Joshua Samuel Brown's Blog, page 5
January 3, 2017
Formosa Moon 1: We Land and Head to Wulai
Six in the morning and the sun has yet to rise over Taipei City, the taller bits of the city barely visible through the fog from where I'm sitting. We landed on the morning of the last day of 2016, by any measure a kidney stone of a year that most sensible folk were desperate to pass, with the intention of beginning together our new life in Taiwan, for me a continuation of one I've led for most of mine, and for Stephanie a new, exciting and somewhat frightening prospect, as the unknown can often be.
Stephanie and I hit the ground rolling, heading first to New Garden City, a damp collection of interesting buildings and lives climbing up (or down, depending on perspective) one side of a mountain to the south of Taipei city, where once I lived a decade and change ago and where we may again set up a base. In any event P&T, my oldest friends in Taiwan, have lived here for years and had offered graciously to let us land and store our stuff for the first while of the project. Shortly after, Tobie came by in his van along with his son and a fellow photographer called JJ, and we headed up to Wulai, a town at the end of the road bearing its name. The road itself was and is still being repaired, having been swept away in section by a massive perfect storm type typhoon a year or so ago, and business is just picking up in Wulai after having been made inaccessible to those without donkeys or helicopters for a time.
Wulai is populated largely by indigenous people of the Atayal tribe, who, legend has is, named it for the powerful waters springing from the ground. Though considered healthy these days, whoever named Wulai - meaning "hot and poisonous" in the native tongue - must have thought otherwise. Though just 40 minutes by city bus from Taipei's Xindian MRT station, Wulai feels worlds away from the city, partly because of its nature as an aboriginal area, and partly because of nature itself, specifically its being particularly vulnerable to the forces thereof.
Signs of the cycle of damage and repair in the area abounded on our visit; roads newly fixed, others mid-repair. One of the hot spring places I used to frequent now boarded up, its pools still filled with mud and destruction from - "FUBAR" according to Tobie, thanks in no small part to its having been in the direct path of where one chunk of mountain decided to give up the ghost during typhoon Soudelor in August, 2015. But the rest of Wulai was merry and bright, chirping in the mid-morning with craftspeople selling clothing and crafts (some locally made, others shipped in for less discerning travelers).
Stephanie, of course, does not fit into the category of less discerning concerning costume, and gravitated quickly to Mei Lu, a friend of Tobie's who sells locally made hand crafted items from the Wulai Atayal Museum on Wulai's old street. Mei Lu also makes great coffee, adding magao, a local peppercorn with a surprising citrus flavor. (You can buy a small jar of magao in front of the museum for NT100; at first I thought they were selling jars of black caviar, which admittedly was a strange thing to expect in a mountain town).
Atayal Meal in Wulai Our usual hot-spring still closed by mud, we headed over to a place we'd not been to before called Yen Town Hot Spring and soaked for an hour for NT400 P/P, before heading up the mountain for a large Atayal meal at a local restaurant. Stephanie, being a Celiac sufferer for whom any wheat by products (even the trace amount found in cheaper soy sauces) will make ill, needs to be careful. Last year I led a guest with wheat allergies on one of my bicycle trips around Taiwan, and after some trial and error in explaining the concept of allergic to gluten, found that just saying "allergic to wheat and also soy sauce" was the best strategy. It worked for my cycling guest, and so far has for Stephanie…
(To be continued in Formosa Moon, Things Asian Press, Publishing ETA 2018. Pre-order page coming soon!)
Stephanie and I hit the ground rolling, heading first to New Garden City, a damp collection of interesting buildings and lives climbing up (or down, depending on perspective) one side of a mountain to the south of Taipei city, where once I lived a decade and change ago and where we may again set up a base. In any event P&T, my oldest friends in Taiwan, have lived here for years and had offered graciously to let us land and store our stuff for the first while of the project. Shortly after, Tobie came by in his van along with his son and a fellow photographer called JJ, and we headed up to Wulai, a town at the end of the road bearing its name. The road itself was and is still being repaired, having been swept away in section by a massive perfect storm type typhoon a year or so ago, and business is just picking up in Wulai after having been made inaccessible to those without donkeys or helicopters for a time.
Wulai is populated largely by indigenous people of the Atayal tribe, who, legend has is, named it for the powerful waters springing from the ground. Though considered healthy these days, whoever named Wulai - meaning "hot and poisonous" in the native tongue - must have thought otherwise. Though just 40 minutes by city bus from Taipei's Xindian MRT station, Wulai feels worlds away from the city, partly because of its nature as an aboriginal area, and partly because of nature itself, specifically its being particularly vulnerable to the forces thereof.
Signs of the cycle of damage and repair in the area abounded on our visit; roads newly fixed, others mid-repair. One of the hot spring places I used to frequent now boarded up, its pools still filled with mud and destruction from - "FUBAR" according to Tobie, thanks in no small part to its having been in the direct path of where one chunk of mountain decided to give up the ghost during typhoon Soudelor in August, 2015. But the rest of Wulai was merry and bright, chirping in the mid-morning with craftspeople selling clothing and crafts (some locally made, others shipped in for less discerning travelers).
Stephanie, of course, does not fit into the category of less discerning concerning costume, and gravitated quickly to Mei Lu, a friend of Tobie's who sells locally made hand crafted items from the Wulai Atayal Museum on Wulai's old street. Mei Lu also makes great coffee, adding magao, a local peppercorn with a surprising citrus flavor. (You can buy a small jar of magao in front of the museum for NT100; at first I thought they were selling jars of black caviar, which admittedly was a strange thing to expect in a mountain town).
Atayal Meal in Wulai Our usual hot-spring still closed by mud, we headed over to a place we'd not been to before called Yen Town Hot Spring and soaked for an hour for NT400 P/P, before heading up the mountain for a large Atayal meal at a local restaurant. Stephanie, being a Celiac sufferer for whom any wheat by products (even the trace amount found in cheaper soy sauces) will make ill, needs to be careful. Last year I led a guest with wheat allergies on one of my bicycle trips around Taiwan, and after some trial and error in explaining the concept of allergic to gluten, found that just saying "allergic to wheat and also soy sauce" was the best strategy. It worked for my cycling guest, and so far has for Stephanie…(To be continued in Formosa Moon, Things Asian Press, Publishing ETA 2018. Pre-order page coming soon!)
Formosa Moon Excerpt One: We Land and Head to Wulai
Six in the morning and the sun has yet to rise over Taipei City, the taller bits of the city barely visible through the fog from where I'm sitting. We landed on the morning of the last day of 2016, by any measure a kidney stone of a year that most sensible folk were desperate to pass, with the intention of beginning together our new life in Taiwan, for me a continuation of one I've led for most of mine, and for Stephanie a new, exciting and somewhat frightening prospect, as the unknown can often be.
Stephanie and I hit the ground rolling, heading first to New Garden City, a damp collection of interesting buildings and lives climbing up (or down, depending on perspective) one side of a mountain to the south of Taipei city, where once I lived a decade and change ago and where we may again set up a base. In any event P&T, my oldest friends in Taiwan, have lived here for years and had offered graciously to let us land and store our stuff for the first while of the project. Shortly after, Tobie came by in his van along with his son and a fellow photographer called JJ, and we headed up to Wulai, a town at the end of the road bearing its name. The road itself was and is still being repaired, having been swept away in section by a massive perfect storm type typhoon a year or so ago, and business is just picking up in Wulai after having been made inaccessible to those without donkeys or helicopters for a time.
Signs of the cycle of damage and repair abounded; roads newly fixed, others mid-repair. One of the hot spring places I used to frequent now boarded up, its pools still filled with mud and destruction - "FUBAR" according to Tobie, thanks in no small part to its having been in the direct path of where one chunk of mountain decided to give up the ghost last year. But the rest of Wulai was merry and bright, chirping in the mid-morning with craftspeople selling clothing and crafts (some locally made, others shipped in for less discerning travelers).
Stephanie, of course, does not fit into the category of less discerning concerning costume, and gravitated quickly to Mei Lu, a friend of Tobie's who sells locally made hand crafted items from the Wulai Atayal Museum on Wulai's old street. Mei Lu also makes great coffee, adding magao, a local peppercorn with a surprising citrus flavor. (You can buy a small jar of magao in front of the museum for NT100; at first I thought they were selling jars of black caviar, which admittedly was a strange thing to expect in a mountain town).
Atayal Meal in Wulai Our usual hot-spring still closed by mud, we headed over to a place we'd not been to before called Yen Town Hot Spring and soaked for an hour for NT400 P/P, before heading up the mountain for a large Atayal meal at a local restaurant. Stephanie, being a Celiac sufferer for whom any wheat by products (even the trace amount found in cheaper soy sauces) will make ill, needs to be careful. Last year I led a guest with wheat allergies on one of my bicycle trips around Taiwan, and after some trial and error in explaining the concept of allergic to gluten, found that just saying "allergic to wheat and also soy sauce" was the best strategy. It worked for my cycling guest, and so far has for Stephanie…
(To be continued in Formosa Moon, Things Asian Press, Publishing ETA 2018. Pre-order page coming soon!)
Stephanie and I hit the ground rolling, heading first to New Garden City, a damp collection of interesting buildings and lives climbing up (or down, depending on perspective) one side of a mountain to the south of Taipei city, where once I lived a decade and change ago and where we may again set up a base. In any event P&T, my oldest friends in Taiwan, have lived here for years and had offered graciously to let us land and store our stuff for the first while of the project. Shortly after, Tobie came by in his van along with his son and a fellow photographer called JJ, and we headed up to Wulai, a town at the end of the road bearing its name. The road itself was and is still being repaired, having been swept away in section by a massive perfect storm type typhoon a year or so ago, and business is just picking up in Wulai after having been made inaccessible to those without donkeys or helicopters for a time.
Signs of the cycle of damage and repair abounded; roads newly fixed, others mid-repair. One of the hot spring places I used to frequent now boarded up, its pools still filled with mud and destruction - "FUBAR" according to Tobie, thanks in no small part to its having been in the direct path of where one chunk of mountain decided to give up the ghost last year. But the rest of Wulai was merry and bright, chirping in the mid-morning with craftspeople selling clothing and crafts (some locally made, others shipped in for less discerning travelers).
Stephanie, of course, does not fit into the category of less discerning concerning costume, and gravitated quickly to Mei Lu, a friend of Tobie's who sells locally made hand crafted items from the Wulai Atayal Museum on Wulai's old street. Mei Lu also makes great coffee, adding magao, a local peppercorn with a surprising citrus flavor. (You can buy a small jar of magao in front of the museum for NT100; at first I thought they were selling jars of black caviar, which admittedly was a strange thing to expect in a mountain town).
Atayal Meal in Wulai Our usual hot-spring still closed by mud, we headed over to a place we'd not been to before called Yen Town Hot Spring and soaked for an hour for NT400 P/P, before heading up the mountain for a large Atayal meal at a local restaurant. Stephanie, being a Celiac sufferer for whom any wheat by products (even the trace amount found in cheaper soy sauces) will make ill, needs to be careful. Last year I led a guest with wheat allergies on one of my bicycle trips around Taiwan, and after some trial and error in explaining the concept of allergic to gluten, found that just saying "allergic to wheat and also soy sauce" was the best strategy. It worked for my cycling guest, and so far has for Stephanie…(To be continued in Formosa Moon, Things Asian Press, Publishing ETA 2018. Pre-order page coming soon!)
December 29, 2016
On the road again
Typing from a comfy hotel bed at San Francisco's Calista Organic Hotel, where Stephanie and I are resting before the leap across the big drink to start work on our joint literary travel adventure, Formosa Moon, aka Treasure Island Honeymoon.
More on that in a future post, but for now, a brief recap of the past four years.
1) Travel writer grows weary of the road following lengthy grind, makes choice to grow roots in moist soil of Portland, Oregon following last gig for Lonely Planet concurring with Mayan alignment of 2012.
2) Settles in Portland.
3) Meets life-partner, informs said life-partner that Taiwan will one day call him back. Life-partner agrees to follow when time comes.
4) Four years pass: Time Comes.
5) In mad month-long dash, couple sells or gives away nearly everything they own, reducing contents of 1100 square foot apartment into six airplane-ready bags and hops train for first leg of return to Taiwan.
This, of course, should be considered an extremely compressed recap, and in the cinematic version I'll utilize a montage sequence including, in no particular order:
3.5 years of leading historical and culinary tours through Portland for Portland Walking Tours;
3.5 years of volunteering at community radio station KBOO and producing ten hour-long episodes of our sketch comedy show Puppet Radio Theater;
Earning a university degree with a 4.0 average (she);
Various literary achievements (he);
Dozens of friends with whom we wish we'd spent more time, and a couple others with whom we spent just enough (or perhaps a bit too much),
Two returns to Taiwan (written about extensively on this blog) and one strange mid-winter jaunt to Scandinavia (ditto).
*End Montage*
Return to present moment. Stephanie is showering, and on the sidewalk below a woman is singing opera beautifully, reminding me yet again why I love San Francisco.
In a few hours we'll head over to the San Francisco office of the Taiwan Tourism Bureau before heading to the airport for our EVA flight to Taiwan, where time will again flow in a way that feels normal and we'll begin work on the Formosa Moon.
But more on that later. Next stop, Taiwan!
More on that in a future post, but for now, a brief recap of the past four years.
1) Travel writer grows weary of the road following lengthy grind, makes choice to grow roots in moist soil of Portland, Oregon following last gig for Lonely Planet concurring with Mayan alignment of 2012.
2) Settles in Portland.
3) Meets life-partner, informs said life-partner that Taiwan will one day call him back. Life-partner agrees to follow when time comes.
4) Four years pass: Time Comes.
5) In mad month-long dash, couple sells or gives away nearly everything they own, reducing contents of 1100 square foot apartment into six airplane-ready bags and hops train for first leg of return to Taiwan.
This, of course, should be considered an extremely compressed recap, and in the cinematic version I'll utilize a montage sequence including, in no particular order:
3.5 years of leading historical and culinary tours through Portland for Portland Walking Tours;
3.5 years of volunteering at community radio station KBOO and producing ten hour-long episodes of our sketch comedy show Puppet Radio Theater;
Earning a university degree with a 4.0 average (she);
Various literary achievements (he);
Dozens of friends with whom we wish we'd spent more time, and a couple others with whom we spent just enough (or perhaps a bit too much),
Two returns to Taiwan (written about extensively on this blog) and one strange mid-winter jaunt to Scandinavia (ditto).
*End Montage*
Return to present moment. Stephanie is showering, and on the sidewalk below a woman is singing opera beautifully, reminding me yet again why I love San Francisco.
In a few hours we'll head over to the San Francisco office of the Taiwan Tourism Bureau before heading to the airport for our EVA flight to Taiwan, where time will again flow in a way that feels normal and we'll begin work on the Formosa Moon.
But more on that later. Next stop, Taiwan!
November 16, 2016
Putting the Election in Perspective with Star Trek
It was a hell of a week, what with the surprise (at least to those in the thrall of media spin) election of Donald Trump. Twilight and I were, like many in America and around the world, sailing on rough emotional tides.Not being drinkers, we sought solace in Star Trek. Still too frail for on Wednesday night the complexities of Next Generation, we chose an episode at random from the Netflix Original Series Vault.
The Episode we picked was The Immunity Syndrome, a classic tale in which Captain Kirk and crew run across a galaxy-eating space amoeba, which they naturally proceed to kill. But not before the aforementioned entity has already destroyed several inhabited worlds and, just for good measure, a Federation Starship filled with Vulcans.
The episode put things into perspective.
Twilight and I are pretty serious Trek viewers, and part of our regular ritual involves tweeting our thoughts (the funnier ones, anyway) to @MissionLogPod, the twitter feed for John Champion and Ken Ray's long-running Mission Log Podcast. (Another part of the ritual is listening to that episode's podcast the following morning, usually over yoga. OK, Twilight does Yoga. Easily distracted and bored by yoga, I usually just stretch for five minutes before moving on to breakfast duties.)
However, this episode really got me thinking about the idea of perspective. Enough so that I felt compelled to skip yoga entirely (as if I needed an excuse) to email to Ken and John with my thoughts. Here's what I wrote:
Comment: Ken & John, hell of a week and Twilight and I (your two biggest fans - I'm sure other people make this claim, but if anyone tweets you more than we do you should consider a restraining order) have, naturally, turned to Trek for solace. Last night we decided to go old-school and picked TOS episode the immunity syndrome, which kind of put things in perspective for us. I mean, here we are worrying about the potential ramifications of a chaotic and potentially deranged individual suddenly being handed an insane amount of political power, which could, y'know, worst case scenario lead to the hastening of making the planet uninhabitable for humans and a fair swath of mammals for the span of a few millennium, and Trek present us with a gigantic space amoeba that, in addition to killing 400 Vulcans on starship has also wiped out a vaguely disclosed number of inhabited worlds. What did Kirk say...Billions of life forms? I forget (though I don't remember anyone mentioning the destroyed worlds again, though the 400 Vulcans seemed to get a fair swath of the "In Memorial" dialogue moving forward.)
It got me thinking...It's entirely likely that any, all maybe, of the worlds destroyed by the space Amoeba were going through what must have seemed to the inhabitants (the sentient ones, at least) as being terribly important, life-shaking even.
Perhaps a fair segment of the Quiznonians of Quiznar 8 were, at that very moment, agonizing over some monumental political issue...Quiznonian East Prime Minister Quaknar having just ascended to power, promising vengeance on the Quiznonian West beings, when *poof* - the space amoeba that had been coming their way all through the campaign finally arrives without warning.
Puts it into perspective, eh?
Or maybe that's just the stimulants talking.
In any event, keep up the good work.
Joshua Samuel Brown
John and Ken always respond to our tweets. Still, I was surprised to get a beautiful response within the hour from John Champion. He wrote:
Hi Joshua -
Great to hear from you. So the moral of the story is not to worry about our political situation because a giant space amoeba might just be on its way to swallow us up anyway? Heh heh - well, I know I’ll sleep better at night now ;-)
I get what you’re saying - I think we do tend to focus on the immediate, and our anticipation of what *might* happen in our petty squabbles tends to blind us from the big picture.
For those people who say “may you live in interesting times,” well, these are really interesting. I kind of wish things were less interesting right now. But I’m still somewhat hopeful. Don’t know why exactly, but the shock is passing (for now). Get back to me and see how I’m doing later, OK?
Cheers - and thank you again for all the support/Tweets/comments. That means the world to us -
John Champion
Mission Log: A Roddenberry Star Trek Podcast
www.missionlogpodcast.comTwitter: @missionlogpod
So...is there a moral to any of this outside of the need to seek solace in perspective? I'm not sure. But I do know that Thursday was a better day than Wednesday had been. And today isn't looking so bad either. So thanks, Star Trek. And thanks, John and Ken.
If you haven't seen The Immunity Syndrome recently, go back and watch it. It's definitely on my top-ten Trek Episode list. And if you've gotten this far in the post, there's a good chance you may be a Star Trek fan. If so, might I recommend Mission Log Podcast for meanings, morals and keeping things in perspective?
September 4, 2016
On Tour with Genghis Khan, Bruce Lee and Chiang Kai-shek
I used to use this blog as a dream journal far more often than I do these days, but as last night's dream was both work related and cinematic (in an indie cinema way) I thought I'd put it out there.
So, backstory - since I've not been blogging all that much. I've spent the last couple of years building my tour guide chops. Being a tour guide is wonderfully complimentary to travel writing, as often the job builds on both the skill-set (and in the case of tours I do in places I've written about) actual experiences honed as a travel writer.
But being a tour guide - especially when it comes to designing, arranging and leading longer tours - comes with more pressure. An editor will usually be OK with granting some wiggle room for a deadline (*the smart freelance writer should neither count on nor abuse this*). Tours are far more linked to logistics, and thus time is always of the essence.
Onto the dream...
I am leading a luxury tour, one blending aspects of Asian history with culture and cuisine.
What makes my tour unique is this: Among the guests and attractions are three actual figures from world history, who are taking my tour alongside regular guests who've signed on partially for the chance to travel and mingle with famous historical characters.
My three famous guests are Bruce Lee, Genghis Khan and Chiang Kai-shek, and as far as I know they're the genuine article. I'd advertised the tour as such, and anyway, it's a dream.
Cut me some slack.
The tour is chugging along, and we're somewhere in the middle of a complicated two week itinerary. The group has settled for the evening inside a vast complex that's a combination artsy outlet mall, hotel & theme park.
The place is sprawling, and I'm exhausted. The day began at 8am, and now its pushing 9pm. I'm glad that my "normal" guests have all retired to their rooms. My celebrity guests, however, demand individual attention.
I'm hanging out with Bruce Lee in a flashy disco that reminds me of any number of places I've visited and written about in Singapore. Bruce looks great in his circa Saturday Night Fever white disco suit, and is surrounded by women.
Bruce makes it clear that he intends to include me in his plans for the night. He orders a pitcher of beer and talks me up to the ladies.
I'm flattered by the attention, and excited to be friends with Bruce Lee. But I'm mildly annoyed, too, because Bruce Lee keeps trying to get me to drink beer with him, despite my telling him repeatedly that I don't drink, and anyway, I still have tons of administrative stuff pertaining to keeping the tour running to do. Honestly, I just want to get back to my room and get my work done so I can get to sleep and maybe watch a few cartoons on Adult Swim.
But I still need to deal with Genghis Khan, who is in a bad mood.
The Great Khan has been sitting in another bar, this one a Beijing-style booze and BBQ joint on the opposite end of the vast complex. He's been there for hours, drinking and eating and texting me every half hour.
I can hear Genghis Khan's low Mongol growl growing with every text. I pull myself away from Bruce Lee and the ladies, telling them I'll be right back.
The thing is, I like Genghis Khan. He's a fun guy, and the other guests find him totally entertaining, which makes my job way easier. But he's also having a bad gout attack, so he's miserable.
I've been telling him for days to cut out the wine and grilled meat and drink cherry juice, but he mostly ignores me.
So I'm not that into spending the whole night watching Genghis Khan sow the seeds of his own misery.
And then there's Chiang Kai-shek...
Throughout the tour, Chiang has been the least demanding of any of my celebrity guests. He's been generally quiet, and while happy to engage with the regular guests, he understands that he's not as well known to most of the other guests as Genghis Khan or Bruce Lee.
He's also not nearly as flamboyant, which makes him easier to deal with.
Chiang Kai-shek has been waiting for me in a Taiwanese tea house somewhere else in the complex. He's a bit lonely, and seems to just want to hang out share tea while he waxes poetic about the old days; military campaigns and so forth. He's actually a pretty sweet old guy, and seems to have taken a paternal interest in me, giving me advice on running a business and working harmoniously within Han Chinese society. I've been blowing him off for a few hours, and feel bad about it.
Walking towards the Taiwanese tea house to find Chiang (I'm figuring I can have a few cups of tea before bowing out politely), I get three text messages in a row from Khan.
Followed by a fourth containing only a string of angry-face emoticons with red cheeks and X's where the eyes should be.
The last thing any tour guide wants is to have a guest leave a tour unhappy, especially when said guest is also a tour attraction and one-time scourge of the known world.
I turn and start walking faster towards the Beijing part of the complex. I'm halfway there when my phone bleats, Bruce Lee using Facebook Video Chat.
He's using speakerphone and I can barely hear him over the music. He's got two gorgeous Asian models with him, different ladies than when I left, and they're all clearly drunk.
Bruce Lee cuts me off.
Bruce Lee puts his face up next to the screen and whispers
He pulled the phone back, and I see he's struck an impressive, very Bruce Lee martial arts pose, neck veins bulging.
Bruce Lee hangs up. Another text has come through, this one from Chiang Kai-shek.
Chiang Kai-shek is still waiting for me to drink tea. He's referring to me as "Good friend" and using the respectful form of "you" in his text message. He's a sweet old man who just wants to be my friend and help my career, and I am STANDING HIM UP!
Overcome by shame and at a complete loss, I copy-paste text all three
This is impossible.
I sit down on a bench in the middle of the complex. There's a big map of the place, and I hurriedly work out scenarios to make things right with everyone.
Chiang and Khan are both military men. They're around the same age. They'll have a lot to talk about.
No, this isn't going to work. Khan's having a massive gout attack, he won't want to walk that far. Anyway, he's FUCKING Genghis Khan, a mean-drunk ruler of the known world, so it's not likely that I'm going to get him to change his plans to make my life easier.
I start charting the swiftest route for Chiang to get to Khan before realizing fuck, Khan is in the Beijing section of the complex, which might not be a safe space for Chiang, given how the Chinese civil war turned out.
At the very least, it'll be super awkward.
Chiang trusts me, so I could talk him into it. Still, if anything bad happened to him I'd feel terrible.
My phone rings again - Bruce Lee. I let it ring.
I immediately feel terrible.
I look at my phone. It's almost ten. I haven't done any of my paperwork from the day and still have to confirm venues for tomorrow's tour. Breakfast is at 7:30, and there's no way I'm getting to sleep by midnight.
~~~
Want to read more surreal tales from the road, only with illustrations and guaranteed typo-free? Download How Not to Avoid Jet Lag & other tales of Travel Madness, available through Amazon for Kindle ($3.99) and Smashwords in all formats (pay what you like).
So, backstory - since I've not been blogging all that much. I've spent the last couple of years building my tour guide chops. Being a tour guide is wonderfully complimentary to travel writing, as often the job builds on both the skill-set (and in the case of tours I do in places I've written about) actual experiences honed as a travel writer.
But being a tour guide - especially when it comes to designing, arranging and leading longer tours - comes with more pressure. An editor will usually be OK with granting some wiggle room for a deadline (*the smart freelance writer should neither count on nor abuse this*). Tours are far more linked to logistics, and thus time is always of the essence.
Onto the dream...
I am leading a luxury tour, one blending aspects of Asian history with culture and cuisine.
What makes my tour unique is this: Among the guests and attractions are three actual figures from world history, who are taking my tour alongside regular guests who've signed on partially for the chance to travel and mingle with famous historical characters.
My three famous guests are Bruce Lee, Genghis Khan and Chiang Kai-shek, and as far as I know they're the genuine article. I'd advertised the tour as such, and anyway, it's a dream.
Cut me some slack.
The tour is chugging along, and we're somewhere in the middle of a complicated two week itinerary. The group has settled for the evening inside a vast complex that's a combination artsy outlet mall, hotel & theme park.
The place is sprawling, and I'm exhausted. The day began at 8am, and now its pushing 9pm. I'm glad that my "normal" guests have all retired to their rooms. My celebrity guests, however, demand individual attention.
I'm hanging out with Bruce Lee in a flashy disco that reminds me of any number of places I've visited and written about in Singapore. Bruce looks great in his circa Saturday Night Fever white disco suit, and is surrounded by women.
Bruce makes it clear that he intends to include me in his plans for the night. He orders a pitcher of beer and talks me up to the ladies.
"This is my friend Josh," He yells above the loud music. "He's totally cool, bringing me to all the hot spots around the world."Bruce Lee punctuates his compliments with impressive Wing Chun poses, which I try (and fail) to imitate.
I'm flattered by the attention, and excited to be friends with Bruce Lee. But I'm mildly annoyed, too, because Bruce Lee keeps trying to get me to drink beer with him, despite my telling him repeatedly that I don't drink, and anyway, I still have tons of administrative stuff pertaining to keeping the tour running to do. Honestly, I just want to get back to my room and get my work done so I can get to sleep and maybe watch a few cartoons on Adult Swim.
But I still need to deal with Genghis Khan, who is in a bad mood.
The Great Khan has been sitting in another bar, this one a Beijing-style booze and BBQ joint on the opposite end of the vast complex. He's been there for hours, drinking and eating and texting me every half hour.
"BROWN! YOUR KHAN SUMMONS YOU."
I can hear Genghis Khan's low Mongol growl growing with every text. I pull myself away from Bruce Lee and the ladies, telling them I'll be right back.
The thing is, I like Genghis Khan. He's a fun guy, and the other guests find him totally entertaining, which makes my job way easier. But he's also having a bad gout attack, so he's miserable.
I've been telling him for days to cut out the wine and grilled meat and drink cherry juice, but he mostly ignores me.
"You're my guide, Brown. Not my physician!" He'll roar.
So I'm not that into spending the whole night watching Genghis Khan sow the seeds of his own misery.
And then there's Chiang Kai-shek...
Throughout the tour, Chiang has been the least demanding of any of my celebrity guests. He's been generally quiet, and while happy to engage with the regular guests, he understands that he's not as well known to most of the other guests as Genghis Khan or Bruce Lee.
He's also not nearly as flamboyant, which makes him easier to deal with.
Chiang Kai-shek has been waiting for me in a Taiwanese tea house somewhere else in the complex. He's a bit lonely, and seems to just want to hang out share tea while he waxes poetic about the old days; military campaigns and so forth. He's actually a pretty sweet old guy, and seems to have taken a paternal interest in me, giving me advice on running a business and working harmoniously within Han Chinese society. I've been blowing him off for a few hours, and feel bad about it.
Walking towards the Taiwanese tea house to find Chiang (I'm figuring I can have a few cups of tea before bowing out politely), I get three text messages in a row from Khan.
"BROWN! YOUR KHAN SUMMONS YOU!"
"BROWN! YOUR KHAN SUMMONS YOU!"
"BROWN! YOUR KHAN SUMMONS YOU!"
Followed by a fourth containing only a string of angry-face emoticons with red cheeks and X's where the eyes should be.
The last thing any tour guide wants is to have a guest leave a tour unhappy, especially when said guest is also a tour attraction and one-time scourge of the known world.
Shit. Chiang Kai-shek will have to wait. Luckily he's cool.
I turn and start walking faster towards the Beijing part of the complex. I'm halfway there when my phone bleats, Bruce Lee using Facebook Video Chat.
"Where'd you go, man?"
He's using speakerphone and I can barely hear him over the music. He's got two gorgeous Asian models with him, different ladies than when I left, and they're all clearly drunk.
"Bruce, man, I have guests...tour stuff."
Bruce Lee cuts me off.
"I don't want to hear your excuses, man! Just get your ass back here! "
Bruce Lee puts his face up next to the screen and whispers
"You see the girl on my left? She thinks you're hot. Said she loves Jewish guys. So get back here! I NEED MY WINGMAN!"
He pulled the phone back, and I see he's struck an impressive, very Bruce Lee martial arts pose, neck veins bulging.
"Carpe Diem!" He yells, laughing "Don't make me kick your ass!"
Bruce Lee hangs up. Another text has come through, this one from Chiang Kai-shek.
好朋友您在哪裡？ 來喝茶！
Chiang Kai-shek is still waiting for me to drink tea. He's referring to me as "Good friend" and using the respectful form of "you" in his text message. He's a sweet old man who just wants to be my friend and help my career, and I am STANDING HIM UP!
Overcome by shame and at a complete loss, I copy-paste text all three
"BE THERE FIVE MINUTES"
This is impossible.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Think man think! Logistics! Logistics!
I sit down on a bench in the middle of the complex. There's a big map of the place, and I hurriedly work out scenarios to make things right with everyone.
Chiang and Khan are both military men. They're around the same age. They'll have a lot to talk about.
OK, Bring Khan to Chiang, the two can drink tea, Khan can sober up.
No, this isn't going to work. Khan's having a massive gout attack, he won't want to walk that far. Anyway, he's FUCKING Genghis Khan, a mean-drunk ruler of the known world, so it's not likely that I'm going to get him to change his plans to make my life easier.
OK, plan two. Bring Chiang to Khan. They can eat BBQ and drink, Khan can help bring Chiang out of his shell a little. Win-win!
I start charting the swiftest route for Chiang to get to Khan before realizing fuck, Khan is in the Beijing section of the complex, which might not be a safe space for Chiang, given how the Chinese civil war turned out.
At the very least, it'll be super awkward.
Chiang trusts me, so I could talk him into it. Still, if anything bad happened to him I'd feel terrible.
My phone rings again - Bruce Lee. I let it ring.
Fuck you Bruce, I think it hasn't even been three minutes!
I immediately feel terrible.
THE Bruce Lee wants to hang out with me and hook me up with a smoking-hot model, and I'm too busy for him?
I look at my phone. It's almost ten. I haven't done any of my paperwork from the day and still have to confirm venues for tomorrow's tour. Breakfast is at 7:30, and there's no way I'm getting to sleep by midnight.
Shit. I think as the dream ends. There will be no cartoons tonight.
~~~
Want to read more surreal tales from the road, only with illustrations and guaranteed typo-free? Download How Not to Avoid Jet Lag & other tales of Travel Madness, available through Amazon for Kindle ($3.99) and Smashwords in all formats (pay what you like).
July 9, 2016
Ruide Across America
Woot! Half past five in the AM and again on the strange green carpet at Portland Airport, waiting for a plane to bring me to LAX where I'll be meeting a group of 11 parents and students from the Ruide English school of Dailan, China. For the next two weeks I'll act as their guide / ESL instructor as we travel together around LA for a week before heading on a plane back east for the DC-Philly-NYC leg of week two.
The Bilingual tour guide seems a natural extension of travel writing, and a good way to observe travel practically from the other side of the page. I enjoy the planning aspect of the trip, which seems - strangely enough - to utilize professional muscles developed way before I even got into travel writing, or travel even (beyond constant travel around Manhattan). There is something very satisfyingly bike messenger-ish about being a long-distance tour guide.
Anyway, brief post, as they've just announced boarding and I'm in a mildly delirious state anyway, as having to get up at 3AM to catch a flight will do. If all goes smoothly, my group will be waiting for me at Starbucks in LAX, from where I'll whisk them off to their first American pancake breakfast.
More later.
The Bilingual tour guide seems a natural extension of travel writing, and a good way to observe travel practically from the other side of the page. I enjoy the planning aspect of the trip, which seems - strangely enough - to utilize professional muscles developed way before I even got into travel writing, or travel even (beyond constant travel around Manhattan). There is something very satisfyingly bike messenger-ish about being a long-distance tour guide.
Anyway, brief post, as they've just announced boarding and I'm in a mildly delirious state anyway, as having to get up at 3AM to catch a flight will do. If all goes smoothly, my group will be waiting for me at Starbucks in LAX, from where I'll whisk them off to their first American pancake breakfast.
More later.
June 15, 2016
Incident at Elk Rock Island
ElkRock Island sits close to the Eastern Shore of the Willamette River just a few blocks south of the town of Milwaukie. Its name is somewhat of a misnomer, as the hilly island is only a true island when the river is high, which has been increasingly rare these past few years of drought. Close to our home, my partner and I walk there a few times a month when it's reachable.Trails and beaches surround the island, and there is a nice patch of forest in the interior with plenty of trees. One of the most unique of these trees is one that I'd taken to calling The Cthulhu Tree in honor of the fact that its single trunk branches off into several smaller curving trunks about seven feet off the ground, offering a sort of tree-throne big enough to seat two. It's a good place to meditate.There's a grassy (formerly at least) patch around the tree that's become in recent years sort of a hangout spot for teenagers and increasingly homeless squatters. Over the past couple of years we've cleaned evidence of various gatherings from the base of the tree, including beer cans, spent lighters, candy wrappers, and once, a beer cooler stuffed with random trash. A few people had carved their initials into the tree, but we'd never noticed any serious damage to the tree itself until last week.
On our last walk over, we found the area in more disarray than usual. Most disturbingly, the tree had been vandalized pretty horribly, the words Fuck You in 3-foot high letters with an arrow and a cartoon penis having been scrawled in blue paint on one face of the tree.
On another face, in equally large letters, the words KILL YOURSELF, with, in smaller letters, as if an afterthought, the phrase -sin.
On the side facing the clearing, the words goodbye to your home had been scrawled in smaller letters alongside pointless paint splotches. and higher up, on a patch that the bark had been pulled on one of the tree's upper trunks, a different hand had written with a white pen - perhaps correction fluid - I saw my best friend tonight so don't fuck with me.
There was other scrawling as well, in black and illegible, largely covered over by the blue paint.
Being from a place where scrawling random words on walls is a right of passage (though never trees - that would be gauche), I didn't connect the vandalism to any particular occurrence. But Twilight, from Indiana (where kids, apparently, don't do stuff like that), quickly went into detective mode, coming up with the following scenario:
Some homeless people had been camping there, and were responsible for the trash. The presence of a Mickey's Big Mouth bottle supports this. But the damage to the tree was likely not done by the squatters themselves, but by whoever came by to evict them, hence goodbye to your home. Kill Yourself (-sin)? A muddled suggestion from the evictors, clearly sanctimonious types whose religion simultaneously forbids the suicide of followers while encouraging it from non-believers. Fuck you is too much a general sentiment from which to draw a conclusion, as is a poorly scrawled cartoon penis. And I saw my best friend tonight so don't fuck with me remains a mystery, though scrawled in different hand and ink it may be unrelated.A midnight vigilante eviction? Battle between two squatter groups? Drug-addled teenage hijinks? We shall rule out the possibility of leprechauns. They don't harm trees, and are generally eloquent.
Unless goodbye to your home is actually goodbye to your throne, which, on second glance, looks quite possible:
If so, it might be a message to the leprechauns, in which case all bets are off for peaceful resolution as leprechauns throw curses and do not lightly forgive slights. Does anyone in Portland have a clue about this? And does anyone know how to remove the unsightly damage to the Cthulhu tree, an innocent victim if ever there was one? I'm all ears. ~ JSB,
On our last walk over, we found the area in more disarray than usual. Most disturbingly, the tree had been vandalized pretty horribly, the words Fuck You in 3-foot high letters with an arrow and a cartoon penis having been scrawled in blue paint on one face of the tree.
On another face, in equally large letters, the words KILL YOURSELF, with, in smaller letters, as if an afterthought, the phrase -sin.
On the side facing the clearing, the words goodbye to your home had been scrawled in smaller letters alongside pointless paint splotches. and higher up, on a patch that the bark had been pulled on one of the tree's upper trunks, a different hand had written with a white pen - perhaps correction fluid - I saw my best friend tonight so don't fuck with me.
There was other scrawling as well, in black and illegible, largely covered over by the blue paint.
Being from a place where scrawling random words on walls is a right of passage (though never trees - that would be gauche), I didn't connect the vandalism to any particular occurrence. But Twilight, from Indiana (where kids, apparently, don't do stuff like that), quickly went into detective mode, coming up with the following scenario:
Some homeless people had been camping there, and were responsible for the trash. The presence of a Mickey's Big Mouth bottle supports this. But the damage to the tree was likely not done by the squatters themselves, but by whoever came by to evict them, hence goodbye to your home. Kill Yourself (-sin)? A muddled suggestion from the evictors, clearly sanctimonious types whose religion simultaneously forbids the suicide of followers while encouraging it from non-believers. Fuck you is too much a general sentiment from which to draw a conclusion, as is a poorly scrawled cartoon penis. And I saw my best friend tonight so don't fuck with me remains a mystery, though scrawled in different hand and ink it may be unrelated.A midnight vigilante eviction? Battle between two squatter groups? Drug-addled teenage hijinks? We shall rule out the possibility of leprechauns. They don't harm trees, and are generally eloquent. Unless goodbye to your home is actually goodbye to your throne, which, on second glance, looks quite possible:
If so, it might be a message to the leprechauns, in which case all bets are off for peaceful resolution as leprechauns throw curses and do not lightly forgive slights. Does anyone in Portland have a clue about this? And does anyone know how to remove the unsightly damage to the Cthulhu tree, an innocent victim if ever there was one? I'm all ears. ~ JSB,
June 6, 2016
Bernie Sanders in San Francisco
Vicki's son noticed them first, the police blocking off the street in San Francisco's Chinatown. "What's happening?" He asked me.Moments later a few police and men in business suits walked our way. "Bernie Sanders is coming" They told us.
Less than a minute later, Bernie himself came walking towards me, smiling.
"Are you voting tomorrow?" He asked me.
"I live in Oregon. I voted two weeks ago. We won!"
I answered.
Bernie Sanders, senator from Vermont, former Mayor of Burlington, contender for the highest office in the land and man whose political views closest reflect my own, reached over and hugged me.
Not a quick tap on the back, but an actual god-to-honest chest bumping full hug.
"Thank you." He said.
And then he was just standing there, with a few hundred people watching. I felt like I needed to say something.
"We met before, 25 years ago at Sakura sushi in Burlington." I said. "I was working in the kitchen, but when I saw you were having dinner they let me serve you personally."
Bernie grinned again. I introduced Vicki and her son.
"My friends are from Taiwan. This is very exciting for them."
Sanders turned to Vicki.
"Taiwan! Are you happy with your health care system?"
"Yes, very happy." Vicki said.
Bernie shook Vicki's hand. I managed to shoot this photo.
It was an exciting and unexpected part of my San Francisco trip, and after sharing the moment with my girlfriend, then my mother, than my sister's voice mail, then my friend Kris (a die-hard Sanders supporter), then my Twitter followers and Facebook friends, I went about the rest of the afternoon, pausing only to also share the story and photos with various groups of Bernie supporters, including the guy running the Chai cart on the Embarcadaro, several people on the BART train, and an older couple who'd set up a table with a Bernie-or-Bust sign in front of the Berkeley BART station.
The couple smiled as I showed them the pictures and related my encounter, and attempted to press a crudely produced anti-Hillary Clinton pamphlet into my hands. I declined politely, telling them that while I was absolutely for Sanders and had already voted for him in the Oregon primaries, I didn't sign on to the Hillary-as-Darth Vader narrative that they were promoting.
"Oh, Hillary is worse than Darth Vader." The woman assured me, and I chuckled.
"Well, you know...even Darth Vader returned to the light side at the end, right, and even Bernie said that Hillary Clinton will be an infinitely better candidate and President than the Republican candidate on his best day."
Their smiles evaporated, replaced by a weird, fanatical scowl, the same look I imagine my Bernie-or-bust Facebook friends have on their faces when writing lengthy tirades about how a Trump presidency would be preferable to a Clinton presidency because (Benghazi / Vince Foster / Neo-liberalism / Revolution at last). It was a little creepy, to be frank. The exact opposite of the vibe I got from Bernie Sanders.
Sensing I was not among kindred spirits, I moved along.
March 14, 2016
World's Best Drinks
Back from Taiwan, heavily jet-lagged with a pile of notes and recordings to be molded into two stories.The first concerns the 48-hour endurance race around Taiwan, which was exhausting and awesome. The second, a lighthearted business piece about Taiwan's cycling export & tourism industries. Will post links to both when done.
Came home to, among other things, a box from Lonely Planet containing my author copies of a book I'd contributed to last year, Lonely Planet's World's Best Drinks.
"But Joshua..."I hear my long time Snarky Tofu readers saying
"What could you, an avowed teetotaler, have to contribute to a book so clearly geared towards the drinking crowd?"Good question. Whereas my contributions to previous year's Best In titles have been all over the culinary and global map, my work in this one sits squarely at the kiddies' table (so to speak), with three entries - Egg Creams, Horchata & the elusive Espresso Soda - in the book's non-alcoholic section.
These (and a handful of other alcohol free items) aside, World's Best Drinks is basically 90-proof, with about 90% of its essays being about fermented beverages from around the world, including Cider, Wine & Beer, full on spirits like Gin, Rum & Whiskey and enough recipes for mixed drinks to make you wake up hungover and searching desperately for your passport.
And if that's not your thing, the booze-free section is pretty good as well.
And on that note, time for my own special non-alcoholic evening writing concoction: Equal parts Yerba Mate and Kava-Kava, drunk through a special straw known as a bombilla. I call it Josambro's Argen-Esian Speedball.
Write me for more details - some drink recipes are best left lightly circulated.
Click here to buy Lonely Planet's World's Best Drinks.
March 1, 2016
48 hours around Taiwan
Heading out in a few minutes to start coverage of a 48-hour endurance race around Taiwan. That's 1000 km, by the way. Most of the coverage I'll be getting will be going towards a story I'll be writing during and after the event, but I'll be photographing and tweeting on my twitter account, @josambro.
Click over to www,josambro.com to follow the ride.
Click over to www,josambro.com to follow the ride.
