Until this summer, when the idea of hiking the length of the island first occurred to me, I didn’t even know that Cijin (旗津) had been a peninsula until 1967. That’s when diggers and dredgers severed Cijin from Taiwan’s “mainland,” because the authorities wished to create a southern entrance to Kaohsiung’s fast expanding port. The island is just under 9km long, but a bit of research quickly convinced me that a south-to-north trek wasn’t a good idea. The southern third of Cijin is dominated by container-lifting cranes, warehouses and other facilities off-limits to the public. Dunhe Street (敦和街) forms the boundary between the inhabited section of Cijin and the freight-handling zone. Stepping off the bus, I walked through densely-packed neighborhoods, hoping to get a good look at the shipyards on either side of Jhongjhou Fishing Harbor (中洲漁港) and Jhongjhou Ferry Station (中洲輪渡站) on Cijin’s northern waterfront. The security guard at one yard told me I shouldn’t take photos. At another, three vessels were being worked on, but all of them were obscured by scaffolding. Near the ferry dock, a few businesses sell mahogany-colored slabs of sun-dried salted mullet roe (烏魚子). This pricey delicacy, known as karasumi in Japan, is similar to the bottarga produced in several Mediterranean countries. The backstreets and alleyways in this part of Cijin are incredibly warrenous, and I couldn’t locate the Chen (陳) ancestral hall marked on my map, nor the one for the Ye (葉) clan. I eventually stumbled across the Jhuang (莊) ancestral temple. It has three stories, making it one of the town’s taller non-shipyard structures. The extended Ye and Jhuang families figure prominently in the saddest episode in Cijin’s recent history. MEMORIAL PARK Continuing along Cijin 3rd Road (旗津三路), I reached the Memorial Park for Women Laborers (勞動女性紀念公園). Visually, it’s unremarkable — the central feature is a pedestal
The most-downloaded app of 2010 made the photographs you took on your phone look way cooler. Vintage-effect filters, artful vignettes and a square-frame layout gave your ordinary snaps a pleasingly nostalgic Polaroid appeal. But 10 years later, barely anyone remembers Hipstamatic. It was a different photo-sharing app, which launched snapping at Hipstamatic’s heels on 6 October 2010, that went on to change the world. Last month more than 1 billion people posted photos on Instagram. You probably wouldn’t have predicted, from the co-founder of Instagram Mike Krieger’s first post, that you were witnessing the birth of a cultural and economic phenomenon. It was a shot of San Francisco’s South Beach harbor viewed through the industrial-chic steel-framed windows of Pier 38. Only the composition, tilted so that the boat masts angled at 45 degrees, hinted at ambition beyond the pedestrian. But a decade later, Instagram has rewired society. It has changed how we look, what we eat, our relationships, how we vote, where we go on holiday and what we spend our money on. From the Kardashians to avocados to mental health, many stories of the past decade are part of the story of Instagram. The short version of that story goes something like this. Bought by Facebook for US$1 billion in 2012, Instagram goes to the dark side. Joining forces with the dastardly forces of big tech, it steals our self-esteem and our attention span, leaving us with nothing to show for the trade but a needy dependency on affirmation by virtual strangers and the menagerie of swimming pool inflatables, which Instagram decreed essential to summers circa 2014-16, that are now gathering dust in the loft. Instagram has seen us, like Narcissus gazing at himself in the pond, brought down by our vanity. The truth is a little bit more complicated. It’s strange
If ever there was a reason to be inside on Mid-Autumn Festival, even for just an hour or so, while still celebrating the natural world, Cheng Tsung-lung (鄭宗龍) has provided one with his first full-length work for Cloud Gate Dance Theatre (雲門舞集) as artistic director, Sounding Light (定光). Judging by the excerpt performed for the press last week, Cheng shows he can be just as minimalistic as his mentor, troupe founder Lin Hwai-min (林懷民), while still forging his own unique path. Just as he did with last year’s Lunar Halo (毛月亮), his final work as director of Cloud Gate 2 (雲門2), Cheng has created an almost extraterrestrial experience awash with light and sounds — the sounds around us and of us. Cheng said he was inspired — even motivated — by the forced isolation of the 14-day quarantine period that he and the other company members had to endure after returning home from a successful European tour at the beginning of the year. At a press conference in July, Cheng said he found isolation difficult at first, the feeling of being cut off from the rest of the world, of the silence, but then he began to enjoy it. “I could hear all the sounds in the neighborhood,” he said. Those sounds got him thinking about his first full-length work for Cloud Gate 2, 2018’s rollicking and exuberant 13 Tongues (十三聲), when he had the dancers recreate the calls of street hawkers and chants of Taoist processions of his Wanhua District (萬華) childhood. He said that he wanted to do something using the sounds and the rhythm of Hoklo (also known as Taiwanese), as well as insects and other elements of the natural world. To help him create the soundscape that he wanted, Cheng turned to Lim Giong (林強), who he worked with on 2017’s Full Moon, 13
Under a portrait of President Xi Jinping (習近平), Ashibusha sits in her freshly painted living room cradling her infant daughter beside a chair labeled a “gift from the government.” The mother of three is among 6,600 members of the Yi ethnic minority who were moved out of 38 mountain villages in China’s southwest and into a newly built town in an anti-poverty initiative. Farmers who tended mountainside plots were assigned jobs at an apple plantation. Children who until then spoke only their own tongue, Nuosu, attend kindergarten in Mandarin, China’s official language. “Everyone is together,” said Ashibusha, 26. While other nations invest in developing poor areas, Beijing doesn’t hesitate to operate on a more ambitious scale by moving communities wholesale and building new towns in its effort to modernize China. The ruling Chinese Communist Party has announced an official target of ending extreme poverty by the end of the year, ahead of the 100th anniversary of its founding next year. POVERTY REDUCTION The party says such initiatives have helped to lift millions of people out of poverty. But they can require drastic changes, sometimes uprooting whole communities. They fuel complaints the party is trying to erase cultures as it prods minorities to embrace the language and lifestyle of the Han, who make up more than 90 percent of China’s population. At a time when the party faces protests by students in China’s northern region of Inner Mongolia over plans to reduce the use of the Mongolian language in schools, officials want to show they are sensitive to minority cultures. They invited reporters to visit Chengbei Ganen and four other villages — Xujiashan, Qingshui, Daganyi and Xiaoshan — that are part of what authorities see as a successful development project for the Yi in Sichuan Province’s Liangshan prefecture. The initiative is one of hundreds launched over the past four
By unhappy coincidence, Amin Maalouf’s thought-provoking analysis of what is wrong with our lives was published in English shortly after the massively destructive explosion last month in his birthplace, Beirut. That horrific event served as a bleak reminder of the dysfunctionality not only of Lebanon but of the Middle East as a whole — and, indeed, the wider world — in the early decades of the 21st century. Maalouf is an acclaimed journalist, novelist and historian who has lived for decades in Paris and writes in French rather than Arabic. He is a member of the Academie Française and a winner of the Prix Goncourt. But his early years, with lasting links to Lebanon and Egypt (where his mother came from and where he spent time as a child), have proved deeply influential. Adrift begins with a potted but intensely personal history of what the author calls the Levant — a term that originated in a Europe that viewed the region as the “cradle of civilization” in its own backyard and which began to influence it from the Crusades, through 400 years of Ottoman imperial rule to the first world war and beyond. “It is from my native land that the shadows spread and engulfed the world,” he writes. Gamal Abdel Nasser’s charismatic rule in Cairo, the Suez crisis in 1956, Israel’s victory in the war of 1967 (when “Arab despair was born”) and the Iranian revolution of 1979 are all turning points for Middle Eastern geopolitics. Maalouf’s USP is interpreting the events of his lifetime to ponder the links between identity, religion, culture and power — and providing trenchant conclusions in impressively clear prose. Shortly before Maalouf’s birth in 1949, the founder of the Muslim Brotherhood, Hassan al-Banna, was assassinated in Cairo, heralding a struggle between Islamists and autocrats that continues to this
Community-supported agriculture (CSA) is a way urban households can obtain healthy produce, while helping to build a more sustainable farming sector in Taiwan. King Hsin-i’s (金欣儀) transformation from advertising copywriter to social entrepreneur began in 2008, when she visited a rice farmer who practiced pesticide-free agriculture. “He explained that we have to leave space for other species. At the same time, I realized that while big companies have budgets to spread their messages, farmers have few chances to tell the public about their beautiful concepts,” she recalls. Inspired, she quit her job and traveled throughout rural Taiwan for a year. King went on to spend time with farmers in Colombia, Israel and Italy, to name a few of the countries she visited. However, the Facebook group she created in 2011 to connect Taiwan’s eco-friendly farmers with consumers willing to buy from them generated uneven results. Some farmers benefited from this attempt to develop CSA, but many were too busy nurturing their crops to develop a social media following. Recognizing the need for a more professional setup, King established Buy Directly From Farmers (直接跟農夫買, BDFF) in 2014. BDFF’s 150 farmer-partners — up from 100 last year — will during the course of this year offer over 280 different products. Her 10 full-time salaried employees work with agriculturalists of all ages, but put special effort into telling the public about what young farmers are doing. “Young people are the future of agriculture,” King says. About half of the farmers BDFF cooperates with are certified as organic. Many others do not use synthetic pesticides, but think the organic certification process is too expensive. BDFF earns commissions of 20 to 30 percent on sales of produce through its Chinese-only Web site, www.buydirectlyfromfarmers.tw. Businessmen who buy from farmers and sell on to supermarkets and food-processing companies take a cut
Schitt’s Creek, the little Canadian show about a fish-out-of-water family, made history at Sunday’s Emmy Awards with a comedy awards sweep, something even TV greats including Frasier and Modern Family failed to achieve. Zendaya, 24, became the youngest lead drama actress winner for her role as a troubled teenager in “Euphoria.” She’s only the second Black actress to win the award, following Viola Davis’ groundbreaking 2015 win for How to Get Away With Murder. “I know this seems like a really weird time to be celebrating,” Zendaya said. “But I just want to say there is hope in the young people out there. I know our TV show doesn’t always feel like a great example of that,” but young people are out there “doing the work.” Succession, a family power struggle over a media empire, was honored as best drama series, and creator Jesse Armstrong used the opportunity to offer “un-thank-yous,” including to US President Donald Trump for what Armstrong called his “crummy and uncoordinated” response to the pandemic. Succession star Jeremy Strong won the drama actor trophy for his role as a potential heir to the throne. The virtual ceremony, with a hard-working Jimmy Kimmel as host, went smoothly despite producers’ concerns that the plan to link 100-plus nominees remotely could result in glitches. Although the rise of streaming services including Disney+ and Apple TV+ dominates the TV landscape, it was Emmy stalwart HBO that stole the show, with winners including Succession and Watchmen making up for its now-departed awards giant Game of Thrones. ViacomCBS-owned Pop TV and its quirky comedy also proved unbeatable. CLEAN SWEEP The awards for Pop TV’s Schitt’s Creek included best comedy series and trophies for its stars, including Catherine O’Hara and father-son Eugene and Daniel Levy. “It is absolutely incredible. I think my dad said it best earlier this evening: it’s
Every day before she starts her shift at a government hospital in Singapore, Farah removes her hijab — the Islamic veil she has worn since a teenager. Although minority Muslim women can freely wear the hijab in most settings in Singapore, some professions bar the headscarf — and a recent case has triggered fresh debate on diversity and discrimination in the workplace. Now Farah has joined a growing number of Muslims — who account for about 15 percent of Singapore’s 4 million resident population — calling for the ban to end, with an online petition gathering more than 50,000 signatures. “They told me I can’t work here if I wear the tudung,” said Farah, using the local Malay term for hijab, as she recounts her job interview two years ago for a physiotherapist position. “I felt a sense of helplessness, it’s unfair. Why has the tudung become a barrier for us to look for jobs?” asked the 27-year-old, who used a pseudonym for fear of reprisals at work. She accepted the job eventually but has to remove her headscarf whenever she is at work. Farah’s case is not an oddity. There was outcry last month when a woman was asked to remove her hijab to work as a promoter at a local department store. Halimah Yacob, the country’s first female president who herself wears the hijab, said there is “no place” for discrimination when asked her view of the case. The store reversed its policy, but many took to social media pointing out restrictions remain on wearing the hijab for some civil servants, including policewomen and nurses. LIVELIHOOD The debate surrounding the hijab is not new in Singapore, a modern city-state which takes pride in its multicultural and multiracial background. The country is predominantly ethnic Chinese, many of whom follow Buddhism or Christianity. In 2013, then Muslim affairs minister Yaacob Ibrahim said
The men in the audience clapped and the women ululated as the band finished singing: it would have been commonplace except the venue was in Iran and the group on stage were all women. The catchy rhythmic music they played that balmy night is known as bandari. Its lyrics are from ancient folkloric songs, passed down the generations and familiar to many at the concert in an amphitheater in the southern port of Bandar Abbas. Only this time, it was being performed by women in front of a mixed crowd. “It feels as if you have been seen at last” by “a new part of society,” said band member Noushin Yousefzadeh, who plays the oud, the Middle Eastern lute. “All that training has paid off at last.” Dressed in traditional clothing, the band was taking part in a state-organized festival to showcase “Persian Gulf music” and, as well as singing, also played their instruments. Before long, the audience was ecstatically singing along with the four-piece band. Such public expressions of joy are usually frowned upon by officials in Iran, which has been under strict Islamic rule for more than 40 years. Formed in late 2016 after a conversation at the beach between two of the women, the band is called Dingo, which in the local dialect refers to the first wobbly steps taken by infants. The show — staged last year — was only the second time they had performed in front of a mixed audience. The first occasion was at the Shiraz Oud Festival in July 2018. “These festivals are a great opportunity because in normal circumstances we cannot sing in front of men,” said drummer Faezeh Mohseni. MANY RESTRICTIONS When performing for all-female audiences, Mohseni sings solo. But, informed only a few days before the festival that they had been selected and would be singing to both men and women, the
Sept. 21 to Sept. 27 If word got out that you were planning a wedding during the Martial Law era, the “Committee for the improvement of Folk Customs” (改善民俗實踐會) might knock on your door. Each borough in Taipei had at least one “agent” who kept a pulse on community happenings. They would visit the family planning the wedding with a letter from the mayor, touting the benefits of being frugal and not wasting money on lavish ceremonies, even encouraging the families to donate money for scholarships. The authorities also discouraged them from hiring musicians and dancers, who were often loud and caused conflict with neighbors. Those who donated the amount for scholarships received a certificate from the government. Big-money donors were personally commended by the mayor. The city’s district offices competed in donations received, and by 1984, nearly 6,000 students had benefited from the scholarships. Although the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) had been preaching austerity since it took over Taiwan in 1945, old habits die hard, especially those tied to social status. On Sept. 24, 1979, the Taipei City Government updated its existing guidelines on weddings, funerals and rituals for other celebratory events such as childbirth. Regarding weddings, the city discouraged exchanging bride prices and dowries and even gifts and wedding pastries; suggested that people join mass weddings or registrations instead of holding their own; and if they insisted on holding a wedding ceremony, they should only invite family and close friends, and refrain from throwing banquets and putting on “improper entertainment.” Former Yunlin County Civil Affairs Department director Chen Jen-kuei (陳壬癸) wrote in an 1984 government pamphlet that although Taiwan’s economic miracle had greatly improved the material lives of its people, their spiritual life lagged significantly behind. “[W]eddings, funerals and other celebratory events ... are rife with unnecessary extravagance and meaningless wastefulness,
Let’s get one thing straight: I have never liked the name Ironman. Maybe it sounded good in 1970s Hawaii when endorphin-fueled athletes with military backgrounds argued who were fitter, swimmers or runners. Or perhaps cyclists, someone else had chimed in. There was only one way to settle it: They would combine the 2.4 mile (3.9km) Waikiki Roughwater Swim with 112 miles (180km) of the Around-Oahu Bike Race and the 26.2 mile (42.2km) Honolulu Marathon into a single one-day event. Whoever won would be known as the Iron Man. That I don’t like the name doesn’t stop me from participating, however. Nor from attempting to qualify for the Ironman World Championships held annually in Hawaii since 1977. Unfortunately both this and Taiwan’s qualifying event for this year were canceled due to the coronavirus pandemic, but the 70.3 mile (113km) Half Ironman event would go ahead on Sunday. All I had to do was win my age category and I could attend the 70.3 world championship in Utah in 12 months’ time. SEPT. 2 It’s probably about time I start tapering, so I message Canadian Darren Cole. He’s been to the Hawaii worlds three times, so should have some useful advice. “Sleep, nutrition and stress management,” he lists as the fundamentals of pre-race preparation. “Last-minute training is self-defeating,” he says, recommending short, easy activities. My problem is weight, which can go up by a couple of kilograms when tapering for an event, so I will compromise and ride around 50km per day, but without many hills. SEPT. 7 I haven’t competed in any kind of triathlon for about 6 years, so am glad to find my wetsuit isn’t moth-eaten. I take it to Bitan and swim among the swan-headed pedalos. On the way home I ask a bike shop mechanic to swap my alloy wheels for the 600g-lighter carbon wheelset. This
For tourists visiting Hualien, Taroko National Park (太魯閣國家公園) is the first order of business. But if you find yourself in the city with half a day to spare — your train back to Taipei will leave mid-afternoon, say — it’s hardly worth busing out to Taroko Gorge. Instead, borrow or rent a bicycle or a scooter, or hail a cab, and set out for one of these attractions. At only one of these places is there an admission charge. CISINGTAN SCENIC AREA A literal translation of Cisingtan (七星潭) would be “Seven Stars Pond,” but there’s no pond here, just the vast Pacific Ocean. Back in the 19th century, this toponym was applied to a different place, one with a small lake several hundred meters inland of the current Cisingtan. In 1936, when the Japanese then ruling Taiwan established the military airfield which evolved into today’s Hualien Airport, the residents of old Cisingtan were forced to move, and the pond was filled in. The displaced families settled next to the sea. They carried the place name, as well as their belongings, to the new neighborhood. The beach here isn’t safe for swimming, but in good weather, Cisingtan Scenic Area (七星潭海岸風景特定區) offers top-notch views of huge mountains abutting the ocean. If you’d like to explore the area by bicycle, there’s a rental business at 76, Alley 1, Lane 10, Mingtan Street (新城鄉明潭街10巷1弄76號). It’s open 7am to 6pm every day. SHENGAN TEMPLE Few temples can date their founding as precisely as this richly decorated hall of worship. Shengan Temple (勝安宮) traces its history to six o’clock on the morning of the 13th day of the sixth lunar month in 1949. At that moment, following an all-night seance led by a widow who hoped to learn how her recently-deceased husband was faring in the afterworld, the Queen
For the first time in 19 years, there won’t be an Urban Nomad Film Festival due to COVID-19. But the event’s signature genre-bending Freakout Music Festival is still on — although arriving almost six months late — this time packed into a one-day, 15-hour multi-stage music marathon at the usual spot in Tiger Mountain. (Full disclosure: this reporter is playing in the festival with the band All My Boyfriendz.) Organizer David Frazier debated what to do in these dark times, despite Taiwan being relatively safe and one of the few places in the world where events can still go on as usual. Ultimately, the crew decided that they were going to fight for the right to party. “The Taiwanese government has it figured out, and as long as we obey the rules, people will generally be happier and healthier if they have their fun and social outlets,” he says. With 15 booked “god-almighty amazing” foreign acts out of over 40 performers, the festival was originally set to be the most international edition ever — but now it’s a completely local affair that aims to be “as fun as possible,” Frazier says. What sets the event apart from other festivals is the diversity and expected weirdness of the acts: one just has to be curious what “experimental electro-clown music” sounds like. Frazier calls the main stage the “happy” stage, with five out of six bands featuring horn sections. High-octane bands like Skaraoke and Higher Rootz are sure to get the crowd moving frenetically. The temple stage will feature a rocking mix of punk, shoegaze, urban folk, surf rock and prog rock until 10pm, when hip-hop, soul and funk acts take over and keep the party going until the wee hours. At the jungle stage, DJs such as Vicar and Yo Hey Li will be
The remake of Mulan struck all the right chords to be a hit in the key Chinese market. Disney cast beloved actor Liu Yifei (劉亦菲) as Mulan and removed a dragon sidekick popular in the animated original to cater to Chinese tastes. Still, the movie drew decidedly mixed reviews after its coronavirus-delayed release in China last week, with thousands panning it online. The movie was rated 4.9 out of 10 by more than 165,000 people on Douban, a leading Web site for film, book and music ratings. Negative comments and jokes about the film outnumbered positive reactions on social media. Mulan has earned an estimated US$23.2 million since its opening last week, according to ticketing platform Maoyan. It scored a higher 7.5 out of 10 on Maoyan, but also with mixed reviews. “Poor artistic level, misunderstanding of Chinese culture lead to the film’s failure in China,” the state-run Global Times newspaper tweeted. Chinese critics, both at home and abroad, said they were disappointed with the film’s inaccurate and stereotypical portrayals of Chinese history and the main character, infused with nationalist tropes. Others were not as bothered. “It’s fine that different screenwriters make up different stories,” Zhang Qin, a military veteran, said after watching the film in Beijing last week. “They can play with imagination and it’s a good thing.” IT engineer Zhang Fan also had positive things to say about the film. “What touched me is the humanity,” he said. The remake of Disney’s popular 1998 animation is based on the ancient tale of Hua Mulan (花木蘭), a young woman who takes her father’s place in the army by dressing as a man. The original tale, The Ballad of Mulan, has gone through multiple renditions. Themes such as filial piety and being loyal to the central government have remained as core tenets, which some find outdated
Chen Zhiwu (陳志武) says that the COVID-19 crisis puts into sharp focus that we are in a new cold war, with China and the US being the two protagonists. “It’s almost literally in front of us,” says Chen, Director of Asia Global Institute and Chair Professor of Finance at the University of Hong Kong. Political observers were hesitant, Chen says, even up to the beginning of this year, to confirm a new cold war was underway. “But ... the coronavirus has made clear the clash in values and way of life between what China would like to pursue, and what the US and other developed countries would like to pursue. That clash is clearly made evident by the coronavirus crisis,” he says. “I think this clash will go on for a while.” Chen made these remarks early this month as part of Socio-economic Shock of COVID-19: China, Hong Kong and Taiwan, a forum co-organized by the Lung Yingtai Cultural Foundation (龍應台文化基金會) and European Forum Alpbach. The forum was also attended by professor of economics at National Chengchi University and former Deputy Minister of the Taiwan Mainland Affairs Council Lin Chu-chia (林祖嘉) and moderated by Wu Yu-shan (吳玉山), distinguished Research Fellow, Institute of Political Science, Academia Sinica. COLLABORATION OR CONFLICT? The tensions exacerbated by the coronavirus also means collaboration between China and the US on a vaccine for COVID-19 and other public health measures seems unlikely. Chen compares the current crisis to the 2008 financial crash, when the US led efforts to stabilize the global economy. He says that because the financial crisis began in the US, it was not “in a position to make a big deal about it, to blame other countries,” as it has been with the coronavirus. Additionally, as incumbent US President Donald Trump continues to slide in the
I had really hoped that this film would be a Taiwanese answer to the American camp classic Snakes on a Plane, but Spiders on a Ship — er, Abyssal Spider (海霧) — takes itself way too seriously. One major gripe about Taiwanese commercial features is that they are prone to being unnecessarily over the top, but that’s the one element that could have made Abyssal more watchable. The lack of camp is especially disappointing since director Joe Chien (錢人豪) first made his mark with the intentionally trashy horror movie Zombie 108 (棄城Z-108). Released in 2012, it is considered Taiwan’s earliest zombie flick. Chien has since moved away from that style, helming in 2018 The House That Never Dies: Reawakening (京城81號2), the follow-up to China’s most successful mainstream horror production. Featuring violent scheming factions on a creepy fishing ship that is stuck in radioactive waters infested with giant crab-spiders (and a beautiful woman who appears out of nowhere), Abyssal Spider has the right elements for a so-bad-it’s-good B-movie bonanza. But Chien crams too many themes and storylines into a claustrophobic vessel, when perhaps all that’s needed is more blood and zaniness. Objectively speaking, the film is a decent effort at a monster-disaster thriller, slickly produced with a star-studded cast that seems to be chosen just for their names, as there is little chemistry and uneven acting. Those raised on a steady diet of Hollywood productions of the same ilk will find it quite derivative. There are glimpses of promise for sure, especially with the special effects, cinematography and set design. But there isn’t a solid plot to match the technical competence. The main storyline revolves around A-jie (Sunny Wang 王陽明), who has become depressed after his impulsiveness led to the death of his marine rescue squad captain, while his wife dies in labor
To mark what would have been acclaimed Shanghai-born novelist Eileen Chang’s (張愛玲) 100th birthday at the end of this month, Taipei Dance Forum (舞蹈空間) director Ping Heng (平珩) decided to revive one of the company’s 25th anniversary works from 2014, Red and White (紅與白), but give it a more personal feel. While the original production, created by choreographer Cheng Yi-wen (鄭伊雯) and theater director Liu Shou-yao (劉守曜), was performed at the Taipei City Shuiyuan (Wellspring) Theater, the company will be performing this weekend at its much smaller space at the Crown Cultural Center. The updated production seats audiences much closer to the dancers, hence the new title, Red and White, zoom-in (紅與白zoom-in版). Red and White used Chang’s 1944 novella The Red Rose and the White Rose (紅玫瑰與白玫瑰) for inspiration. Set in Shanghai in the 1930s, it is the story of a young man who returns to China after studying in England and has an affair with the wife of a friend. However, when the woman suggests she get a divorce so that they can wed, he ends the affair — and later marries a woman with a “virtuous” reputation. Cheng used tango to help convey the passion of the lovers, and the torments. As Ping said at a press preview yesterday afternoon, tango is very romantic, it comes from the heart. Cheng yesterday said some of the changes she made for the new production reflect the differences in her own life from six years ago. “The first time, I saw so many scenes straight out of the book … the images were already very clear,” she said. “But for my piece [for the company] last year I included talking, so I decided to include it again this production.” “Allowing performers to talk makes a performance more whole, it’s not just about dance,” she said. Being married has
Inaka apparently means “countryside” or maybe “out in the sticks” in Japanese, and this is a collection of 18 essays on the experience of living there. Rural Japan has had a bad press, not least from longtime Japanese resident Alex Kerr who in Lost Japan describes a country where many of the rivers have concrete beds and are frequently dammed. But it isn’t all like that, and the articles in this book by and large tell a different story. It’s so attractive, for instance, to this book’s editor, Camphor Press’s John Ross, that he writes that he’d like to move there from his present home in central Taiwan to take advantage, among other things, of the four distinct seasons. Inaka: Portraits of Life in Rural Japan is arranged from south to north, so it begins with the experiences of a former teacher in some of the remoter islands of Okinawa, notably Tanegashima, where she had to take a boat from one school to another. She was there at the time of the tsunami in 2011, though its force was considerably lessened by the time it reached her. One of the most impressive chapters is by Stephen Mansfield, a potter who describes in extraordinary detail the ways local potters vary the surface of their creations using the natural minerals and the like in the local clays. His prose is superb, and his vocabulary exceptional. CALL OF RELIGION The call of religion is what brings some of the writers to Japan, notably Brian Buke-Gaffney who spent nine years in Zen monasteries after following the “dharma bum” hippie road overland to India and then, being disappointed with what he found there, onwards east to Japan. Another modern devotee follows the Shikoku Pilgrimage, agonizing for cans of cold Pocari Sweat as he struggles upwards through astonishingly high temperatures, only to find
To bring sustainability and prosperity to their farms, some agriculturalists in southern Taiwan have embraced innovative types of companion planting. In contrast to the monoculture that dominates much of the rich world’s farmland, companion planting is the cultivation of different crops in proximity, usually to optimize the space, for pest control or to enhance pollination. The symbiotic relationship between cacao trees and betel nut, which may be unique to Pingtung County, is striking when one visits the cacao plantations maintained by Choose Chius (邱氏可可) and Wugawan (牛角灣) in Neipu (內埔). The history of growing cacao in Taiwan goes back to Japanese colonial rule. Taichiro Morinaga, founder of Morinaga & Co — the first modern candy company in Japan, and the first manufacturer of chocolate in that country — visited Taiwan in 1927 to find land suitable for growing cacao. He hoped the company could become self-sufficient in cocoa in order to meet the high demand for chocolate in Japan. His successor, Matsuji Ogushi, continued the cacao mission in 1937, setting up a cacao-focused research institute in Pingtung County. However, challenging conditions and the outbreak of World War II dashed Morinaga’s and Ogushi’s Taiwan chocolate dreams. When the Japanese left in 1945, the Neipu area was dotted with cacao trees, but unsustainable farming techniques meant few of them survived. The growing of cacao became a forgotten wrinkle in the region’s agriculture history, especially after the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) regime began to promote betel nut for its economic value. HAKKA CHOCOLATE Now, as before, cacao cultivation is concentrated in Hakka communities in Pingtung County. Chiu Ming-sung (邱銘松), a Hakka farmer who started growing betel nut in 1975, led the cacao comeback in 2000. He was seeking a new business direction, recognizing that the popularity of betel nut was beginning to wane. Chiu discovered that growing cacao
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