Roots and Happy Early Mother's Day

I grew up in the largely homogeneous town of Concord, Massachusetts. It's probably instructive to look at some demographic stats I've knicked from Wikipedia:

"The racial makeup of the town was 91.64% White, 2.24% African American, 0.09% Native American, 2.90% Asian, 0.02% Pacific Islander, 2.12% from other races, and 0.99% from two or more races. Hispanic or Latino of any race were 2.80% of the population.

....The median income for a household in the town was $115,897, and the median income for a family was $135,839. Males had a median income of $92,374 versus $67,739 for females. The per capita income for the town was $51,477. About 2.1% of families and 3.9% of the population were below the poverty line, including 3.7% of those under age 18 and 3.3% of those age 65 or over."

If numbers scare you, the point is this: Concord is a very rich, predominately White town. In fact, it is probably even more wealthy and White than the census suggests, as there is a maximum security prison in Concord that probably makes it seem more diverse in the census. Yep.

So what was growing up in Concord like? Quite nice, obviously! People still can't seem to get over the fact that my parents spoke English to me at home, which has led to my inability to speak Cantonese and my learning Mandarin in college. Perhaps more importantly, however, I really had no interest in figuring out those sort of existential questions about where I come from, who I am. Part of the reason is that all the hardships endured by my ancestors are so far removed from the comforts of Concord. Cliche, but true.

But like any American, I wanted to piece together my inevitably interesting family history. My mom's aunt (my grandmother's brother's wife) in Hong Kong whipped out a stack of photo albums today, from when my mother arrived in Hong Kong in the early 1970s. I had already figured out a large bit of my mom's history (also known as the epic story of how she got to America from China. Seriously, it's epic.), and knew that she had arrived in Hong Kong having witnessed some of the worst excesses of the Cultural Revolution. The photos my mom's aunt showed transported me back to 1970s Hong Kong, where I'm sure my mom and her brother (who both escaped) were so happy and felt so free to be out of China.


I've found it hard to imagine these people as my family, because I have never met them, and if I have met them, I've forgotten. But family seems to mean an awful lot in the clannish nature of Chinese society, and my mom often reminds me of the kindness of her family in Hong Kong when she had arrived from China, with literally nothing.




To my delight, these photo albums were not arranged in chronological order. Photos from the 1970s, and even the 1960s, appear alongside digital photos from 2006. Photos capture a moment in time, and I find it magical when two photos of the same person are juxtaposed, taken decades apart. I'm reminded of my own mortality, that one day I'll grow old and wrinkly, and will lose my sharp wit and youthful figure.

What year is it anyway? Hint: not 2009.

On my journey thus far, I have been to two countries for which the year is not, in fact, 2009.

In Ethiopia, I just missed the Y2k party, and am actually still chilling out in 2001.

Over in Taiwan, I'm actually getting ready to celebrate the year 100, since it's year 98.

I never figured out why it's still 2001 in Ethiopia, figuring the Ethiopian calendar had something to do with the Ethiopian Orthodox Christian church. Besides, the fact that I was still in 2001 in Ethiopia was just one of many eccentricities in Ethiopia; the clock begins at 6 am (sunrise) which is 0:00. Noon is thus 6 o'clock, 6 pm (sunset) is 12 o'clock. Things run differently in Ethiopia. Accept it.

A side note, since we are talking about numbers in Ethiopia. I learned the ever-useful phrase, "How much is this?" in Amharic, but neglected to study my numbers carefully. I learned 1-7 (and this is the only thing I can repeat on command). Intriguingly, the number of 7 is sabbat, i.e., the sabbath. Cool.

Well, Taiwan is currently in year 98. More specifically, it's the Republican year of 98, denoting the fact that the Republic of China was founded in 1911, the year the Qing dynasty fell. There's kind of an interesting story here about Taiwan, which is officially the "Republic of China" after Chiang Kai-shek fled the mainland in 1949.

For a country to even consider using a different calendar, other than the standard Gregorian calendar, is, I think, a sign of nationalism. I kind of enjoy it, getting little receipts that are dated with the year 98, or the giant electronic clock in Taiwan's post office that says "Republican Year 98." Or the giant millenium celebration billboard in Addis Ababa that was put up just last year. It's kind of endearing.

Screw the rules of photography!

I took one formal photography class, in college, with a professor named Jay who shortened his name to J. My college has a reputation for being somewhat of an iconoclastic institution (which is sort of an oxymoron), a reputation that has in part been maintained by professors like J. He took half a class to talk about the "rules of photography," (the rule of thirds is the most infamous) and spent the other half debunking these so-called "rules." When finished, he ripped off a paper that said "the rules of photography" and instead wrote "Screw the rules of photography!"

I was sort of thinking about this when people give me suggestions on what to photograph when traveling. Many people have specific ideas about what photography should be, be it certain genres such as landscape, documentary, or portraits. I see the same problem in travel writing: people follow dumb rules which ultimately make travel writing and photography quite boring. This book review in the New York Times explains just why I often find travel writing dull:

"After he spends time with an elderly woman in Ecuador, he puts the purple ink into his desktop printer and notes that 'her eyes and head were full of wisdom acquired from a lifetime in the jungle.'

...There is no wit in “Gringo,” no humor, no sharp observations, no strange or thrilling adventures. (Mr. Boudin should have remembered another of Mr. Theroux’s remarks: 'The worst trips make the best reading.') "

I think the same can be applied to the practice of photography, particularly travel photography. That's why I've tried to avoid making my blog a travel photo blog.

Latin music in Taiwan

Latin music is surprisingly big here in Taiwan. Maybe people don't know who so-and-so singers are, or can't differentiate salsa from samba, but seriously, I've heard it all. Granted, often it's at Western establishments, but also at little street stall restaurants, somewhat fancier Taiwanese restaurants, at a hookah bar, on buses, at bus stations.

But seriously. I've heard it all. From capoeira music (no joke) to "La Bamba" in the elevator, to the meringue playlist of my gap year in Nicaragua. The Girl From Ipanema seems to like the smoggy streets of Taiwan just as much as the beaches of Ipanema. I don't know why. Maybe she just wants to make Taiwan a bit brighter, and the people a bit happier.

Mazu's birthday

Mazu is a Daoist deity that is highly revered among Chinese immigrants, largely because she is considered a protector of fisherfolk and other seafarers. Apparently, she was the daughter of some official in Fujian province in the 10th century A.D. I think she's a big deal in coastal provinces like Fujian and Guangdong, as well as Southeast Asian countries with substantial Chinese populations, such as Taiwan, Vietnam, and Malaysia.

Anyways, Mazu's birthday is something like the 23rd day of the 3rd month (using the lunar calendar), which happened to fall on April 18 this year.

Mazu is a huge deal here in Taiwan, they have all sorts of festivals where villages bring their Mazu image to commune with the mother image, which is usually at some big temple. These photos are from Chaotian temple, one of the oldest and most important temples in Taiwan in the town of Beigang.


They had these huge floats with kids dressed up as Chinese gods throwing candies at adults. It was like Halloween, in reverse.


I've been telling people that the entire festival was very pyrotechnic and bloody. Yes, bloody (I'll get to pyrotechnic later). Some was fake blood, like in the two images below, where this handicapped guy would put these young guys into a (fake) trance.


This guy, pictured below, was actually using a sharp metal spiky thing and pounding it on his head and back. In other words, real blood. And I'm pretty sure he went into a real trance, if there is such a thing.


Tattoos are big here.

Now we get to the pyrotechnic part. Firecrackers, lots of them. If you go to a Chinese street celebration, definitely bring earplugs. This bit almost seemed a bit masochistic: a guy would run around in circles in a costume as about 5 to 10 other guys would literally throw firecrackers at him. When the smoke had cleared, most of the costume was burnt.




The music was pretty cool, very loud trumpet-like horns that actually sounded a bit like bagpipes. I've got a sound recording somewhere.
Annalisa says, "Taiwan never ceases to amaze me." Exhibit 7c: One village decides to bring their Mazu image decked out in disco lights, dancing, and playing disco music.

Three months left

On April 1 I left New Zealand (did I say I went to New Zealand? I went to New Zealand for a brief and glorious two and a half weeks.) for Taiwan. April 1 marks the nine month mark of my fellowship, and also means I have three months remaining. It also means I have to send a "quarterly progress report" as required by the fellowship, which is a sort of informal report on how I'm doing, one of the few concrete requirements of the fellowship.

After writing my report, I began to realize why I was having some difficulty with photography when I got to Australia. I spent most of my time in Sydney, which has a huge Asian community. Up until Australia, I spent most of my time in cities with a proportionally smaller Chinese community; although the Australian census doesn't collect statistics on ethnicity, Sydney has a huge Chinese population, and Mandarin and Cantonese are together the most widely spoken second language. Now that I am in Asia, I will continue going to countries with even higher proportions of ethnic Chinese people (Taiwan, Malaysia, Vietnam are obvious examples) -- countries where the influence of the Chinese is even stronger. And the Chinese food will be better.

The way I'd approached photographing "the Chinese diaspora" up until Australia had largely been to focus on the Chinese immigrant experience, which meant documenting a minority ethnic group in a very different cultural environment. Now, however, I can't really do that. Simply put, the Chinese are everywhere!!

In other news, I've been taking some photos of beautiful light.

Sunrise on an alpine meadow in the Dart Valley, New Zealand


Rainforest in Australia

In Sydney's Chinatown:


Some pretty spectacular light in Chinatown: simultaneous heavy rain and sunshine (didn't see any rainbows, though). That's Sydney's monorail in the second photo.

And just some pretty things:
Some beach area on Australia's east coast


Cascade Saddle, New Zealand.

Kea, the notorious alpine bird in New Zealand. Because of visitors feeding the kea, they are quite curious and can get aggressive and will start picking at anything of human origin. Like the camera. weeeth theeer POINTY beeeeeks.