Describing the Indescribable: A weekend in a sacred place—Makindu, Kenya

Today’s article is written for the Reach To Teach Teach Abroad Blog Carnival, a monthly series that focuses on providing helpful tips and advice to ESL teachers around the globe. If you’d like to contribute to next month’s Blog Carnival, please get in touch with me at appetiteodysseys@gmail.com, and I’ll let you know how you can start participating! Click here for the fabulous blogs in the carnival writing on the same topic!

 

 

In all of my travels, there’s a lot I could share with you for this month’s Reach to Teach Blog Carnival, but one special experience trumps them all.

The topic is to share my most memorable travel experience. I can undoubtedly say that this moment came to me one special weekend when I stepped off of a joyfully crowded bus (that was emitting bongo flava music on loud speaker) and I pressed my feet to the rich, reddish-brown earth along the roadside of Makindu, Kenya. What makes this experience the most memorable is a feeling. It’s a feeling that words can only do minor justice to. What I’ve written are the words I’ve found in my attempt to share my experience with you.

I had been traveling for a couple of days, starting my journey in Tanzania. I lived in Tanzania for my field research, where I studied the relationships of food, religion, diaspora, and development surrounding the Sikh communal meal, langar. Almost any time I mentioned my topic of study there, I was told I should definitely see how langar is done in Makindu. “That is the real langar” they would say. It is considered an important site of pilgrimage for the East African Sikh community, and both Sikhs and non-Sikhs alike flock to the gurdwara (temple) gates daily.

IMG_4060

langar in Tanzania

Makindu is a little town nestled on the road between Nairobi and Mombassa. To get there from Tanzania, I had to change busses in Nairobi. I arrived at my stop hoping to go directly to Makindu the same day, but was advised to wait until morning. As a single, foreign female, it probably wasn’t the safest idea to be traveling the road at night.

Following an enjoyable evening in Nairobi, I woke early in the morning and hopped on a bus that was traveling to Mombassa. I could only hope that the driver understood that I needed to get off at Makindu. Time on an African bus is often evasive—hours are undeterminable as delays and unexpected stops, drop-offs, and pick-ups can give you only a very general idea of the length of your journey. So if it’s your first glance at the landscape, you are often left wondering where you are along the road in relation to your stop.

As my head was nodding along with the bumps in the road, we came to another stop. I felt an instinct spark just seconds before the driver started speaking quickly in Swahili, and soon everyone was staring at the mzungu (foreigner). “I must be here!” I thought. Sensing the road calling the wheels of the bus to start turning again, I leapt to action. I grabbed my bag and repeated “asante, asante sana,” with a smile that I hoped conveyed the mixture of things I was thinking as I maneuvered my way off of the bus and onto the roadside.

It was a dry, stifling hot day and the sun was up in its full, African splendour. I wiped the sweat from my brow, and stood for a few moments taking in my new location. I didn’t see a road sign, yet I felt like I was in the right place. The roadside had a little line of tables with vendors quietly displaying their fresh vegetables and goods for sale. I looked down the road I’d come from to Nairobi, and then toward the direction the bus had gone off in. I took a breath, and started walking the way the bus had taken. I was looking for the Nishan Sahib—the flag that proudly beckons your arrival at any Sikh gurdwara.

Before my journey, I could only picture Makindu as a place centered on the Sikh stories I had heard of the gurdwara there. The gurdwara is connected to the town from the tales of early Sikh railway workers. Upon completion of the railway in Makindu, the little gurdwara that had been erected at the time was left attended by a local Kenyan (non-Sikh). There are many versions of the story, but in a nutshell, it is told that the attendant saw a vision of Guru Gobind Singh who asked the man to take good care of the gurdwara. Since that time, a fusion of non-Sikh African and Sikh African and Indian employees and devotees have cared for the gurdwara with its very sacred connection to the tenth Sikh Guru.

The gurdwara has grown over time, and it has become a sacred site of pilgrimage that bonds a multi-ethnic community together through an enjoyment and celebration of spirituality and good food. Like any gurdwara, anyone, no matter what your religion or ethnicity, can enter. You can partake of the free food that is always available in the langar kitchen, and you can sleep overnight free of charge. You can also help out, participate, and donate as much as you are able or want, all in the spirit of seva (selfless service). I was informed this happens in Makindu on a scale and a level unseen in the rest of East Africa. As someone hoping to specialize in the study of langar, you can imagine my excited anticipation to find this special site.

But before I saw the flag, my eye caught a magnificent sight across the road from where I was walking. It was an elaborate and ornate mosque. It took me a moment to realize this was not the gurdwara I was seeking. I had gone there with the impression that the town was quite small, and only boasted the gurdwara. I hadn’t realized that it would coincide in the same town as one of the most beautiful mosques I’d ever seen.

Two men were seated at the gates of the mosque; I assumed they were security guards. I walked across the road and intended to ask them if I could take a picture of their breathtaking structure. My idea to only take a quick snap and be on my way was very mistaken.

One of the men rose and we exchanged greetings in Swahili. I gestured to my camera and asked if I could take a picture. Feeling at first nervous tension, I was immediately put to ease with a broad grin and a hammering of Swahili that welcomed me. I returned the grin, and asked him to speak slowly. He gestured for me to follow him toward the mosque, and in his broken English and my broken Swahili, we began a tour that felt like a dream. It still feels like it was a dream.

IMG_4185

He took me into the quiet mosque, I removed my shoes and raised my scarf above my hair (thank goodness I have a tendency to always wear a scarf when I travel—it’s good for so many reasons beyond providing a blanket or pillow on a long bus ride). The mosque compound had many different buildings and rooms, and he took me into almost all of them, where a scattering of what I assume were regular devotees went about their business of praying, working, and socializing. I kept questioning if it was okay for me to enter the different rooms—he even took me to an observation area where Muslim men were praying. He assured me it was okay for me to be there with him as my guide. The gender and religious neutrality in that moment was both surprising and inviting for me.  He led me up a winding staircase of a narrow tower that went to the rooftop of the mosque. From there, we overlooked the mosque grounds and spent a peaceful moment of stillness above the town.

IMG_4191

We headed back down, and he suggested taking me across the road to a different, traditional mosque. I knew I was on a mission to begin my ‘real’ research at the gurdwara, but I didn’t think a little time exploring the area beforehand would hurt. I think I even justified it as ‘providing context’. I agreed, and he took me along a winding pathway that led to a little one-room building. Again, I removed my shoes and covered my hair. We entered the little structure. It was dark inside, but cozy and intimate. Arabic prayers were written on documents beneath a cloth adorning a little separator in the middle of the room. A red rug covered the floor, which couldn’t have been more than four squared meters.

After pointing at the different readings and showing me around the little room, my guide sat cross-legged against a wall and gestured for me to sit across from him. I did. He produced a set of prayer beads and placed them in my hand. He held his own beads, and began reciting an Arabic prayer.

He indicated that I should join him in repeating the words as my fingers worked the beads.

IMG_4196 IMG_4197

I have always been fascinated by religion, yet I do not consider myself to be at all religious. Spiritual? Sometimes. I once coined the idea of myself as a pluralist agnostic. I perhaps believe in… something… but I can never place a name or a practice to that something.  So I have spent my time learning about and appreciating the multiple ways other people have found to name and practice their beliefs.

As I started to say the Arabic words, they felt at first awkward and uncomfortable. But I persisted out of respect to my wonderful guide. Soon, I was overcome with emotion. I can hardly describe the feeling I had in that moment, but I can share that I had goosebumps all over, and warm tears began streaming silently down my cheeks. They weren’t tears of sadness, or even of happiness. They were just tears, and I was not sure why they were even there. A rush of thoughts, from earthly questions of place, family, and friendship mixed with transcendental questions of humanity, spirituality, and religion. And in all of it, I felt both peace and confusion. I became suddenly embarrassed. Why am I crying!?

My guide only smiled knowingly, and began speaking soothingly in his few English words and in Swahili. I can’t recall exactly what he said to ease my thoughts, but soon we were walking around the grounds of the traditional mosque where he showed me an even more traditional African mosque-structure of perfectly placed bricks aligned with spaces for the devotee’s prayers.

A haze had lifted, and it was time for me to move on to my ultimate destination. My guide gave me the prayer beads as a gift, and directed me toward the gurdwara.

I didn’t think my newfound spiritual self would experience anything greater than in that special moment in that special little mosque. But it turns out, it acted like a catalyst for the depth of sacred and profound peace I was then to encounter during my weekend at the gurdwara.

It was a quick visit, but in that weekend I was met with a completely awe inspiring experience. So much of what makes this whole experience worthy as my most memorable travel moment, is that (despite the length of this post), the most memorable part for me is what exists beyond any words that can be spoken or written. I’ll reiterate: it’s a feeling.

IMG_4206

The Nishan Sahib flag of the Makindu Gurdwara

IMG_4283

The immaculately kept grounds of the gurdwara are adorned with flowers, lush green grass, and fountains that serve as an inviting and peaceful setting with a hospital, offices, sleeping quarters for staff and guests, three major diwan (prayer) halls, a large kitchen, and a dining hall. In an open alcove men and women, elderly and young, Sikh and non-Sikh sit organizing, cleaning, cutting and piling vegetables. A few steps away inside the kitchen, mostly women form an assembly line of shaping, patting, rolling, frying, buttering and stacking roti. Massive pots simmer with smells of dhal, sabji, and chai, stirred occasionally by passionate devotees and gurdwara staff. Dishes clang together in a nearby sink as stacks of trays, cups, and spoons are efficiently cleaned.

This kitchen is indeed the measure of efficiency.

Row upon row of bags containing various flours, sugars, lentils, spices and tea decorate the pantry shelves, and a walk-in fridge is filled to the brim with onions, potatoes, carrots, turnips, coriander and other herbs and vegetables. All of these ingredients have been carefully sought out in the markets of Nairobi and along the road to Mombassa. A gentle breeze wafts through the doors of the kitchen, as nam simran (music chanting the name of god) repeats ‘waheguru’ over the speakers, the sound of the music penetrates the senses in sync with the breeze.

That music combined with the breeze infused the experience for me with the feeling that Makindu must be one of the most sacred places on the planet. (I was actually really lucky to find a very close version of the music on youtube, you can enjoy it here).

Tables in the dining hall are arranged in rows, and a variety of people enjoy food together. When I arrived, Kenyan nurses from the hospital were taking their lunch while chatting animatedly, and Muslim men from the mosque I had just visited made greetings. Weary travelers, happy holidayers, pilgrims, families, poor and rich, of all different races, backgrounds, castes, religions and nationalities are welcomed upon their entrance into the gurdwara to fill their stomachs.

IMG_4238 IMG_4245 IMG_4254

A lovely family was providing langar that weekend in thanks to god for the upcoming wedding of one of their daughters. This family immediately took me under their wing, and held my hand all weekend guiding me through the kitchens and the kirtan services (music prayer services), and answering my many questions providing insight I could never have imagined without their warmth and assistance.

On multiple occasions that weekend, I caught myself feeling filled to the brim with happiness and contentedness. I have visited many gurdwaras, and participated in many different activities within them, and I have always received warmth and welcome. But this was the first time I’d actually felt the simran wash over me during a prayer service. This time, I wasn’t just a ‘participant observer’. I actually felt something beyond my research and friendship interests. The tears that had streamed down my cheeks earlier found me again on a few occasions here, and I felt a profound sense that can only be encountered when you open your heart to such a sacred space.

“What sort of anthropologist does this?” I wondered. Theories in anthropology can leave an ethnographer befuddled with the amount of engagement or detachment one is supposed to have when in the field. I certainly wasn’t going to write my dissertation about the amount of crying I did (I’ll be honest, I cried over that dissertation for other reasons too). Yet above anything, that emotion I felt in Makindu was what drove the experience to another level for me. While I still live a life that can barely name an un-nameable, and I don’t practice what I still feel to be un-practice-able (for me); but I can share with you that in that special weekend in that special town of Makindu, I did encounter it. And I’ll never forget it.

I had to meet a friend of mine arriving on a plane into Nairobi early on Monday morning, so I left Makindu after just a short weekend. I didn’t want to go, but life has a way of moving on us, and I knew I had already gained so much in such a short time. Not only did I have more interviews and participant observation ‘gathered’ for my research than I’d ever imagined, but I knew I was a changed person. I had found a contentedness with myself, and a trust in myself and in my instincts that I hadn’t fully realized before. I hopped onto another crowded and bumpy bus back the way I had come. Yet the road and the journey seemed somewhat different this time.

I leave you with the concluding paragraph of my dissertation that I hope highlights how our memories are so connected to the senses that we experience along our journeys. These sensory experiences along with our memories are such an important part of how we develop our own identities, and how we become who we are. I have tended to dedicate my enjoyment of such connections to the relationships between the sense of taste and memory. But it can also be an interesting thought if we add in the element of a spiritual sensation as well.

In my last few hours at the Makindu gurdwara, I was asked if I would attend a lecture by the Giani ji. I explained that unfortunately, I had to be leaving soon, and that I had hoped to help a little while longer in the kitchen before going. The auntie who had posed the question nodded her head and smiled, “Yes, you must take the smells from the langar with you on your journey.” David Sutton explores the interconnected relationships between synesthetic [multi-sensory] experiences and memory, and the impacts such memories can have on one’s identity. Perhaps I can no longer physically smell the simmering dhal, nor taste the sweet khir and chai while chatting with a new friend. I can no longer feel the gentle breeze blowing my dupatta as I chop vegetables with a happy family, nor can I see the rows of tables lined with diverse Sikh and non-Sikh faces. But as I listen to a copy of the nam simran that played on repeat in the Guru’s kitchen that weekend, I know this auntie’s sentiment echoes that of Sutton’s. I have taken those smells with me, and so much more. I have gained a perspective of the potential that can come from reframing our constructed notions of religion, diaspora, and development, by considering food consumption habits as ‘spiritually powerful’—not simply to reduce such practices or beliefs to their function, but rather to celebrate the diversity and opportunity that can come from them.

IMG_4199IMG_4202

IMG_4187

IMG_4190

IMG_4288

IMG_4222 IMG_4236 IMG_4225 - Version 2IMG_4243 IMG_4212 IMG_4251 IMG_4261 IMG_4264

IMG_4277

You can add more lives to your life

Today’s article is written for the Reach To Teach Teach Abroad Blog Carnival, a monthly series that focuses on providing helpful tips and advice to ESL teachers around the globe. I’ll be posting a new ESL related article on my blog on the 4th of every month. If you’d like to contribute to next month’s Blog Carnival, please get in touch with me at appetiteodysseys@gmail.com, and I’ll let you know how you can start participating! 

This month’s topic for the Blog Carnival is to discuss “how living abroad can make you a better person.” Check out the other wonderful articles written by bloggers on the same topic.

 

I’m a Canadian who has lived “abroad” in Ghana, France, the UK, Tanzania, and am now living in Taiwan. I’ve also traveled to many other countries all over on shorter adventures.  So it turns out I find there is a fair bit for me to think about on this topic! Hopefully as I contemplate it here, it can help you too! 

Why learning is awesome

To begin, I’d like to share with you a bit of what I think about learning. Whether it’s learning through the thoughts and experiences of yourself, or learning through the thoughts and experiences of others.

Yann Martel’s witty book implores the necessity of living a life that both challenges and adds to your own lived experience. He relates this importance of expanding your horizons with reading books. I’m hoping to take his lead and then show you how you can expand your horizons by way of analogy, while in the process of doing so very literally.

An excerpt from his introduction starts us out quite eloquently:

“The great thing about reading books is that it makes us better than cats. Cats are said to have nine lives. What is that compared to the girl, boy, man, woman who reads books? A book read is a life added to one’s own. So it takes only nine books to make cats look at you with envy.

And I’m not talking here only of “good” books. Any book—trash to classic—makes us live the life of another person, injects us with the wisdom and folly of their years. When we’ve read the last page of a book, we know more, either in the form of raw knowledge—the name of a gun, perhaps—or in the form of greater understanding. The worth of these vicarious lives is not to be underestimated. There’s nothing sadder—or sometimes more dangerous—than the person who has lived only his or her single, narrow life, unenlightened by the experience, real or invented, of others.”

I wholeheartedly agree with Martel. Reading is such a wonderful way to open up whole worlds and lives that you never knew existed. I am the type of person (and I have a feeling you may be too) that has an endless wish-list of books I want to read. This gets to the point of dreadful guilt, because the list will never fully be realized. On the otherhand, the books I do have the privilege to open and to read have invariably always added a new scope—even in the most minute way—to how I then live and interpret my life.

Once your mind has been expanded, it is never undone. We may—in fact, we definitely do—forget things we’ve read or heard, or even lived. But we’re in a constant state of building on prior knowledge, and seeing new encounters through an ever changing renewed lens. It’s our choice how we want that lens to change. (See this inspiring talk for how we can play a little tetrus with the brain).

A type of learning that will add your own lives to your own life

Let’s expand Martel’s example of reading books to traveling and living abroad. I believe that by stepping outside of your norm, your everyday, you will continuously add life to your own life, creating an infinite lifeline that any cat might envy.

Pushing beyond the wonderment of the contents laid out between two covers (or now an e-reader), l do think a lived experience is much more profound and definitely more enjoyable than any word that can be found on anyone else’s page. Your sights, your sounds, your smells, your tastes, and your textures are yours, and yours alone. And they are yours to experience as you are taught, and as you choose.

Traveling can be a great start to step outside of your norm and to add new dimensions to your life. Take a week, or weekend trip somewhere, or even just spend a few hours in a new place, and you will have opened up whole new ways of thinking, living and experiencing for yourself.

I like to think a person can gain a lot from just a short traveling adventure. In fact, I think there’s a real—and wonderful—phenomenon that when we travel, our multiple senses are heightened to the beauty of our surroundings. We see wonder in things that if we were to live them every day, we would neglect and ignore them.

On a short trip I catch myself thinking something like, “Wow, let me take a picture of that alley (for example). It is so beautiful with the old stones and there is water coming out of that random but perfectly placed pipe over there. This place is absolutely perfect. And it is beautiful. And life is beautiful. And the earth is beautiful. And whoever built it, and whoever now lives here is also beautiful. And wow, I’m lucky to be here.”  I’m sure someone who lives around the corner from that alley probably never gives it much (if any) notice.

Even more fundamentally when traveling, you begin to ask questions. Whether these questions are about your new surroundings, or of your own previous existence—they will fundamentally change who you are and how you see the world. This can be something as basic as, “There is hardly any water in this toilet. Why is there hardly any water in the basin of this toilet? Are they short of water? Or do I overuse water? What is the state of water in this world? What can be done about it?” (and the list of questions can continue in this fashion if you let it). This is not even to mention the moments of having to use a toilet that looks and functions nothing like a toilet you’ve ever encountered—there will be skirt lifting or awkward moments of trying to hold your pants (I mean trousers for you UK folk, though underwear/pants are awkwardly in the way in these moments too), standing or crouching you have to improvise and use muscles you never knew existed when you encounter non-western toilets!

But regardless of the encounter, or the seemingly trivial (or awkward) experience, questions can lead you to a whole new path in life. And this IS worthy of exploration. And these moments and your questions can certainly provide some lively storytelling for yourself.

In short, I tend to think, traveling is da bomb.

But living somewhere different than you’re use to takes this experience to a whole other dimension.

You can find yourself experiencing these moments of wonderment and fascination at any point throughout the duration of your stay in your new home. The smells, the tastes, the nuances of communication, the adventure of it all is still magnified in your new existence. But it coincides with a heavier dose of reality. You will experience different ways of thinking, and certainly different ways of being. This will, I can assure you, change how you think about the world, and how you live your life thereafter—and it augments any book you’ve ever read, or travel experience you’ve ever had, by the thousands.

I think most especially, it allows you to really get to know other ways of thinking, being, and behaving in this world—by actually doing it. For me, living abroad is the apex of learning. Which is the apex of giving yourself new chances and opportunities to live more fully.

And here’s why:

1) You learn about yourself.  An incredible amount of soul searching can happen when you embark on a new destination to start a new life. This soul searching can approach you at the craziest times when you live abroad, and can deeply affect the life you then lead. I generally experience the most intense bouts of inner reflection when I’m in the actual process of moving.

You pick up whatever belongings you deem worthy to keep with you, stuff them into a bag—though I’ll admit to often using two, I’m still a heavy packer despite knowing better… something for me to keep working on! Either way, it’s very liberating to give away and leave behind “things” that no longer seem important. You can disconnect from the ridiculous amount of ‘stuff’ our society tells us we need, and you can realize that what you really need is to be happy. And happiness can come in so many more exciting ways than in the ownership of “things.” It can come from you.

As you leave one place behind, you are entering into the realm of the unknown. This is the perfect moment to reflect on your experience and thoughts of the past and your hopes for the future. I can assure you, a long airplane ride by yourself gives you ample opportunity and inspiration to think about these things.  These moments of deep internal reflection have been a vital way for me to connect with my own hopes and dreams, and even my thoughts and philosophies on life and meaning.

Starting a new life somewhere will challenge you and bring out strengths and weaknesses you never knew you had. At first, you learn to prioritize. Find a place to live, find where to get food, learn how to communicate. If you can navigate your way through even these basic tasks in a new place, you might find you’ll be surprised at your own saviness, strength, and resolve. I can tell you after a few weeks of living in a shared room in a hostel in London without any apartment in sight, my inner strength was at one of its most tested. There will be breakdown moments (mine happened in a public bathroom stall since I had nowhere to cry in private). But even after any serious bout of crying, you can pick yourself up, talk to some new friends, and the moment you ask for help and imply the need for a little sympathy, you WILL find what you’re looking for.

This brings me to our second stage of learning, which involves needing and being surrounded by other people.

2) You learn about others. As I’ve mentioned, reading and traveling is a great way to do this. But living abroad allows you to actually experience a life with new ways of thinking, seeing, communicating and yes, of course eating.

I have yet to really understand people who cannot see that there are infinite ways to be in this world. Difference does not imply inferiority. Nor superiority for that matter. Through learning and expanding our education of how “other” people live, we can only expand our own way of life. Whatever direction that may take.

There is a whole wealth of literature on the experience of “othering.” For some reason, we humans have an unfortunate disability when it comes to thinking of “self” vs. “other.” It’s the very basis of conflict, stereotypes, and discrimination.

I do see the pride and joy we can experience in “self” and “we” identifications. For just one example, I gladly don my Canadian identity in multiple ways, and lament moments where I cannot encounter things that are very substantially “me.” This would be compared to where I’m living which might be very substantially somebody else’s “me.” (Longing for certain foods is the best tangible example of this).

But with a celebration of my own self identity, I think it is also equally (if not more) important to celebrate and learn from the identities of others. Once you do this, you will realize the humanity we all share. Living abroad will actually take this to a whole other level, forcing (in both pleasant and unpleasant ways) your own identifications to change.

I still catch myself wanting to move money or food into my right hand instead of my left (a trait I picked up in Ghana), as your left hand is polluted and considered highly disrespectful for passing or receiving things or for eating. I catch myself wanting to use words that just don’t have a translation in English, or that simply sound nicer and feel better on the tongue in another language. One example: the Swahili word mvinyo is really the only word I can use for wine now. I mean, mmm-veen-yo! Yum! That’s what that is.

Even more profoundly, after leaving a place you’ve lived abroad, you can find yourself truly longing for parts of that culture. Reverse culture shock is a very real and yes, shocking, experience. But beyond that, I know I couldn’t live a life without tasting kili wili (fried plaintain bits) or fufu ever again. Or more recently when I visited Canada, despite only being there for a little over a week and being surrounded by all the favourite foods I’d been longing for, I actually also craved Oden—the Japanese soup I’d grown very fond of here in Taiwan.

This all brings me to my final point about learning abroad:

3) You will learn about the world. By inhabiting a part of the world you’d never before considered, you will open up your life to living as a more globally conscious citizen. You will learn other ways of thinking and being as they relate to your own past experiences of thinking and being. By doing so, you start to see the world as it works both within and across designated borders.

You will become a pro at understanding international time zones. You will have multiple random acronyms for airport codes stalk-piled in your brain. Despite any deficiency at doing math (like I truly have), you will still be able to translate multiple national currencies in your head at least within a close approximate. You will (somehow) learn to navigate the incredible bureaucracy and red tape required to enter and to stay in different countries—and If you don’t know it off the top of your head, you will definitely know where to look. See this awesome meme that anyone living abroad can probably relate to. I don’t identify with their use of the term “third-culture” but I definitely relate to most of their posts as someone who enjoys living abroad.

In addition to these pretty valuable (or useless, depending how you look at it) skills, living abroad will also help you recognize the world as the wonderful and sacred planet that it is.  You’ll find new ways to question how the world is treated, and hopefully, just hopefully, you can be part of the forward thinking dialogue that will shift the way we treat this big yet fragile earth.

So, in conclusion, I think there are about a million ways living abroad can better your life. But the most poignant for me, is that you will learn. You will learn about yourself, about others, and especially, about the world. You will experience amazing and exciting new things, and you will add new and beautiful colours to the invisible glasses through which you see the world.

Not all lenses are rosy—you will most likely also experience heartache and even deep personal crisis. Questions of home, identity, and friendship permeate the experience. But these questions can only strengthen you as you take on anything to come in your future.

I do not neglect the fact that I’ve felt incredible envy for those who stay rooted in one place. There’s something I find very respectful about people who get their ultimate happiness in the place in which they were born, and/or where they intend to stay. If there is genuine happiness in whatever life you live, then by all means, live it as you choose to live.

I am merely telling you why I am currently living the way I live.

“Somebody told me don’t stare at horizons unless you are ready to run.”** Well you can only broaden your own internal horizons by moving toward the actual horizons that call you, and by choosing to stay there for a time. In doing this, you then (even if just by osmosis) broaden the horizons of anyone else you encounter along the journey. You add life to your own life, and to the lives of others. My goodness, we really are luckier than cats with their meagre nine lives.

 

**These are lyrics from a great song by one of my favourite musicians, Michael Franti. Here’s a live performance of the song, “The Long Ride Home”, or you can check out his new album All People on itunes (I think anyone who has made it to the bottom of this post would love it).

The Flavours of Africa

This article was written for submission in the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) Recipe Book. The book is an amalgamation of recipes from the university’s very international group of students. Themes of recipes were submitted from all corners of the world, and were organized according to continent. My written submission introduces the section on foods from Africa. It was a challenging and daunting task to do justice to the foods from such an incredibly diverse continent. The words started to flow for me on the bus between Arusha and Nairobi, and I finally recently finished it for the book. I hope the beauty in the complexity of the food found in Africa comes across. I would never normally want to clump “Africa” together in any sort of overarching statement, but given the task, the following is what I have encountered from my journeys in different countries in the east and the west of Africa, from my encounters with people from all different parts of the continent, and from my education in food studies. I hope you enjoy! When I get the link for the recipe book, I will gladly share with you all (can’t wait for it to come out!).

Market day in the Upper East Region, Ghana

Market day in the Upper East Region, Ghana

To think of recipes from Africa conjures an imagery of the dynamic and diverse peoples that inhabit a breathtaking continent, and its diasporas. As with any region, there is no way to simply “define” its people or its food. In Africa, food choices and the methods of producing, gathering, preparing, cooking, marketing and consuming vary across a rolling landscape with mountains, flat plains, sandy deserts, luscious forests, sprawling lakes and rivers, bustling cities, quiet villages, and a vast coastline.

Fields of wheat and rice, or maize, cassava, and yams often provide basic starchy staples—such as fufu that’s found in parts of western Africa, or ugali in parts of the east. Plantain (with its many local names) serves as a delicious main ingredient whether fried, baked, roasted, pounded, or mashed and is combined with various localized flavours. Groves of trees yield juicy mangoes, pawpaw (papaya), gigantic avocados, young and ripened coconuts, and a plethora of other fruits and flavours.

One flavour that tends to dominate the landscape (though not in all places) goes by many names. It can be combined with tomatoes, onions, beans, meats, and even fruits. It can burn the tongue, and it can warm the soul. It is the wondrous pili-pili, peri peri, piri piri, shito, piment, pepe. This fiery flavour is hot pepper. It comes raw and fresh, dried and ground, in chunks and as powder. It is the pièce de résistance for many important dishes and sauces that pack a potent punch.

Lentils, beans and nuts are fundamental sources of protein for many people across the continent. Other proteins are found in meats such as beef, goat, pork, chicken, and guinea fowl, deliciously enjoyed when roasted, simmered, or stewed; or adamantly prohibited for religious or personal reasons. Eggs can be turned into omelets served with freshly baked bread, or can be added to stews, fried with French fries, or boiled for a quick snack when dunked in hot pepper sauce—best purchased for a long journey on a bumpy bus ride across (or between) countries.

The “cuisines” of Africa have been shaped by the important reproductions of food that are tied to the confirmation and transformation of identities and ethnicities. Foods of Africa have as much to do with nutrition and biological necessity as they do religious symbolism, constructs of self and other, and community building. Sharing food is an especially important ingredient to building and maintaining human relationships. This is evident across various parts of Africa as sharing from the same bowl, pot, or plate is an enjoyable and easy way to demonstrate camaraderie. Inviting someone to your meal is an essential way to acknowledge others, and the subsequent dipping of right (not left) hands into the same delicious dish satisfies a hunger for companionship and social cohesion.

Dynamic and shifting tastes and cultures across Africa reflect an ever-evolving relationship between humans and our food. The inter-culinary influences of Africa could be considered as far back as the growing food preferences of our early human ancestors, to inter-tribal interactions, and to ever-evolving trade routes. Today, pre-packaged and preserved foods found in cans, bottles, plastics, crates, sacs and any other container imaginable are imported from around the world, and are sold, cooked and consumed in innumerable ways. Expatriates from all over the world span the continent, bringing their food preferences with them, and firmly established diaspora groups have influenced the availability and desire for ingredients that warrant combinations of old and new methods of preparation.

In Africa, the production and distribution of food can be bountiful and rewarding, but can also be sparse and devastating. Yields are dependent on changing seasons, the content and quality of the soil, migration patterns (both human and animal), and an ever-fluctuating global market. It is essential to consider the realities of food insecurity, as far too many people suffer the consequences of unequal access to safe and nutritious food. The need for sustainable and sufficient food practices should remain in our hearts throughout our celebration of the flavours and joys that emanate from the cuisines of the continent.

The celebration of African foods can be all consuming. We can find joy through food in the most basic of everyday encounters. A bustling bus station teams with vendors selling freshly cooked specialties for the weary traveler. Along the road, individuals balance trays on their heads, topped with carefully and highly stacked food items (which could be anything from fruit, to freshly made crisps, to packages of crackers or gum), navigating their way through rows of big busses, mini busses, motorcycles, and cars, they offer a brief diversion for passengers stuck in typically heavy and chaotic traffic. One can easily get lost in the intricate, colourful, and noisy mazes of people and food that make up the daily local markets that dominate any African city. And yet that experience of disorientation is coupled with awe at the proximity of seemingly never-ending little details that make up a highly functional system of livelihood. At dusk, the rhythmic sound of your neighbours expertly pounding fufu (a delicate task that requires strength, agility, teamwork and trust) fills the air with the immediacy of the time for families and friends to gather together and find satisfaction of the belly, and of the spirit. Whether you’re buying, selling, cleaning, cutting, cooking, eating or sharing, the enjoyment that can be derived from food is profound and limitless.

Global trends in consumption greatly affect local diets and food practices across Africa, just as local diets and the production of foods in Africa affect global food options and changing food choices around the world. This section of our SOAS recipe book welcomes you to try a mere sampling of the deliciously diverse foods to be had from an enticingly diverse continent. Bring these new flavours and tastes to your own kitchen, and don’t forget to invite a friend to share!

Liminality and Airplane Food

Reading a beautiful passage while enjoying some Turkish wine enroute. I still prefer books, but frequent travel has turned me into a Kindle carrier.

Reading a beautiful passage while enjoying some Turkish wine enroute.
I still prefer books, but frequent travel has turned me into a Kindle carrier.

A favourite pastime of mine is staring up at the sky and watching airplanes flying overhead. You can almost be certain if I’m around when there’s an airplane in flight, I’ll at least be staring at it, if not pointing it out. There are so many souls on just one airplane, and I wonder, where are they all going? Where do they all come from? And then my next inevitable question, when can I go too?

I generally have a craving that can only be fulfilled when I grab my bags and start out on a journey. I get a natural high when I arrive at the big beautiful building—a gateway to the rest of the world: the airport. This high lasts for the majority of my journey. What is it about travel that gets me so elated?

I’m clearly not the only person to feel this way. And yet I know I’m blessed to revel in the experience the way I do. At this very moment you are reading this, just try to contemplate how many travelers are enroute from one place to another. The number is countless. I’ve actually tried researching the number of passengers in transit via airplanes in one day, or more broadly in a year. I can tell you, the numbers are almost impossible to define without spewing some statistical web of confusion and probably misinterpretation. The only honest answers I seem to find are the sources that state how ambiguous and near impossible it is to actually define the number of travelers or even planes taking off in a 24 hour period. (If anyone can direct me to a source that can clarify this, I’d gladly learn of it!).

Since the dawn of humanity, people have always been in motion, migrating and traveling for an infinite number of reasons. Devastatingly, it’s far too often because of force. But it can also involve more hopeful circumstances. Sometimes it involves aspirations for better economic means. Or it can be the search for love. Or perhaps an overall search for greater happiness. It can be a sense of adventure. Or even just a passion for cultures and languages. I am lucky to fall into a mix of the latter categories.

Whatever the number of passengers in this world, and for whatever their reason, it is undeniable that there are a lot of people making their own journey every day. For me, travel is the ultimate life experience. There is something very fascinating to be said about being in transit. It’s the state of the liminal. The betwixt and between. (Victor Turner rock my world). The space where life is turned upside down, and where inner reflection and unlimited possibilities are your cozy yet challenging travel companions.

In the state of the liminal, exciting things can happen, and the possibilities can be endless, and are often outside our norm. We are neither here, nor there, and yet are still very clearly somewhere. To me, that somewhere is very special. It’s the threshold of change. The reflection of the past. The contentment in the present. And excitingly, it’s the possibilities of the future.

When we cross into this threshold, the doorway in this instance begins with the airport. We ceremoniously go through a series of rites that initiate us into the realm of the liminal. We flash our government issued identification and pass through a series of checks—especially slightly heart racing examinations of the things we’ve deemed worthy of traveling with us, and sometimes undergoing full body scans and critical personal questioning.

Once through the gate of security, at leisure we can explore the many shops and restaurants, and partake in one of my absolute favourite things in this world: airport people watching. I love nothing better then to sit with my book and a big glass of wine, strategically perched in an airport bar where I can observe flights taking off and landing, and the many travelers going to and fro within my vicinity. Heaven. On. Earth.

Of course it’s not all paradise. I can equate it a little to a new romantic encounter. There are often either speedy departures or boring delays, mixed up schedules, strange and foreign encounters, and even accidental moments of just being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, on the wrong vehicle. And yet despite these awkward encounters, the mere possibility that the most liberating and unearthing moment of your life is just around the corner makes it all well worth the effort. What I’m referring to here is the height of the unknown. The adventure of the spirit. An unlimited potential.

On my most recent journey, as the plane was taking off, I overheard a young boy say to his mom, “I like this part.” I smiled to myself, and agreed internally, “Me too.” Of course when on the airplane, you have given yourself over to the rules of your very limited immediate environment. You must follow a strict set of both written and social controls put in place for your own safety and out of respect for your fellow travelers. (See this great book for an insiders perspective of the daily drama aboard airplanes and what happens when these rules are tested.)

One of these controls that interests me the most: airplane food. I generally like to travel with healthy snacks on hand—a bag of veggies, nuts, and some cheese tends to be my go-to emergency food kit when traveling. I also like to explore what airports have to offer in their restaurants—most recently I enjoyed a delicious salad from the advertised ‘local’ menu in the Vancouver airport. BC blueberries, with amazingly seasoned locally raised chicken on a bed of fresh greens, served with a tasty BC Sauvignon Blanc springs to mind as a wonderful welcome home meal upon landing in Canada. But otherwise, especially on a long flight, our palates are at the whim of the airline.

Is the food itself betwixt and between? Food that is neither here, nor there? Most people I know complain about airplane food. Uttering these two words together illicits the immediate response, “ugh,” “disgusting,” and at least a furled eyebrow.

I do think, however, this depends a bit on the airline. My first encounter with airplane food that I remember was on a transatlantic flight as a teenager. I traveled with Air France, and I remember reveling in the excellent service and the exquisite feeling of being special. I enjoyed a delicious selection of food, the main course was veal. Here I was, a young teenager on my own, offered what was then to me, one of the most expensive and exotic meats ever imagined. I have since refined my taste for politically incorrect meats, but the experience of equating travel and food together with an excitement and a feeling of being ‘special’, can all be summed up in my consumption of that meal aboard Air France.

For a long time afterward, I didn’t understand why everybody else seemed to dislike airplane food. Of course I now see it for what it is worth. I have encountered the tasteless, indigestion wielding trolleys that threaten one’s tastebuds, stomaches, and intestines. I generally have a rule to despise food with preservatives and packaging. And I abhor food that has zero transparency about its contents or its origin. There will certainly be no instagraming of what Air Canada somehow considers dietary sustenance for hungry travelers. No photographic filter can make that look palatable.

However, I am still bound to some form of intrigue and appreciation for whatever might pass in front of my tray on what has become my inevitable, regular encounter with food in transit. There is the chance—just a chance—that despite the absurd amount of packaging, and the incredible lack of information about each meal, that I just might enjoy it. Throw in some free booze, and I’m even more receptive.

Let’s be honest, the length of a flight is generally quite boring, with a regular rhythm of the cruising hum of the jets, and the cathartic lull of hushed voices and sleeping passengers. In addition to the take off and landing, (hopefully) the only moments that break up the monotony are when the trolley makes its way down the aisle toward your row. There is something exciting that occurs for me when I see that trolley start to move. Will they give me a vegetarian option? Or what meats do I have to choose from? What will the little appetizer be? Will they give a little dessert? (Cause really, how cute is it when they do?). Very importantly, what will they offer me to drink? (By now, my buzz from the airport wine has generally worn off). How else will the airline decide to make this most profound moment of my entire airplane ride memorable?

One of the things I enjoy the most, is to learn what an airline might interpret as the traditional cultural dishes relative to its country of origin. Flying Turkish Airways, I have enjoyed a delicious lamb kabob with smoked salmon, and a tasty Turkish square for dessert. Qatar Airways had an equally tasty meal of meat and vegetable stew. Japan Airlines offers a mix of Japanese dishes, involving noodles, rice and salads. These three airlines are at the top of my list for their superior foods and superior service. (I don’t know if there is anyone more graceful on or above this earth than a Japanese Flight Attendant).

The reality is that everyone needs to eat, including those of us who are betwixt and between. Certainly great care has gone into the planning and rationing of foods upon the voyages of history. I wonder what Columbus or Polo ate while aboard their great ships? The interesting thing for me is that just as the journey offers up the height of the unknown, so too does the food. Unfortunately, I think this is a case where the ‘unknown while in transit’ isn’t really working in our favour.

There is a great deal of hope for improving the future of travel. The environmental devastation caused by each airplane’s emissions is shocking, and completely unsustainable. Check out this guy for an admirable example of what just one person can do to limit their impact through international and domestic travel. BBC just had a great post that explores the possibilities of travel in the future. I personally like the ideas of the hyperloop and the return of the airships. Whatever the future of travel may be, let’s hope the future of food for travelers also improves. Both for the environment, and for our palates.

Aboard Japan Airlines

Aboard Japan Airlines

Japanese Airline's French wine. What is the carbon footprint here I wonder? Probably the closest one can get to a label on their airplane fare...

Japanese Airline’s French wine. What is the carbon footprint here I wonder?
Probably the closest one can get to a label on their airplane fare…

Turkish Airways (probably one of my favourite airplane food experiences)

Turkish Airways (probably one of my favourite airplane food experiences)

Qatar Airways

Qatar Airways

Oh what dreams and possibilities can emerge from staring outside of that airplane window.

Oh what dreams and possibilities can emerge from staring outside of that airplane window.

Have you eaten? Why yes, I most certainly have, thank you for asking.

So I hadn’t intended for my last post to start you out on my culinary adventure in Taiwan through a random diatribe about an encounter with pineapple (a food that I’m actually allergic to), but as it turns out, that’s what I did. And there you have it. Today’s post is more along the lines of what I had intended to write in order to acquaint you with the delightful, exaltation-worthy food experience that is Taiwan.
 
In Taiwan, when you greet a friend, instead of simply saying ni hao (hello), or asking ni hao ma? (how are you?) You ask, 你吃飯了嗎? ni che le ma? Which means, “have you eaten?”  You can input the words for breakfast, lunch or dinner at the appropriate time if you like as well, for example, 你吃午餐了嗎? ni che oo chan le ma? “Have you eaten lunch?” The response is either, 還沒 hei me (not yet) or 吃了che le (which means, “I eat” indicating, yes, I have eaten).
 
This common greeting just goes to show how important eating is in Taiwanese culture. And I don’t just mean this as it is obviously important as a biological necessity; but in Taiwan, it is also a culturally significant and incredibly valued aspect of everyday life. This is something that is often neglected in North America. As a culture in North America, we are sadly renowned for stuffing our faces with highly processed products made with corn syrup, and tasteless imports that not only lack any nutritional value but also lack any environmental or social conscience.
 
Thankfully this is slowly changing on that side of the globe as more people are becoming aware of the need to eat locally and seasonally (I’m reading a great book right now by Barbara Kingsolver about this very issue: Animal, Vegetable, Miracle). My main impression about Taiwan is that they’re far ahead of the curve when it comes to consuming and celebrating local foods in season.
 
This is not to say that Taiwan has been immune to the industrialized institution of a harmful food system. I think the three McDonalds in an eight block radius and the incredibly heavy use of plastic bags for everything here would indicate otherwise, but my everyday experience here in Changhua does tell me that they’re less inclined to put such environmentally and nutritionally harmful foods down their throats—I’m sure there are other cases to contradict this, but I’ll get to that another day.
 
When I first arrived in Taiwan, I was actually really sick from the flight and from the insane amount of hours required from work basically straight as I got off of the plane. Despite being so sick for over two weeks and unable to eat much, I could tell I had stumbled across a really special place. A place that (from what I can still tell) values two main things: working hard, and eating well.
 
Let me tell you, if that is the motto, I’m adapting quite well. I work like a maniac, and my appetite is back in full force. Food is available here at all hours of the day, and can be purchased on any street in innumerable forms.  On just my walk to a branch of my school, I pass so many different street vendors selling different treats. Some of these include meat and rice sausages, onion pancakes (yum), quails eggs, sponge cake, sweet cakes stuffed with taro, chocolate or cream, and fried chicken and sweet potatoes. Just up a block from there is a road devoted to many different outdoor eateries, including barbequing a whole assortment of meats, vegetables, and different types of tofu. And these are just the food stalls I encounter in a few short minutes walk. And the city is riddled with them.

Quail eggs - a typical treat I get on Wednesdays after a long day

Quail eggs – a typical treat I get on Wednesdays after a long day

Onion Pancake!

Onion Pancake!

These little stalls are nestled on streets that are also jam packed with restaurants of all different styles, from outdoor seating on plastic chairs where you watch your food cooking, to air-conditioned restaurants of all different varieties equipped with modern and traditional décor. Restaurants that serve either Japanese food or varieties of Hot Pot tend to dominate my city, but there are also all different kinds that serve pasta, dumplings, and a seemingly limitless variety of noodles and soups.
Eating at a delicious Japanese restaurant

Eating at a delicious Japanese restaurant

Hot pot :)

Hot pot 🙂

One of my favourite places is a restaurant owned by two Taiwanese brothers just up the street from me. One brother runs a Vietnamese portion of the restaurant serving Pho (a Vietnamese soup) and other delicious dishes—the beef noodle there is to die for, in addition to the fresh shrimp spring rolls. The other brother runs part of the restaurant that sells Oden, a Japanese specialty, where you pick out your meats, vegetables, eggs, and/or tofu and these are cooked in front of you in a delicious broth, to be served with homemade spicy sauce and soya paste.

 
Buying from a restaurant is often cheaper here than cooking at home alone. However, if you aren’t in the mood for one of the infinite restaurants or food stalls, you can always go to a nearby local market (there is a wonderful fruit and veggie market just near me), a grocery store, or even a local 7-Eleven (convenience store) which you will find on practically any corner in Taiwan.  Check this out for a great post about the wonders of 7-Elevens here in Taiwan.
 
If you think I’m finished explaining where to get food here, I have barely grazed the surface. I haven’t even yet mentioned the many amazing bread shops (the bread here is the most wonderful bread I’ve ever eaten in my life—more to come on that in a future post). And then there are the many tea shops that are everywhere, selling hot and cold teas of all different kinds, and fresh fruit juices that you would think are from out of this world, but are actually made from fruits grown here locally (thank the heavens for mango season, let me tell you). And then of course, the pièce de résistance: the night markets. Stepping into the vicinity of a night market, is (for me) stepping into my Mecca. A literal smorgasbord of all different kinds of food cooked freshly before your eyes. The senses are on high alert, as you walk along the winding alleys and rows of food stalls, you are bombarded with an intensity of exciting flavours, smells, sights and sounds.
Changhua Night Market

Changhua Night Market

 A lot of the influence on foods in Taiwan can be traced to cuisines in Fujian, Fuzhou, Chaozhou and Guangdong in China. And styles of cooking and tastes were also introduced from Japan during its 50 years of colonial rule in the early 1900s. I have yet to venture into the mountains to explore Taiwanese aboriginal culture and cuisines, hopefully that is yet to come in my journey here.  I do have a friend who explained to me that some people here will claim the food is very specifically only Taiwanese, and has no influence from elsewhere, as clearly political allegiance is profoundly bound to how we understand and consume our foods. But however you may look at it, one thing is very clear: there is a lot of diversity to be found on any street providing an endless supply of food experiences for a hungry traveler.
 
Taiwan has produced an excellent website that explores the diversity of Taiwanese food culture, and sums up the constantly changing and amazing food experience in Taiwan here quite eloquently: “The Taiwanese cuisine of today is the fruit of a long, continuous process of evolution and innovation.” I have a lot more to say about so many different aspects of the food here, especially the bread, the teas, the markets, and so much more, so please stay tuned!

 
 

More of Changhua Night Market:
IMG_6889 IMG_6888 IMG_6887 IMG_6884 IMG_6882 IMG_6881 IMG_6877 IMG_6873 IMG_6870
IMG_6848

You’re now entering pineapple territory

Well damn. I’m allergic to pineapples. The one food my generally non-discriminating stomach can’t stomach. But my taste buds love it. What they really love is not just any ol’ pineapple; but fresh, colourful, unbelievably flavourful and juicy, locally grown pineapple. The type of pineapple that does not (cannot) exist as an import, but that comes from a nearby field, and is recently harvested. This oval-orb-with-a-spiky-hairdo-of-a-beauty, basks in tropical sunlight and awaits an almost mind blowing experience of consumption.
 
Today, I took a scooter ride into the mountains on a much-needed escape from (reemergence into?) reality. I was reminded of how just one microelement of a human diet, in this case, how one fruit, can contribute to one’s happiness. Even if you physically can’t consume it, you can still find a fulfilling appreciation from it.
 
I’ve been in a bit of a foreigner’s funk lately, magnified since a highly inconvenient typhoon decided to spoil my weekend plans rather than my work week. I’m in need of a social life. I thrive only when I have a healthy balance of me time and we time. My original instinct to move to Changhua really stemmed from reading about the giant Buddha overlooking the small city. I mean, how could any city be less than perfect if giant Buddha is watching over things?  But while I was taking care of my spiritual self, I neglected to realize that my (important) social self would be taking a backseat on this part of my journey.
Giant Buddha at Bagua Shan (Mountain),  Changhua, Taiwan.

Giant Buddha at Bagua Shan (Mountain), Changhua, Taiwan.

Don’t get me wrong. I think internal reflection is incredibly important, and with a heavy dose of yoga lately, I’ve been rocking some pretty positive vibes. I love my job, and I really love the kids I teach. I can easily say I love Taiwan and the people here. The challenge for me rests almost completely in the language. While I am surrounded by people on a daily basis, I still feel a sense of isolation because the language is so difficult to wrap my head around, and because my city (while lovely) isn’t offering much for my age demographic. Thankfully work does keep me very busy, so I normally don’t have enough time to wallow in this—other than when a typhoon decides to wait for the least perfect moment when I have weekend plans, to make its descent. Which brings me back to pineapples.
 
To stamp out my self-pitying sorrow for missing what was probably an epic party (and hippie-fest… my goodness I love hippies…), I decided to take my scooter into the mountains to shake things off. I took a detour to see Buddha and to have a snack. I indulged with a sausage within a sausage. Seriously, Taiwan has it right. Why have just one sausage, when you can have two?  I’m talking meat and rice here people. Come on now. You can ask for your meat sausage to be grilled next to a rice sausage. This rice sausage is then sliced, and stuffed with garlic (that you peeled while waiting), and is then stuffed with the meat sausage. BOOM. You have a sausage within a sausage. BOOM. It is amazing.
Sausage within a sausage (and some raw garlic)

Sausage within a sausage (and some raw garlic)

I have only just recognized the irony of eating such a thing in front of the Buddha. Clearly my many vegan and veggie friends will be raising more than a quizzical eyebrow at me, and yet I can only say that as I walked past the various vendors selling their foods and meats at Bagua Mountain, in the moment, this seemed the perfect treat to find my inner peace and to start me on my journey for the day.
 
So with my fill, I set off on my scooter with the intent that I would expand my internal map of the land/people-scape. I took a route that I’d begun a month ago, but where I’d been paused and distracted by some really delicious chicken. This time, I pushed past the chicken place (knowing full well I’d stop by on my way back), to explore what lay beyond. There is something very profound to be said for what goes on in one’s mind when in unknown territory. For me, it’s probably what makes me revel in any traveling experience. It’s the excitement in the heart, the rush of adrenaline, and the acute awareness to tiny details that might make or break the journey. It’s also the appreciation for the wonderment of life that is sadly too easily forgotten when we remain too long in a familiar place.
The infamous chicken place

The infamous chicken place

Um... Amazing.


Um… Amazing.

I swear this has to do with pineapples. As I pushed past the familiar, and drove beyond the delicious chicken place (which at one point had its own story of adventure for me not just a few months ago when I first found it), I wondered what I would find on this road in the mountains in central Taiwan. I was all too aware of my fellow passengers on this road.Primarily, these included some really admirable cyclists. My god. You could bounce 10NT coins (like a quarter) off of their chiseled thighs if it wouldn’t endanger their trajectory. And there are So. Many. Of. Them… Everytime I scooted past a very frequent cyclist, I would feel a little more guilty about using a motorized vehicle rather than my own legs. Wow, I’m lazy. Why am I not climbing this mountain with my bare hands or at least using a bicycle? And yet, seriously, who am I kidding? Scoot scoot scoot! I like to think I’m in pretty good shape lately, but there’s no way I’m making it this far on a bicycle. The hills and weaving turns would be enough to make me want to drive my bike off a far too tempting and frequent cliff.
 
Which leads me to my other fellow passengers. The hard-core-scooter-crew. These folks don their motorcycle jackets, head gear, boots, and bad bad bad ass bikes with souped up engines. I think they’re the reason the road often has herds of people lined up with massive cameras waiting to take pictures (at first I entertained the fantasy that these photographers were taking my picture, but I’m pretty sure it was the hard-core-scooter-crew they were waiting for… to be determined…). Anyway, these motorists that share the road are extremely noisy, and are incredibly intimidating. My heart jumps into my mouth when I hear their engines behind me on my little scooter, and as they zoom past my clearly under the speed limit speed, I silently curse them for scaring the beejeezis out of me. Every. Time. Though I probably can’t blame them. If I had the guts and the right bike, I’d probably haul ass around the corners and up and down the hills too. Maybe. Hmm… Maybe not. I digress. Pineapples.
Raising an army

Raising an army

The more I ventured into unknown territory, the more I became aware of the prevalence of spiky pineapple fields and roadside stalls with pineapple vendors. My goodness I love pineapple, but I have to remind myself of the fact that when I eat it, my stomach turns into a burning cauldron of froth, best left unaffected. Yet as each vendor passed, I reminisced about one of my first days in Taiwan when I had a friendly encounter with a toothless, kind, old soul. He was hauling a wagon adorned with a sun umbrella and a multitude of pineapples. I stopped him because, well, despite knowing I shouldn’t eat his product, I have a magnetism toward such friendly, foodie folk.
 
In one of my first successful encounters of using only Chinese and (just a little?) sign language, I proudly walked away with my bag of pineapple that he expertly skinned with a machete before my eyes. I think he even did it with just one hand. And the other was tied behind his back. And he was blindfolded. And he was juggling the knife and the pineapple at the same time. I swear. I think.  It was incredible, and the pineapple was delicious.  I do this every time I visit a new tropical locale. I tell myself, maybe by now I’ve developed an immunity to pineapple, or that the pineapple HERE will be okay for my stomach. Well so far I’m still wrong about my stomach’s confusion over such a delicious fruit, but I maintain it’s still worth trying out every few years.
 
As I passed field upon field and vendor upon vendor, I started to get excited. I realized, I’m stumbling across something pretty special here. These people are all about the pineapple. This is great. It’s everywhere! I don’t even care that I can’t eat it. I love it, and I love them, and I love Taiwan, and I love the world, and I can’t believe I was upset earlier today, and how could I be so selfish when a whole world of magnificent fruit exists just a couple of hours from my new home? These were my thoughts as I kept driving, entering deeper and deeper into pineapple territory.
IMG_8774 IMG_8790
I started to wonder, it’s going to get dark soon and I should probably head back, but I just can’t think of turning around yet… I’m going to keep going. And suddenly the road started to get busier and busier, to the point my scooter was stopped by a crowd. So I parked next to a friendly pair having a chat, and I started to walk toward the heart of the action. Having no idea what I was headed toward, I took in the row of vendors all selling pineapples and other food and wares along the street. The crowd seemed to converge along a path to my left, and I instinctively followed it. I was about to keep walking forward, when I noticed the crowd seemed to be in a queue that would turn around a corner toward some destination unseen. So, curiously, I stayed in the line and waited. Of course I could’ve tried asking someone around me what the line was for, but a bout of shyness and a lack of wanting to express how badly my Chinese skills have developed, kept me silent, and I waited. It wasn’t long for the line to push forward, and I realized we were about to enter a place called “Sunny Hills” – What the heck is this? I wondered, and as we got closer to the front of the line I thought, Oh dear, there is an admission table or something… Should I pay money to enter when I have no idea what it is? Should I risk my pride and ask someone around me if they speak English? Should I duck out of line and head back to my scooter? Or should I just keep going forward in the line and find out whatever awkwardness awaits me?  I opted for the latter, and as it turned out, there was no admission fee, but rather the queue was for a table where generous people were handing out free pineapple cakes (YUM! I think I can eat them?). As I accepted my cake, I then proceeded to a nearby table where there was free tea waiting for me and the multitude of other visitors at this mysterious Sunny Hills.
 
I wandered around a little more, taking in an overall sense of euphoria and contentment at the joys of travel and adventure, and I followed another crowd headed further into this mysterious space. I’m so glad I did! I happened upon a sample area, where a band played some lovely music, and I walked around sampling different fruits, sorbets, and teas.
 
This seemed like the perfect moment to turn back toward the familiar. I had clearly reached the climax of the trip when I found this gem of a spot, and I know when to take my cue. It was also threatening to get dark soon, and a big cloud was lurking overhead, so I set out toward my scooter. Of course it started to rain right at this time. What sort of genius sets out on a scooter roadtrip without a raincoat? This one, right here (finger point in my direction). Mine was conveniently drying off in my bathroom from the typhoon. “Well, this will be interesting,” I thought. Only miles of pineapple fields and no chance of buying a new raincoat before I reach home. I’m going to be soaked. And yet, while I did get soaked, I also couldn’t have been more elated with the day. I took a reprieve from the rain to get my chicken from my favourite place, and made a quick stop to pick up some mango from my local fruit market—since I had limited myself to one tiny pineapple sampling, I thought I should at least indulge in some of this country’s beautiful fruit this evening.  My goodness, the fruit in this country is incredible. Near indescribable, in fact.
 
The thing is, even if you are so-called allergic to something, you can still find appreciation in the wonder and the beauty of the thing and the things that surround it. This is true in the case of pineapple. Livelihoods depend on it. Landscapes are shaped by it. Entertainment comes from gathering around its juices, it’s aromas, and it’s basic form as a joyous fruit. Though I may be technically allergic to it, I certainly won’t let that stop me from wanting to appreciate the joys it can add not just to the lives of others, but by proxy, to my life as well. While I probably won’t consume a whole pineapple in one sitting again anytime soon (as I tried after my encounter with the toothless machete wielding old man with the pineapple wagon), I certainly won’t let that stop me from appreciating the joys this fruit brings to the world, and to this tiny part of the world in particular.
IMG_8804 IMG_8803 IMG_8802 IMG_8801
IMG_8798
IMG_8772
IMG_8786