Dragon Boat Festival in Lukang, Taiwan
At this time of year, teams are already hard at work practicing for the Dragon Boat races that will be held in China and Taiwan during the Dragon Boat Festival. My first Dragon Boat Festival in Taiwan in May of 1990 combined a visit with one of my students to his parents in the ancient city of Lukang, and the famous, well-loved Dragon Boat Festival.
My mind is still filled with the wonder of it all — me in the famous, ancient city of Lukang celebrating the Dragon Boat Festival at the invitation of my student, Frank. Everything was in synch — a sunny day with blue sky, a holiday atmosphere, markets, carnival games, plentiful food, concerts, a puppet show, and milling crowds. What made it different for me was that there were also dragon boat races, food I had never eaten, traditional Chinese music concerts, a traditional Chinese wedding procession, the incense of Buddhist temples, and many crafts that can only be seen in Chinese culture. Here are the details.
My host is a 22-year-old former student whose parents live in the countryside of Lukang. He is third generation Taiwanese-born. The most noticeable part of their home is a huge altar that houses three Buddhist gods. A large, tall wooden table with a lower and less ornate table under it holds three cans that have the English word, “mango” on it. There are always offerings on the table, along with a container in which to stick the incense.
There are no warm hugs and words of greeting between Chinese children and their parents. The love between them is communicated in other ways I do not understand. The mother lights three joss sticks and bows to the gods three times and sticks them in the bowl of sand. Her son does the same.
Flanking this huge altar are a modern stereo, a television, and some straight-backed chairs. The house has some very pretty and modern parts, including very nicely carved wood. The kitchen is less modern. Pots filled with soaking vegetables and a freshly killed duck sit on the floor. The beds are mattressless. They put down a quilt pad when it is time to sleep.
The air is fresher and cleaner than I have smelled in the months of being in Taichung. Outside, the rice is quietly growing. The geese are honking as they run around the yard outside a picturesque barn that even has an old wagon wheel and an old, now unused rice-harvesting machine by the old brick wall. This is a family compound — uncles, aunts, sons, daughters, cousins — all live in the surrounding homes. The grandparents live in a very sparse home near the larger home of the parents.
I agree to ride on the back of a motor scooter into the city of Lukang. While it is too dangerous on the streets of Taichung, I hope that small-town Lukang drivers will be more civilized. At least, the traffic is not as heavy. And so I fly through the rice paddies nervously perched on the back of a motor scooter while the freshness of the air and closeness to nature cleanses me. The next day, I feel the elation of riding a bike through the fields. It brings back happy memories of riding my bike in Hangzhou (China) last year.
My student explains many things to me as we pack in many activities in one evening and one very full day. His English begins to flow more naturally. He explains the traditional foods we eat, and helps me bargain for the small trinkets I buy to bring back to my friends in China. He explains the Buddhist stories and beliefs. Does he believe in ghosts that must be appeased? Well, yes and no, but mostly yes, he admits somewhat shyly.
He also admires the Chinese crafts with a longing that I have become aware of in Taiwan. The Taiwanese Chinese, even three generations later, keenly feel their alienation from the mainland and the traditional Chinese roots. They do feel they are one people. I watch examples of the Chinese patience as a man creates an intricate animal on a heated plate. Eventually, he scrapes it off gently and hands the delicate lollipop to a waiting child. I watched as wide-eyed as the small children.
There is western cotton candy, and impaled small squid barbecued on a grill. There are men heaving huge tops that they tried to make spin by running and unwinding a thick rope around it. There is a contest of amateur singers singing in Taiwanese (which is different from Mandarin Chinese and has seven tones instead of four). Frank explains to me that the contestants must be old — at least in their 40’s because their voices must be mellowed with age. I can only chuckle, for I feel like a wide-eyed youngster.
The unusual events, plus the special architecture of Lukang keep my camera very busy. I try many shots that can best to called experimental. I look long in order to at least register the sights and sounds in my memory just in case my mediocre photography skill fails me. I think so many times of my friends in China who I wish could be seeing it all with me. The narrow alleyways and unusual houses remind me of the alleyways I’ve wandered through in the Old City of Jerusalem. I feel again a joy and happiness for what I have chosen to experience in life. It is the “high” that keeps me going through the rough spots.
We sit and eat in a relatively quiet restaurant except for a very loud television blaring. I wonder again why the Chinese seem to thrive on noise. We discuss the young man’s impending graduation and separation from his close friends. He is ending one stage of his life and entering another stage. He is nervous, understandably so. I try to remember my own fears at that age. It seems so long ago. I feel my middle age heavily.
And then he points out the window and there is a traditional wedding procession. I grab my camera, rush out, click in quick succession, angry at the spectators whose heads appear in the picture frame. There is an old woman (the mother of the bride?) being borne in a carriage on the shoulders of the coolies. She has a very beautiful and regal face. I try to frame it in my camera, but I miss. I run after her. The whole parade stops for a brief while and the inexperienced coolies set her carriage down ingloriously. She almost falls out, but her face stays regal and important in spite of a slight look of shock. I try again to capture her on my film, but it is almost the end of the parade, and the cars and motor scooters press around me dangerously close. Only one lane of the narrow road has been closed to traffic, and yet traffic follows hotly on the end of the procession, endangering the little children dressed in blue who are carrying the bride’s dowry.
It takes a while to find my host again. We then go to enjoy the beauty of an orchid growing contest. Taiwan has good weather for orchids, and there is more variety and beauty in these orchids than I have ever seen before. I once again challenge my meager photography skills to capture it.
The festivities go on. I go home to think on it all.
Tags: Travel
