Visions Of The Mystic East, Part Two

Thanks to everyone who read the first installment of my sojourn in Taiwan. Part One described culinary adventures; this entry will explore the spiritual side, which left a deep, inspiring imprint on my imagination. Taipei is a city of sometimes startling contrasts, where ancient folkways in the older parts of town are a world apart from the trendy district shadowed by the towering spire of Taipei 101. Hub and I visited as many temples as we could, and our friend T. C. Yuan  took us to even more, far from the beaten tourist track. The photos featured here were taken by me; click on them for a larger view. For Part Three, click here.

T. C. announces himself to the world beyond this at the Confucian Temple. The prevailing belief system in Taiwan mingles many teachings, creating a uniquely independent view of one's relationship to the divine. There exists no formal notion of a church in its Western sense: no stipulated assemblies, no specified hours of worship, no sermons, no hymns, no commandments, no dress code. Temples can be devoted to the Buddha, Confucius, the traditional Chinese gods, or all three together. One visits a temple for as long as it takes to ask the intercession of the higher powers or to commune with a loved one; there are no seats, but padded boards allow worshipers to kneel in comfort as they pray or cast oracle blocks.

 

Offerings at Longshan, one of the oldest temples in Taipei and thronged at all hours. My first visit there was at night, and the place was packed. Even though it was right next to a train stop and across from a busily trafficked shopping street, once I passed through its gates I entered a different plane of reality. I'll never forget the gold-drenched splendor glowing in the light of red lanterns, the otherworldly fragrance of jasmine and incense rising on the warm spring air, the clatter of moon blocks (bwa bwei), the soft floating strains of meditative music, and the sense of feeling at once utterly transported, and completely at home.

Flower offerings at Longshan: small bouquets of jasmine and other blossoms attached to paper saucers, sold by vendors outside the temple gate.

Well-worn moon blocks. One asks the gods a question, takes a pair of blocks at random and throws them on the temple floor. If the result is one flat side and one curved, then the answer is yes; two flat or curved sides down means try again. Three throws per question is usual.

 An exquisitely folded paper basket full of flowers, set atop a temple plinth as a decoration.

Offerings at the highly frequented temple of Gong Kuan, who is both the god of literature and the god of war. Note the beribboned pyramid of Taiwan Beer in the foreground. Both deities and departed loved ones receive gifts, usually of food, drink, or flowers; some temples accept meat offerings.

Another view of the lavish offerings at Gong Kuan temple. A small donation buys a paper bag full of gifts for the gods: candles, incense, snacks, and joss money. Shops outside the temple sell more offerings. It's an eye-widening display, at once a symbol of life's impermanence and the human need to connect with a realm beyond this flawed reality.

Rituals are as simple or as complicated as one feels necessary, but T. C. kindly showed me the customary method of visiting a temple. One enters, takes a bundle of incense--which is always available, abundant, and free--lights it, and makes a tour of the altars, starting with the one belonging to the principal god. After some moments of homage, a stick of incense is left in the burner of each shrine. This one is dedicated to the Buddha of the Four Directions, originally a Hindu deity.

A joss oven--very restrained in design--part of a temple complex. Paper 'god money' is burned not only in ovens like this one, but in metal barrels made for the purpose and found everywhere in Taipei's older, traditional neighborhoods.

A sidewalk offering table displayed by a local business to insure the favor of the gods. Offerings are left out for a few hours, then brought back indoors after the deities have enjoyed their essence. The red and gold stack of paper at the upper left is joss, which in addition to being produced in enormous quantities and sold for next to nothing is made not by machine, but by hand.

Here was a high point. We'd visited the Raohe night market, one of the most crowded we'd yet seen, with two lanes of one-way-only pedestrian traffic hemmed in by shops and divided by a long row of food stalls and tables packed with friends and families enjoying themselves; there wasn't even room for the usually ubiquitous motor scooters. T. C. (visible in the right foreground) promised us a surprise at the end, and he stunned us with this temple. It had four stories, and was more dazzling/elaborate/marvelous than any other we'd yet seen, which by this time in our visit was saying a great deal.

An altar to the God of Examinations at the Raohe temple, with offerings of test papers, snacks, and other items more unlikely. Some of them put me in mind of a favorite night market delicacy, scallion pancakes.

One of the unique features of the Raohe temple were the big decorations of  silk and wire lantern sculptures that seemed to float from every floor over the courtyard, many of them featuring playful tigers for 2010. This flower arrangement caught my eye.

 

A balcony on the way up the hundreds of steps leading to a very special temple on Taipei's outskirts. T. C. guided us to this wonderful place, and we felt privileged to be able to see it. The day was thick with mist, lending an air of exotic mystery that was quaintly dispelled by the down-home organic neighborhood atmosphere around the sacred precinct: kids running about playing, people snacking at the nearby outdoor eatery or shopping for amulets, and dogs perfectly welcome.

The third and concluding part of Visions will describe Taipei's modern side, as well as some noteworthy sights outside the city. I really enjoyed writing this entry, although it took a while to complete because of the hundreds of snapshots that I needed to sift through, and the photoshopping necessary for the chosen ones. Thanks for reading!

Ja ne,

CK

Visions Of The Mystic East, Part One

Note: Click the photographs twice for the biggest view. Part Two is here.

I've been busy since my last entry. This was the most traveled summer I've had in a long time, and it started early. For three amazing weeks in May I drank in the extraordinary energy, spiritual depth, and pervasive civility that make Taiwan unique in the world. Enter the dragon...

The Taipei experience would certainly have been far less eventful had Hub and I not been fortunate enough to be shown the city by our friend T. C. Yuan of the Institute of Physics at Academia Sinica. Not only did T. C. introduce us to fascinating places and wonderful delicacies we'd otherwise never have known about, he did so with patience, charm, and stamina. Xie-xie ni, T. C.!

T. C. at the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Gardens.

Taipei is huge, with a vast population, but the principles of Confucianism and Buddhism go very deep. During the three weeks I was there, I noticed some surprising, extremely pleasant things about the city. First, there are no 'bad areas.' You can go anywhere in safety, any time of the day or night. The subways are marvels of pristine efficiency, and people actually line up politely to board. There's no homeless problem. Cars don't blast thump speakers, and graffiti doesn't seem to exist. Young people seem happy and purposeful. Education is highly esteemed, and courtesy is endemic. There's no custom of recreational drinking; public intoxication is virtually unknown. Children and the elderly are treated with touching kindness and respect. I hope none of these things ever change.

Because many people agree that one of the most memorable parts about travel to exotic places is the food, this entry will focus on the cuisine of Taipei, and the ways and places I enjoyed it. I'll be posting a second entry later about Taipei's many other fascinations, and some sights outside the city.

Since the climate's hot and muggy, people like to go out in the evening when things cool off, and they throng the night markets, which are another of Taipei's notable features. Eating is a popular activity, as can be seen from this picture taken at Taipei's biggest such market, Shihlin.

Above, traditional night market cuisine. Although I sampled and enjoyed many of the wares, I have to admit I never tried one of the most touted offerings, stinky tofu; I couldn't manage to get close enough to taste it. Seriously, it's got a pong you can detect a block away, but braver souls than I insist it's delicious. Maybe next time...

Night market fruit. Taiwan is famed for its fruit, and this particular stall had some of the best I've ever tasted. I particularly recall the melt-in-your-mouth mangoes; the fragile yangmei berries that I'd never seen before, dearly love, and can't get in the U.S. because they don't travel well; and the crunchy, juicy wax apples that deserve a much more appetizing name. I'm sure I'll eventually learn to savor durian; Hub adored it.

Culinary adventures:

One of Taipei's thousands of hard-working independent food vendors. Sidewalks are crowded with stalls selling all kinds of food and drink, from early morning until into the wee hours.

Another takeaway stall, at a covered morning market.These do a brisk trade until the lunch rush ends, after which they shut up shop. Morning markets sell everything from food to clothing to housewares to jade jewelry, at bargain prices. I had an enthralling time exploring them, and although I was always the only Westerner there, no one seemed to notice save to smile in welcome.

A visit to world-famous Din Tai Fung is de rigeur for any Taipei stay. In the steamer are the restaurant's signature delicacy, crab roe dumplings; T. C. has just enjoyed one of them. The restaurant features charming waitresses in crisp uniforms, and a big window on the kitchen lets you admire the impeccable skill that goes into making those little gems of edible art.

Pearl tea (or bubble tea) is a uniquely Taiwanese beverage: a tall cup of sweet cold milky matcha (there are variants, but matcha was my favorite) with a thick layer of pearl tapioca at the bottom, black from previous simmering in caramelized sugar. A wide-gauge plastic straw allows the tapioca to be slurped up along with the drink. It's addictively delicious, and oh, how I miss it. My favorite purveyor was Ten Ren, a chain of tea shops where you can be treated free of charge to a gracious ceremonial tasting of rare island Oolongs in delicate porcelain cups.

Food becomes art with the exquisitely fresh offerings at Farm To Table, a dining experience where ambiance combined with food in perfect harmony.

At a busy Cantonese restaurant we'd never have found without T. C.'s expert guidance, we ended a delightful dinner with this rich, gorgeous cake, reputed to have been Madame Chiang-kai Shek's favorite dessert.

*****

Most of our night market forays concluded with a visit to a temple. Used as I was to the spare, serene, unfrequented shrines of Japan, exploring Taiwan's places of worship was an adventure for the senses. I always came away dazzled by the gold and scarlet, my memories full of the murmur of chanting, the clatter of oracle blocks, the mingled fragrance of incense and jasmine, the riot of gods. Temples and other otherworldly venues will be the subject of my next post, which can be found here.
 
Xai jian for now,
 
CK
 
Note: All of the photographs, with the exception of the pearl tea image, were taken by me on my Canon PowerShot SX110.