Sights and Sounds . . .

It’s the festival of the Harvest Moon. Everywhere I went, all sorts of homemade and commercial grills barbequing. I saw wire baskets, metal trashcans and Weber type knock-offs. Even along the major thoroughfare outside my hotel. 10:00 at night, with only the sidewalk separating them from Starbucks and a high end clothing store (both of which are still hopping with business), 10-12 people sitting on ice chests grilling strips of bacon, half chickens, beef kabobs and eating moon cakes. When the lights go down, this city knows how to party!!

While doing my laundry this morning, I translated the Harvest Moon love song. Getting a handle on the language is like solving a mystery. I continue to be fascinated with it. Give me a written text and I’m instantly engaged. But when I hear the language, my brain instantly shuts down, stops on a dime, deer in the headlights. It’s a little disconcerting to go into a conversation knowing that will happen. But I just got to go for it.

Headed to the technology market place to find a replacement for my headset that is starting to flake. A multi-block maze of stores, cubbyholes and peddlers selling chips and resistors to name brand electronics and just about everything in between. (There is a certain convenience in having everything in one place.) Start to finish it was a 2 hour process and I walked away with three new pieces of information: 1) Most of the headsets used in Taiwan are the 2 wire plug-in and not the USB kind. 2) There are only 3 choices for a USB headset – 2 from Logitech ($30-$40 American) and 1 from Lobos ($15 American). 3) How to say “a cheaper one” in Chinese -- a very elegant use of the character pronounced 'de'. (#1 & #2 are for Larry. #3 is for Dan, Craig, Daniel and Hueiling.)

I absolutely, positively hate shopping. And today I had to do it for a piece of technology, in Chinese. My reward was to be Indian food at a restaurant, recommended by a guide book, given to me by my good friend John who picked it up at a bookstore in Oakland California. My route to the restaurant was all mapped out and handwritten on a cheat sheet so I wouldn’t look so much like a tourist walking down the street in my “Bank of Dad” tee-shirt (present from my sons) khaki shorts and nike shoes. (I have given up trying to dress like a native. Too hot! And there's no way I fit in anyway. But I am giving American fashion a very bad name.) I crossed a street, turned a corner and there in front of me, lying outside a convenience store, next to the jawbreaker machines was pig. Not a piglet. A full grown pig. It had to be at least 5 feet long and 300 pounds of very ugly pork. No leash, no one around it. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it as I walked into one of those ever annoying scooters setting off the burglar alarm. I got the picture to prove it.

But the Indian food was not to be. Once again I couldn’t find the restaurant. I’ll save that one for tomorrow. It’s a dry, complicated explanation.

Oh yeah – so far only minimal signs of a Typhoon.