly possessions to a single backpack containing a jacket and a change of clothes. "You won't need anything else", my friends who had gone through the process told me, "you'll get everything you need once you get there."

Once properly assembled, two distinguished looking gentleman stepped before us. Although older, their upright poise and clipped tones marked them as retired military. One of them picked up a microphone and introduced himself as director of the Department of Compulsory Military Service for Taipei...

"Before I joined the civil service, I served for over two decades in the Army. I have been stationed on the outlying islands, including Kinmen, when hostilities occurred regularly, lone sentries were under constant threat from Chinese Peoples Liberation Army (PLA) frogmen, and we were under orders to shoot to kill any intruders after dark. In my time, the term of service was two years. Today, you will be required to serve only one year or less, and will not face the same dangers that I did when I was a soldier..."

We remained silent, everyone in Taiwan has heard horror stories involving the outlying islands in the 1960s and 70s, along with the 12 hour boat rides, and infrequent leave.

"Although you will spend your first month receiving basic training from the Army, all of you will be serving in the Air Force. You may ask, where is the Air Force? Yes, the Air Force is stationed at air bases across the country, but that is far from all. The Air Force operates the radar stations on high mountains, coastlines, and the outlying islands that comprise our entire early warning network. The Air Force operates the surface to air missile battalions located across the country on constant alert, ready to defend our skies against enemy aircraft on a moment's notice. As draftees, you may go your entire military career without ever seeing an F-16, Mirage 2000, or IDF fighter jet take off. Many of you may be hoping for easy jobs in support positions as secretaries, cooks, or drivers. But most of you will be the ones operating our missiles and radar sites, and guarding our facilities.

As a draftee, I will probably never see this in person.

Even today, you will face danger. The guns you will carry on sentry duty are loaded, and the bayonets fixed upon them are razor sharp. The missiles are heavy, and their exhaust can burn through metal. Wherever you may end up, you will find that you no longer enjoy the freedom that you enjoyed as a civilian. Every action you take will be observed and controlled. Some of you with girlfriends going in may find yourselves without one when you are discharged. For many of you, this will be the first time that you will be living away from home for an extended period of time. I urge you to persevere, do your best, and remember that no matter what happens - you will be discharged in a year or less."

The generation of Taiwanese kids born during the 1980s and 90s are often referred to as the "strawberry generation", stereotyped as being self-absorbed, pretty looking, incapable of rough handling and easily bruised... kind of like strawberries.

"And as a final parting gift, I hereby present you all with NT$100 calling cards, so you may contact your family and friends when you arrive on base. I have always believed that Taipei kids make for the finest soldiers in the country. So I urge you to go forth, adapt to your new life, and thank you for defending our homes in Taipei."

At this point, two preselected draftees marched to the front to receive calling cards with a snappy salute for the cameramen. Photo-ops are a universal thing, apparently. Even if the end played into the prevalent stereotype of Taipei-ites as being incapable of noticing anything outside of Taipei.

"Thank you for your devoted service in the military. The citizens of Taipei are proud of you!" (Here's an NT$100 phone card, which will give you approximately 2 minutes of talk time to any cell phone in the country!)

Herded down to Platform 3A, we made for a conspicuous looking bunch sitting in formation, supervised by our civil servant handlers. Other travelers looked on in curiosity as an empty 2nd class passenger train pulled into the station. "Attention passengers, " the loudspeaker blared, "please do not board the special express train at platform 3A." As we boarded along with our handlers, and as the train pulled out of station, two or three proud parents followed along the platform waving and snapping pictures.

"Well, at least that part of the movies is true", I thought, as we all sat silently contemplating our shared destiny for the next month.

Our train stopped at major stations along the way south, picking up more groups of similarly escorted, silent, young men. Some carried backpacks presented by local governments. Some cities helpfully provided generic brand baseball caps with which we could hide our soon to be shorn heads.

The usual railroad bento boxes of pork chops and rice were distributed, and were again, eaten in silence as our train continued on south...

最後一天 (The Last Day)

2011-04-07T00:04:00.027+08:00

When my father got drafted back in the early 70s, he ended up getting a big send off, complete with the neighborhood chief (里長) presenting him with his draft orders and commending him for his upcoming sacrifice. He then entered the navy, and according to him, proceeded to spend his first six weeks getting violently seasick, while on patrol in the waters between Taiwan, Kinmen, and Matsu.

When my draft orders came down a few weeks ago, I got a pink form letter from the district office shoved into my mailbox, telling me to come pick up my marching orders. Not quite the glorious warrior sendoff of yesteryear, but hey I'll take it.

When I first arrived back in Taiwan, the three month university research job I took on seemed like a placeholder before basic training. Now, I'm sad to be leaving. There seems to be so much more good work to do than I have time for, even though everyone tells me I've accomplished more than enough already. No doubt, the three month deadline helped with my productivity level. One new peer reviewed paper out, one more under review, and more in the pipeline.

Three months go by fast when you keep yourself occupied. But all too soon, I'm turning in my final report, tying up loose ends on campus, firing off my final emails, and making a promise to return after my service term is up. Maybe this academia thing is for me after all. Maybe they'll send me to do science when I go in…

But if its something that I know I like doing, than that wouldn't be a sacrifice, would it?

On my last day as a civilian in 2011, I decided to make the most of my freedom by wandering around aimlessly. Through the ornate lobby of the Grand Hotel built in the style of an ancient Chinese palace, where the Chiangs used to entertain (and presumably, spy on) foreign guests, now filled with tourists.

Then out into the bright sunlight, into the hills up narrow staircases and boardwalks built by generations of locals, hidden underneath the green forest canopy overlooking the city below. Past terraced badminton courts, pavilions, and shacks with older couples singing karaoke.Then along a narrow road in the hills lined by bamboo forests, past abandoned army posts, and graves dating from the reigns of 道光, 光緒, and 昭和.

Back down from the hills into the city, and a small Buddhist temple where I am (gently) reprimanded by a nun for unknowingly standing on the tomb of a great monk.

And finally, into a shiny shopping mall with hipster kids wearing horn rimmed glasses without lenses.

It's amazing what you can find when you have no idea where you're going.

第二類組 (Type 2)

2011-03-09T11:41:00.088+08:00

"Hurry up, they've already started drawing straws!"

Another day at the Shilin District Office. Another step in the process of getting drafted. The 10th floor auditorium of the district office is packed with thongs of young men and their anxious looking parents. The middle aged ladies running the Department of Compulsory Military Service who were at the medical exam weeks ago are all there again. But for the first time, I see military personnel manning the check-in desk - an army lieutenant colonel along with a bunch of NCOs, and a couple of MPs.

Like anyone would try to make a break for it at this stage.

Taiwan has had a military draft going since the 1950s, back when the Cold War was still hot. Today, China's invasion threats have gone from the human waves of yesteryear to a ballistic missile buildup, while Taiwan has gone from dictatorship to democracy. One problem hasn't changed though - how do you distribute all the draftees fairly among the service branches? Lots of people want to get into the air force (considered an easy assignment), and few want to end up in the marines (at one point, marine boot camp graduation involved swimming from Kinmen to China and returning with a severed PLA ear... or so the rumor mill goes).

The solution that was settled upon has become a rite of passage for Taiwanese males - drawing straws. Even with the introduction of civilian alternative service for folks who can't pass the physical, the practice still continues. Everyone gets a service branch, no one can complain about favoritism. This year, the ratio for the general pool is fairly typical: 75% Army, 8% Navy, 8% Marines, and 9% Air Force.

"But, I was told to come in at 11AM."

"Are you doing alternative service?"

"No, I'm classified as Type 2."

But as you might expect, the military in Taiwan has its own needs in terms of personnel qualifications. In the U.S., incoming enlisted personnel take the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) exam to determine their level of competency. Taiwan deals with this problem by loading the dice for draftees with certain qualifications...

There are three separate pools as far as drawing straws is concerned. Type 1 is the maritime group (100% Navy), Type 2 is the aviation group (70% Air Force, 20% Army, 10% Navy), Type 3 is the general pool. Draftees are distributed by occupation or college degree: merchant seamen, maritime academy graduates, maritime engineers, and oceanographers go under Type 1. Type 2 includes commercial pilots, aviation mechanics, aerospace and aeronautical engineers, atmospheric and space scientists, meteorologists, and plasma physicists. Everyone else is Type 3.

"Oh, there are only 4 of you this time. Have a seat and we'll call you once the general pool is done."

I walk into the auditorium where the process is playing out for the general pool. The middle aged ladies of the district office sit at a long table at the front. A large clear plastic box sits in the middle of the table with a hole in the top. A draftee thrusts his hand into the box, pulls out a straw, and hands it to a lady with a microphone behind the box.

"Number 141, Army."

The young man is silent as the straw is removed from the remaining pool, and the next draftee moves up for his turn. There are 141 Army straws out of the 188 total for the general pool today.

"Number 142, Army."

"Number 143, Army."

"Number 144, Marines"

The marine-to-be grimaces, while a palpable sense of relief spreads throughout the line of draftees behind him. One less Marine straw.

A middle aged lady walks over after overhearing my earlier conversation:

"What's this Type 2 thing you said you were in?"

"Oh, the aviation group."

"Wait, so you're all Air Force? How did you get into that?"

"No no no... we just have a higher chance of drawing an Air Force straw. I studied aerospace engineering so-"

"My son studied accounting, why isn't he in this?"

"Well they should already know his degree-"

"Wait what? I didn't know about this. I told them he studied accounting..."

I had a thing for space and aviation as a kid, like most kids do. Unlike most kids, I never grew out of it and choose to study astrophysics in college (instead of pre-med or computer science), and aerospace engineering in grad school. The typical reaction I got from people in Taiwan upon learning of this was "Aerospace engineering? Who needs that in Taiwan?". Guess I've got the answer to that now...

"Type 2 draftees, report!"

A middle aged man with greying hair takes the mike at the front - the supervisor. The 188 draftees in the general pool are finally done. My turn now, along with the two other draftees in the group who actually showed up.

The supervisor gathers us around the box.

"Congratulations, you are all in the aviation group. No matter which service branch you end up drawing, your work will be related to aircraft!"

The three of us stare at each other, uncertain what to say. I've heard of Air Force draftees who ended up in air defense units, which were characterized as "the Army, but with surface to air missiles."

The supervisor opens a sealed brown envelope, containing three smaller sealed brown envelopes. He tears open the envelopes one by one to reveal identical looking small plastic tubes, each containing a rolled up piece of paper. The straws. He counts them out by service branch: 7 Air Force, 2 Army, 1 Navy. He hands me the microphone and points to the label on the big envelope:

"Read this please to confirm the contents are correct."

I pick up the microphone and hope my Taiwan accent is back...

"7 Air Force, 2 Army, 1 Navy."

"Sign your name and ID number on the envelope please, then have a seat."

He places the straws in the box, shakes up the contents, and hands the mike off to one of the ladies, who calls out our names and numbers, one by one. I'm last in line. The first guy draws Air Force. The second guy draws Navy.

I walk up and hand over my registration form and ID, and thrust my hand into the box. I hand the straw to the lady with the mike, who pulls the paper out of the tube...

"Number 4, Air Force."

The lady writes my name on the slip, stamps it with my seal, then hands me the receipt.

"Congratulations. We'll notify you 10 days before the start of basic training with further instructions."

The army guys at the check-in desk are gone now. The father of one of the other airmen-to-be walks over.

"Don't worry about it, it'll be a good experience. Say, where are you from?"

"Jiantan."

"Jiantan? Interesting. You look so tall that I almost thought you were a foreigner."

"Oh. Heh. Well, you know us kids these days."

"Yes, I would have taken you for American-born, except that you haven't done anything with your hair."

"Next". stamp

2011-02-20T13:57:00.075+08:00

"I've finished my studies in the U.S. and just returned the other day-"

"Ah? Please speak to the lady in the next window, she specializes in such cases. Please pardon the inconvenience."

For being what is probably the most dreaded section of the Shilin (士林) District Office, the civil servants at Department of Compulsory Military Service (兵役課) are unfailingly polite. Probably comes from being yelled at a lot by angry parents waving foreign passports. That and Shilin being the epicenter of expat residents in Taipei, what with the Taipei American School, the Tianmu neighborhood and all...

"Yes? How may I help you?"

The lady stares at me over a pile of what looks like files on all the other draft age males from Taipei's north side. Future comrades. Or whatever the preferred term is today. I take a deep breath and hope that 24 hours has been sufficient time for the American accent in my Mandarin to dissipate (remember... non-rhoticity! Just like Boston).

"Hi! I just finished school in the U.S. and arrived back in the country yesterday. I haven't been drafted yet and I'd like to report in to get the ball rolling-"

"- He wants to know how long he has before basic training since he has a job now."

Standing behind me, my mother can't help but interject even after promising me that she'd let me handle things on her own. I survived on my own abroad for the last 12 years but apparently old habits die hard. (Must get used to Taiwan family values again... the Italians are mama's boys and thrive just as well...)

"May I see your I.D. and any diplomas validated by our diplomatic personnel?"

I hand over my I.D. and a plastic folder containing photocopies of documents with TECO validation seals that cost me $30 apiece for the original documents and $15 apiece for Chinese translations that I had to do myself. Thank you Ministry of Foreign Affairs...

The lady taps a few things on her keyboard, gets up, then returns with a folder with my name on it.

"Engineering degree... current I.D. number checks out... wait a minute-" (Ha... another kid who finally ran out of education deferments)

She flips over to the backside of my Taiwan I.D. and frowns.

"Place of Birth: United States. Doesn't this make you an American?"

"Well yes, but my family moved here when I was a kid and had me naturalized to make the immigration paperwork easier and I was under the impression that I'm still required to serve..."

She stares. The unspoken "Sure we don't let you relinquish your citizenship till you've served but shouldn't you have just entered on your American passport and pretended you had ex-pat status so you'd be exempt from this? Everybody does it."- seems to hang in the air. It only lasts a few seconds.

"Read and sign this please." (you can read right?)

She whips out a legal statement.

"I _________ affirm that I am a dual citizen of the Republic of China and __________ . I do not claim and have no intention of claiming expatriate status and understand that I am subject to military conscription as a military age male."

I sign, wondering if she isn't planning to send me to the psych ward at NTU.

"You'll hear from us in a few weeks for your physical at Yang-Ming Hospital. If everything checks out, you'll come back to draw straws to decide your service branch, and can expect to ship out sometime in late March or early April."

A few weeks later a notice comes in the mail to pick up the physical exam forms at the District Office. "Please report to the specified hospital at the specified date and time along with two 1" photos, your I.D., a ballpoint pen, and this form."

Yang-Ming Hospital is a large building covered with pink bathroom tile in a nice neighborhood in Tianmu. I arrive on an overcast afternoon of the sort that characterizes Taipei in the winter.

The physical exam center is a separate building located to the rear of the main hospital building. I am surprised by the complete lack of military personnel. The check-in desks are staffed by middle aged women who might as well have been the mothers of all the young men milling around. The doctors are all civilians normally attached to the hospital. If it wasn't for the large number of young men from all around the north side of Taipei walking around accompanied by anxious parents, it would probably be another ordinary working day. One of the doctors chats loudly with his colleagues:

"... and what do you mean healthy? How many of these kids do you think are going to whip out medical files claiming missing limbs, allergies, and esoteric diseases they found on PubMed? How many of the rest are going to whip out foreign passports, here on the north side? And can you blame them when even the president's daughter hides behind an American passport? In my day if you had flat feet they'd tell you to stuff tissue on the soles of your shoes..."

As if on cue, several of the examinees gestured frantically at the middle aged lady overseeing the check-ins... "Excuse me, I'm not sure why I was told to come here, I have a foreign passport and lived abroad...". Interestingly, after the former (fluent Chinese-speaking) group had departed, quite a few other individuals of mixed ethnicity were still standing around with the rest of us. So much for blood thicker than water.

At the check-in desk, I'm handed a four page questionnaire. "Are you feeling healthy and well today?" "Have you been depressed lately?" "Are you angry at your parents?" "Do you have a driver's license?" After answering to what I suppose was the satisfaction of the proctor, I'm handed a physical exam form, my background file from the District Office, and a black tote bag containing a pair of gym shorts and plastic flip flops.

After changing, I was led with the other examinees into a wing with several rooms, each containing nurses and doctors to perform a particular examination. At the end of each examination, the responsible doctor would write the results on the exam form, and stamp the particular section. Everything was systematic and assembly line-like with draftees lined up quietly at each station. There was little talk amongst the draftees as we wound our way from station to station. Blood pressure, dental, EKG, height and weight, vision, blood, urine, chest X-ray...

Some tests were simple. Hearing:

"Do you have hearing problems?"

"No."

"Next." *stamp*

Psych:

"Have you ever felt like killing yourself?"

"No."

"Have you ever seen a psychologist before?"

"I'm talking to one right now."

"Next." *stamp*

Finally, the part you always hear about. I find myself standing before a panel of one female and two male urologists in lab coats, wearing surgical masks. A screen bisects the room, ending right before the doctors so that they can see behind it. The other draftees in line behind me look on. One of the male doctors slips on a pair of latex gloves and comes in for a closer hands on examination.

"Please step behind the screen and drop your pants."

Despite spending the last six years studying in the town that gave birth to the Naked Pumpkin Run, I really don't find the lack of clothing to be a liberating experience in this sort of setting.

Satisfied that I do indeed possess functioning male genitalia, the doctor nods and tells me to pull my pants back up and moves on to the next question on the list...

"Now, have you ever had a hernia?"

"No."

"Next." *stamp*

The entire exam takes about half an hour, after which I find myself in front of the check-out desk, again staffed by middle aged ladies who might have been my friends' mothers.

"There's nothing immediately disqualifying, so we're just waiting on the blood and urine results. You'll hear from us again in about a month. Go out and have fun."

Continued on Part II: 第二類組 (Type 2)

The Politics of Chinatown

2008-03-30T14:40:00.018+08:00

It's been a short visit back to Taiwan, but eventful nonetheless, first the elections, then backpacking around northern Taiwan. After ten days of enjoying myself at home, I find myself on the way to grad school with a six hour layover in San Francisco. San Francisco occupies a bit of a soft spot in my heart. As a kid born to one of the many students Taiwan sent abroad in the 70s and 80s, my parents would often take me up to The City on weekends.

Taking BART up from SFO, I only have time for a quick walk from Union Square up through Chinatown. It's a route my folks used to take me on a lot as a kid. Chinatown hasn't changed much from what I remember from the late 80s and early 90s - tightly packed buildings with small stores selling everything from groceries to souvenirs, Cantonese voices floating through the air, what smells like a strange mix of fragrant spice, exotic stir fry, car exhaust, something rotting, and the salty breeze from the Pacific.

I never noticed it much as a kid, but politics is alive and well in Chinatown. Walking down the main throughfares one sees a growing number of buildings flying the Five Starred Red Flag of the People's Republic of China, while the Blue Sky White Sun and Red Earth of the Republic of China flutters above others. Most prominant amongst the latter is a large white building located on Stockton Street, just outside the Stockton Tunnel, which borders the southern edge of Chinatown. This is the Dr. Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall of San Francisco. Emblazoned in traditional characters on the front of the building are words "Chinese Kuomintang U.S. Branch". A new banner "Celebrating the election of Messrs. Ma and Siew as the 12th President and Vice-President of the Republic of China" hangs prominently on the front of the building.

Yet this KMT is distinct from the KMT of Chiang Kai-shek - led by what some call the Shanghai-clique that spent the years after the 1911 revolution fighting first against successive northern warlord governments, then the Japanese, before relocating to Taiwan where they vowed to reconquer the Mainland. It certainly bears less and less resemblance to the KMT of today, based on the islands of Taiwan, Penghu, Kinmen and Matsu whose candidates were just elected to the presidency a little over a week ago. The party headquarters sitting in the oldest Chinatown in North America is the final remminant of the original KMT - the Cantonese speaking quasi-secret revolutionary society turned political party, funded by overseas Chinese, responsible for the 1911 revolution that overthrew the last emperor, establishing the Republic of China - the state that those of us from Taiwan still (nominally at least) owe our allegiance to. Party members here still cling to the hope that China will one day be ruled again under the KMT flag. I remember once helping an elderly gentleman in Los Angeles put up what so many of us simply refer to these days as the flag of Taiwan. "This" he said proudly, "is the flag of China".

I wonder how many KMT members living in Taiwan today still believe that.

Back at SFO, amongst all the newspapers on sale in the terminal, is the latest copy of The World Journal (世界日報) - a daily traditional Chinese language newspaper serving the overseas Chinese communities of North America, affiliated with the United Daily News - one of the largest KMT leaning newspapers in Taiwan. Like most of the papers in Taiwan, the news is still dominated by coverage of President-elect Ma, reflecting perhaps the excitement of the KMT at being so close to regaining control of the executive branch after 8 years.

The main headline covers the unrest in Tibet. The second front page story is on the latest from President-elect Ma on cross-strait politics and mutual non-denial. The title reads: "馬：我是台灣的總統" ("Ma: I am the President of Taiwan").

Tags:[Taiwan], [Taiwan politics], [Taiwan elections].

Riding the rails in the American Southwest

2007-07-13T01:22:00.002+08:00

Like a lot of kids, I went through a phase growing up where I was obsessed with trains and rail travel. As a kid in California, we spent a good chunk of our elementary school social studies classes on the role of railroads - namely, the US Transcontinental Railroad on the development of the American West. Later, living in Taiwan throughout my teenage years, I raked up god knows how many miles riding on Taiwan Railway Administration (TRA) trains and later on, aboard the MRT and now the High Speed Rail. Railways were cool. On holidays I'd hop a cheap local train and end up a few hours later in some random city or town ready for a couple hours of wandering around gawking at the local sights. When I got tired of it, I'd head back to the station and hop on the next train back to Taipei. As much as I enjoyed bitching about the surly blue collar nature of TRA, the hilarious Chinglish signage, and how my last train was all of 5 minutes late, the TRA was sort of my ticket to adventures (if you can call them that) outside the hordes of people in the city, and at the same time, sort of a safety line. Who cares if Chongde Station is in the middle of nowhere when I can just hop on the next local train out in about half an hour and get back to Taipei for under US$5?

Imagine my horror then, the first time I took an Amtrak train (the Coast Starlight) in California as a college student back in 2001.

"Fearful that losses from passenger service would contribute to the weakening of other railroads, policymakers looked for a way to relieve the freight railroads of that burden. The result was the passage of the Rail Passenger Service Act of 1970, which created Amtrak. The company began operating on May 1, 1971." -- The Past and Future of U.S. Passenger Rail Service, Congressional Budget Office, 9/2003. Ch. 2: A Brief History of Amtrak

I can overlook the fact that for most routes outside the Northeast Corridor, it generally isn't practical to run more than one train a day. And to be fair, the onboard service I experienced was quite good, the dining car food excellent, and the cars clean and well maintained.

None of that makes up for the fact however, that we were eight hours late pulling into San Jose.

"Once one of the most popular train lines in the world, the Coast Starlight is in jeopardy because it consistently runs five to 15 hours late due to neglect by Amtrak and the Union Pacific Railroad, said Gerald Cauthen, president of the Train Riders Association of California... the Coast Starlight has delivered only 2 percent of its passengers to their destinations on time since October of last year." -- San Francisco Chronicle, 8/8/2006

Kind of sad, considering that the US passenger rail system was once one of the best in the world... fifty some odd years ago. For intercity travel these days, it's generally a toss up between driving yourself for hours, or flying. Now, I like airplanes as much as the next aerospace engineer, but frankly for domestic travel, I think they are way too overused. I've heard it argued that massive federal subsidies for the airline industry and the interstate highway system create an environment favoring cars and planes as a one size fits all solution as far as transportation is concerned. Certainly cars and planes have their place, but sometimes it does seem like they dominate excessively here in the US due to an artificial scarcity of other options.

But let's be fair here, west of Chicago, using Amtrak is virtually unheard of. Plane tickets cost about the same as intercity rail tickets. Reasonable people fly or drive.

When it comes to traveling though, I am not a reasonable person. :D

"Today, having received a total of about $27 billion in federal subsidies over 32 years, Amtrak is still teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, and policymakers are still struggling to find a workable plan for intercity passenger rail." -- The Past and Future of U.S. Passenger Rail Service, Congressional Budget Office, 9/2003. Ch. 2: A Brief History of Amtrak

It's 5:50 AM in Downtown Denver, Colorado. The streets are still mostly empty as I step off the RTD B bus. The air is cool, but there are already signs of the dry noontime heat that is yet to come.

Like most major train stations in American cities, Union Station Denver is located near the heart of downtown. Built in the late 19th century before automobiles became commonplace, and the urban exodus that ensued, railroad passengers are spared a long drive from airports located in the outskirts of the city.

The waiting room is large, spacious, and evocative of another era. Rows of tall backed wooden benches line the interior. Only one of the four ticket counters is still operational, manned by a single lady in an Amtrak uniform. Though renovated and clean, there is still a sense of a place whose best days have passed. Though generally well maintained, most everything in Union Station looks old and somewhat worn.

The waiting room is mostly empty this time of morning, aside for a few passengers who still insist on taking the Los Angeles bound Southwest Chief. There are no security checks. No long lines. Just a quick direction from the ticket counter to wait outside for the connecting bus to arrive.

The only long distance service from Denver is run by Amtrak. The only train that actually stops at Denver is the California Zephyr (Chicago, IL - Emeryville, CA), with one train in either direction per day. Other connections can only be made by chartered busses. The small number of trains on Amtrak's western long distance routes makes train to train transfers difficult. The first leg of my journey to Los Angeles is actually not by train but by a bus to Raton, New Mexico, where I will catch the Southwest Chief at it's 10:50AM stop there.

Four hours after boarding the connecting bus from Denver, I wake up was we cross the Colorado-New Mexico state line at the Raton Pass. We've gone south from Denver on I-25 and picked up more people at Colorado Springs, Pueblo, and Trinidad. The driver is a middle aged gentleman who cheerfully instructs us in the use of the bus's bathroom doorknob, which evokes a few laughs. The passengers keep mostly to themselves as we roll along and the ride is mostly silent except for a mother and two children behind me who are playing a "Guess the person" game. I am pleasantly surprised that one of the kids actually knows who Eleanor Roosevelt is.

Racing ahead of the train on the railroad tracks below us, the bus drives into the town of Raton, New Mexico, population 7282 at the last census. The town is quintessentially Small Town America, with most businesses and small shops clustering around a single Main Street. We pass hardware stores and a small movie theater that looks like it was taken out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

The Raton train station is a small building, built in the whole mission style that seems to be so popular in the Southwest. The station seems to be shared between Amtrak and the BNSF Railroad (freight). It's not much to look at but is the main transfer point for Los Angeles bound Amtrak passengers from Colorado.

Half of the station seems to be occupied by a small waiting room. The aged look is even more apparent here, with a vending machine that looks like it was manufactured in the 60s, and separate hot and cold water taps in the restroom faucets. The actual Amtrak ticket office is actually located in a temporary prefab building outside the station itself.

Nonetheless, there seems to be quite a bit of passenger activity here, most of it being a troupe of boy scouts headed back to Albuquerque after some type of camping trip.

We finally hear the train whistle and see the train itself as it rounds the bend just before the station. The Southwest Chief slowly pulls into the station as activity on the platform starts to pick up. Conductors emerge from the trains placing down yellow stools in front of the doors. I present my ticket to the conductor of a coach class car, while he checks the passenger manifest.

"LA? Okay, head on upstairs to the front of the car. There's an open reserved seat for LA right across from two young ladies on the other side of the aisle. I believe that you'll be sitting with an older gentleman to your left."

I soon learn that the conductors know virtually everyone in their designated cars... where they're going, when they want to eat, and even where they usually hang out on the train...

Our train is one of Amtrak's Superliner fleet. Though built in the late 70s and renovated in the 90s, the cars are surprisingly comfortable. Our train is comprised of (in order from the two locomotives) a checked baggage car, a sleeping car, three coach class cars, a lounge/observation car, a dining car, and another sleeper.

The coach class car that will be my home for the next 26 or so hours to Los Angeles is comprised of two rows of two seats each. Compared to typical passenger airliner seats, the train seats are heaven. Each seat is about twice as wide as an airline seat and swings backwards into a recliner like position, complete with a recliner chair like footrest.

I sit beside an elderly gentlemen who seems mostly preoccupied with his iPod. Looking around the interior of the car, I see what can only be described as a cross section of America. Adults, children, students, retirees, black people, white people... etc. I find that many people preferred to wander about the train during the day, and can rarely be found in their seats.

The lower level of the coach class car contains the entryway as well as four lavatories. There's also a large rack for carry on baggage and a large empty space for more cargo. Not much to say here, except that the cargo space soon became a mini campground for a group of girl scouts who spread their sleeping bags there and spent the evening hours telling ghost stories.

The sleepers are Amtrak's version of first class. A single sleeper compartment contains a fold down bunk above two seats and a table beside a window, all in a private compartment. The lower seats can also be converted into a second bunk. Sleeper class passengers get complementary coffee, and do not have to pay for eating in the dining car.

Very nice, but a bit pricey, especially when you're traveling alone. Besides, I found I spent most of my time in the lounge car anyhow, talking with other passengers and taking in the view.

The Lounge Car is like a miniature town square, it's the center of activity for most passengers from both coach and sleeper classes. The upper level of the lounge car is a large observation room, almost always buzzing with activity and sightseers throughout the day. The single rows of seats facing the windows on either side encourage seat sharing, and indirectly, conversation between passengers.

Spending the rest of the morning in the lounge car, I talk to a couple from Pennsylvania, taking the train to Vegas ("We decided to go retro"). I ask them about the scenery so far ("Lots of grassland"). They ask me where I'm coming from ("Colorado!"), where I was originally from ("California, where all the fruits and nuts come from!"), and what I've heard about the route from my friends ("Assorted varieties of tumbleweed.")

I run into a couple from the San Fernando Valley, leading the girl scout troupe on a train trip returning from Chicago ("We always take the girls on a long train ride each year"). I make a remark about loving trains but having been burned pretty badly on my last Amtrak trip (Them: "Let me guess, Coast Starlight from LA to SF?" Me: "Yeah." Them: "Oh yes, we were late 15 hours into Seattle when we tried taking that one. The girls made us promise never to do that one again.")

Them: "You sound like you grew up in California, which part?"
Me: "Is it really that obvious?"
Them: "You said 'soda' instead of 'pop' and also used the term 'back east'."

The lower level of the lounge car is designated as the "coach cafe". It's basically a simple dining area with a small convenience store like fixture where the cafe dude (for the lack of a better term) sells drinks, snacks, and microwavable meals. He also functions as a bartender, and a source of gossip and information.

This is separate from the dining car (no photos unfortunately), the next car down from the lounge car. To accommodate all the passengers who want to eat in the dinning car, the conductors periodically check through their cars asking passengers to make reservations. Parties smaller than four are also seated together.

As lunchtime rolls around, I find myself seated at a table in the dining car, while we roll through a New Mexico river valley flanked by red rocks and the occasional pueblo style mansion. My tablemates are a diverse group, an Asian American civil engineer in his 30s working for a transportation consulting company in the Bay Area, returning from a trip to Oklahoma; a middle aged African American lady going home to Las Vegas; and a British lady visiting her son in Santa Fe, who opted to take the train from Denver over her son's suggestion to just fly down because she wanted to take the scenic route.

We talk about public transportation in America ("Hey, were you involved in the whole FasTracks project up in Denver?"), bemoan how sad the nation's passenger rail infrastructure has become ("... and they now serve preheated food on plastic plates. Still much better then airline food."), relay the whole General Motors streetcar conspiracy theory ("... and so GM donated busses to various cities leading to the shut down of the light rail lines we had back in the 50s..."), water problems and growth in Vegas ("...we can't keep growing at that rate, there isn't enough water"), and explain the concept of "stone fired pizza" to our British contingent ("It's a fancy way of saying oven baked").

Half way through lunch, the train pulls into Lamy station. We hear a broadcast over the intercom for someone's arriving early to pick up a passenger to Santa Fe. Our British friend excuses herself quickly scooping up the last of her stone fired pizza as we shake hands and exchange pleasantries. Then we're off again through the New Mexico countryside.

By 4PM, we've gone halfway across the State of New Mexico. The farms, small towns, river valleys, and rocky southwestern landscape have given way to residential areas, warehouses, and finally, the skyscrapers of Downtown Albuquerque come into view. The train rolls into Albuquerque Station for a 40 minute layover to refuel to locomotives. As at the other stations, the passengers are allowed onto the platform to stretch their legs.

A furnace-like blast of hot air greets me as I step out of the air conditioned train onto the platform. It's 104 degrees Fahrenheit out. Almost immediately, I feel the moisture in my skin start to evaporate.

Several local Native American artists and peddlers have set up shop on the platform, hawking jewelry, blankets, and other souvenirs to the passengers. Someone mentions that there is a store in the station that sells ice cream. Judging by the crowd that immediately made for the station, I think they probably had a good business day that day. As the 40 minute time limit creeps up, everyone scrambles back aboard the train as the whistle sounds, and we start rolling again, making for the Arizona state line.

Dinnertime rolls around again. I am seated with a family of three from Missouri headed to LA for a vacation. Conversation is polite, but distant. Excusing myself at the earliest opportune moment, I make my way back to the lounge car in time to see the sun setting behind the desert horizon as we change into Arizona.

The crowd in the lounge car gradually trickles away as the sun slowly sets around 9PM. The conductor announces over the intercom that we are now on Pacific time as we cross the state line.

I find myself seated next to a young man about my age carrying a fancy looking camera. "Where are you from?", I ask. "I am from Taiwan" he says in halting English.

Me: "幹！我也是台灣人ㄟ！" ("F***! I'm also from Taiwan!")

As it turns out, he was on his third month of a backpacking trip across the US that started from New York. He had spent the last two months gradually working his way across the country by rental car and train, and was planning to get off at Flagstaff, before continuing on to Los Angeles.

Me: "Don't you know anyone there?"
Him: "No, not really."

Apparently, I was the first Taiwanese person he'd seen for quite some time. After a long conversation about everything from military service in Taiwan, to US travel tips, we exchange emails before he gets off at Flagstaff.

It's around 9PM when we approach Flagstaff, AZ. We experience an unexpected complication just outside the station. The train rolls to a stop just before the station, while the crew checks the engine. The station appears to be located in part of town with quite a bit of nightlife going on. Outside, we can see the lights of clubs and bars, and people who appear to be partygoers walking along the track.

While the inspection is going on, our car is stopped right smack in the middle of a railroad crossing, blocking vehicle and pedestrian traffic. Standing near the lower level entryway along with the conductor, and a few other passengers desperate to go outside for a smoke, we see some curious looking pedestrians walking up to the door and staring at us.

The conductor opens the window. A gentleman walks up to the train speaking to us in German accented English.

German dude (GD): "Wheah ah you heading?"
Conductor (C): "Los Angeles."
GD: "Wheah ah you coming from?"
C: "Chicago."
GD: "Thea ah still trains that go from Chicago to Califohnia?"

Thankfully for all involved, the train starts moving again after about 5 minutes, finally rolling into Flagstaff Station. A larger stop, we get about 10 minutes on the platform to stretch our legs and for those inclined to (as one passenger put it) "pollute their lungs".

I talk with the conductor while waiting for departure. A distinguished looking gentleman, I am surprised when he mentions that he is originally from Kenya, studied geology, and choose to work on the railroad for two years to see America. "I'm coming up on the two years. It's been fun, but soon it'll be time to move on to other things" he says in flawless American English.

As the lights of Flagstaff fade behind us, we roll again out into the open desert. The lights dim and passengers head back to their seats and compartments to rest. I can't sleep so I head down to the cafe in the lounge car and order a beer. Unfortunately they ran out of Sam Adams, so I found myself sitting in the cafe with a can of Miller Lite.

I talk with the only other passenger in the cafe, an older looking lady eating a midnight snack. I find that she is an ESL teacher hailing from Northern California and coincidentally, her first job was teaching at the University of Colorado, where I now study.

"I loved Boulder, but couldn't stand the snow."

We talk about snow, Colorado, California, teaching ESL, the grad student life. She inquires about my research, which somehow leads to a whole new discussion on sustainable living. Finally, my beer finished, and the feeling of sleep slowly setting in, I wish her a pleasant trip back up to NorCal, and retire back to my darkened coach seat for the night.

Through the night, the train passes across the deserts of Arizona and California, stopping briefly at Barstow. When I wake up to the sight of the sun slowly rising, I see a familiar sight. The rocky yellowed desert hills making way into rows of palm trees and identical looking suburban neighborhoods.

It's been three years since I left but the memories of high school and college start flooding back. Southland. Home. (Or one of the many homes for someone who moves around as much as me.) The six years I spent in SoCal seem like they happened to someone else in another life on another planet, even though it's only been 3 years. We pass through stations with names of places I remember frequenting via the tangle of freeways. San Bernardino, Fullerton...

The smoggy sky slowly brightens, and the giant megalopolis we are passing through slowly comes to life.

I return to my seat as we make our final approach into LA Union Station. The elderly gentleman seated next to me has finally removed the iPod headphones from his ears and nods a good morning to me as I sit down. He's coming to Los Angeles to visit his son and has taken the train all the way from Ohio.

"I normally get a sleeper but they were out this time. For a young guy like you coach is fine, but for an old man like me it's terrible."

We talk briefly about where we're coming from...

Him: "My other son is in Denver, fine city. I like it a lot more than I do LA."
Me: "LA is an acquired taste I think. I disliked it when I was living here, then hated it when I was away, but coming back to it it sorta grows on you."

We arrive at Los Angeles Union Station at 7:38 AM. 37 minutes ahead of schedule. This has been an interesting trip. In Taiwan, while pervasive, a train ride was an ordinary affair. You got on, sat (or stood) till you got to your stop, then got off. This ride was different. Boarding the train and mingling with the other passengers was like meeting a cross section of ordinary America. No glitz, no glamor, just ordinary people who happened to run into one another on their respective ways. We often hear people complaining about Americans being stupid, apathetic, or dense... perhaps they should consider taking a long distance train ride across America. All I can say is, for someone as pessimistic as me, this trip has gone a long way in restoring my faith in my fellow man. At heart, we are all decent people making our way through life one day at a time.

I will definitely come this way again.

“The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see. The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land.”
--G. K. Chesterton

Tags: [Amtrak], [Trains], [Travel],[USA]

Random pics: Biking along the rivers of Taipei

2007-01-11T19:11:00.002+08:00

One pleasant little surprise that I've noticed is the increased proliferation of bicycle paths and recreational biking in Taipei. It's actually not too uncommon nowadays to run into people commuting by bike, or simply biking for the fun of it. While the city streets remain rather hazardous for bikers, several new bike paths have been constructed along the riverside parks which flank the shores of the rivers and streams running throughout the Taipei metro area. It is now possible to bike all the way from Neihu (內湖) to Danshuei (淡水) along the Keelung and Danshuei Rivers.

Considering that Taiwan is one of the world's biggest producers of bicycles, it seems only fitting that folks here are finally taking up recreational bicycling again. Bicycle repair and rental shops (some publicly funded) have been popping up along the bike paths and weekends find many a family rolling along together on two wheels. Perhaps in a few years we'll finally start to get over our fixation on motorscooters.

The Dajih Bridge (大直橋) and the Grand Hotel in the distance.

New apartment towers near Dajih.

Commuters near Beitou.

Cloud covered Yangmingshan and an expressway in the foreground.Mangrove swamps near Guandu.

The Guandu Temple.

A nearby bicycle repair and rental shop.

The Guandu Bridge.

Looking towards Danshuei and out to sea.

(If you're wondering why the weather is different in some of the photos, they were taken on two separate trips.)

Tags: [Taiwan], [Taipei], [Cycling]

Riding the THSR: Banciao to Taichung

2007-01-08T13:00:00.002+08:00

After almost six years of construction, the Taiwan High Speed Rail system finally began trial runs open to the public on Friday. Since then, we've heard news of all sorts of bugs floating to the surface, everything from malfunctioning ticket gates, buggy booking software, bird strikes on moving trains, to passengers being unfarmiliar with toilets actually capable of processing toilet paper (as any decent toilet should!). Yet the core system continues to function mostly without incident, and the apocalypse scenario predicted by critics with trains derailing and exploding left and right has not materialized. And crowds of people continue to line up at HSR stations up and down the western corridor, eager to try out the train for themselves, some coming from as far as Japan just for the experience.

As I blogged earlier, I was lucky enough to get tickets for the fourth train to run - Train 405 from HSR Banciao Station in Taipei County to HSR Taichung Station located in the township of Wu Erh (烏日) last Friday. My original plan was to spend about two hours around HSR Taichung Station, but family obligations necessitated that I continue on to Tainan... thus giving me a chance to see how smoothly I could make the connection from the THSR to a TRA train (THSR tickets were sold out for all trains on Friday and Saturday by early morning Thursday).

HSR Banciao Station is located in the same building as the TRA and MRT stations of the same name. It's also one of the two HSR stations to the built underground into a preexisting facility (the other being the yet to be opened HSR Taipei Station), a giant new glass and pink granite tower more reminiscent of a shopping mall than a train station. Arriving at Banciao Station about twenty minutes before departure time I found my way to the B1 level where the ticket gates for HSR and TRA are located. Being the first day of operations, there were several passengers and HSR personnel milling around the area and there was a palpable sense of excitement in the air. Needless to say there were a lot of cameras out, flashbulbs going off, and people giving the two fingered salute.

At the ticket gates, an HSR employee stood around reminding passengers to insert their tickets into the gates with the magnetic stripe facing up. Short explanation: the HSR tickets are thin card stock with a magnetic stripe and instructions on one side, and the passenger's train and itinerary information printed on the other. Despite instructions on the gates (and the ticket for that matter... though not in English), most passengers, myself included are tempted to automatically stick the tickets into the gates with the magnetic stripe down, in which case the gates won't work. This seems to be a design flaw. Being an engineer myself I can empathize a bit with the difficulties of creating an idiot-proof interface, but really, this was something the designers could have thought of. Aside from that issue, I did not experience any problems with the ticket gates though there were continuous reports throughout the weekend of gates malfunctioning due to folded or bent tickets. Perhaps I was just lucky to get there earlier than most of the weekend crowds.

Proceeding past the ticket gates and the small waiting area, I headed down the escalators to the platforms on the B2 level. As it turned out, our train was already there, though the doors were blocked off for cleaning, giving me a chance to look around. Though built into what I believe was a former TRA facility, the HSR platforms already showed signs of the slick high tech image that THSR has been working to cultivate. The styling is noticeably cleaner and, tickets not withstanding, there is a greater proliferation of English signage. The slowly growing crowd of passengers seemed to be a pretty diverse mix of students, retirees, businessmen, and the occasional Japanese tourist. All excited at the prospect of trying out the future of Taiwan's public transit system and cheerfully snapping away with their cameras at pretty much anything that moved. Throughout the trip I also noticed several Asian and European people with THSR badges, engineers I think, walking around checking things.

Most passengers ignored the bit on cell phone etiquette.

Economy class seating.

About five minutes before the scheduled departure time, the janitors finished up their cleaning work and we were allowed to board the trains. Somehow I managed to be the second person aboard my train car. The interior compartments of the trains are brightly lit, spotlessly clean (hopefully they still are), and a faint plasticky "new train" smell hung in the air. My economy class compartment consisted of a long aisle of turquoise cloth covered seats arranged in two long columns with two seats on one side and three on the other. Fold down coathangers were located in each row, and each reclining seat had a fold down airplane style tray table with a diagram showing the layout of the train on the backside. The seats were wide and quite comfortable, about the width of seating on a typical TRA express train, with legroom much larger than what you'd find on a plane.

Some of the intercar compartments contain beverage vending machines.

No, I didn't actually test it.

The compartments between the cars contained the lavatories, as well as vending machines selling some beverages in a few of the cars. Due to the longest trip being around 2 hours there is no 高鐵便當 (Correction: Apparently there is.), though passengers are allowed to bring their own food and drink aboard provided it is not too strong smelling (stinky tofu and durians are banned). There are also food carts pushed up and down the trains by attendants where one may buy snacks or drinks, though I did not see any sign of them throughout my 55 minute trip to Taichung.

Hsinchu Station.

What's wrong with this picture? (Hint: Lower left corner)

At precisely 9:25AM, our train pulled out of Banciao Station beginning our trip south. The THSR 700T trains are noticeably smoother and quieter than your typical TRA train, with much less vibration though some noise is still detectable, especially from what I think was the electrical system during acceleration. The acceleration is gradual so there really isn't a sense of being thrown back into your seat as you might expect, but the increased speed is definitely noticeable as you speed through the cities and countryside. The train speed was displayed periodically in a scrolling display at either ends of the compartment, and mostly hovered somewhere around 290 km/h throughout most of the trip, though I did see it go as high as 298 km/h (the max speed is 315 km/h). In about 15 minutes, we had left Taipei County and were pulling into Taoyuan Station. In another 15 we were at Hsinchu Station where I was able to poke my head out for a quick photo.

Arriving at Taichung Station.

Strong presence from the police...

... and the media.

And the crowds at the ticket counters are as big as ever.

After only 55 minutes, we arrived at HSR Taichung Station, located in Wu Erh Township on the outskirts of Taichung City. As the major midway point, the station was filled with passengers, press, and police officers. The station itself is, like most of the other new THSR stations, a very modern looking structure of glass and aluminum and steel struts. Coming down the escalators from the platform into the main concourse, one finds a scene more evocative of an airport terminal than a train station, with restaurants, stores and such. Outside, there are already signs of new developments springing up in what used to be rice paddies.

Transferring to TRA.

The old and the new.

Transiting from THSR to TRA is actually easier than I expected. Like several of the THSR stations, HSR Taichung Station is located along a TRA rail line. The TRA New Wu Erh Station is connected to the HSR station by a covered overpass, from which one may transfer to local commuter trains.

Having experienced the THSR firsthand, there are definitely some problems and flaws which need to be worked out, especially in terms of the effects of handling large amounts of people as well as providing a more user friendly interface, but overall, I have to say that I'm quite impressed by what I saw. Some growing pains are inevitable but the THSR is definitely a system which we can all be proud of once the kinks are ironed out. With the increasing urbanization of Taiwan's west coast it will definitely play an important part in transportation between the major metropolitan areas in the years to come.

The THSR is certainly impressive but it is by no means the death kneel for the comparatively more "blue collar" TRA. As many have noted, perhaps the greatest weakness of the THSR is the fact that many of the stations are located outside major metropolitan areas. It is also important to note that the THSR functions as only one component of a larger transit net, providing high speed travel over sparsely spaced nodes, with other forms of transportation filling in the gaps to local areas... a function which TRA fills nicely, and has in fact been slowly turning to with the increased emphasis on short distance commuter trains in recent years. It is reassuring that the powers that be have noticed this and from what I have seen at stations such as Banciao and Taichung, facilitated relatively smooth transfers between the HSR and the TRA (as well as the Taipei MRT for the former). It remains to be seen however, whether this can be achieved at HSR stations not in close proximity to TRA lines, such as Tainan, though there are encouraging signs with local bus companies setting up shuttle services.

In the coming days we're sure to hear more first hand accounts of the THSR around the blogosphere. David on Formosa will be taking the HSR fairly soon, and has in the past made several very insightful observations on the THSR, urban design, and mass transit in general. I'm sure there will be others as well.

Tags: [Taiwan], [Trains], [Taiwan High Speed Rail]

Riding the THSR: "You're gonna die!"

2007-01-03T10:01:00.000+08:00

To: ymc47
Start Time: 10:50:29 PM; End Time: 11:38:33 PM

ymc47 says: (11:10:38 PM)
btw, i managed to land a ticket to chiayi this noon
hai_tien says: (11:10:48 PM)
Wha? HSR?
ymc47 says: (11:11:20 PM)
yep
hai_tien says: (11:11:29 PM)
Whoa... online?
ymc47 says: (11:11:35 PM)
i went to taipei main station...much less chaotic than banciao
hai_tien says: (11:11:52 PM)
Ah... damn... gotta go tomorrow. Or are they sold out?
ymc47 says: (11:12:30 PM)
i think you'll be ok
hai_tien says: (11:12:46 PM)
Sweet, I think I'll try a Taichung run.
ymc47 says: (11:12:47 PM)
there are many slots to choose from
hai_tien says: (11:13:22 PM)
Nice... will do tomorrow!

It's a testament to the power of the media here how much hysteria they've been able to whip up regarding the soon to be opened Taiwan High Speed Rail system. Every detail of the construction of THSR has been carefully scrutinized by the media and promptly reinterpreted in the worst possible light.

Consequently my folks are convinced that the first train out of Banciao Station will derail, burst into flame, and be struck by a meteor. And I will lie there blooded and dying while a TVBS reporter shoves a microphone into my face screaming "先生！你現在感覺如何？"

Me: But you said the same thing about the Taipei MRT, Taipei 101, and the Hsueshan Tunnel. Now that they've been around for a while you have no trouble whatsoever using them.
Parents in unison: THAT'S DIFFERENT!

Certainly THSR has had it's share of scandals and such. But really, I think the worst that can happen on Friday is that the train will be canceled and I'll get my ticket refunded. Which brings me to this morning...

I had hoped that the mass hysteria would at least work in my favor trying to obtain a ticket on opening day. Arriving at THSR section of Taipei Main Station this morning I found a short line of about 10 to 15 people standing in front of the ticket windows - mostly young people about my age and the occasional guy in a business suit. The automatic vending machines were out of service at the time. A timetable was thrust into my hands by a security guard and after a wait of about 10 minutes I found myself in front of a very helpful ticket agent.

Me: I'd prefer an early train to Taichung for Friday. Oh, and round trip please.
Agent: The earliest train with open seats on Friday leaves Banciao at 9:25AM.

So it would seem that while the tickets haven't exactly been selling like hotcakes, they've managed to sell a decent amount. Many people are taking advantage of halved ticket prices during the trial period between 1/5 and 1/14. Word of advice for prospective business class travelers, make sure you let the ticket agent know you intend to travel business class as you begin the booking process.

And so, that is how I ended up with round trip standard class tickets from Banciao to Taichung for opening day (this Friday) for a total cost of NT$670 (US$20.57), though I did miss out on the commemorative tickets being sold yesterday. If all goes well, the trip to Taichung should take about 55 minutes there and back again, with 2 hours for me to poke around THSR Taichung Station (which I am told is located out in the boonies somewhere). I'll be gone from Taipei after breakfast and be back in time for lunch. Cool.

Time to go see the future.

Updated: Photo from Banciao Station where the lines are longer.

Tags: [Taiwan], [Trains], [Taiwan High Speed Rail]

Hiking near Jioufen - Part II: The imperial past.

2006-12-28T12:57:00.000+08:00

It's amazing how many relics from Taiwan's Japanese colonial past you can find around Taipei County's Ruefang Township. The mineral wealth and spectacular seaside sights led to the development of everything from the coal mines around neighboring Pingsi Township, to the old gold mining ghost towns and imperial chalets at Chinkuashih (金瓜石).

Chinkuashih is surprisingly close to Jiufen. The two towns are connected by a winding 2.5 km road that runs through the rocky hills and mountains that line the northeast coast of Taiwan. A regular bus route runs between the two for the very affordable price of NT$22 for a one way trip.

But what fun would that be?

Feeling slightly giddy as I came down from Keelung Mountain, I thought it would be a good idea to walk the 2.5 km to Chinkuashih.

The road to Chinkuashih just outside of Jioufen. (The one below the road with the funeral procession. How very auspicious.)

Many of us tend to think of winding mountain roads in Taiwan - especially those along the northeast coast as narrow winding deathtraps filled with gravel trucks roaring around blind turns at breakneck speeds. I didn't see any kamikaze gravel trucks along the way through there were plenty of kamikaze tour buses full of Hong Kong, Singapore, and Japanese tourists. But, the fact that I am here typing this right now indicates that yes it is possible to walk a narrow mountain road in Taiwan without getting killed... maybe.

A glimpse of the ocean from the road.

"Nightclubs" line the road. Say hi to those whom the locals refer to as the 好兄弟.

Somewhere in the middle of nowhere...

... with the occasional small village...

... and coffee shop with a Zero fighter theme.

Thank god I didn't have to walk along that section.

All in all, the walk took about half an hour. It's not too bad going from Jioufen since the route is mostly downhill. Be prepared for a lot of odd looks from residents and drivers though.

Even the bus station is retro.

The road eventually reaches the Chinkuashih bus station, located right outside the entrance to the Gold Ecological Park - a historic area complete with a museum on the old gold mining days, a restored Japanese era mining town, as well as a series of hiking trails passing through many ruins left over from the era. Considering the state of disrepair most of the old Japanese style houses in the major cities are in, it's interesting to see how they looked back when they were new. The entrance fee for the museum and exhibits is a very reasonable NT$100, though access to the park itself and the hiking trails is free.

Restored Japanese-style houses where mining families once lived.

The neighborhood koban (police box).

The path to the museum follows a set of narrow gauge tracks, similar to those that were once used to transport ore.

The Museum of Gold.

The area also contains many historical sites worthy of note, including a chalet which once belonged to then crown prince Hirohito, the former site of a prison camp which once held Allied POWs during World War II, and the ruins of a Shinto temple - the Ogon Jinjia (黃金神社, lit: Shrine of Gold). Regrettably due to time constraints, I only had enough time to visit the last one.

The Ogon Jinjia was constructed in 1897 and moved to its current location overlooking the town and coast below in 1933 after mining operations began on the top of mountain where it was formerly located. The temple itself was dedicated to the guardian spirits of the miners who once worked in the area, and was once surrounded by groves of cherry trees. After the end of World War II, the temple was abandoned, vandalized, and eventually burned to the ground. It is said that the cherry trees themselves also disappeared after the fire, never to return. Today, all that remains are some of the stone lanterns, gates, and the foundation.

I'm not sure if the bare blackened husks of dead trees I saw surrounding the area belonged to the cherry trees, but they certainly lent a very eery feel to the ruins. The surrounding region is very beautiful (in the damp semi-depressing sort of way so common along the northeast coast). According to the scholarly experts at Godchecker.com:

The Japanese have 800 myriads of Gods which must cause a few congestion problems on their islands.

They appear to have a tendency to worship anything if it stays still long enough and looks interesting enough. Photography has replaced Iconography and pilgrims can often be seen in London recording taxis and streetlamps for possible deification.

So it's not difficult to see why the Japanese would build a temple around here.

The first gate at the foot of the steps to the temple.

Dead trees flank the path to the temple. The inscription on the lanterns reads "奉納" (offering), and also appears on many of the ruins.

A pile of stones by the path. The inscription on the top stone reads "奉燈" (offering lamp?), while the bottom stone reads "中央坑" (central tunnel). A talisman left by the miners perhaps?

The second gate.

All that remains of the temple.

Many of the inscriptions on the gates and lanterns have been defaced.

The base of the temple. For some unknown reason there is a rectangular pit about three feet deep in the floor.

All that's left inside.

Tags: [Taiwan], [Taipei County], [Shinto]

Hiking near Jioufen - Part I: Keelung Mountain

2006-12-28T10:25:00.000+08:00

Jioufen: Where the dead reside above the living.

Pretty much everyone whose visited Taiwan since the early 90s has at least heard of Jioufen (九份), that quaint little town on the hillside overlooking the Pacific Ocean where Hou Hsiao-hsien's movie "City of Sadness" was filmed. If you haven't been there, you owe it to yourself to go at least once. The town is easily accessible from Taipei via train and bus (take the train to Ruefang (瑞芳) Station, cross the street and take the bus to Jioufen). The main tourist trap is the Old Street. A long narrow row of quaint shops and eateries harking back to the "good old days" of vacuum tube radios, wooden sandals, and rice with lard poured on top. Most visitors can spend an entire visit just walking the length of Old Street.

That is not where I went on this trip.

Keelung Mountain viewed from the road to Chinkuashih (金瓜石).

Keelung Mountain (雞籠山, elevation 587 m) is a rather steep hill outside of the town of Jioufen, just a bit further up the road from the town itself. Arriving at Jioufen by bus, most people will get off near the Old Street stop. Follow the road a bit further up and you'll find a white stone marker denoting the trailhead for the Keelung Mountain trail by the left side of the road.

The Keelung Mountain trailhead.

The trail consists mostly of a series of very long and steep cobblestone steps cut into the side of the hill with the occasional pavilion for climbers to rest their legs. The view, however, is tremendous.

Looking up from the bottom.

Going up...

Looking back.

May the gods have mercy on my knees.

After what seems like an eternity (or was it 20 minutes? I must be losing it), I finally reach the top... which is a bit anti-climatic. The summit is occupied by what I'm told is a repeater station for aviation radio traffic, as well as a small pavilion occupied by a bunch of middle aged men drinking some kind of herbal drink (福氣啦!).

But the view more than makes up for the climb. Having spent the last 12 months in landlocked Colorado, it's great to see the ocean again. Nothing like standing on a summit feeling the sea wind blow on your face while taking in the enormous expanse that is the ocean.

Looking towards the northwest. From the nearest inlet to the furthest: Shenao Bay (深奧灣), Wanghaihsiang Harbor (望海巷漁港), Badouzhi Harbor (八斗仔漁港), and in the distance: Hoping Island (和平島) and Keelung Harbor (基隆港).

One of the abandoned gold mining facilities in a nearby hill.

Looking east towards Chinkuashih and Bitoujiao.

The climb can be quite strenuous if you don't do this kind of thing normally but is a nice way to spend an hour or so. Bring plenty of water and snacks. Once you're done with the hike you have the rest of Jioufen and Chinkuashih to explore.

Stay tuned for more on hiking to Chinkuashih and exploring the remains of the old gold mining operation .

Tags: [Taiwan], [Taipei County]

12 months later...

2006-12-26T17:07:00.000+08:00

Oh there's no place like home for the holidays,
Cause no matter how far away you roam,
If you want to be happy in a million ways,
For the holidays you can't beat home sweet home.

Especially after spending an hour digging your car out of a 2 foot snowdrift. Thank you Colorado Holiday Blizzard '06.

"I transited at Narita Airport, and all I got was this lousy shaber."

To be fair, I can actually use this one without waking up everyone within a 100 meter radius. Can't say that much for my old Remington.

The neighborhood is pretty much as I remembered from last year. It's election time for li-chang again so the alleys are covered in campaign flags. Some stores have opened while others have closed.
There are a bunch of new swanky looking apartment towers that weren't there last time. And for some inexplicable reason the 7-11 where I normally buy my Taiwan Beer moved next door.

Early morning on the MRT. The usual crowds... office workers in suits and ties and students headed off to school. I realize that I no longer have a student uniform to wear. Between the suits and ties, the uniformed students, and kids with baggy pants and hair even longer and shaggier than I remembered I feel a bit out of place in my jeans, t-shirt, and backpack.

An old guy come over and starts speaking to me in Japanese. This is the third time this has happened since I arrived at Taoyuan last night...

Me: "What makes you think I'm Japanese?"
Him: "Your clothes looked foreign but your hair wasn't spiked and looked too normal for an ABC."

So there you have it. Kids from overseas are discernible by their spiked and abnormal looking hair.

First things first of course. Lining up at the Immigration Office with a bunch of other students from abroad back for winter break and even more immigrants from the PRC.

Looking around, I start to wonder if I'm the only Taiwanese student studying in the US who doesn't have spiky hair and baggy pants.
Mission accomplished. Two more years before the time for boot camp rolls around.
It's good to be back, even if only for a few weeks. Time to go out and poke around the island again.

Welcome to the Rebpulic of China

2006-11-29T16:36:00.000+08:00

I guess it isn't just the lawmakers that are inept...

Tags : [Taiwan]

Typhoon Bilis, Part I

2006-07-14T15:44:00.000+08:00

Taiwan is battered by numerous typhoons and tropical storms every year (usually during July until October). The 4th typhoon this year, Bilis passed through Ilan and is now well on its way toward Fujian province.

Although it's been categorized as a "weak" typhoon, Bilis is currently drenching Taiwan's south-central mountainous areas. My town, Feng-shan, has had roads leading out of the village cut off by landslides and swollen creeks (now chocolate covered rivers).

Tags:[Taiwan], [Typhoons]

Deluge...

2006-06-16T09:23:00.000+08:00

The view of Da-Ta Mountain (sacred ground to the Zou aboriginal group ) from Ren-Ho elementary school's balcony just before heavy rains poured into Taiwan from Thursday afternoon into Sunday. The rain caused landslides, blocking roads and destroying bridges island wide. The Ali-shan region was hit especially hard. Luckily, I managed to get a ride back to Taipei before the roads out of Feng-shan were sealed due to flooding!

Soil conversation, erosion and overdevelopment are major issues that I wish could be addressed by local and central authorities. Unfortunately, short-sightedness and earning the quick NT while not reinvesting back into mother nature has exacerbated the damage done to the region after Typhoon He-bo and the 9-21 earthquake.

[Taiwan]

Looking for black gold: The Pingsi Line

2006-06-04T08:44:00.000+08:00

I like trains. That may sound a little hypocritical coming from an aerospace engineer, but since I also happen to like ships and other means of transportation I think I'm being consistant. Though most might not have noticed, train travel in Taiwan has been on the decline ever since the 80s and 90s with the proliferation of private vehicles, freeways, and low cost air travel. Signs of the drop in long distance passenger traffic are everywhere... the TRA section of Taipei Main Station has gone from four functioning platforms to two, small stations have been closed, and till a few years ago, small rural branch lines were closed and left to slowly rust away.

The Pingsi Line (平溪線) in northeastern Taipei County is one such line that managed to avoided that fate. A narrow 15 km line of single track running along the amazingly pristine upstream segment of the Keelung River (long before it turns into the brownish funny smelling thing that Taipei-ites are farmiliar with), the line was initially built in 1912 to transport coal from the coal mines in the area. The coal ran out and the last of the mines closed in the late 80s and early 90s. For a while, it seemed the area would be doomed to total decline. When I first visited the area in 1994, I saw small tired looking towns and villages that looked to be on their last legs. Sometime around then, someone realized the tourism potential of a historic area easily accessible by bored Taipei-ites. And today, the area along the Pingsi Line is slowly reinventing itself. It may not be back at the level of its glory days or have the glamour of tourist traps like Alishan or Jioufen, but still makes a nice day trip out of Taipei for those wanting to see rural Taiwan (for now).

Interior of a Pingsi Line train at Rueifang

The Pingsi Line splits of from the main Northern Link Line near the town of Rueifang, about half an hour to 40 minutes away from Taipei by train. Coming into Rueifang Station from Taipei on one of the many commuter EMU trains that ply the rails, one of the first things you notice on the platform is one side entirely devoted to the Pingsi Line. A ticket window located right on the platform sells one day passes for the branch line allowing the bearer an unlimited number of train rides on the Pingsi Line for a single day, allowing you to transfer to the branch line without having to leave the platform. Clearly someone has been doing their homework on how not to annoy tourists.

Stopped at Shihfen Station

The Pingsi Line is served regularly by small two car diesel trains which generally run once every 40 minutes to 1 hour in either direction. Despite the fact that there's only a single line of track along most of the line, through careful timing they somehow manage to run two trains in opposite directions along the same line without any collissions (while I was there anyhow).

Pulling out of Rueifang, the grey apartment blocks of the town are soon replaced by lush green hills and craiggy cliffs. The rail line runs along a section literally cut into the side of steep slopes above the Keelung River, which is an amazing jade color (from naturally occuring algae). After a few minutes, the train pulls into Sandiaoling Station. A small station consisting of narrow platforms on either side of the rail line and a small station house... all perched on what seems to be the edge of the cliff. There is no automobile road in front of Sandiaoling Station (or so I'm told), the station can only be accessed on foot from a road on the other side of the Keelung River.

Sandiaoling Station

Just outside of Sandiaoling, the Pingsi Line splits off from the main line, following the river. Aside from the occassional house or small unmanned station (mostly consisting of a small platform and sign), there is little sign of perminant habitation along this section. The train passes through a tunnel and a few bridges, where the engineer (who you can actually watch and talk to), slows to a crawl and toots the train's whistle to warn people walking along the tracks (of which there are apparently quite a few... locals or tourists) to clear out.

One of the more famous sights is the Shihfen Waterfall, which is billed as Taiwan's Niagara Falls. It's not quite Niagara but it's nice to look at nonetheless. Unfortunetely the area aroud the waterfall was purchased by some enterprising businessman who proceeded to fence off the area so you couldn't see the falls from the train and charge tourists NT$180 a head for the privledge of entering the area to see it in person.

Uh... no thanks. If you are interested you can get off at Shihfen Station and walk to the enterance along the tracks. I prefer not to give my money to asshats like that but the walk from the station to the falls is quite scenic (and free!), and is worth doing.

The Keelung River.

Speaking of Shihfen, Shihfen Station is the big halfway point along the line. The town of Shihfen is huddled around the train tracks, coming into the station you find that the railway runs right through the middle of town right along what one might call "Main Street". Locals are accustomed to having a train running right through the middle of town. Aside for the waterfalls to which it lends its name, Shihfen is also rather famous for their 天燈 (lit: Sky Lanterns), lanterns which function like miniature hot air balloons. Around the Lantern Festival, locals and visitors will send the lanterns floating into the sky in hopes that they will bring peace and prosperity. Quite a few stores in town are dedicated to selling them.

The town of Shihfen

Remember kids, don't stand on the tracks!

Moving further up the line, the river gorge widens into a valley. After passing a few small stops and the town of Pingsi, the train finally rumbles into the last station of the line - Jingtong. An old Japanese-style wooden station house in a small town at the foot of what was once a coal mine. Several concrete structures once used to fill freight cars with coal tower over a few unused tracks.

Jingtong Station.

Under new management.

On a hill overlooking the town and the station are the remminents of an old coal mine. The largest of the old mine buildings has been converted into (yet another) cafe selling overpriced coffee. Moving further up, one finds the mineshaft itself. A grey concrete tunnel half buried in the hillside surrounded by the remminents of some old brick buildings, looking almost like a grave. The mineshaft itself still bears inscriptions made at the time of it's construction... an inscription carved above the tunnel reads: "石底大斜坑", while another on the side proudly identitifies the date of construction as "昭和十二年三月" (12th year of Showa, Third Month... or in other words, March 1938).

The old mine.

The Pingsi Line makes an excellent daytrip from Taipei, especially if you enjoy walking
around in the countryside and exploring some artifacts from some of Taiwan's older days. The area is slowly becoming more commericalized, but has yet to reach the level of some places like Alishan or Kenting.

And of course, on the way home you can stop by Keelung for some Goodies in Front of a Temple.

Tags:[Taiwan],[Taipei County],[Trains]

Jiantan Shan: Hidden in plain sight

2006-05-08T15:51:00.000+08:00

Strictly speaking, Jiantan Shan (劍潭山, elevation 155 meters) probably couldn't be called a mountain. It's more of a hill, a low offshoot of the Yangming Shan range that extends into the Taipei Basin and is surrounded on all sides by the urban growth that is Taipei's north side. The hill is best known perhaps as being the location of the famed Grand Hotel, whose Chinese palace architcture can be seen overlooking the city on countless postcards and tourism posters. Behind the hotel, concealed by the dense green canopy of subtropical forest, lies a fascinating world hidden from prying eyes that thousands below pass by everyday without seeing; known only to locals and the occassional intrepid hotel guest who ventures off the beaten path.

The view from below

Venturing up from a trail behind the hotel, one quickly finds that the dense forest canopy hides a network of trails and stairways crisscrossing the hillside. The walkways range from nicely laid cobblestone paths and wooden walkways, to crudely laid trails.

Going up...

The paths connect dozens of small pavillions, temples, gardens, scenic overlooks, and badminton courts. Most of these were built by private individuals, but are open to all. There's nothing quite like playing a game of badminton on a court cut into the hillside, where you can peer out from an opening in the trees to the city below. The area is popular with locals, especially in the morning where you can see these areas filled with people practicing martial arts, exercising, or playing Chinese chess.

A badminton court with a hell of a view.

Entrance to a pavillion.

The hill exists almost as a place frozen in time, away from the bustle of the city just a few hundred meters below. The sounds of traffic and the city are barely audiable, and are drowned out by the chirps of birds, the soft tap of walking sticks... and the occasional sound of karioke from a TV and machine someone managed to bring up (hey, nothing's perfect). Wandering along the pathways, one can find relics of bygone days. It seems people since the 70s (at least) have been trekking through this area and slowly building up the things which can be seen today.

Uh huh...

Yet despite this, the man made structures (crude though they are), seem to fit right in alongside the trees and vegetation, rather then fighting against them. It's difficult to describe, but everything seems to meld together naturally... trees, bushes, stone, and concrete.

An old guardhouse along the patrol route.

Wandering deeper into the forested slopes along the maze of trails, one comes to the remminents of a former military encampment. Once, decades ago, soldiers would walk along the trails marked by neatly laid concrete blocks, while manning anti-aircraft stations keeping watch over the capital.

One of the old barracks being slowly reclaimed by the forest.

The old military trail runs along the main ridge, marked by regularly placed concrete blocks (and for the perceptive, a half buried cable presumebly once used for communications), dotted with guardhouses and pillboxes at regular intervals. After walking for what seems like forever, I finally reach the end, guarded by a final pillbox, inaccessible due to the overgrowth. Some people have taken it upon themselves to create a small rest area here, complete with plastic stools and crude benches made by lashing long rods of bamboo between trees, and a clock above which is placed a sign "老地方" (The Old Place).

Somehow it seems quite appropriate.

Today, the soldiers and the antiaircraft guns are long gone... moved to other locations on the outskirts of the city and replaced with newer systems. But the trails walked by patrols are now traversed by hikers who pass by the small barracks, guardhouses, and pillboxes with peeling green paint, and still make use of the old exercise equipment once used by soldiers.

Jiantan Shan could very well be a metaphor for many things in Taiwan today... in plain view, ignored by most, but revealing many hidden treasures if you take the time to venture beyond where most people stop.

[Taiwan],
[Taipei]

Another night in Shilin

2006-04-23T15:02:00.000+08:00

Night Markets are a bit like Taiwan's answer to pubs. Almost every town or city has at least one. They're popular spots for locals (and nowadays, tourists) to meet, relax, and mingle. They come in all sizes from small gatherings of a few merchants, to huge carnival-like bazaars that stretch for blocks. There is something unique about each one, yet something universal about all of them... and of course, everyone has their favorite one.

Shilin (士林), is a district on the north side of Taipei. The name literally means "Scholarly Woods", a reference to the times way back when the area was apparently known for producing scholars who passed the imperial civil service exams. It is (or has) also been known for producing cutting knives (士林名刀), being the location of CKS's former residence, and for its large expat population in the Tianmu neighborhood, and happens to be where I spent my teenage years and still live today.

Of course, if you come to Taipei, odds are you'll come to Shilin with what is probably its most famous attraction in mind... the Shilin Night Market. A sprawling collection of vendors, hawkers, stalls, stands, stores, and restaurants, packed into the streets and alleyways of several city blocks, filling up from sunset to way past midnight. The market started back in the 19th and early 20th century as a meeting point for farmers in Shilin to sell their produce near a wharf on the Keelung River. The fledgling marketplace quickly attracted merchants and vendors, and as the city of Taipei grew, continued to operate through the night. And thus, the Shilin Night Market was born. Today, it is one of those "must see" places for visitors, and thus, one of those spots I'd go when I was bored to people-watch.

At around 4PM everyday, the streets and alleyways in the area start to fill up with students just out of school, tourists clutching their guidebooks, and everyday people from all over Taipei. The vendors start to set out their wares, the shops start to open up, and the smells of food (and the infamous stinky tofu) start to fill the air as people wander towards the food courts and stalls. By 8PM, business is going full swing with hordes of people pouring through the streets and alleyways, and ever more people pouring out of busses and MRT trains. At midnight, the last MRT train leaves Jiantan Station and the crowds begin to thin. By 3AM, the crowds and roadside vendors have gone, and the last shops still open close their doors... until the next night.

Most people these days come to the Shilin Night Market via Taipei's shiny new MRT system (which is probably a good topic for another time). The closest station to the night market, Jiantan (劍潭) Station (ironically not Shilin Station), is right across the street from the south end of the night market, and starts to fill up every afternoon with people headed to the night market.

Coming out of the station, most people tend to drift first to the food court, a squat looking building across the street from the station filled with vendors hawking all sorts of gastromic delights (or horrors depending upon your personal tastes) - noodles, steak platters, sashimi, Shilin sausages (huge tubes of glistening meat and fat, also hawked by dozens of roadside stands throughout the area), kabobs, pork ribs stewed with herbs, stinky tofu, and the ubiquitous mainstay of night markets everywhere in Taiwan: oyster omelets (蚵仔煎). Proprieters and cooks literally pull in anyone standing outside ther stall for more then two seconds (Note: pretending you don't speak Mandarin or Taiwanese generally doesn't work either... I tried).

Drifting north of the food court, one enters a labyrinth of streets and alleys jampacked with people, vendors, and shops... the main portion of the night market itself. Narrow alleys are made even smaller with vendors setting out their wares right in the middle of the alleyway (technically illegal), the crowds of people stream around them like water around a rock in a river. All manner of things can be found here for cheap, from clothes, housewares, cheap electronics, more food, shoes, toys, and watches. Shopkeepers hire hawkers to stand on stools above the crowds yelling through loudspeakers extolling the virtues of their goods and encouraging passersby to stop and shop. The hawking generally borders on the dramatic side (the manager offering to throw himself into the Danshuei River if his prices weren't the lowest on the street).

Did I mention that blocking traffic by setting up shop in the middle of the street was illegal? Most vendors tend to do so anyhow, apparently because the profit made exceeds the consequences of getting caught. Nontheless, the local cops still try to crack down periodically. Many of these illegal merchents will hire lookouts who stand near the end of the alleyways for advance warning. Oftentimes, visitors will suddenly see the vendors suddenly grab their wares and run... or on more dramatic occasions, an entire line of street vendors pushing their stalls up the alleyway as fast as they can... followed a few seconds later by a few cops walking through the area.

The cops know the vendors are there, the vendors know the cops will cite them if they're caught. Each side knows that the other isn't going away. So there's sort of an unofficial arrangement... you're only in trouble if you get caught. The cops don't come down aggressively giving the vendors plenty of time to run; a vendor who gets caught gets ticketed and released. It's a neverending game of cat and mouse that plays itself out every night. All the while, the activity in the background continues unabated. Just another night in Shilin.

[Taiwan],
[Taipei]

The Bala Daily - 巴樂日報

全線預備！ Ready down the line! - Part 2

全線預備！ Ready down the line! - Part 1

POA

你是哪裡人？ "And where are you from?"

驗槍開始！ Commence firearms inspection!

取水壺！ Retrieve canteens!

"現在時間0530...": "The current time is 0530 hours..."

打飯班: Mess Squad

九個班: 9 Squads

“保護我們的台北家園” - "Defend our Taipei homes"

最後一天 (The Last Day)

第二類組 (Type 2)

"Next". *stamp*

The Politics of Chinatown

Riding the rails in the American Southwest

Random pics: Biking along the rivers of Taipei

Riding the THSR: Banciao to Taichung

Riding the THSR: "You're gonna die!"

Hiking near Jioufen - Part II: The imperial past.

Hiking near Jioufen - Part I: Keelung Mountain

12 months later...

Welcome to the Rebpulic of China

Typhoon Bilis, Part I

Deluge...

Looking for black gold: The Pingsi Line

Jiantan Shan: Hidden in plain sight

Another night in Shilin

"Next". stamp