Where's Jason?

Five straight days of Indonesia were tucked safely under our belts and into our cameras; it had been a hell of a trip. Seeing as Friday was our last night in Bali we agreed that it should be dominated on all fronts with undeniable style.

We were gonna party our asses off.

Scott was on a collision course with a few bars down the street that would have too many men in attendance for my liking. Apparently, our hotel was right next to the epicenter of that part of town. Maggie said she would be joining the illustrious Scott to observe him on his crusade for sweaty, gin fueled man-on-man adventures.

Jason and I, surprisingly, agreed to find our own entertainment. We jumped into a cab to check out a local club called Double Six. The grapevine had informed us that it was a good place for a couple of blokes on vacation to find some dancing and probably a girl. Maybe two. We planned to try our luck.

A bottle of Bintang passed between us as we recounted some of the more memorable moments of the week. The air conditioner in the aging taxi labored to bring the temperature to a more tolerable level. Then the taxi driver struck up a conversation with us. It began as all the others do with Where are you from? How long have you been in Bali? Where are you staying?, things like that. But then:

"Are you guys interested in getting a massage?"

Jason looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

"A massage?" I asked.

The driver looked at me in his rear-view mirror.

"A complete massage," he said. "Hotel included."

Ah, a complete massage, I thought. Pretty ballsy offer to two complete strangers; but somehow I didn't think this was the first occasion he had tried to peddle such...services. I politely declined and said I was just looking to go have a few drinks. Jason, however, was brimming with curiosity.

"I don't want the massage, man, but how much would it cost if I did?" was his question.

"Five hundred thousand rupiah," was the answer.

Fifty bucks. It sounded like a deal, but I'm not one to take shady deals with a head full of beer from Friday night cab drivers in foreign lands. We arrived at the club before we had a chance to change our minds.

Double Six is one of 4 night clubs on a dead end street across from an immense beach. We paid the driver and watched him trundle back down the dusty street to find other, more adventurous passengers. A stone wall to my left sat at the border of pavement and sand. Palm trees waved invitingly in the breeze. Waves rolled and broke in the shadows a quarter mile distant. This scene would have been rather peaceful if not for the dance music that was exploding out into the night.

I was immediately approached by one of the doormen. His face was deeply tanned and heavily creased. His hair was oiled and a cigarette was clamped firmly between his teeth. I got the impression he had seem some shit in his time.

"Hey boss, how're doin'?" he asked.

I was unsure what to make of him at first. In a neighborhood like that I assumed that open friendliness had ulterior motives, as I had seen in the cab. As I was about to see again.

"Is this Double Six?" I asked.

"Yes, yes," he said. "Out for a good time?"

I grinned. "That's the plan."

He smiled and stepped closer to me, reached into his pocket and produced a crumpled, plastic baggy. "What do you want?" he asked me. "Marijuana? Ecstasy? I have it all."

My eyes flickered to from the baggy, to Jason, to the doorman, and back to the baggy.

"Ah, no thanks," I said. "I'll stick to beer I think."He shrugged as if to say "Your loss, pal."

The signs at the airport threatening death for drug smugglers flashed through my mind.

I asked him, "Isn't that a dangerous job here? Selling that kind of...stuff?"

His answer was an emphatic no. He seemed genuinely surprised at my query.

Jason and I sat down with the beach at our backs and the night in our faces. I grabbed the beer and took a pull. We hadn't even gone into the club yet and already we'd slugged 4 bottles between us, been offered a small galaxy of drugs, and invited to check out some prostitutes. Which, as the night unfolded, wouldn't be our first encounter with working girls.

As it turned out, Double Six was closed wouldn't open back up until nearly midnight, so we had an hour or two the kill. However, the club next door was pumping dance music at a considerable volume and looked busy enough.

We had been joined by a very polite Frenchman whom I will call, Pierre. Pierre was maybe five foot six, twenty two but looked more like thirty five, and chain smoked Marlboro Reds. The three of us strode into Syndicate like we owned the place and arrowed straight for the bar. This was not as easy task as a private party of sorts was just beginning to wind down and the dance floor was mobbed with revelers.

The place reeked of cigarettes, booze, and sex. We slammed rum and cokes and tore through a few smokes before some girls did a live, walking, fashion show on the bar. It took me a few minutes to pick my jaw up from off the floor and mop the saliva from my face.

A serious buzz was climbing over my brain like a rabid baboon, but it was hard to slow down. Once that fire started in my veins it was tough to quench. I watched Jason moonwalk across the empyting dance floor. Pierre was trying to make conversation with a local bombshell in a tight red dress. She had a plastic tag hanging around her neck that said she did PR for the club. She was convincing Pierre to bring his friends (us), and his money next door to Double Six.

She didn't have to try very hard.

Yet, strange vibes were all around. There was an odd brand of energy going around the room that was starting to make my hackles rise. And Jason was completely fucked. His eyes looked glassy and his grin was perpetual and impish. Uh oh, I thought.

We shuffled back outside into the night. The palm trees were still waving their hellos and Double Six had sprouted several more hard looking men in dark t-shirts and pants. A pair of women wearing several pounds of make-up sat at a folding table at the front door. I suggested to Jason that considering his current state that maybe we ought to make an exit and return to the Galaxy, our hotel. But, he was not to be persuaded, and somehow slurred and glad-handed his way past the sentries and into Double Six.

I paid for both of us at the door. The bouncer at the front looked like I could have broken rocks on his face and he would have smiled before he ripped out my spleen. He was not amused that Jason insisted on repeatedly getting highfives and babbling at him in English, which I don't think he spoke a word of.

Outside the actual club there was a wide courtyard with a rectangular pool. Above the pool was tower that had to be over a hundred feet high. Another vacationer was bobbing up and down on a bungee cord and giggling feverishly. Pierre told me the pool was to dunk your head after you jumped. Apparently they would light your head on fire before you took the plunge.

People do odd things late at night.

The darkness inside the club was cut with pulsing lasers and intermittent strobes. The music was good, really good, and my head was bobbing before I reached the bar. Jason slapped his credit card down for all of our drinks and then started dancing. But not alone.

And man, she was built. Some women's underwear is longer than her shorts were and her "shirt" covered little more than her bra. Add four inch heels and the exotic edge of an Asian woman and you have a potent combination. She was laughing quite a bit either with, or at, Jason, and Pierre and I looked on over our drinks in envy.

He was a lucky son of a gun, that Jason. Who wouldn't want to have wandering hands on a girl like that? She knew exactly what to wear to the club to get the blood moving in any man, woman, or particularly precocious monkey. She could dance, too. Bumping and grinding like a real pro.

Hold on a second.

I waited for the love birds to take a break from dancing and hit the bar. Then I threw an arm around Jason's shoulders and leaned in close.

"Dude, I think that girl you're dancing with is a hooker."

He looked at her, then at me. His brows knitted together.

"Really?"

I nodded. "Definitely. Look at her."

I reminded him that he had no cash and working girls didn't take credit cards. At least, not that I knew of.

Now, when I said she was a hooker I didn't mean she was that decrepit street prowler that just ambled through your synapses. This particular girl seemed more like the type that had the looks, and the wardrobe, to hit the clubs and mooch drinks off tourists like us. If they seemed alright maybe she would return to their hotel for a few party favors; provided she received adequate monetary compensation.

And, despite my good-natured protests to the contrary, that very situation seemed to be happening. Jason's hands got busier and busier and he bought drink after drink. Then he was ready to leave with said girl in tow. I pulled her aside and assured her that Jason's wallet was very, very empty.

She smiled, and shrugged me off. Then they left.

I watched them walk out of Double Six hand in hand. This would not end simply.

Pierre and I nursed our drinks and smoked a few more cigarettes. That rum-crazed baboon was running wild inside my head. Maybe he was dancing, it was hard to tell.

The two of us approached a pair of girls and got them onto the dance floor. I remember the one I danced with had a ruffled, red, strapless dress, and big hoop earrings. The music had me firmly in its grip, there was no denying that. I had the dance fever and my condition was terminal. She frequently had to stop to get her breath back but I refused to stop moving. I normally don't dance very well and with a head full of booze I did what I could and I had a damn good time doing it; despite how absurd I probably looked to everyone else.

And much to my chagrin, I failed to heed my own advice.

Red-dress said we should go to another party in the next town over. I checked the time and was mildly dismayed to see it was nearly five in the morning. Having already gone through the panic of ordering drinks and barely having enough money I decided it was time to leave.

"I really like you," she said. "Do you have a hotel room?"

I grinned and said yes.

"But, if I go back with you, you should give me a present."

Her gaze was a intense and it took several seconds for this statement to slog its way through my brain.

"A present?" I asked.

"You should give me some money."

"Oh," I said. "I thought you said you liked me. Why do I have to give you money?"

"Well I don't have a job," she said.

I frowned. "That's not my problem."

"Maybe I should just go home and you should go back to your hotel, then." She looked agitated.

"Yea," I told her. "Maybe you're right."

She sniffed her disappointment and then stalked off. I shook my head trying to clear some of the fumes. Did that just really happen?

As I walked away from the club she tried to give me one last chance but got interrupted. Her less attractive, more intoxicated friend was waving her arms at me. Death was in her eyes and profanity poured from her mouth like dirty water from a drain pipe. I caught Pierre's name amid the deluge. I jerked my thumb over my shoulder and told her he was still inside.

This was not the answer she was looking for her tirade continued, increasing in intensity. People were starting to stare, including the hard-faced bouncers. So, in the words of the great Hunter S. Thompson, It was time, I felt, for an agonizing re-appraisal of the whole scene.

I ran.

A scooter taxi saw me coming and offered a ride for 10,000 rupiah. I told him five. He repeated ten.

"Five or I walk."

Leave it to me to haggle for a 3 minute scooter ride with hell's fury rattling her bracelets at my heels.

Thankfully the ride back was uneventful. I nearly kicked in the door for Maggie and Scott's room. Maggie had been sleeping and Scott was off somewhere gallivanting with shirtless men, or something. I paced back and forth in her room and drunkenly recanted the tale of Jason's disappearance. She listened to my rant and then gently suggested I get some sleep. I consented but then stood on the balcony outside our rooms and watched the sun rise.

I woke up a few hours later, in a chair on the balcony outside my room. I pounded some water and then moved inside to bed. The air conditioner rattled to life and I sank into unconsciousness. My sleep was dreamless and my waking was unpleasant. I felt like an army of cudgel wielding midgets had danced across my body and then mistaken my skull for a piñata. I was sore, thirsty, tired, and probably still drunk.

Jason's bed was empty.

Where's Jason? Jagged pieces of the night before clawed their way up through the haze. One was a vivid image of Jason and the girl leaving the club.

Shit.

I stumbled next door and found Maggie and Scott laying in bed. Maggie looked sleepy, but ok. Scott looked as though the same army of midgets had come his way, only they had been wielding bazookas.

"Where's Jason?" he asked.

I shrugged and gave him the short version of my night. He nodded weakly and agreed we could give him an hour or two before we could start to worry.

I went back to my room and packed Jason's bag, and then my own. Maggie and I had lunch in the bar, surrounded by more Aussie tourists. I could scarcely stand to look at their beers. I settled for ginger ale.

Scott paid for a few extra hours in one of the rooms we had just checked out of and slunk back upstairs to lick his wounds in the comfort of darkness and air conditioning. I watched the start of an AFL game and then started to get that nagging feeling of worry.

Maggie called Chris, who was still in Ubud an hour to the north, and asked his advice. He said give him some more time, if he wasn't back by 3pm he would drive down and help us sort it out. I drove Maggie and I back to Double Six and spent ten minutes or so grilling the barmen for any information.

No dice.

Where's Jason?

We went back to the Galaxy and checked on Scott. He was still suffering and now had the added burden of beginning to worry about our missing chum. Three o'clock came and went and Maggie phoned Chris. Scott and I collected our baggage and brought it downstairs before returning our rented bikes and then limping to the Starbucks in Kuda.

It was agreed that if Maggie and Jason didn't show up there by seven, Scott and I were to go to the airport and wait for everyone to show up for our 1am flight back to Taipei. Scott was still pretty worse for wear and spent most of those hours napping. I spent most of it grappling with worst case scenarios.

To our credit, we had avoided being consumed by the blind panic that can be birthed by situations like this. But how long would that last? This was exactly the kind of thing you read about but never think will happen to you. Even paradise can be wrought with nightmares. I tried to convince myself that he was fine, but couldn't. I imagined him face down in a rice paddy, or bleeding in an alley, or any of a dozen things that could have happened.

Where's Jason?

Scott and I waited until nearly eight-thirty. The the finality of going to the airport and admitting something horrible happened was too much for us in our current state. Then, I saw Maggie.

And walking in front of her, perfectly fine and wearing a sheepish grin, was Jason.

I walked over to him and hugged him, happy to see he was okay.

"Good to see you, you cunt," I said. And meant it.

Scott stared at him with disapproval, hugged him, and then blasted him with a clenched fist right in his solar plexus. I held his arms.

I had to ask him.

"Where the fuck were you, man?"

And he told me. He woke up with an exploding headache next to the girl from the bar, totally confused as to where he was. He remembered walking down numerous sketchy alleys with her and then taking a cab to her house. He agreed he easily could have been beaten, knifed, or otherwise maimed by a jealous boyfriend or angry older brother, and was extremely lucky to come through no worse for wear.

After the girl woke up she said Jason should pay her because maybe they did "something" the night before. He said there was no way he was paying for maybe. That was the only good decision he made that day.

But then did he simply leave? Did he mutter excuses and run out the door? Did he lock himself in the bathroom and then escape through a window? Nope.

He spent 4 hours walking around with her to different jewelry stores.

She suggested he buy her a ring of some sort and showed him quite a few that she liked. Did he make a run for it then? No, sir.

Then, as they walked past another shop, she paused.

"You could by me one of those," she said.

Jason said he looked in through the shop window and weighed his options. Finally, he saw a way out.

When Jason related this story to us we were in a cab on our way to dinner. Scott was up front and Maggie was sitting between us. I looked across the backseat at him.

"What did you buy her?"

He hesitated, and looked out the window.

"A hot plate," he said.

I blinked once. Twice.

"You paid a hooker, with a kitchen appliance?"

"Yea."

He looked at us with a mixture of disbelief and wry amusement. We couldn't help but laugh so hard we almost forgave him.

Almost.

Bali

Admittedly, before I went to Indonesia I knew very little about it. The name itself conjured images of komodo dragons, and of dark haired beauties carrying immense baskets of fruit atop their heads. I knew it was a chain of multiple islands, it was the biggest Muslim country in the word, and that it took five hours to fly there from Taipei.

The rest was up for speculation.

We arrived at our resort somewhere around 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning on a Sunday. After several Bintang beers we thought it prudent to take an after-hours, starlit swim in the pool before bedding down for the night.

I awoke on my first morning in Bali to sunshine and blinding heat. Palm fronds waved lazily in the ocean breeze over the thatched roofs of the huts next door, and fishing boats muttered their out in the waves. Everything seemed to be made of greens and blues. The sky was crystal clear and studded with sleepy clouds.

Ahh, paradise.

Clint and I were first to the pool and spent the majority of the day lounging next to the water, sipping cocktails with straw hats and beers from frosted mugs. Boisterous Australian tourists chugged their own drinks and guffawed and swam and watched their pudgy offspring wave red flags to order colas. "Pest Control" for the small army of bees assailing people's drinks consisted of a resort employee walking around with his bee swatter; which was a flap of cardboard smeared with glue. As the sun sank toward the trees we found dinner down the street and sampled some of the local fare. It was an interesting joint, open air dining in the shade, the floor was rough wooden planks, and the bar was big. We grabbed a table and I conquered some amazing (and incredibly spicy) curried chicken and rice wrapped in banana leaves, then ordered my third drink. My head was swimming with good food and a few hours of liquor. It was early for such a heady buzz, the sun being where it was, but I was on vacation.

Our dilemma was what to do with our first night out in Bali. Chris laid out our options. Door number one: a local sports bar with good drinks for good prices; Door number two: a well known dance club in Seminyak named Club 66; And door number three was something else that happened to catch our interest.

Boy George.

We decided to walk back towards the resort and at least check out the beach party where Sir Boy of George was supposedly going to attend. We passed numerous posters with his make up laden face plastered all over them and the more we walked, the better an idea it seemed. Indeed, how many times would we get to witness such a spectacle of a person in such an ideal location?

Red and white striped tents squatted at the entrance and event staff armed with official looking t-shirts and bored faces manned the front table. The admission price was 150,000 rupiah; which translated to a paltry fifteen US dollars.

"Fuck it." I said. "Let's do it."

And in we went.

The Dj tent was the big affair of speakers, steel framework, and sound equipment to the left as soon as we entered. It looked like it could pound out some serious decibels. The crowd was in a horseshoe facing the DJ tent with the bar sitting outside the curve. A t-shaped stage sat smack in the middle for the initial entertainment.

I fell in love as soon as I walked started for the bar.

No, not with Boy George.

A group of locals on stage sporting loin cloths and body paint were demonstrating some of the most kick-ass fire spinning I've ever witnessed. Half girls and half guys, they sat on each other shoulders, got spun around with their legs wrapped around each other, and other various gymnastic moves while spinning rods, fans, or balls and chains of fire. The apple of my eye was the girl in the front, the one with the braids.

I might still be drooling.

After the fire spinners was a trio of trannies traipsing their way around the t-shaped stage to some kind of music that either was or at least sounded like Beyonce (not that I would know). Then a dance DJ took over and a few of the courageous, or drunk, took the stage to bust a move in front of the 2,000 or so in attendance.

Chris met up with a pal of his from his residential days in Bali and introduced me. Denton Hockley had moved to Bali from Canada a couple years ago. He traded stocks all on his own in a niche market in eastern Canada and as such, he could work almost anywhere provided he had access to the Internet. I agreed that Bali was a damn good choice.

"So, Denton," I began. "You think this is gonna be tragic or awesome? I mean, Karma Chameleon on the beach in Bali could go either way."

Denton grinned. "I think it's going to be epic, either way. It's Boy George."

I laughed with agreement and shuffled off to find another beverage. I found Clint instead and he produced a bottle of Jim Beam from his pocket and I saved a few bucks and a walk.

And then, we saw him. A growing cheer spread through the crowd and necks craned to see the stage. The dancing crowd spilled forward and collected in front of the DJ tent like penitents for a late night mass.

And there he was, Boy George, in all his has-been, pudgy glory. He walked out onto the stage and tipped his flourescent pink, rhinestone studded cowboy hat to the crowd. But he didn't have a microphone, and there was no band behind him. Interesting.

The dance music continued to improve. Then the previous DJ left the stage and Mr. George stepped forward. He fiddled with knobs and all the what-nots that DJ's play with and chain smoked cigarettes as if he were afraid they might become illegal.

Boy George was spinning beats at a beach front party in Bali, Indonesia. Not only that, the music he was DJing was fucking awesome. As many know I've never been much of a dancer, but this music was relentless. Ten minutes was all it took to crack my resolve and I switched from the head-nod-bounce-my-leg thing and just started tearing up the sand with everyone else. 3 hours shot past like a high-powered train of light and noise and then the sky opened up.

It was no surprise that the change in weather had little effect on the exultant hordes. And still the music thundered on. We churned up the sand, laughing in amazement, in disbelief every time we looked at the stage. There was Boy George preaching his sermon of drum and bass to the masses, wreathed in smoke, clothed in black, pink, and rhinestones, and standing next to a locally appointed body guard. A body guard with an AK-47. I guess that explains why no one had rushed the stage.

I also happened to see Boy George as he left the party. He's way chubbier up close.

Photo courtesy of Miki Pan

Next time: Justin's disappearance and the insanity of a Friday night in Bali.

Stay safe, you crazy kids.

N

Well, I can safely say that when I initially embarked on my adventure to Asia I never thought I would be writing a blog entry for my two year anniversary. It occurred to me over the weekend that it has been over a year since my last post and, well...that's too bloody long. My last post was about my motorcycle wreck and I have my scars to remind me of that, so I think a new post would do some good.

Where to begin? A year is a long time, especially here; despite the fact that here it seems like someone has their finger on the fast-forward button. I suppose from the beginning(ish) is as good a place as any.

Directly after I wrecked my bike I spent a week in Singapore, for work, as a counselor/teacher for an English summer camp for Taiwanese kids. I don't think I have ever been that tired in my entire life. I was in teacher/buddy mode all day, teaching lessons, singing and dancing on the bus, corralling 22 kids and getting them to speak as much English as possible, eating once in a while, and averaging 4-6 hours of sleep a night.

Oh, and I was completely hoarse on day two of 6. Fun.

But overall I had a fantastic experience and I got to see some of the most touristy spots in one of the most unique places on Earth. For the record, you cannot purchase chewing gum in Singapore and can still be publicly flogged for serious offenses. But it is certainly one of the cleaner places I have ever been and on the whole people were quite friendly (see Facebook for my photos of the trip).

My return to America in December of last year was a...curious experience. I certainly suffered from reverse culture shock, and that made the first few days rather interesting. Everyone (almost everyone) looked very generously proportioned, I understood everything people said, I could read menus and street signs, I was once again part of the masses and not something to be regarded with reserved novelty if not with outright amazement.

I was home.

It was so good to see the people I did and I hope next time I can catch a few more faces when I'm around. It's a lot of the little things that I missed the most, and I think there were just as many big things I did not. I got almost everything I wanted to do done, including lots of nothing. But, I do not have another return trip planned in the foreseeable future so just hold on to your butts, kiddos.

Chinese New Year brought one of the most bad-ass road-trips of all time, and definitely of my life (see Facebook for photos). That trip deserves its own entry and any blurb I put here just wouldn't do it justice. Check back for a future posting.

Oh yea, I got promoted. Quite soon I will be the Head Native Speaking Teacher at my branch and will be, officially, middle management. Hooray. I'll make schedules, observe other NST's classes for pay appraisals, things like that.

I'll be the bossman, of sorts. Not too shabby, eh?

To answer that question that just popped into your head, yes, I still really, really enjoy my job. I consider myself lucky that I can say that so often and actually mean it. Not to be a snot, but I'm pretty damn good at what I do and I'm more experienced than most Hess teachers in Taichung. Now, I say that out of genuine pride, not arrogance. I do not mean to say "Haha I'm better than you, chumps!" It's just that I've worked really hard and overcome a lot of obstacles to get here, and I'm damn proud of that. Teaching is such a public job because of that simple reason that you are always working with people. Mostly kids but also parents, other teachers, my superiors, my co-teachers. You're always in the limelight. Its a daily fact of life that a lot of people don't think about. But, I've had the privilege to branch out from the everyday teaching. I've judged spelling bees at junior high schools all over Taichung, Taichung county, and even as far as Miaoli and Changhua, which are both an hour away. I've made encouraging speeches to audiences of over a thousand students and faculty after listening to them sing songs in English (for three hours) and made them laugh to boot.

Most days I did that before I went to work and made an ass of myself for the benefit of keeping a baker's dozen of children amused enough to learn some English.

I found out a few weeks ago that my Head CT (Chinese Teacher) did a presentation on one of our curricula that is geared for kindergarten aged students (usually 4-7 years old). Unfortunately, I'm quite familiar with it because I've taught the first two levels of it twice.

I am not a fan.

But that is not the point. The point is that she showed a five minute video of me teaching some of these monsters to everyone in attendance, which consisted of pretty much all the branch managers and head CT's in Taichung; about 80 people all told. Pretty cool. I talked to some people that were there and they loved it, especially the part when I pretend to be covered in feces and chase the kids around the classroom.

I'm still studying Chinese and it's recently become a daily habit to sit down and learn more. I can read a bit, but mostly simple food items. My spoken is much stronger and I still get a good feeling when I have entire conversations in Chinese. I'm finally becoming bilingual, or at least heading in that direction. Lots of people throw out the word "fluency" and I have a hard time applying it. It's a difficult word to define, language learning being such an amorphous thing. I prefer the term "expressive." I feel that in most situations I could express myself, explain myself, or at least talk around something I don't know the exact words for. Which, I can tell you, is hard in any second language, especially Chinese.

Hard to figure that two years ago I couldn't speak any Chinese at all. It's such a big part of everyday life that it feels weird to think about not being at the level I'm at. Which makes me excited to learn more!

As far as my other travels are concerned, in June I spent a week in Bali, Indonesia.

Wow.

Indonesia is a hell of a place, and, like my Chinese New Year trip, deserves its own post (see Facebook for photos), which I will be writing soon. It was a strange trip. Fun, but odd in many ways.

Especially the last day.

Anyway, I think this is enough for now. You hooligans will have to wait a few days (cross your fingers) for another post. The next won't feel like such a summary, but I just came back to this so have a heart. I hope you are all doing well and enjoying the lives you lead; they're too short for anything else.

So, until next time...Long days and pleasant nights, friends.

Nik

An overdose of pavement while under the influence of a motorcycle.

I had three hours to burn until I needed to be at work, but what to do? Wednesdays always provide this wonderful dilemma of too much time to myself. Food, I decided, was first on the list. Bowling and some billiards would follow. Yes. Splendid.

Off I went.

I bought it last week, by the way. Two-hundred cc's of iron, steel, and speed; quite an upgrade from an aging 125cc plastic scooter. George I call him, short for George Hanson. He crouched easily on the sidewalk, looking solid and expectant. Nine days of driving had totally convinced me that my scooter was a waste of time; this was what two-wheeled transportation was all about: chrome, gears, and style.

I strode easily across the street, strapping on my helmet as I went. Afternoon sunshine slid hotly down from over the rooftops and onto my bike. I unlocked the bike and it started like a burst of hungry thunder. I backed out and left. The first light ahead of me turned green as I got to it and I went across the intersection with a burst of throttle.

Past the market I went, and then around an old woman on a 50cc junker that belched blue-black smoke like some kind of rotting dragon. A touch of brakes as I went over the canal. The beast beneath me grumbled and I gave it 4th gear.

45km/hr, then 50.

The road was straight and brightly lit by the hazy Asian sun. Traffic was light and the dotted center line skipped past my tires. The next light turned yellow and I slipped past. A few blocks to Chong De Road and then on to Subway.

Hah.

Taiwan is full of tiny intersections that lack both stoplights and stop signs. Instead, they leave right of way and all that important stuff to the judgement of the people on the road, and if you've ever driven in Asia that's not necessarily a good idea. I approached one of these intersections, as I had done a hundred times before, and then, as they say, shit happened.

As I breasted the crosswalk a white sedan slid half-way into the intersection and then stopped to check for cross-traffic. I jumped on the brakes and the front of the bike jackknifed, searching for purchase, and then disappeared. I guess I was airborne, I don't really know. I remember the pavement rushing up to my face at a speed too horrible to contemplate. I remember the crunch and grind of metal on asphault, accented by the plastic slap of my helmet. I slid, rolled, and stood up, staggering to the side of the road trailed by a string of expletives.

Jesus. I just dumped the bike.
I ripped my helmet off and looked up.

A Taiwanese woman was standing on the corner with that "Oh-my-God-he-crashed" look on her face. She babbled something at me in Chinese.

"I just fucking crashed," I said, I think.

Then I turned, went back to my defunct motorcycle and we helped each other limp to the street corner. I dropped the kickstand and took a deep breath.

My right hand was missing several ounces of flesh, some of which was dangling on a two inch strip from my palm. Road burns coated both of my elbows and I could feel more on my left shoulder. I could see blood and more road rash through the hole in my jeans on my right knee. Nothing broken. No dizziness. Right. Next.

I called Micki, but she was in class. I called my boss, Betty, and she answered. I gave her the short version and she made sure I was alright and then telephoned my branch. I called Jon and he said he was going to jump on his scooter and head down right away, he'd be there in five minutes. Phoebe, my head CT called me and I explained the last few, unfortunate minutes to her as tersely as I could. She assured me help was on the way.

Then I heard the sirens.

How strange, I thought. I just bit the dust in front of half a dozen people at least, driving or otherwise, and was offered no help of any kind. It struck me as odd that someone would call an ambulance.

I peered up the street and saw several police officers waving cars to a standstill and scooters off the road. What the...

I answered my cell phone.

"Hello?"
"Hello, Nik. It's Betty. Listen, we have a big situation, no one can drive in the streets."
I looked at the intersection with confusion. My bike wasn't in the road, and neither was I. No one else was bothered by my crash. What was she talking about?

"What?" I said. The sirens rose and fell.
"No one can drive" she said. "No traffic from 3:30 until 4:00 because of the air raid drill."
"Those are the Sirens?"
"Yes."
"Oh," I said. "Shit."

I checked the time: 3:33.

Now, I'm certain, I think, that if I was greviously injured an ambulance would have been allowed on the street to help me. But, as it was, I was mostly fine, and had no choice but to stand on the side of the road and bleed quietly.


It is with considerable difficulty that I write this, my first entry in several months. It just took me around 45 minutes to change all of my bandages. My hand is the worst. There is a circle about and inch and a half across on the heel of my hand that is without several layers of skin. Iodine feels like napalm on a wound like that, by the way. There is a smaller, similar wound, right beneath my pinky, but that one is considerably easier to deal with. I've got a good deal of road rash on my elbows and left shoulder and my right knee is bloodied and sore. My right elbow and left shoulder feel as though they were hit with a baseball bat.

Other than that, though, yea, I'm ok.

And yes, you're right, it could have been worse. My friend Andrew went headfirst into a car on Shwang Shi road and broke both of his legs. Luckily, I wear a really big helmet and the only thing I hit was the pavement. The bike is a little worse for wear, but overall the damage for both of us is strictly cosmetic. My thanks to the folks at China Medical for patching me up.

I took Wednesday and today off to rest up. I have three classes to teach before Sunday and then I'm a camp counselor/teacher for a week-long Hess summer camp in Singapore. So, I need to be as healed as I can get in 3 days; which won't be much. I know I'm way overdue for this entry, so here it is. Somehow, standing on a backstreet corner bleeding slightly into a wad of tissue after my first driving accident in Taiwan during an air raid drill struck me as a good story.

Drive safe.

Nik

A Night in Taipei

At first I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. I was in a hole in the wall bar somewhere in Taipei standing in the endless line for the men's room. A few overhead lamps cast their greasy light on the ten foot drink menu chalk board and puddled around the handfuls of Taiwanese guys that sat at the bar and stood talking in small groups. Cigarrette smoke drifted through the air, creating dirty halos around the few spots of brightness.

It was then, as I considered buying a beer to keep my blood moving (I had three hours yet until the sun came up and the buses to Taichung started running), that Eamon came out of the bathroom. I threw my new Canadian friend the friendly nod and moved up in line. He was still carrying his plastic cup of Guiness from Hell's Kitchen, the previous pub, and seemed to be nursing it.
"Hey man," I said.
"Yo," he replied and leaned toward me. "Lotta guys in here, huh?"

I grinned, but my chuckle quickly died under his pointed stare. He moved off and disappeared down the narrow stairwell that led to the gloomy, basement-like downstairs. My eyes followed him as he went, and then swept the room. Lotta guys in here, huh?

Well, sure. I mean, it's a bar right? It would be hard to find a bar anywhere on a Saturday night without it's fair share of dudes in it. But, something was...odd. A few seconds flashed by and then, zing-pow, the epiphany struck me like the headlight glare of an eighteen-wheeler.

I had thought that the girl to guy ratio was poor, but I was wrong.

It didn't exist.

The door to the bathroom popped open and I hurried inside and slid the minature deadbolt home. A western style toilet squatted on the floor that was covered in that familiar grime of beer, dirt, toilet water, and urine. In the dingy mirror my half-drunk face stared out at me with sardonic humor and a touch of laughter.

Yep. I'm in a gay bar. Sweet.

I heaved a sigh and turned to piss. Steve. Stevie-Steve-Steve, so much explaining you need to do...



Hell's Kitchen, although smaller than any of us had anticipated, was pretty chill. St. Patricks day lies on the horizon and the foreigners of Taipei had come out of hiding to celebrate it. Guiness was priced down to about $5 US a pint and Jameson and Baileys flowed freely. It was rather chilly outside so we opted to stand awkardly in a circle in the middle of the bar until a table opened up. There were six of us there: two Americans, three Canadians, and an Aussie. Sue was from Los Angeles and has the distinguished pleasure of being my co-worker at Dong Chu Branch, her boyfriend Joe was the big Aussie fellah. Eamon, Steve, and Jenny all hailed from different parts of Canada.

At first the plan had been to take a trip to Taipei and party for St. Patricks, crashing at some local hotel or hostel in the wee hours. But, we decided: Fuck it! Why pay for a hotel? Let's just drink all night and catch a bus or the high speed rail home once the sun rises!

Ahhh, Taiwan.

I had a good time at Hell's Kitchen; it was refreshing to drink beer with flavor. Even though Guiness is, well, Guiness, and I can only drink so much of it, it was excellent. I was trying to talk with the rather odd Taiwanese guy named Jordan, Jenny had met him on the bus, when a shot of Jameson appeared in front of me. Down the hatch.

Sometime later I was chatting with Eamon when a guy leaned on our table and gave me a rueful smile. I said hello and asked how he was doing but did he simply say hi back?

Nope.

He reached out and tousled my hair with one hand and then smiled more, his hand pausing on the back of my head. Holy fuck, if this guy tries to kiss me or something I'm going to have to drop him. I tensed for a second and then Eamon came to my rescue by offering his own greeting and a hand shake. The drunkard's attention diverted, I scooted my chair back a few inches. I was just barely able to discern that this guy's name was Kyle, but the rest of what he said disappeared into alcohol laced mumbles. One of the bartenders was now standing behind him talking to a rather large, bald headed man. I heard the words "This guy..." and breathed a little easier. Check out time, Kyle. Please leave your key with the front desk.

A friend of Kyle's was summoned and he attempted to take his intoxicated friend outside into the fresh air and away from the liquor and the surprised strangers he was sitting with. After a few jumbled, slurred sentences he stood to go. I offered my hand.

"Good to meet you man, stay safe."

It should have ended at that, but my luck just isn't that good.

He gripped my hand and decided it would be a great, a wonderful idea to lean over and kiss the back of my hand. I dropped my hand until I hit table and then hurriedly slid it out of his grasp with yea "Yea don't do that, man" and then he was herded out the door. Hell of a way to start the night.

From there it was down the street to meet up with a friend of Steve's whom I actually knew as well as she was also from Taichung. We would never have found the bar if she hadn't walked us right to it and after a few minutes inside it became clear why that was. I'll mention that the restaurant we had dinner in had English books for sale (I couldnt resist buying a few) and I was sitting in a bar of the male persuasion with "A Streetcar Named Desire" tucked inside my jacket. We hung around for a bit more, had a drink, sang some U2 and then booked it out of there to find a more...appealing...atmosphere over at Carnegies.

Carnegies is a rock and roll themed club/bar and I guess it's known for being a "pick-up" place, similar to the Pig Pen here in Taichung. Pig Pen is lovely referred to as the "meat market" and Carnegies was supposedly worse. Sure, I said, why not? Its 3am (I think) and I could do with a laugh.

And boy did Carnegies have laughs. In spades.

Legions of middle-aged foreign men roamed the strobe lit room, bobbing their balding heads to the rock music of their youth in search of women of which there were many. Old dudes looking for young, willing flesh. It had been a long time since I'd seen that many people doing what I call the "white-guy-shuffle" as a form of enticement. Good times. Things get a bit hazy from there but I remember the floor was really, really sticky. Some woman was dancing (poorly) on the bar and some guy by the bathroom kept clapping his hands and yelling "WHOO! YEA!" at nothing in particular. His excitement caused people to give him a wide berth as they moved to and from the toilets. Maybe he's just really happy to be out and about...or maybe he's had a spot of MDMA. I thought the latter to be much more likely.

Another cab ride then a quick stop at a convenience store for supplies. We stood outside and drank our street beers and waited for 4am. An after-party of sorts was going to get crackin' around that time at a club just up the street and we bided our time with Asahi, Taiwan beer, and caffiene. Then it was ten bucks to the door man, a stamp, and a stairwell to the next glass of liquor. Laser lights split the room and danced across the walls, ricocheting off the late night (or early morning?) revelers. Jordan took a nap in a corner booth and Joe and I stood by the bar polishing off Jack and cokes.

Five am rolled around and Sue, Joe, and I called it quits and went streetside to grab a taxi. Burger King was closed and Joe and I's hopes of croissanwiches were dashed upon the rocks of reasonable business hours. Two egg McMuffins and a short walk later I found myself grabbing a seat on the highspeed rail bound for Taichung. My first trip on a bullet train was uneventful; I guess I was tired after 7 hours or so of drinking, cab rides, and awkward strangers, and I promptly fell asleep.

Luckily I came to 48 minutes later (I started my stopwatch before I passed out) and I woke my friends in time to hop off the train. One last cab ride later and I was back in familiar territory. Most of the alcohol had left my head for better pastures in the vicinity of my liver and traffic was light so I grabbed my brain bucket from Sue and Joe's place and scootered home. 8am: I strolled in through my front door 16 hours after I strolled out and chugged all the water in my apartment before flopping onto my bed and zonking out.

All in a night's work.

Next time: WATCHMEN the movie and why I hate it.

Until then, you stay safe you crazy kids. It's a nutty world out there, I'll set my watch and warrant on it. Long days and pleasant nights, my friends.

Fun Facts:

-Taipei is cool.
-Guiness on draught runs upwards of $8 a pint.
-Sleeping is overrated. So are dance clubs.
-All cats have three names.
-I can play "Happy Birthday" and "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" on the Ocarina.

Xin nian kuai le!

Heya folks!

Been awhile...ahem...uh...hi.

Today is just my 2nd day back at Dong Chu branch and its been a little rough getting back into swing of teaching. Oh yea, I had ALL of last week off from work. Nine days in a row with nothing to do but whatever I wanted. Aha! Wonderful.

Friday the 23rd of Jan my vacation officially began. I'm once again taking Chinese classes and it feels good to be back in the class room. In light of the massive upcoming holiday of Chinese New Year (CNY) me, and the other foreigners in my class, tried our hands at chinese calligraphy writing. If you google 'chinese calligraphy' you will find a vast array of beautiful images; chinese characters with some artistic flair are really quite wonderful to look at. I wish I could say that ours came out just as well...

But I'd be lying.

Still, it was fun learning some of the techniques for brush strokes, grip, etc. I also learned that Chinese poetry is, well...crazy hard. Just imagine all of the work that goes into an English language poem as far as word choices for sound, meaning, etc. Now factor in that it has to sound right and have the proper TONE (there are 4 in Chinese), that will properly match the sound and tone of the other words. So, its not what it says but also how you say it, literally, that can completely change the meaning. I suppose I should mention quite frequently in Chinese words will have the exact same sound (sometimes the exact same tone as well) but mean different things because the written characters aren't the same.

Even Chinese TV shows that are in Chinese have subtitles.

But, I digress.

Sunday the 25th I spent over four hours on my scooter driving around the city. I brought my camera and snapped away, looking for any and all things CNY that I could find. And, lo and behold, I found a woman making Chinese calligraphy blessings for the holiday. It is common practice to hang blessings and the sort on your door and around your house to usher in the new year. What luck! Just two days after I tried the art myself I saw a professional at work. I had to stop.

I asked her if it was ok to take her picture and she was extremely cool about it. She made several smaller pieces and some locals bought them on the spot. I watched her for almost 20 minutes, completely engrossed in her skill. Yes, I have photos and they should already be on Facebook and they will be on Flickr for those of you that aren't on FB. Amazing, amazing stuff. Pretty incredible stuff to watch with a huge fruit stand right next door and scooter traffic whizzing by right behind me.

New Years Day. Monday.

I woke up sometime before noon and fixed a couple good old PB&J sammiches before heading out on the Duke again (my scooter :D). Monday was the actual New Years Day of CNY, even though the holiday itself is celebrated the entire week over. I decided to check out the sculpture/statue park on the far side of the city. Last time I tried to find it I went right past it and got lost for an hour or so. I had much better luck this time.

Much to my delight, though not entirely surprising, there was a market of sorts set up within the park and tons of people walking around. I strapped on my camera bag and waded neck deep into the festivities. Just assume when I mention something like this there are photos somewhereon Facebook or Flickr, because there always will be. I wandered around for 2 hours, snapping photos of people/things/the park, anything and everything. I got some snacks too: Taiwanese sausage, a bag of fried squid, and a bottle of fresh sqeezed OJ. Tasty.

Then I saw the fireworks table. Tehee!

What can I say? I like things that explode. Like bottle rockets. Especially if I can get them 30 at a time for .25 cents.

:)

I spent that night drinking beer in the park down the block from my apartment and shooting things into the night sky. Not that I was the only one, not by any means. Not a day went by the entire WEEK that I didn't hear something detonating or fizzing or sparkling at least once or twice an hour if not more. Think of the 4th of July x2 and stretched out over an entire week.

Lots of red. Tons of it, in fact. Red banners, red lanterns, red hangy-dangly things, red fireworks. Many places also had big paper-mache statues of an Ox in or on the premises. Others simply went for the big infatable variety. Things got pretty quiet here in the city, too. Too quiet, even. CNY is a really, REALLY big travel holiday. Hundreds of thousands of people hit the roads to return home or just to drive and be with their families. It was almost impossible for me to find chinese food to eat during most of the week because everyone was on vacation! I will admit I resorted to McDonalds more than once, but I had no choice! PB&J will only take you so far.

Overall it was a kickass week. Lots of beer and hang out relaxing time. Lots of things that go ka-boom, too. During my second or third trip to the park down the street, armed to the teeth with splody-things, I had an encounter with a police officer. Eek. I know. I'll get there.

I had just taken a swig of my beer before I lit the bottle rocket. Instead of putting it in a bottle or just sticking it into the ground I thought it would be more fun to just throw it and watch which way it flies (no I wasn't drunk, seriously, I'm just nuts). In a flash of sparks it zoomed away from me and towards a small brook that runs down the center of park before detonating in a lovely crackle-pop-POW.

Then I heard a whistle.
Oh, fuck.

Then I saw the cop walking through the smoke from the explosion.
Double fuck.

I grabbed my beer and yelled "Sorry!" in Chinese before trying to be casual about packing up the small arsenal of pyrotechnics I had brought with me. Not to mention the two six packs of beer my compatriots Brian, and Nate had contributed. Yet, something about this particular cop didn't worry me. After he whistled to get our attention he didn't walk any faster or say anything else until he got right up to us. He just kept mosing along at the same pace as if without a care in the world. When he reached us he said "It's kind of late guys, don't you think you should take a break?" Of course, he said this in Chinese but my friend Nate speaks awesome Mandarin and translated for us.

We agreed and packed up and went back to Brian's place and I shot bottle rockets off his balcony at surrounding buildings. Tehee!

Lots of reading, movies, explosions, food, night markets, scooter adventuring...what a week. Much, much too much to fit all in here, but check the Fun Facts at the bottom for a few highlights.

So, for now check out my photos and be jealous! Look for more posts in the coming weeks: I've fallen far, far behind and I'm going to work on making this a more regular deal. So, until next time my friends...long days and pleasant nights, say thankya.

Fun Facts:

-Fireworks are plentiful and deliciously cheap in this country.
-Playing pool until 5am is awesome.
-Dance clubs with bad ratios aren't that fun.
-Bottle rockets are versatile, providing hours of endless entertainment.
-There are two prisons and a drug abuse center half an hour outside Taichung.
-Prisons in Asia are just as sketchy looking.
-Happy New Year in Chinese is: "Xin nian kuai le!" (sheen-knee-ehn-quai-luh).
-Watered down whiskey is great to gargle to nip a cold in the bud.
-All cats have three names.

2009, here I come!

Heya folks!

It's been far too long since my last entry so I'm just going to dive right in. So throw on your gear and get wet.

New Years Eve...holy moly. For the past two years I've had my festivities dampened down or ruined because of my job at the Sheraton. Heh, no longer. Around 10pm that night I arrived at Hotel one, one of the tallest/ritziest hotels in Taichung, in a cab with my Aussie pal Brian. A bottle of McAdams rye whiskey was tucked safely inside my jacket as I strode onto the elevator and hitched a ride to the 27th floor. Articficial smoke shrouded the quiet stage where the Money Shot Horns would rock us into the new year. The bar was upstairs (pictures are coming) and was a big horse shoe surrounded by lounge chairs and low coffee tables complete with candles. Each one was jammed with revelers and spirits were high.

I snagged my two free beers from the bar that my $20 entry ticket got me and cruised around. More people I knew showed up and the crowd in general grew. The band kicked up and kept the atmosphere good and funky with covers of James Brown until the clock struck midnight.

Hooray.

One of my co-workers saw me right after we entered into 2009 and said those fateful words that many of us have heard one these legendary nights of drunken debauchery:

"Nik!"
"Heya! Happy New Year!"
"You too!"
"I need a drink!" I said.
"Tequila shots. Now."

Aw geeze. The "shot" felt like a liter of mexican horror and took two full swallows to conquer. I fared better than most, one unlucky fellow handed his drink off and mumbled something about having to piss. Right. I hope his dinner wasn't expensive.

Another hour or two passed filled with hilarity, a guy that couldn't stand up, and irish drinking songs of all things (sung by rowdy Australians). I believe, as best as I can remember, Brian floated off somewhere and I got attached to a group trip to a night club called Liquid Lounge. I'd heard of it and it didn't sound that great. But, with a few gallons of liquor in my veins it sounded like a pretty goddamn good idea.

Liquid was packed to the gills, of course, and the crowd was equally rowdy and grooving to some pretty kickin' electronica. I have hazy recollections of seeing Davy, a nice irish chap I know, and a few other assorted folks. More beer, of course, and then I danced my way to the door to find a cab home.

The curb outside was lined with taxis and the sun was making its bleary ascent into the first morning of 2009. Sunrise. Mission accomplished. I jumped into my yellow chariot of wonder and mumbled some Chinese at the cabbie. I must have made some kind of sense as 20 minutes letter I was grunting and gesturing where to pull over. 7am I walked into my door and straight to my bed.

2009 was looking pretty good so far.

Then, as many or all of you know, I turned 25 a week later. A quarter-fucking-century...when did that happen? Officially the mid-twenties range, yikes. Thankfully my current job entails lots of sound effects, paper-scissor-stone, and sticky ball games to keep me good and youthful.

I try not to make that big a deal of my birthday and this year was no different (exception: last year when Eric and I had a kick-ass surprise party <3). I told a few people the day before and most people the day of as I had to work, of course. My little monsters in Jump class (5-6yr olds) told me happy birthday in their demonically sweet piping voices, and after class I was ambushed by my staff with a cake and songs in both English and Chinese...my first bi-lingual-cross-cultural birthday. Woot.

After consulting Sue, my co-worker that is all knowing in the ways of good food and all that stuff, I decided to hit up a Le'Bled'or: a German style beer hall with a French name, Asian staff, German beer, and Spanish music. Odd. Yet, there was definitely something satisfying about drinking beer that was opaque; quite a delicious rarity in this beer-heathen-country-of-no-craft-brews. Traditional fried appetizers ensued along with sausages, tasty veggie pizza and pig's knuckle.

Thats right pig's knuckle.

My, oh my. What a tasty treat. I honestly and entirely uninformed as to the availability of this swinish delight back home, but I recommend it (especially if accompanied by a good yellow mustard). I had planned to drink my one opaque beer and then be responsible and scooter home, but to no avail. A five hundred cc mug of Hefeweizen was plunked down in front of me along with an expectant look from my chums. Well yea, its a weeknight...but its my birthday...

Oh well. You only turn 25 once, right?

Surprisingly, Jon, Aussie Brian, and I had quite a bit of trouble flagging down a cab; most cabbies here assume we need a ride anyway and slow down instinctively waiting for the "Come over here and drive me around" wave of the hand. But, we made the best of the situation and snagged some cold ones at the 7/11 on the corner (where else?) and sat ourselves down on the curb. I must say that I am definitely a fan of drunken curb-side discussions at 1am in Taichung. The cab we took home had an LCD television in the front dash and one hanging from where the dome light should be.

What a country.

Well I think that's enough for now, I'll throw up another entry in a couple days (I promise!). Until then, you kids stay safe and warm back there in the Western Hemisphere. Long days and pleasant nights, say thankya.


ps. Please excuse any typographical errors, its been a long week and I'm too lazy to proofread :D