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Spring Scream is Taiwan's quintessential music festival hosting a myriad bands and genres. We were able to witness, in a twenty minute walk around the grounds: a band that had all the angst and fire of a garage band back in Seattle, a mellow and folksy trio bust out a soulful take on Lady Gaga's Poker Face, and a face melting drum solo from a shaggy haired panda of a boy with a bow tie and indelible smile. Add to this variety the natural beauty of the national park in which the festival is held, just a stones throw from the lapping ocean waves, and you find that this is the most heartwarming music venue in the greater pacific ocean.
A French duo blew our collective minds with an all instrumental lineup accompanied by Native American inspired singing that could not be said to resemble any language in all of the linguistic world. They rocked the house with a stage presence that oozed confidence and style, the drummer taking time to get up out of her chair and pretend to kick her husband in the pants while he picked away at a stunning, based out, solo.
You could find yourself in a crowd of a hundred people rhythmically bobbing to the beat or bouncing off the walls in a quasi-mosh pit (I say quasi because there really is no Taiwanese equivalent for a mosh pit as defined by the United States, the people here are just too considerate to be throwing themselves around with reckless abandon) and bump into three different languages before your ears drifted back to the stage and the Taiwanese band members addressing the crowd with a chant of "crap your hands ewerbowry!"
Add to this cheap and delicious food and beverage and the combination screams success in as many languages as could be heard in the crowd.
Our fun didn't end merely on the festival grounds, we also found time to lounge on the fine sand beaches, take in the healing properties of the turquoise blue waters and even catch a few waves. On Saturday morning, a few of us get out of Kenting early so that we could enjoy a day of snorkeling. We happened upon a Taiwanese friend of a friend and she directed us to the best place to find accessible reefs. She did not steer us wrong. Twenty minutes of desperate back and forth in the little Chinese the four of us could scrounge together and we found ourselves kitted with a mask, snorkel and water shoes standing on the side of a dusty lane paneled on one side with houses and various diving shops and on the other a wide open view of the crystal blue bay we were about to enter. We hopped in the back of a modified van which could carry about twenty passengers on two wooden bench seats on either side and discussed our plans.
We were hoping to see a few fish, maybe discover a species or two but really we had mild expectations and would have been happy to dunk our heads in the water whether or not there was anything lively going on below our all-too-human extremities.
What we found was a treasure trove of life that, on the whole, couldn't care less whether or not some white guys had managed to invade their space for a little while, to flounder about in the water looking terribly un-menacing with our awkward paddling and the occasional choking down of seawater. I saw things that I never knew existed and paddled after fish that looked like Dr. Seuss characters. I floated in awe over the top of a brainy looking coral that was as wide in diameter as I am tall and which rolled back and forth to the rhythm of the waves.
We tried desperately to call eachother over whenever we spotted something of interest, only to find that the moment we turned back to admire the oddity we were so eager to show off had already swam away or scuttled off to our chagrin. We did stick out like sore thumbs though, and I think the fish were somewhat curious about seeing people without rubber suits and hefty life preserves covering ninety percent of their body. The Taiwanese, as has been noted, are not big on swimming, in fact we were able to sit on the beach and watch as a group of fully decked out adventurers took to a pool of water no more than bellybutton deep with air tanks and flippers.
After a few hours of fortifying exploration among the ocean's most beautiful creatures, we decided to catch a cab to our favorite beach, Baisha Bay. This is not the first time this particular strip of the coast has been featured on this blog and it won't be the last I'm sure. Water the color of Tropical flavor Mike and Ike's makes for a perfect backdrop to a white sand beach nestled against a thick green belt. After playing our favorite "Run into the water just as the wave is about to crash into the shore and get flung like a rag doll into a pile of limbs while laughing our asses off" we decided to get down to business and join in on a game of beach volleyball. The net was set to a height of about five and a half feet, which was nice, and made for a much more relaxed game. We showcased our many talents, including Mark's unique ability to flail with every ounce of determination toward the ball, only to have it bounce off his arms and into his face, and still make it over the net to the other side.
We made for quite a spectacle and a small gathering of women, covered head to toe in clothing so as not to suck up a single iota of UV ray, sat on the sideline to laugh at our athletic prowess.
The weekend came to an end with an all-white Rastafarian band waxing philosophical and making all sorts of references to global tyranny and the fall of democratic thought. We cheered them on, despite their obvious lack of depth, and enjoyed the throbbing bass and funky beats coming through the speakers. It was our last night in Kenting, and Caleb's birthday, and it is my humble opinion that we showed him the best birthday celebration he's had in his 24 years.
For me, it was a weekend filled with once in a lifetime moments of laughter and solemn moments of natural beauty. We squeezed every sugary drop of life out of our time there and I look forward to sharing more time with the friends that I've made here, no matter the time or place. Though it has been on my mind more and more, the possibilities of my future in this country, I have to say that the time that I have spent here was not wasted. It is the first in what I hope to be many forays into the wide world and it has been every bit as inviting as I hoped it could be. Though America, and the west coast in particular, will always be my home, it is my wish to find a place that fits my mind and soul so completely that I will never be able to say that I died without finding heaven on Earth. Until that day, I will keep exploring, keep putting myself into new and interesting situations and continue to open myself up to the world around me. Sooner or later it's going to take one look at me and punch me in the gut, to be sure, but you can't bake a cake without a little salt.
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