The heat of September

September is Ghost month, it's an oooold tradition of appeasing ghosts and giving gifts to family who have passed on, usually in the form of money, but fake money. You can buy bricks of the fake stuff for next to nothing, but how, you ask, do you get it to the ghosts and family members? Why by burning it, naturally.

It's about 95 degrees and 60 percent humidity so it feels like a hundred and ten so it must be time to burn things!














This's one of a thousand of these things. Some are quite large. That's one on the right.














Even the companies get in on the act with tables of food offerings and a fire in front of the office to burn "money."

I know we grill hot dogs and hamburgers in the heat of July and August, but just picture walking down the street, any street, on your way to work, dodging from shade to shade 'cause that takes off ten degrees from the feeling of hundred plus heat, and then you walk by a full on fire burning blocks of paper, which as literature has taught us, is 451 degrees. It is, literally, staggering because you will take an involuntary step away from the heat, even if it means stepping into direct sunlight.

Now do it ten more times on your way to work. I am whining. It's hot here. It's just disappointing that we couldn't have these little oases of warmth drawing you nearer in November or March, instead they're driving people away.

But at least I don't have this job.















What d'ya do when you need a park lawn mowed? You get a bunch of guys with gas-powered weedwackers. Really. They get a half-a-dozen guys or so with these things, making noise like mutant yellow jackets taking over the city, and they go to work on whole fields. I've seen it several times and been agog and bewildered every time.

Did I mention I had Friday off? A class I've had for months on Fridays finally dissolved. I'd feel bad about not working and not making money, but I don't. I really didn't like that class.

Teaching 'tween-agers a foreign language until ten on a Friday night does no one any good. They're cranky and difficult and stubborn, not unreasonably but still, so it's hard to enjoy it week after week. So I was really glad to exchange it, even with the lost income, for an afternoon biking down the Xindian river.















I watched this guy work on flying his dragon kite for a few minutes. It seemed like an infuriatingly difficult thing to fly. I watched a couple times as he landed the thing and untwisted the tail. And it seemed to be all tail.














This corner gave me an idea of how crowded things must get on a weekend. There isn't an actual stop sign, but there is a line there so you know where to stop. And they have these road signs, just like for auto traffic. This says, if you're going to Gongguan go left, for Jingmei go right. They're neighborhoods and metro rail stops, and Jingmei is the name of the river you follow, so it's hard to say specifically what they're pointing to.

But the width of these "trails" is amazing. You can see the tip of a double-yellow line there. And they go for miles. Oh, and some places are paved in this great asphalt that gives your tires a whirring, whizzing sound like a high-performance engine revving. Nice touch.

I was really glad I went to the trouble of renting a bike. I haven't been on a bike for more than a year, so having another way to get around was a real treat. And things were nearly deserted. Very few bikes and people on paths and trails made for hundreds... or thousands.

It was quite hot and humid, but biking adds that breeze which makes this time of year tolerable, at least, if you're willing to work for it, so really, you sweat either way, but this way I got to see miles of park and river I'd never seen before, or would any other way.

And I went biking for two-and-a-half hours, for a 100 NT. If I haven't done the exchange enough yet, that's about three bucks. Good deal.

And this was just a riot. I love how signs in this town make as little or less sense than stuff in the States.



I saw this and came to a screeching stop 'cause I knew I had to take a picture. It wasn't that I stopped really fast, but the front disc brake was worn so it shrieked when I used it hard.

And finally, the only way to appreciate this is aurally. Turn your sound WAY up so you too can experience what Marie and I hear when parades and other traditional Chinese events take place in our neighborhood and down our street.



I know it's kinda mean, but can anyone find the beat that guy's clapping?!

This music's a local thing and we haven't gotten used to it. I've seen these lessons before and these are much more tolerable. I can't hear a difference between this and what they play in a parade, but in the parade they come down or near our street and they're electrified. So in the canyons of buildings it's loud, even inside our apartment, five floors up.

I like the hikes I've taken, getting away from the city and such, but biking here's a blast. It's so flat. I'll have to see if I can get Marie out in the heat before we leave.