Basketball courts. Naturally, one of my first orders of business was finding somewhere to play! Even before arriving in Taiwan, I was eager to begin looking. It was one of the first questions I asked during our city bicycle tour our first day here. And here they are!
In a park, not more than 10 minutes from the school by bicycle, two full-length outdoor courts sit adjacent to each other. It's summer, and even on a Monday night, easily more than 50 people hang around, all anxious to play. Games are half court, three-on-three, first-team-to-six-points-by-ones, winner's ball. Games are also lightning fast, highly competitive, and yet ultimately friendly. Players call their own fouls and are quick to say sorry.
Both morning and night, and especially on weekends, the courts swell with activity. Not all of it is basketball. Last night, a Tai Chi class occupied one of the half courts for about an hour after we arrived. Tai Chi is a meditative exercise derived anciently from martial arts - a sort of breed of yoga and meditation. In between games, I sat quietly and observed the group, hopefully not disturbing them with several blinding flashes from my camera!
The basketball courts are only one of the park's many treasures. Landscaped gardens, shaded footpaths, pavilions, children's playgrounds - all come together to create a welcome oasis nestled inconspicuously in a cramped and congested city. In the heart of the park stands a towering monument, it's meaning and significance as obscure to me as the Chinese characters that adorn it. Four prominent characters appear on the front of the monument, which supposedly read Heaven, Above, (unknown), and Mother. The stone carvings around the base of the statue are beautifully crafted - the dragons in particular are my favorite.
The courts. I think I will be visiting the park often.
A monk clad in traditional orange robes greets visitors to the temple with a tranquil smile, a donation bin in hand. The smile is returned graciously as I step past into the central shrine, hesitating a moment so my eyes can react to the dimmed interior. A shroud of incense, like fog, hangs almost palpable in the air. My gaze is immediately engaged by a large black cauldron, centrally positioned in a small inner courtyard. Two dragons cling to opposing sides of the cauldron, their mouths gaping menacingly in the rising smoke of freshly lit incense. A large pumpkin, symbolic of longevity and good health, sits directly in front on a low pedestal.
Directly behind the cauldron is the main shrine. Both the identity of the god and the significance of the religious ornaments surrounding it are equally lost upon me. No one around speaks English well enough to explain the scene. After a moment, I begin exploring further. The main shrine is encircled by several smaller shrines, each dedicated to a different god. Each is ornately adorned with countless idols and carvings.
After only a short visit, I nearly forget the bustling city practically smothering the temple outside. The afternoon sun is hot and brilliant, the fresh air revitalizing. The temple, on the south, is bordered by a congested intersection, and on the north by a narrow pedestrian street affectionately known as "stinky tofu alley." The name owes to tudofu, a particular type of tofu possessing one of the most pugnant and offensive odors imaginable, blitzing the nose and striking directly at the stomach. Pockets of the stench waft throughout the alley, eminating from the dozens of food vendors crammed along the street. An uninterrupted line of small shops and boutiques form second rank immediately behind the food stands. All remaining space in the alley is filled with people, playing human bumper cars. I didn't come to shop today, only absorb. Soon I am satisfied with the day's discoveries and begin working my way back home.
