April 6, 2008.
On music: This weekend was a long weekend in honor of Tomb Sweeping Day, otherwise known as Taiwanese spring break, otherwise known as Spring Scream, Taiwan's biggest (only) outdoor music festival, which is marked by the descent of Taiwanese and foreign youth alike upon Kenting and its surroundings in a frenzy of music, alcohol, drugs and not very much clothing. I had hoped for body paint, but was disappointed. Unlike Coachella, which I attended in California last year at about this time, I was not at Spring Scream to see any band in particular, except for my friend Chris' band, which I missed, because I got there too late and didn't know that his band was playing under a different name because they didn't have a performance visa and would have been deported if they had played under their own name. How the name swap makes a difference is beyond me, but in any case, we made it to one whole evening of the three day festival because we were preoccupied with the beach (see below) and saw some cool bands whose names we will never remember. I love music. I love live music. I love live music when it's outdoors and it's beautiful and when there are sparkly masks and butterfly wings involved.
On shade: I got to Kenting on Thursday afternoon and got a bed at the dive center, for no reason other than that I was too lazy to pitch my tent. I spent the afternoon on the beach and made friends with some amicable Americans who bought me beer all night despite the fact that it was blatantly clear that neither of them stood a chance of sleeping with me. Chivalry is not dead after all, it seems. On Friday I hung out with them and allowed them to feed me beer as of 10 am (it's beer o'clock somewhere, they insisted) until Renata, Roisin, Rachel, Jimmy and Scott arrived in the early afternoon. We set up camp on a gorgeous, empty beach (kind of empty - I think technically it belongs to a resort but we were pretty far away from it), made a campfire, and proceeded to get too drunk to get our timing right and ended up missing all of the shows. We did manage to wander into town for a bit and Jimmy and Scott attempted to see Rza at a resort, but Rza was a no-show - who would have thought that southern Taiwan wouldn't be on his itinerary? (Fat Joe was subsequently a no-show the following night as well) We agreed to preserve our energy and go big or go home on Saturday and went to bed at 2:30, not realizing how soon we would be rising from our peaceful slumbers. Our beach was paradise; arguably the nicest place I've ever camped - the bluest of blue waters, soft white sand and not a soul, save for maybe a fisherman with a glow in the dark fishing rod, in sight. But there was no shade. Not even a little bit. Nowhere to run if it got too hot. Which it did. So when the sun started ferociously beating down on our tents at 6 a.m., there was no escape and we were up for the day. So word to the wise - when selecting a campsite, make sure there is some shade-facilitating shrubbery and save the saunas for after the gym.
On beaches: Many of my most important memories, good and bad, have taken place on the beach. Last night was one of the best nights I have had in Taiwan and it took place on Dawan beach in Kenting. After the shows wrapped up at 2, the girls went to bed and the boys and I headed to the beach. It was chaos. There were people everywhere, fireworks being set off dangerously close to people's faces, and more substance abuse than humanly necessary. Also ugly white guys making out with beautiful Taiwanese girls. Jimmy went off and did his thing, and Scott and I decided that it was friends-making time. We laced our way through groups of party-goers exchanging greetings in poorly-toned Chinese until we found ourselves a taker, settling down with a rowdy group of Taiwanese twenty-somethings who took turns taking pictures of us, told Scott he was handsome, told me I was beautiful, and gave us beer. We didn't understand each other but we didn't let that get in the way of what sounded like many good jokes. We made friends with two big guys from Ghana who were both named Larry, and put sand in the pockets of a French dude who was passed out in the sand. At 5 the DJs started setting up and by 530 the beach was bumping; it was surreal. Scott and I made the semi-conscious decision to leave at about 6, in order to feign an attempt at some sleep, but it was a touch choice. We wanted to leave before our bodies started to hurt and get tired and we didn't want to be there anymore, but as we drove down the road which should have been quiet, people were still streaming towards the beach. We had a hard time locating our campsite, because we were still unnecessarily intoxicated. Once we found it, it was unquestionably morning - we had a good laugh and went to bed. I got about 45 minutes of sleep in before the sauna-like conditions started closing in on me, at which point I took my sarong outside of the tent and passed out face first in the sand, using the shadow of the tent as my shade. It didn't work, and I didn't sleep, but I'm pretty sure it was worth it.
Dawan circa 5 a.m. The author is torn between her desire to live a normal, productive and meaningful life and her desire to hang out on the beach forever.
