I was running some errands with a friend on Thursday and we decided to bike over to the train station to check times to go down south for the weekend for the lantern festival. We’d been casually talking about it for a couple of days, but things were really uncertain regarding housing, travel, etc. But lo and behold, I found myself with a ticket to the small town of Chiayi without thinking anything of it. Difference one: confidence that things will work out and spontaneously making a trip without any plans. I would have thought that to be brazen and risky a year ago, but not anymore.
That Saturday, amidst the rush to find everyone coming from different places and get on the same train, I again wasn’t worried—things would be all right. Of course, we all got on the train safe and sound, and our adventure began. I spent the journey eating, reading, and talking with the man sitting beside me, a professor from a local university—I wouldn’t have dared bother a stranger a year ago, but would have passively hoped he would start a conversation all along.
We arrived in Chiayi, and within minutes were eating yet again, savoring Chiayi’s specialty—turkey with rice. We revisited a juice lady from our last visit to Chiayi, a rather forgotten town caught between Taichung and Tainan, but not without its own charms, mostly culinary, including avocado shakes. When traveling with friends, the sites become less important, and after preparing for the next day’s festivities, we were yet again hanging out with my classmate Wes’ family, as warm and welcoming as ever. I would have skipped over Chiayi last year, opting instead for its larger and choc-full-of-history neighbor Tainan.
The evening was whiled away with Wes’ relatives wandering around the National Lantern Festival, being held in Chiayi for the first time ever. The real festivities didn’t start until Sunday, but the festival and company were great, complete with fantastic fireworks, dance performances, and lanterns done much more tastefully than their Taipei counterparts. Unfortunately, my camera randomly decided to stop working that evening, so I have to thank Kellan (below, in Kenting over the Chinese New Year break), for the great photos.
Sunday morning we were aroused early to head over to Wes’ cousin’s breakfast shop, a great example of small-scale Taiwanese entrepreneurship. In the last four months, she and her boyfriend have become vegetarians and opened two little cafes, serving healthy and environmentally conscious breakfasts and dinners to locals, with the goal to “save the world.” I love it. Wes and Trevor headed back towards Taipei to catch the sky lantern festival that evening in Taipei County, so Kellan and I explored Chiayi a bit, taking in an old railway station and witnessing some strange burping in a temple, which we later learned was a sign of people connecting with the gods—not what I would have expected.
This awkward down time would have got me itching to get going before, but it’s not really a waste at all. Our patience was rewarded when Wes’ cousin and boy friend took us to the local reservoir and the Chiayi University farm, where we had some awesome yoghurt, and got a few treats for the road. We then made our way by Xinying to Yanshui, the real destination of our weekend foray to the wild wild South.
Now accompanied by a ICLP teacher, his friend, and a former ICLP student now working in Taipei, the five of us meandered through the streets of Yanshui, packed with vendors stretching for hundreds of meters. Time passed slowly in the heat though, so we got some water and headed to the shady schoolyard to pass the time until evening.
Stomachs and bladders full, it was soon time to ready ourselves for battle. At 6pm we opened our bags—mine was larger than the one I usually take on week-long trips—and each donned a second pair of pants, a long-sleeve shirt, two sweatshirts, cheap gloves, a face mask, full-head motorcycle helmets and towels wrapped around our necks. We weren’t the only crazy ones layering up in the 85-degree sultry heat, and as we moved towards the town temple, the numbers grew.
A bit of background, thanks to ever-reliable Wikipedia:
It is said that the Fireworks Festival originated from a cholera epidemic which broke out in the early ruling period of Kuanghsu Emperor of Ching Dynasty (around 1875) and lasted for more than twenty years.
In order to drive out the evil spirits and ward off the disease, the survivors invited the spirit of Kuan Kung (Kuan Ti), the Chinese god of war. Kuan Kung is worshipped as the God of War; since he was adept at managing finances, he is also worshipped as the patron saint of businessmen.
The deities of Heaven are able to inspect the land on the day of Lantern Festival by carrying the statue of Kuan Kung in palanquins and paraded around Yanshui and letting off masses of firecrackers, and the epidemic soon receded.
And the tradition continues today. Every year since the epidemic, tens of thousands of Taiwanese flock to Yanshui to get pelted with fireworks. (video) In recent years they’ve gotten their act together and introduced some order to the concoction, with maps of routes, a host explaining the traditions and safety precautions, and safe areas. That doesn’t mean it’s any less ridiculous, or insane might be the better term here. (Apparently there’s a similar event on the east coast where a man wearing only underwear stands on top of a temple, and, protected by a god, has fireworks shot at him by the crowd below, probably to their mixed feelings of horror and glee.) The South really is something else.
Looking back, the first round was a bit of a disappointment, although at the time it was certainly excitement enough. Young clan members, decked out in gear bearing their clan name and logo (pretty cool stuff eh? what do you say Mom, Dad?) scarred with the memories of years past, shoved their way through the crowd towards the bee hive carrying miniature ancestor shrines on their shoulders—wouldn’t want a little death to prevent them from missing out on the action. After sweating through my shirt, the guys in charge of the hive (each hive is apparently sponsored by different temples, clans, and companies in the town), began blowing their whistles and casually sauntering in slacks and t-shirts back out of the crowd. The countdown had begun and accompanied by a chorus of visors ratcheting down, our sea of spectators old and new began undulating with expectation.
The hive erupted with bottle rockets spiraling outwards in flashes of burning light whizzing above and bouncing in between the crowd, jumping to make sure none of them got caught in any folds of clothing and exploded, as that was the real danger. The helmet, layers, and towel (cotton to prevent melting or catching on fire), were decent protection, especially because after two minutes or so, I didn’t get hit. High off the collective energy, I couldn’t help but be excited.
We regrouped and aimlessly followed the floats through the streets, before everyone slowed to a halt outside a clan’s home, where they held set of little boxes of firecrackers into the sky. That continued for a little bit, until—KAKAKAKAKA somebody stepped into the open space and with a long string of firecrackers and flung them towards the crowd, and us! We all started jumping, doing that silly little dance that Speedy Gonzales always used to dodge bullets—the real fun had begun. This firecracker-whip nonsense continued for another 20 minutes or so, with the only casualty being some burns on my shoes. So far so good.
And then a shower of sparks slowly trickled down on either side of us, erupting out of firecrackers strung above us between the buildings on the narrow street. The strange group mentality became strikingly apparent to me for the first time. Everyone’s heads turned towards the nearest curtain of sparks, hours of gelling and perms so loved by young Taiwanese covered by helmets, the eerie singularity of the group was odd and empowering. Not long thereafter, we seemed to be at a standstill. There were still some people setting off firecrackers, but there was nowhere to move and the crowd had quieted down noticeably. And then all heads turned again as the unsuspecting warehouse door to our right grumbled to life.
What first looked like a two-story tall shipping container slowly emerged from the building, and kept on coming long after I thought it was done. Soon the entire width of the four-lane street was blocked by this “hive.” The crowd again began to murmur with anticipation, but this time there was a definite hint of apprehension as well. I found myself pushed to the fourth or fifth row by an eager clan palanquin, but readied myself, shielded by a few rows of people, shutting my helmet visor as the whistles began piercing the air.
And then I was in the first row! Before I knew what had happened, my bodyguards had fled, and were now pushing forward me as fresh meat. Excited and somewhat confused, I jived away, testing my luck. And I got lucky, eight times. Luckily, I was wearing my backpack, so the majority of my back was protected, but my shoulders, arms and legs were the fortunate recipients of 8 stings. My helmet undoubtedly took some hits as well. After about six or seven minutes of this, I decided to let others have a chance at their luck, shoving and weaving my way to the side of a clan shrine, flashing its lights away and deflecting a couple more bees my way, before the hive finally settled five or so minutes later.
Talk about a long ordeal! There must have been tens of thousands of bottlerockets, whose smoke choked the street, much to my dismay as my face mask had slipped off amidst my sweaty groove. The mosh pit died down and everyone turned their gazes skyward as another 10 minutes of fireworks erupted from the top of the container, reflecting off of hundreds of de-fogging visors.
A quick examination afterwards revealed a few charred spots on my sweatshirt, a couple of cracks in my shoes, and a helmet powdered in ash. All in all a successful run, I’d say. Thankfully I had been wearing by backpack however, which covered a large portion of my back, and now has a few little souvenir marks on it. My clothes were already thoroughly soaked with sweat, and we decided it was time for a quick break, and we headed back to the center of town to get something to rehydrate.
Looking out across Yanshui from the main square was a strange sight—part Fourth of July, part urban battlefield. By 7:45pm the town was already enveloped in a haze worse than the worst of Beijing summers. Sounds of explosions echoed through the narrow streets, bouncing their way into the square, accompanied by flashes of light coming from at least 6 different places, the occasional firework erupting from the buildings. At one point someone set of fireworks in the middle of the night market. The vendors weren’t phased for a moment, crouching below their aluminum carts, tending to their frying shrimp and filling cups with winter melon tea.
After hitting up one more bee hive, which for some reason set off all of its bottle rockets almost at once, sending a wave of welt-inducing light forth in about 20 seconds, we decided it was time to go. We had a high-speed rail train to catch back to Taipei. Walking through the streets was an eerie experience. Helmet in hand and line of sight no longer hindered, I could see the fireworks being set off down every alley—every other street to either side of us had a group of people huddled together, and families were hanging out of their windows above, enjoying the spectacle of silly tourists below. We walked through heaps of red paper, the remnants of firecrackers thicker than leaves on the floor of a New England forest submitting to winter. Purple sparks from low-blowing fireworks floated down our sides, flickering out on the floor, while we watched the faces of the audience get lit up by the next spat of fireworks. It was an eerie scene, to say the least.
We eventually made our way to the train station and back to Taipei, everyone too exhausted to do anything but space out on the subway home. All the way home, I couldn’t stop thinking, “There’s no way I just did that. Did I really just do that?” A year ago, no, but now—yep, I did.
