for richer, for poorer

Great Moment,1992: Print by Chng Seok Tin in response to Archimedes' "Give me a place to stand, and with a lever I will move the world."

Today, J and I spent our lunch break at "Blossoming of the Pomegranate: Documenting 30 Years of Chng Seok Tin's Art", curated by independent art space p-10 and Koh Nguang How. By extension it documents 30 years of Chng Seok Tin's life - and what a life!

What is important to me is not how to create pictures, but how to live.

The exhibition is timely. This year, together with pop composer Dick Lee and entertainer Jack Neo, Chng Seok Tin finally received the Cultural Medallion - Singapore's highest state accolade for culture and the arts.

She was also earlier given the Woman of the Year award in 2001. Then, in response to the laudatory remarks about her courage in continuing to make art after an accident in 1988 caused her to lose 80% of her sight, she had said:

I have no husband, no children, no car, no house; I have nothing. Don't learn from me how to be poor.

Perhaps she was smiling - so slightly - when she said this. I vaguely remember from my few very brief exchanges with her that her seemingly straightforward manner belies the humour and irony contained in many of her observations.

It is the same with her writing. Besides being an artist, Chng is also a prolific writer. I have a collection of her essays 多心眼 (trans: "the over-sensitive eye"? ironic, given her visual impairment). Though these short pieces are brisk in their expression, the observations are sometimes playful and almost always expansive.

This internal dialogue - that's what I like about Chng's work- and life? Its forthrightness. But also its contemplation. Its concerns are moral in its insistent examination of human struggle and fallibility. Yet its tone is never quite moralistic. So in her art, the individual (heart, mind, life - artist, viewer, man, woman) can be magnanimous and must be so. Yet there is also an awareness that there is something even and always greater than the most magnanimous self.

In the same way, her life can play like a dialogue between teacher and student. Chng Seok Tin is a beloved teacher of, by now, at least a couple of generations of art students; yet she is herself a fervent student, scholar. Take the start of her life in art. Though she was already a school teacher in the 70s, it was Chng's encounter with art in teachers' college and artist Tang Da Wu's encouragement that led her to be a student again in Central St.Martin. She eventually graduated with a BFA from Hull (London was too costly after a year). This meant that the Chinese-educated Chng had to acquire sufficient proficiency in English. Later, she was admitted to Atelier 17 in Paris, and completed her MA in Art history at New Mexico and an MFA at Iowa. Although she was offered a job in HK with a publishing house, she chose to return to Singapore because she saw a need for her as an art teacher.

It is therefore perhaps apt that Chng Seok Tin is best known as a printmaker. Because with print, the hand does not immediately create the image on paper. The process - to simplify - consists of 2 key parts. First, the artist marks another surface (e.g. wood, copper plate, lino) - by carving, etching, or even laying on other textured materials - creating first either a negative or positive mirror image of the final image. Next, the ink/paint that is applied on that surface is then transferred/"printed" onto the paper. Often, a complete print is made up of impressions from several different plates/prints, and several layers of colours.

I am not sure if this is entirely true (aiyah, in my desire for poetry, I would carry a metaphor too far)...The printmaker must first hold in his mind's eye the complete/final image or its closest proxy, so that in execution, he/she will be able to constuct accurately in parts and in reverse - learning to see what is dark or light, always discerning what is and what is not. But in printing the final image, the precision and discernment must contend with the sleightness of hand, and the improvisational liberty of intuition.

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p/s: Unfortunately, the show at p-10 is officially over. If you drop them a note, maybe the good folks at p-10 will open up their space for you .

it takes 2?

Epaulettes make more sense in a pair...but ampulets, well, often make less.

Friends, as such, J and I present to you 2 videos that don't have anything in common, except a fair amount of shaking. The first is my puppet-impersonator debut where nothing much happens and the supposedly red-sequinned sexy one cannot stop bopping her head -



Next, J/TOHA's trial video, a "stop-motion" of photographs taken mostly in Taipei, and with a title even I don't quite understand.


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We just discovered youtube, which hosts short clips. Oh, new toy! If the players above don't work, click here to view the first clip and here for the second clip.

Call Girl

talk to me

That's what I get to be in my debut role in a puppet performance.

OK, before you get too many funny ideas, let me just clarify that the script was about the nature of true love and the human desire for lasting relationships. It was a performance for a group of 9-16 year old students from the boys brigade. And to be precise, the puppet character was not a call-girl lah, just someone who works for a telephone chatline whom the lead puppet/character spoke to in a moment of misguided desperation. It was a brief 1-2 minute part, and despite my nervous and imprecise movements, she was still possibly the sexiest puppet ever in a red-sequinned halter-neck top!

watermelon blues (a 1min play for 2 fruits)

Y: I don't mean to be rude...but - but - were you born like this?
Watermelon Man (WM): Not really.
Y: Then what happened!?
WM: I was born, first, a watermelon in a watermelon patch. But unlike other watermelons, I grew up to be a watermelon man instead.
Y: Ah...right...
WM: Amazing huh? But my story is just like that of Pinnochio.
Y: Pinnochio?...I guess you can see it that way...
WM: You don't believe me?
Y: No, no, I mean, yes, I believe you.
[A long pause, during which WM waves a fly away.]
WM: You know that there's a movie named after me!
Y: OK.
WM: And many songs too - There's that famous tune by Herbie Hancock in the 60s. Wah, that's one great jazz hit. Catchy stuff. The drums, tetetededum...And there's some 70s song also. I don't quite understand the words, those strange 70s people. But somehow...they make me want to cry. [sings and tears, black melon seeds falling down his face]

"And it’s a new day,
Watermelons waste away,
And the sun is startin’ to rise up over the hill
But it’s all right
I haven’t lost my appetite
And you know that I’m eatin’ those wasted watermelons still
Yes, I am
And I’m a watermelon man
Yes, I’m a watermelon man."

Y: Look on the bright side, watermelon man, always. All is never lost. You could have been some other fruit...like a banana. No one will take you seriously then. Or a grape. Forever to be crushed and losing your individuality to a bunch. Or just an apple. Innocuous, yet always suspect. Worse, an orange! Imagine that. No one cares for orange as a fruit. A colour or a juice, maybe.
WM: [smiles] Or I could have just been a watermelon. Instead of a watermelon man.
Y: That's the spirit!
WM: Thanks for cheering me up, persimmon girl.

TGIF!

my days in the palace

Warning: a long post
My whole office trooped down to the Malay Heritage Centre at Kampung Gelam for a tour yesterday afternoon. The trip ended with a 5min lesson on how to weave a ketupat which, for me, resulted in this duck-like object. Oh well.



It's generally accepted that history is written by those in power - at least history as they understand it. In the case of Singapore's history, anything post-1965 assumes a well-known narrative of independence and PAP-led growth. And with the date 1819, a colonial narrative is usually told starting with the arrival of that sly British "civil servant" Raffles (who supposedly could write Jawi?! impressive).

So it is perhaps telling that when we asked our guide for more information about Sultan Hussein, his descendents and life at the Istana - there was little she could say. Or at least, little that she said which could be verified. The sultan did not leave many written documents. Neither did his descendents. And of the few documents on the Istana, most are the official ordinances, treaties, acts which the British had instituted instead -for eg, declaring the Istana crown property (hence the sultan & his descendents are, I guess, technically squatters?), dictating the annual allowances the Sultan and his family would receive etc.

This lack of literature - official or private - on the Sultanate and Istana strangely contrasts the cultural or literary going-ons on this island some 150 years ago. Believe it or not, Singapore was the centre of publishing for anything written in Jawi and romanised Malay. Poetry, romances and other fiction... How ironic that, today, we should have a whole archive full of official and historical documents, but no real publishing industry to speak of!

I was reminded by yesterday's trip of my first visit to the Istana KampungGelam. It was 1997, 2 years before the government decided that it should be restored as a Malay Heritage Centre. I had to make a 10min short as part of a film course at the substation, and so decided to make my own nostalgic romance/protest about the Istana's position in contemporary Singapore.

I interviewed a few strangers if they knew where or what was the Istana. I shot some footage outside the "real"/current Istana (President's office), and had the police come up to check what I was doing. Then with the help of an old classmate H, I planned to interview the residents of the Istana Kampung Gelam.

Friends, if you have been to the Istana before it was restored, you will know that it was basically more kampung (i.e. village) than palatial. In the middle of the compound was the 2-storey building, designed by George Coleman. The sultan's descendents had rented out the first floor and the land within the compound to more than 10 families, some of whom I think were descendents of those who had worked for the Sultan. Their single-storey homes lined the compound walls, and all around the compound were their laundry, disused furniture, children's bicycles, cats, chickens... The sultan's descendents who lived on the upper floor, ran a catering business, so their plastic chairs and other catering wares were stacked in a corner. The day we were there, the place was deserted.

H and I loitered around shooting clips of the chickens and laundry before we saw someone look out from the second floor - a young bespectacled lady with a curly bob (later we found out she was married to one of the Sultan's descendents). H asked and she agreed to speak to us and show us around the second floor...

We entered the Istana. It was mostly darkness...until we got to the second floor. I remember standing in a large and cool airy hall. In the middle was a wooden sofa set with patterned cushions. Light came in through the tall windows that lined the hall. A dancing sort of light because it was a breezy day and the curtains ( cheerful sunflower prints) were drawn over the windows.

H did most of the talking. And I recorded the short interview (but I lost the tape recorder the next day), clumsily holding in the other hand a borrowed Russian 16mm film camera. The conversation revolved mostly around what she knew about the family's history and their life in this Istana. She did not know much about the history, and seemed happy that the past did not get in the way of their daily life and business (Of course, there was a fair bit of controversy when the government took back the Istana, on grounds that it was technically state land) Then the conversation ended, and H and I went for a cup of teh tarik nearby.

Maybe one day I'll transfer the film to DV. And maybe not. Regardless, those scattered memories and images still remain. 2 images clearest in my mind are of laundry that's been left out to dry along the compound's wall, a sarong/cloth waving so slightly in the breeze; and those second-floor curtains of sunflowers, at times bleached by the sunlight and moved by the wind.

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p/s- some related links
According to this site, there are historical documents by the palace scribe. And this blogger's grandma used to live there. Here's also Alfian Sa'at's take on the Istana being turned into the Malay Heritage Centre. And if you google Istana Kampung Glam, you'll find many more articles of protest.

graffiti town

The Toa Payoh MRT station - photo by J, graffiti by Y

The Straits Times yesterday contained a 13-page special report on Toa Payoh, J's neighbourhood. The report detailed how this first public housing project in the 60s, has been "upgraded" in the last few years:

It was Singapore's first comprehensive Housing Board town, and the blueprint for many more. Then it aged, looked tired and grew unappealing. Now a $2.2bm effort is refreshing Toa Payoh, its changing landscape is attracting new residents and visitors...showing how to breathe new life into old towns. - ST, Special Report, p1

Cynical me thought It must be that elections are coming soon! After all, all the stories of Toa Payoh's residents contained in that report were cheerful ones of prosperity (the high sale value of the properties were cited, their high-end flat-screen televisions described) and contented retirement.

I guess we all want to be able to shape the environments we live in some way or other - to have that sense of agency, to be able to leave a mark. Hence the most basic form of graffiti says "XYZ was here", more crude than cave paintings! But since we can't legally mark public property with spray paint, I reckon us islanders spend lots of money dressing up our private 100sqm of public housing (hear the cash registers at Ikea!).

And I suppose in the case of Toa Payoh, the upgrading serve as a form of political graffiti - a marking of political territory.

The report gave a sliver of print to the 12 blocks of flats in Toa Payoh Lorong 8 that are under the Opposition ward of Chiam See Tong. It is obvious to any visitor which 12 blocks these are.

Mention the relative lack of upgrading and Mr Peter Tan Seng Tong,68, who owns the minimart...bristles. "We're very happy here!"

Maybe I am biased by my own romantic notions about the opposition party, but these 12 blocks of flats are, without doubt, one of the liveliest spots in Toa Payoh. Where the gardens in the rest of Toa Payoh are mostly trimmed and bear the British legacy of geometric-patterned gardens, these 12 blocks share a tiny patch of green where residents have placed random pots of plants.

OK, political-romances aside, if Toa Payoh is a lovely neighburhood to live in, it is not, as the ST report suggests, because the political markings of "upgrading" has brought it "new life". On the contrary, it is the old - whatever has been allowed to take root - that provides for its new life, organically, naturally, persistently. My favourite is this faraway tree. It's a kind of junkyard graffiti that, despite being destroyed once by upgrading, finds new life simply because whoever makes this tree continues to live there.

For me, it's Toa Payoh that has left its marks on me - these memories! I spent most of my Primary and Secondary school years there. I took my first (and only) jump off the 5m platform in the Toa Payoh swimming pool. For the past 4 years or so, there's been Lorong 8 where J lives - its corridors, BBQ wings, kids and cats. And every weekday morning now, I get off the train at the Toa Payoh MRT station to wait for J on our way to work. So to reciprocate its generosity, I leave on Toa Payoh the virtual graffiti above. :)

bright-eyed

image by J

Look closer here... - J

making music

coloured with my new Intuos! Sketch of a band we heard in Taipei's "legendary" Witch Cafe

I've always thought that if you threw together a bunch of creative and talented folks from different disciplines, you'll get a real lively collaboration and discussion - you'll get music.

But, boy, am I wrong.

I spent the morning today at the "Beyond 2005: Reinvent Your Future - Global Summit for the Creative Industries". Yes, yes, whatever that mouthful means! It is, after all, sponsored by the government - hence the cheesy, insecure title. It was a strange mix of speakers - first the Minister spoke (yadda yadda, Singapore, creative, arts...you get the drift), followed by the hottest architect at the moment Rem Koolhas, then the fashion designer Martine Sitbon with her art director (a French duo who punctuated everything with "voila"). Add to this Wallpaper's editor and one of the top creatives at advertising agency Ogilvy & Mather.

You'll imagine they'll have ideas flying leftrightcentre at the panel discussion, even if the topic was meant to be the rather pedantic "The Future of Asian Design". But there was no discussion. The speakers could not connect even at a human level, much less intellectually.

"It's all about happiness, selling authenticated happiness."
- advertising creative director

"I don't understand."
- fashion art director (he's a sweet guy, I think, coming across unpretentious despite his excessive name dropping)

"Identity is the most useless socialist anxiety."
- architect, responding to question on what is asian design

Actually, all this was rather funny to watch at first, then painful. But the creative types may say that creativity is discordant.

If we dream too long...

the long march

While talking with some colleagues whether there was such a thing as "The Singapore Novel", a colleague recommended that I read Goh Poh Seng's If we dream too long (Singapore, 1972: Island Press). Well, how to resist a book with such a dreamy proposal?

But first... who is Goh Poh Seng?!? I googled his name and this was what I found:

Goh Poh Seng was born in Malaya in 1936. He received his medical degree from University College in Dublin, and practised medicine in Singapore for twenty-five years. Goh's first novel, If We Dream Too Long, won the National Book Development Council of Singapore's Fiction Book Award and has been translated into Russian and Tagalog. His other books include The Immolation, Dance of Moths, Eyewitness, Lines from Batu Ferringhi and Bird with One Wing. (Extracted from here).

I also found this vague article by Think Centre which teases and insinuates that Goh left Singapore for Canada under unhappycircumstances in 1986 to be an outport doctor at Newfoundland.

I finished reading the book today, and I must admit that I do like this straightforward coming-of-age story of 18 year-old Kwang Meng who learns what makes us all "small frightened people" in Singapore.

Though written in the late 60s, so many of its issues and its chief character are still real and relevant. But best of all is Goh's narrative voice. There is a directness and exactness in Goh's writing, but there is also a distinctive humour. Unlike so many Singapore writers, Goh's writing laughs, laughs at and laughs with his characters. (In the book, Kwang Meng is introduced to and begins to read the late Indian writer, RK Narayan. And I think Goh must also be a fan of, oh, lovely Narayan!).

So, what if we do dream too long?...Ok, so I just turned 31. For the last 3 days, J and I have been at this design conference organised by idN. As with last year, the place was filled with these teenage design students from Singapore and around the region who were more keen to collect the autographs of the speakers than listen. But age is on their side. And since we are neither teenagers nor designers - we don't even have a design education - we came away from the show wondering if it's really too late if we wanted to make a career switch?

And what about Goh Poh Seng? Where is he today?

As part of my google search, I chanced upon this short biography by Goh himself on the website of a Vancouver senior's home called "The Lion's Den":

After receiving his Canadian medical licence, he returned to practise in Vancouver. In 1995, Goh was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease and had to give up his profession. He now lives part of the year in Vancouver and part of the year in Newfoundland. Goh began writing poetry at 19 while frequenting the pubs of Dublin where he met writers Patrick Kavanagh and Brendan Behan. Encouraged by the publication of his poetry in the university magazine, he wanted to become a writer and at one point dropped out of medical school. Starvation and a love of eating drove him back to medicine. (italics mine)

Reading this write-up, the image I have is of a 69 year-old man who, Parkinson's disease or not, medical practitioner or not, continues making a life out of what he has. And over our weekly Saturday lunch at Killiney Kopitian, J and I came to a similar conclusion. Designer or not, young or old, what mattered was the precious salvation and people we already have. Maybe we've been daydreaming again, but I think what we have is enough.

happy geekdom

Today I have become the proud owner of a super geek Wacom intuos3 tablet! This smart piece of technology allows the user to paint and colour on the computer as if handling a real (air)brush. J (smarter, and infinitely sweeter) cleverly tempered all its geekness by giving it in a happy green Marimekko tote bag. Bonus gift!

And now back to "painting" with my new toy - the finished pics will be up over the weekend...Good night, good night friends!

a tale of 2 cities

i want i want i want! - kid sketched in Singapore, photo of Shilin-Taipei

It's our 3rd day back in Singapore from Taipei - and all the post-holiday blues have made themselves a comfortable home somewhere in my head. We are both due back at work tomorrow (oh, dark dark day!).

Do I miss Taipei? Hmm... I miss more the sense of freedom associating with travelling, made more intense by the chaotic openness of Taiwan. The cabdriver who took us to the airport was full of criticism for Chen Shui Bian's government ("他們比国民党还要国民党!" = "They are more Kuomintang than the Kuomintang!"), but when he attributed all this to Taiwan being "too democratic", "too liberal", it was with an obvious pride. Of course, he added, he could never imagine living in Singapore.

I like, too, the compassion of the Taiwanese. Maybe it's just the language. I like the way doorbells are labelled "爱心呤" (="compassionate bell?") and the seat right by the doors of the subway train is labelled "博爱座" (="seat requiring/seeking compassion"). There is no mad rush for seats in the trains, so kids and the elderly always have a seat. In the least expected places, those little slivers of land between subway stations or in a entrails of sidestreets, you'll find a playground for children. Most of these playgrounds also have exercise stations for the elderly.


disappearing into the city - at a playground in taipei

But I comfort myself: all cities are ultimately the same in their waste, greed and vanity. Where we differ is just the degree of polluted-ness, the breadth of our streets, the size of the urban sprawl, the disguises for our disorderliness, the nature of our violence. As printed below designer labels - Paris, London, New York, Tokyo. And sometimes adding - Taipei, Singapore.

So today, although I still find no joy in our stifling heat (the Old Man was right about how this tropical weather is one of our greatest weakness...) and the giant air-conditioned malls it has resulted in, I thought there was something redemptive in the chatter of children at 1pm, just as they were released from the school across J's flat. It's a happy sound we won't get to hear once we start work tomorrow.

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Other things to miss about Taipei: food & books; ghosts & witches; historical dramas; hot pots springs; goldmines & porn; parents kids; and more food.

food food food

Is there any other way to title this post?!

Well, folks, if you are ever in Taipei, you will know which 10 dishes not to miss!
not in order of preference & *means it's in the photo here

1. Wan Kueh, Bowl Cake*
Try the one at just across the LongShan Temple subway, on the row of shops before you get into HuaXi Jie Night Market.

2. You Yu Gen, Cuttlefish Starchy Soup*
This you can find everywhere. The one we had is just doors down from the Wan Kueh shop that dates back to 1921. Equally yummy is the one by Ah Liang (bottom left pic) in the Shilin Night Market instead. Cheaper and dirtier.

3. Ba Bao Bing, Eight Treasures Ice*
The stall we ate at is in Huaxi Jie Night Market itself, called Long Du (Dragon City). It dates back to the 30s. We also had Suan Mei Dong Bing there, which is Sour Plum Jelly with Ice.

1-3 were described here.

4. Ah Geh*
I think the name is short for "Agedashi" as in the Japanese Tofu dish. This is a local specialty of Dan Shui (take a 30min subway ride on the DanShui line to its terminal stop, where you'll find what was once Taiwan's largest fishing port). It's sweet Tofu skin stuffed with the Taiwanese glass vermicilli and sealed with fish paste. The whole thing is then steamed and served with a variety of sauces.

5. Tien Bu La
The name is Chinese for "Sweet Not Spicy" or it could also be a variation of the Japanese "Tempura". It's literally anything - fish balls, pigs intestines, all kinds of tofu, stomach of some animal - stewed in some dark soy sauce. There are tons of street stalls selling Tien Bu La - and most shops which sell noodles sell them too. We had a serving of this at Ah Liang's*.

6. Fried Chicken
Just not the Colonel Sanders sort. You can find this fried boneless Chicken thigh or breast in Shilin Night Market (we had a really crispy deep-fried "Ku-Ku-G"...yes, yes, that's the name of the shop) but you can also find it now occasionally at other street stalls. Sinful, unhealthy, but delicious. We had another serving of even yummier fried chicken at a shop* in Ximen.

7. Yang Cong Hu Jiao Bing, Spring Onion Pepper Bun
This dough is baked against the wall of a heated drum after it has been stuffed with seasoned mince pork, spring onions and pepper. What you get is bread that is crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, with filling that is juicy and very flavoursome. Costs only NT10. This is sold mainly along the streets or shops so tiny they spill out onto the sidewalk.

8. Suan Mei Tang, Sour Plum "Soup"
This is actually not a soup, but a drink made from boiling preserved plums. Some variety has a slightly more medicinal taste. We had the sweeter version at "Hong Ma's" in Danshui and the medicinal sort at a really traditional place just outside the 2-2-8 Peace Park in Taipei. The latter* is served in a small plastic bag, tied at the top with a rubber band with the straw already inserted

9. Hong Shao Niu Rou Mien, Beef noodles*
We had 2 bowls at a 2nd floor beef-noodleshop along Zhongxiao Fusing (above the La New shoe shop) - one of the usual stewed beef flavour, and the other with stewed tomatoes in the soup. Lovely lovely lovely!

10. Kungfu Rice
I don't know why it's called Kungfu Rice, but it's a delicious well-balanced meal: Plain white rice, covered in minced pork that's been stewed in soy sauce and a yellow-bean paste. It comes also with a hard-boiled egg, some vegetables and thick seaweed. While you are at a stall that sells this rice (or beef noodles), take the chance to try Taiwan's other Xiao Cai* (Small Dishes) - sliced stewed beancurd; cold tofu with preserved century egg covered with Japanese shaved dried cuttlefish; preserved vegetables in sesame oil and chilli; chilled brinjal/baby eggplant in soy sauce; seasoned seaweed with sesame and chilli oil; drief tofu skin tossed with bamboo shoots and spring onion.... OK, I think I need to stop now.

mine are better than yours

Little children, Taipei loves you! And so do ampulets, especially TOHA

On our first day in Taiwan, J already insisted that kids in Taiwan were cuter than those in Singapore. Our second day in Taiwan, this conversation took place -

J: Taiwanese kids are definitely cuter.
Y: Really?
J: Yah, see. Look at them. Kids in Singapore are plain irritating.
Y: Aiyah, this is another case of grass is greener...they are about the same. Mostly ugly Chinese kids. Duck girls and boys.
J: No, really. Look at them.

I looked at two mothers walk by, each with a toddler holding their hand.

Y: Ok, maybe you are right. [casting a critical eye] But maybe it's just styling.
J: No, no, something more... don't you think they are not so irritating, not trying so hard to be cute, less noisy and inconsiderate.
Y: Oh, I see what you mean now...

J and I walked into a park, where kids are running around the playground, their parents and grandparents watching from a distance. Taipei has many parks and all of them have generous playgrounds. J and I then walked to a square outside a train station, where kids were running around playing with a frisbee and cycling, their parents and grandparents watching from a distance.

We then entered a subway station, and walked behind a mother whose kid was trailing behind. She turned around and said matter-a-factly: "hurry up now, or we'll miss the train." There was no shouting. No humiliating scolding. No interfering instructions. No extended babytalk. None of that endless fussing about not running around, holding hands, not getting dirty, not falling down.

J: Hmmm...
Y: Hmmm...
J: I think I know the main reason why...
Y: Yup.

city of sadness

Abandoned Sheng Pin Theatre with the poster from HHH's movie Dust in the Wind - image by J

Thanks to radiohate's tip on 九份 Jiu Fen, J and I took a day trip to this Gold-mining town.

Jiu Fen's a little town made up of maybe 10 winding alleyways of low houses, built against a steep slope by the beautiful northern coast. The town got its second lease of life after Hou Hsiao Hsien shot his seminal film <悲情城市> City of Sadness (1989) there. But as if this town was never meant to be, it is most certainly on its way down.


Beautiful desolation. Images by J - click for a larger view

In the last 5 years or so, the tourist flow has died down. Today, other than one crowded alleyway of foodstalls and sourvenir stalls, the rest of the town is pretty much a ghost town. More than half of the buildings are failed hostels and teahouses, and abandoned, fallen shells. We spent most of the time exploring these quieter streets, staring through the dusty windows (if they still had glass panes) and taking photos of the their layers of paint on the crumbling walls. J and I joked that if this was Singapore, Jiu Fen would never escape the zealous STB's efforts. In Taiwan, things are pretty much left as they are.


Sketch from inside Babka Cafe

After several hours walking, we finally found a beautifully designed cafe that had retained an old stone wall in its interior. Fortunately for us, the cafe had a chatty owner (hmm, alright, so we were the only 2 in the cafe) whom we could quiz. By now, we were really puzzled about the fate of this town.

J: I guess most people come here because of Hou Hsiao Hsien.
Bossman: Ah, yes, he shot a movie here...er -
J:: 悲情城市.
Bossman: Yes yes.
J: There's that cinema here, but it's empty -
Bossman: That cinema? Hou Hsiao Hsien beautified everything here. That cinema's not been used for a long time. You know what that cinema is actually famous for? No? It's Taiwan's first porn cinema!
J&Y: Wow, no kidding?!
Bossman: That cinema, Hou Hsiao Hsien beautified it [Bossman repeats, rather happy with this bit of knowledge]. You know lah, this place was a goldmine. And you know lah, like all workers, after a hard day's work...they all like to watch some porn.


Bossman enjoys chatting, so however hard we tried leaving, he made it seem rude to do so. He tells us that he would much prefer living in Singapore, where the government makes sure things work and crime rates are lower. According to him, Taiwan's policies and politics have gotten so liberal that the crooks don't get punished. In Jiu Fen, some 15 robberies of the shops take place a month by a growing group of drug addicts that have settled there. He continues and tells us that on bad days and closer to winter, the wind and the cold make it impossible to be outdoor.

Perhaps Bossman is right. If J and I weren't tourists with only 3 hours on these streets, the reality is that this town is rather desolate. When Hou Hsiao Hsien first chose to shoot his City of Sadnesshere, he might have made the struggles of his characters seem "beautiful" against this landscape. Yet his film also showed the persistent reality of this town, which maybe makes fruitless the efforts of its inhabitants.

Hot Pot

what happens when you play the fool at the hotsprings

We got out of Taipei city to the hotspring town of 北投 Beitou, a 30min subway ride from the city centre. There, we saw another instance of Taiwanese civil engagement in action.

The beautiful Beitou HotSpring Museum used to be a public bathhouse that was first built when Taiwan was a Japanese colony. In 1994, the local government was about to tear the abandoned and derelic building down, but a Primary School teacher Ms Li thought it was a pity. She organised a petition and got enough signatures to save this gem. To restore the building, support came from all quarters - students, teachers,old tile makers, photographers, Beitou residents...Till today, the museum is run entirely by volunteers.

As a treat, J and I checked into this hotel where every room comes fitted with its own private bath - all slate-tiled, wood and pebble-lined floor. I was about to describe it as zen, but I thought it would be quite an oxymoron: zen luxury.

We immediately filled the slate pool in the room. The sulphuric water is pumped straight from the hotsprings and a sign on the wall tells us that the temperature if 55degree celcius. Oh, that doesn't seem too hot. Hmm. So first a toe...bearable...then a foot... You must be kidding me! There are people who voluntarily cook themselves!?!

But determined to make the most of our NT$5500 stay, we persevered. And as J says, "woo hoo, I'm cooking in a 麻辣火锅!" (spicy hotpot)


The sign reads "No cooking of Eggs allowed".


This, my friends, is Ma La Hot pot...or what's at the end of a Ma La Hot Pot meal.