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IN THIS ISSUE

• Kate Brookfield finishes her description of Taipei
• Arthur Pay´s story is continued
• Richard Ross continues his Parisian chronicles
• Geoff Goodship harvests another crop
• Bruce Galway sends a story about a tarot card reading
• Gerrit de Leeuw´s story tells when prayer is necessary

Kate Brookfield writes about places of interest she visited in the week of their visit to

TAIWAN

THE NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM is a modern building, but built in the style of an ancient Chinese temple. The first building was completed in 1964, but since that time has undergone expansion and renovation. A quote from one of the websites about the museum states: "It ranks as one of the four best museums in the world, in a class with the Louvre, the British Museum and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

"The museum holds the world´s largest collection of Chinese artifacts, around 700,000 items in all. Since the museum only has space to display around 15,000 pieces at any given time, the majority of the treasures are kept well protected in air-conditioned vaults buried deep in the mountainside. The displays are rotated once every three months, which means 60,000 pieces can be viewed in a year and it would take nearly 12 years to see them all."

You can find more about the museum at http://www.taiwan.com.au/Envtra/Taipei/report02.html.

The museum is well planned and covers the whole range of Chinese culture from Neolithic era to the Republic. A time scale comparing Chinese dynasties with the rest of the world makes you realize just how advanced they were in China even when the Greek and Roman Empires were in their infancies. One of the prized specimen is a jade carving of a cabbage with a cricket sitting on it, and another of a piece of yellow jade that looks like a piece of pork.

The Lonely Planet guide suggests that if you only have time to visit only one temple, it should be the LANGSHAN TEMPLE. It was founded in 1738 and is dedicated to the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy (Chinese name is Kuan-in and Avalokitesvara in Sanskrit). When immigrants from mainland China moved to the island of Taiwan at the beginning of the 18th century, they founded this temple after one of the same name in Fukien, China. The temple today is not the original construction as it was completely rebuilt in 1919. Although it is basically a Buddhist temple, it also includes deities of Taoism. This variety of deities reflects the tolerant attitude of the Chinese people in religious worship.

When I first saw the temple, I was amazed at its size, colour, and elaborate carvings. There are basically three main courtyards. The first is the entrance area, where there is a waterfall cascading down a rockface with many plants and flowers. A pair of bronze dragon columns are on either side of the steps to the main entrance. In this courtyard merchants are selling incense and fruit and vegetables for the worshippers to take to the shrines.

Unlike entering a western cathedral, where reverence is expressed by silence, when you enter this temple, you are drawn into a crowd of worshippers all chanting melodiously from a script in books, like our hymn books. Everybody is facing the central hall, where a large gold statue of Kuan-in is located. There is a large drum of coke burning for lighting the long sticks of incense. The worshippers hold these sticks of incense on the top of their heads and repeatedly bow to the goddess.

In the back section of the temple are many side altars to different deities. In front of the shrine is a large table where gifts of fruit and vegetables are placed. I was told that one was Buddha, the doctor, and people pray to him for healing. They leave gifts of garlic and spring onions for this deity. Apparently, after the prayers, the worshippers take their gifts home again! Another deity prefers apples.

The whole atmosphere was reverent, but accepting. People moving around didn´t bother those chanting. I was particularly fascinated by one older man who was almost dancing as he chanted at the top of his voice. No inhibitions.

Outside the temple at the other side there is a huge pool with many fountains playing at different heights. We saw this temple at night and witnessed a spectacular show of music and lights at this fountain.

Another place we visited was the TEA GARDENS. Taipei grows its own tea and on the mountainside are many tea gardens where visitors can go and taste the different teas. There is a gondola ride up the mountain to the gardens, so we got a good view of Taipei from the heights. At the top, a small twisting road winds it way round the mountain and the tea shops are situated along this road. We climbed up stairs to a little room with a window looking over the tree tops and across Taipei city.

There we were introduced to the tea ceremony. First we had to wash our hands, then we were seated on bamboo chairs at a small bamboo table. On the table was a pot of boiling water; a tiny teapot and matching jug were on a rectangular box with a sieve on top so the spilled water drained into the box below. We were given two china cups. One was elongated and the other like a bowl. First the teapot is scalded with boiling water. It is filled to the top until the water comes out of the spout. The teapot is emptied and the lid replaced and then the outside of the teapot is covered with boiling water. Then the tea is put into the pot and more boiling water poured on the leaves. After it has brewed, the infusion of tea is poured through a strainer into the serving jug. The tea is poured into the narrow vessel first and the small bowl is placed on top. With one hand, you have to hold the bowl on top and turn the two over so the tea goes into the bowl. The first vessel is called the aroma cup and we had to draw the vessel under our nostrils to enjoy the aroma before drinking the tea from the bowl.

I am used to drinking tea from a mug, so it seemed strange to just get a couple of mouthfuls from this little bowl. Because it was such a hot day, we had several bowls of tea. After my sixth bowl, I began to feel a bit woozy and I discovered that one can get tea-drunk. I guess it is the pure caffeine!

We then went on to the tea museum with a display of all the teas grown in Taiwan, the names and places where tea is grown, plus all the equipment, ancient and modern, used in picking and drying tea.

TAIPEI TOWER

Taipei has the highest tower in the world and the fastest elevator. In front of the tower entrance is a framed certificate proving this claim to fame. The tower complex is known as the 101 Centre. On the first five floors is a huge shopping and dining area with all the internationally-famous designer stores. The elevator to the top of the tower is also the fastest elevator in the world. It took just 33 seconds to go from the 5th floor to the 89th. Free audio equipment is available to describe what can be seen below.

We discovered that the day we went to the tower and the tea gardens was the hottest day in Taiwan since 1920. It was 38.6 degrees. Because of the heat, it was very hazy looking over the city and my photos are not very clear. We couldn´t see Academia Sineca from the top as it is situated in a valley behind four hills. One thing I discovered was that what I thought were attractive little houses on the hillsides were in fact, graveyards. The dead are buried on the hillsides far above the city in small terra cotta type monuments that from a distance look like small houses. What would be prime real estate in the west, a site on a mountain side with a good view of the city, is reserved for the dead.

Although we were only in Taipei for one week, it seemed much longer. We really enjoyed our visit and agree with the editors of the Lonely Planet Guide who state that the best attraction in Taiwan is the people. They are polite, helpful to visitors. They will go out of their way to help you find a bus stop or the way out of the MRT to the place you want to visit. Instead of just giving directions, they take you, even if it is out of their way. One particular sign amused me. Instead of saying "Men at Work", it had a sketch of two workers with hard hats in their hands, bowing, with the words "Pardon For Your Inconvenience". All in all, we were favourably impressed and look forward to going to live there for a year starting January 2008.

ED. NOTE: If you would like to see the pictures Kate took in Taipei, go to http://arunaurl.com/kd0

Arthur Pay has just been sent to work on the land:

"WHAT DID YOU DO IN THE LAST WAR, DADDY?"

I was first sent to a group of men who were occupying an isolated and derelict old farmhouse at Yaxley Fen, who were collecting and burning twitch grass that had overgrown the whole of the farm area during the period between the wars. The grass and roots had to be raked out of the fine black earth and there was so much dust and smoke involved that everybody worked with cloths round their heads to filter out the muck.

There were about twelve of us and we slept on straw palliasses on the upper floor of the empty farm house. There was no running water or electricity, only earth closets - in short, it was very primitive. One very scruffy old man was delegated to cook for us, and I recall that he kept an old pickle jar for his convenience during the night when we all slept in the same room. He threw his nightly efforts out of the window in the morning. We washed in water from rain butts and had to wait to strain off the mosquito larvae after they had been killed off with soap, before we could make our ablutions. I recall making a momentous decision when the old boy served up a boiled suet pudding for the evening meal, and my portion contained a long hair. I had to decide either to go hungry or to extract the hair and eat the pudding. I didn´t go hungry.

After a few days of this very primitive living, I was taken from the gang and sent to Elton Hall Stables with five other conscientious objectors. I hadn´t stayed at Yaxley Fen long enough to find out what sort of men I was working with, but they were all older than myself, and didn´t appear to be COs.

Elton Hall Stables were much more comfortable, with electricity and running water, and you could shop in the village. The company was also more congenial as we had all objected to military service, although it seems on very different grounds. There were religious objectors, a vegetarian who wouldn´t kill anything, including insects or bacteria, and a communist who took the fact that Russia was not involved to prove that the war was therefore a capitalist war.

I was the eldest of the six and we soon got things organized - I remember we had a roast dinner the first Sunday we were there and soon got on good terms with the couple that ran a general shop in the village by asking their advice on how to cook different things.

Work started in the fields at 8 a.m., which meant we had to breakfast and prepare food to eat during the day, requiring getting up at 6 a.m. We made porridge on the kitchen range using wood and twigs collected the previous day. Our foreman, and old man with a tied cottage, used to call the fuel, "a lovely bit of rotten".

Again, our job was to collect all the roots and rubbish turned over by a rototiller in order to bring scrubland back into cultivation. The six of us were strung out in a line with sacks to pick up all the twigs and roots turned up in the soil after it had been tilled, and to make bonfires of the collected heaps. We also had to cut down and grub out hedges to make larger fields for cultivation. The fires we lit left ashes that were magnificent for roasting potatoes the following day, and we could do ourselves proud by taking a supply of potatoes and salt to bury in the remains of the burning, provided it hadn´t rained overnight and put the fires out.

The evening meal was a little more difficult. We made an arrangement that I would cycle back to the Stables at Elton an hour before knocking-off time to prepare something to eat for the other five when they returned. They made up my wages for the time lost - though the wages were derisory anyway.

Within a few weeks we had things organized and got as far as making pastry for tarts and pies, and even bread puddings. I still have twinges of conscience over some pastry I made using dripping, which I assured our vegetarian was O.K. for him to eat. He was violently sick, but didn´t know why.

We all got on well with our foreman and arranged always to call him ´sir´, particularly when his wife brought his food to him in the fields. He sold me a dozen pullet eggs to take home to Leytonstone one weekend.

The country folk did a lot better in the line of rationed goods than did town dwellers, who in the meantime had the Blitz to cope with.

To be continued.

Richard Ross continues his reports from his semester abroad:

AN AMERICAN IN PARIS

Now in the home stretch of the winter season, the days are longer, the tourists more visible, and the rain, although as frequent, does not leave you shivering. In fact, today the sun made a delightful visit, suggesting that spring should be en route. Beautiful architecture, beautiful girls, and now beautiful weather. Let´s hope I allow myself time to blink.

I have come to the incontestable conclusion that the most identifying symbol of the American in Europe is the North Face fleece. As I said, more and more tourists appear each day, and as a result, the sidewalks are scattered with black, pink, pink and black, blue, yellow, yellow with black lining, gortex, fuzzy Americans.

The other day in my international French class at the Sorbonne, we all had to recite the rooster´s proverbial "cock-a-doodle-do" in our respective languages. We heard many versions, including English, French, Swedish, Chinese, Arabic, Serbian, and Spanish. Though all the languages agreed that the cry of a rooster begins with a "c", the "a doodle do" certainly is unique to anglophone countries. According to the French, roosters introduce the sunrise with a "co co rio co."

Smiling is often considered the universal gesture, but after a month or so in Paris, I contend that the act of smoking a cigarette is worthy of consideration. As I mentioned, I attend a cafe each morning with a mishmash of nationalities, all of whom depend on French as the spoken language, though French is not always required. In tandem, ashtrays deploy, cigarettes poise and lighters ignite - all without a single word spoken. The smoke builds and the ash deepens, and in perfect silence, these folks connect one puff at a time. Though I´ve eschewed participation, my presence is often indicated by intermittent coughing.

Ironically enough, as an American, my reluctance is expected. I am often teased that of course, as an American, I am too proud of my anti-smoking campaigns and advertisements. I am not sure what the case may be, but I know that whether if I am too proud or too healthful, I am left to communicate only with my smile and my intermediate French skills.

It´s difficult to be inquisitive and at the same time, face the difficulty with the interrogative aspect of the language. Nevertheless, new language barriers are broken each day. Yes, "bonjours" and "bonsoirs" can be said among strangers, but as I might have said before, Parisians won´t initiate an actual conversation unless the barrel of a gun rests alongside their forehead. However, once you accept that the responsibility lies with you, you may consider following up a "bonjour" with a "comment allez-vous?" In my experience, those with whom I have prolonged conversation have absolutely relished the opportunity.

The French, contrary to popular belief, love to show off their English. I have also noticed when speaking English, the French love and continuously say the phrases, "in fact", "give birth to", and "I arrive." I am not by any means making fun of them, for I probably incorporate phrases in my French as random and uncommon. (For example, "jai excite"- which I thought was just a direct translation to English "I am excited" - I later learned was not the most prudent way of describing my enthusiasm for meeting my host mother´s 23-year-old daughter. When I once used "jai excite" in that context, I accidentally notified the dinner table that I was more or less sexually aroused at the prospect of meeting the daughter.) But when a French person describes his evening as, "In fact, me and a few friends gave birth to the night with dinner," though not as provocative, is definitely an interesting take on the English language.

In my opinion, the splendour of the French people is just how comfortable they are when seated. What we refer to in the States as wasting time, the French refer to as enjoying it. According to the French (proven by both their actions and clocks) an individual is allotted 24 hours to use for whatever reasons necessary. Thus, when seated at a cafe or on a park bench, the chronic compulsions that trigger most Americans to move on to the next activity, rarely seem to exist on the sidewalks and gardens of Paris. Coffee to go? The scores of Starbucks may attempt to introduce the concept, but the French rather dismiss such a multitasking phenomenon. Instead, they spare the polka-dot tie and the white blouse the horrifying coffee stain and settle into a cozy cafe, multitasking in a more familiar fashion ... sipping an expresso, reading a newspaper, and of course, smoking a cigarette.

Every other week, I report Monday through Friday to a phonetics class. Once again, I am surrounded by other international students, who supposedly share the same pronouncing tongue, though in my class, I have not yet heard the similarities between my American, Chinese, and Indian classmates. Using soundproof headphones, we recite the dictation of the professor sitting at the head of the room. As we recite, we are also recording. Once the professor is finished, we rewind the tape and wait anxiously to hear our painful replications of the French accent.

This weekend, 40 students or so from the program and I are headed to Normandy and Brittany. I promise my foresight isn´t as strong as my hindsight, so we´ll wait for the next e-mail to elaborate.

To be continued.

On the last Sunday of July, Geoff Goodship celebrates

THE ANNUAL HARVEST

This day the world´s problem shall be small. Our weather is benign. No one that I know will die or be born. I´m sure there are tragedies out there but for me, on this day, I don´t hear them. The universe is unfolding as it should.

Why? Because it´s the time of the annual garlic harvest. This is the time of year that commercial garlic growers and home gardeners alike uproot the crop they planted last fall. There must be something significant about the fact that garlic and humans have the same gestation period. After nine months, out comes this little bulb, looking all dirty, messy, and off colour. We wash them off, cut the cord ... er ... I mean the roots. We dry them. Soon our garlic looks much more presentable.

There is something quite satisfying about this. Someone once said that the meaning in life is having something to look forward to. The annual garlic harvest adds a little flavour to mine.

Bruce Galway forwards this story about

THE TAROT CARDS

In the dark and gloomy room, gazing at the Tarot cards laid out before her, the Tarot reader delivered the bad news:

"There is no easy way to tell you this so I´ll just be blunt. Prepare yourself to be a widow. Your husband will die a quick, violent and horrible death this year."

Visibly shaken, the woman stared at the Tarot cards, the psychic´s lined face, then at the single flickering candle, then down at her trembling hands.

She took a few deep breaths to try to compose herself. She simply had to know. She met the Tarot reader´s gaze, steadied her voice, and asked:

"Will I get away with it?

Gerrit de Leeuw sends this one:

WHEN PRAYER IS NEEDED

Little Johnny and his family were having Sunday dinner at his grandmother´s house. Everyone was seated around the table as the food was being served.

When little Johnny received his plate he started eating right away.

"Johnny, wait until we say our prayer."

"I don´t have to," the boy replied.

"Of course you do," his mother insisted. "We say a prayer before eating at our house."

"That´s at our house," Johnny explained, "but this is Grandma´s house, and she knows how to cook."

We have need of history in its entirety, not to fall back into it, but to escape from it. - JoseOrtega Y Gasset (1883-1955)