Advertisement
Published: August 29th 2007
Edit Blog Post
Guangfu JHS
This is just a typical junior high school building in Taiwan, but the scenic surrounding area is spectacular. I was delighted to have my first guest last night—Warren, my buddy from Nanaimo. He has been over here (in Taipei) for the last few weeks, teaching in a language day camp in the city.
Chinese attempts at English phonics can only be approximate at best of times, and Guangfu was spelled entirely differently on Warren’s map. He thought the place was before you get to Hualien City, which was as far as his train ticket would take him. He phoned me right after school and said he was nearing Hualien and beyond that had no idea where he was, so I had to fire up Esmerelda and go get him. It took my 45 minutes to get to the city, and another half hour to find the train station. It’s away on the other end of town, with no easy way to get there.
There is a new traffic hazard to contend with over here—old ladies in those three-wheeled or four-wheeled electric scooters. Having become accustomed to deference as they relish every minute of their “declining years”, the old girls sail majestically through the chaotic traffic like dowager empresses, expecting and finding that everyone clears a way for
Warren Carter
Warren is now teaching in Shantou (PR China) and loving every minute of it. them.
I managed to get us lost on the way out of the city again, so it was pitch black by the time we got on the highway for the run back. I had Warren’s overnight bag on the floor between my feet, so there was nowhere to put them other than clamped against the fairing. Clamped? Cramped, was more like it. I had to take it easy on Esmerelda, because I didn’t want the poor little soul bottoming her forks at every bump. It was a long ride home. Because of the overnight bag, you might say it was quite a “feet” to get home.
I feel very privileged to be here. The academic director of the school came to my class this morning, bearing gifts:
1. optical mouse
2. wireless router
3. hookup to the projector.
Now, I can overcome the low level of the kids’ English by use of multimedia. This morning I played that hokey old song “Dead Skunk”.
I could translate “skunk” into Chinese with my babelfish translator, and fire up a picture of one on to the screen at the front of the class. With the class divided into two
Dressed for a Rainy Ride...
...in my tasteful and macho pink and mauve ankle-length raincoat. teams, we had a game of shooting up their hands every time they heard the word “skunk” in the song. One point for each time, one point off for putting up a hand in error. They were all rocking and swaying to the music, and you would have thought the freedom of the civilized world depended on which team won the game.
I had to go back to my lodgings between classes, to get something. I heard the cicada beetles in the plumeria trees, and I could smell the flowers in the air. As I approached the music room, I could hear the teacher pounding the horse teeth and the kids singing in Chinese “Aloha ‘Oe”. It was incredible!
My Saturday morning started off well, with two very welcome phone calls—from Lao-puo Suzanne and our daughter Renée. After good long chats, I set off to deal with my email. I don’t have Internet access over the weekend, so I trotted off to the local coffee house. The lao-ban nyung, seeing me in there for the third time, asked me who I was. At least, I think that’s what she was asking. In my flawless Mandarin, with just a hint of a Taiwanese accent (yeah right—I could sell you a used car if you believe me), I replied. “Wo se Da Ge. Guangfu de ingwen lao-shi.”. By a miracle, of which the Pope should be advised, she actually understood that I was the new English teacher at Guangfu JHS. A few minutes later, her little girl came up to me with a piece of cheesecake, and shyly said, in not-so-bad English “my mother say on the house.” Chinese people don’t conjugate their verbs, and frankly I don’t really see why we should have to either. Just because the Romans whipped us, all those years ago, doesn’t mean we should still have to emulate them.
Of course, that leads me to trot out my favourite Latin joke, about the conjugation in the present tense of the verb ‘to suffer incontinence”. Po, Pis, Pit, Pimus, Pistis, Pants.
I digress. There again, I warned you at the outset that I was bound to do so, with appalling regularity.
I fired up Esmerelda, headed out to Hwy 9 and--somewhat aimlessly, pointed her south.
Highway 9 is beautifully flat and straight, and follows the East Rift Valley between the Coastal Mountain Range and the Central. After that, there are still two more mountain ranges--Jade and Ali, before you hit the western plains that spread out to Formosa Strait.
To say that the East Rift Valley is scenic is the understatement of the century. Just think of bamboo and hibiscus, plumeria and betel palms, sugar cane and pineapple, tea and guava trees, towering mountains on either side, 90 km/h on a motorbike, and you will get a hint of the glorious exhilarating nature of this place.
I stopped frequently for juice and water—it’s easy to get dehydrated on a motorbike when it’s over 30 degrees out yet feels cool while in motion, and a motorbike doing 90 km/h is a bad place to get dizzy. I rolled all the way through Rueiseui, across the Tropic of Cancer, and on to Yuli, Dongli, Fuli, Chihshang, and Guanshan. I’m trotting out these place names, because I know that Lao-puo will be checking on her map.
Only two things stopped me from continuing—a numb bum and a reluctance to drive home in the dark.
Rueiseui is only twenty minutes from Guangfu, and there are hot springs there. I cased out a nice hotel, that in addition to the grottoes has an outdoor swimming pool.
I guess if I haven’t impressed Lao-puo by now, after thirty-two years, I’m not going to. However, my stock might still go up if I suggest a weekend away.
On the way back, I detoured at Fuli and took Highway 193 back to Guangfu. There was hardly a car in sight. 193 hugs the foothills of the Coastal Range, and (for once) words fail me to give my readers a picture of the indescribable beauty of this place.
One thing I learned at orientation is that Taipei is not Taiwan and Taiwan is not Taipei. As much as I love Taipei, as much as it has become a second home, there is a whole new dimension to this place that a weekend away from the city cannot begin to offer.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.101s; Tpl: 0.012s; cc: 10; qc: 49; dbt: 0.0673s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb