I don't want dengue fever.../No quiero dengue...

View of the falls from the Lower Trail/Vista de las cataratas de Paseo Inferior

So I was told to beware of dengue fever in the North of Argentina, for the mosquitos there are especially fierce and may transmit the dreaded disease. But nonetheless, Iguazú is a bloody big waterfall and I badly wanted to see it.

Traveling with mother is a little different than going solo. On me own I tend to move on a whim. I awake when I want to, eat and drink what and when I desire, and tend to make last minute decisions to jump on a bus, train, or plane to satisfy random curiosities. Such is the life of a solo male traveler.

The evil birds that tried to steal my lunch/
Los pájaros malvados que intentaba robar mi almuerzo

With mother, the decision-making process was more laborious, but rewarding in different ways. In this case, our accommodations were more luxurious but the schedule more structured. But I did not have the opportunity to socialize with other travelers or locals. However, the most important thing was I got to travel with mother while she is still active enough to do so.

Puerto Iguazú, a Northern Argentine frontier town separated from Paraguay and Brazil by the River Iguazú, was fairly low-key as tourist towns go. Outside of the immediate areas of the Iguazú National Park and the town's bus stations, the local denizens are desperately poor and the environment a world apart from the cosmopolitan Argentine capital. Further, perhaps due to the town's location as an international crossroad, the Argentine Gendarmes were out in force at every street corner, directing traffic and stopping buses to question travelers.


Originally founded in 1610 in present day Brazil, the San Ignacio Reduction relocated to its current location in 1696. Far from my youthful fancies of Indiana Jones-like discoveries, I reached the Jesuit ruins by a 5 hour bus ride from Puerto Iguazú, stayed at the Adventure Hostel and ordered take-out pizza. Perhaps because it was low season, but for a small dog who followed us for two hours through the ruins, mother and I got to experience the Guaraní baroque grandeur of San Ignacio Miní in splendid isolation.

* * *

Me dijeron que debería tener cuidado con el dengue en el norte de Argentina, ya que los mosquitos allá son especialmente fieros y podrían contagiar la enfermedad temida. Sin embargo, Las Cataratas Iguazú es un sitio famoso y realmente lo quería ver.

Viajando con mi mamá es un poco diferente a mis viajes solos. En esos casos yo suelo despertarme y viajar cuando quiera, comer y tomar lo que desee. Esa es la vida de un viajero solo.

Pero cuando con mi mamá, el proceso para tomar una decisión es más laborioso, pero gratificante en formas distintas. En este caso, neustro alojamiento era más lujoso pero el plan más estructurado. Pero no tuve la oportunidad de conocer a otros viajeros y a la gente local. Sin embargo, lo más importante fue poder viajar con mi mamá mientras ella puede hacerlo todavía.

The Devil's Throat/La Garganta del Diablo

Puerto Iguazú, un pueblo en la frontera que está separado de Paraguay y Brasil por el Río Iguazú, era muy tranquilo. Afuera de los distritos inmediatamente de las cataratas y la terminal ómnibus, las habitantes locales son desesperademente pobre y estan en otro mundo fuera de la capital federal cosmopolita. Además, quizás por la ubicación en la frontera, había agentes de la Gendarmería Nacional Argentina en cada esquina, dirigiendo los coches y deteniendo los colectivos para interrogar a los viajeros.

The San Ignacio Mission's Catherdral/El Catedral de San Ignacio

Originariamente establecido en 1610 en lo que ahora es Brasil, la reducción de San Ignacio se instaló en su sitio actual en 1696. Lejos de mi fantasia juvenil de Indiana Jones, llegué a las ruinas jesuitas con un colectivo que tardó 5 horas, pasé la noche en el Adventure Hostel, y pedí una pizza para llevar. Tal vez porque era temprada baja, con la excepción de un perrito que nos acompañó por dos horas en las ruinas, pudimos conocer la grandiosidad barroca de los Guaranís en un aisiamiento espléndido.

Stepping off . . .

I sat across from my ex, my nose stuffed up and my head fuzzy from my cold. We were at the Lighthouse, a Korean tofu hot pot specialist in suburban Washington. It's one of my favorite meals during winter and I probably won't find it once I get to Buenos Aires. In a way, this is a farewell to an aspect of my life in DC.

I have been a bit flighty lately. As my shove off date to Argentina approaches, I am realizing all the tasks I need to accomplish prior to leaving. There are academic commitments to fulfill and office work to to finalize. There is the boxing up of my apartment and the packing and repacking of my two rucksacks. The list is endless and unforgiving. But I'll get them done.

But the real weight on my chest is the idea of moving on. Although I made that choice quite some time ago, the idea that I will soon step off the edge is truly giving me the butterflies. I've been on many solo trips before, from the sands of Arabia to almost the bottom of the Earth. But for the first time I am off on a journey not knowing if I will return. I feel like I am charting a course without a map.

Ever since I was a wee boy I've been told to follow a professional path - be a lawyer, a banker, etc. I read my parents' disappointment as I detoured time and again and eventually ended up working on Capitol Hill. But at least that was a professional field right? I was working and breathing the same air with decision makers who can change the world. But was I?

Friends came and went and I am still standing on the same spot. It's time to go.

As I personally said goodbye to friends, I am realizing that I'll be alone pretty soon, with nothing to bank on except my wits and my savings account. I know I've plans for graduate school in Europe, but I also need to have my head right before I get there.

Perhaps this was how my parents felt years ago when they forfeited the comfort of their homeland for the unknown promises of California.

Free music!

The weather in Washington is finally cooling down. During the last few days we went from sweater climate to coats and scarves weather. Walks to the Metro stations are getting more hurried.

One attractive aspect of autumn in Washington is the National Gallery of Art's Sunday evening concert series. Started as a service for returning war veterans, the shows are free of charge and I've spent many Sunday nights there.

We're approaching Christmas and I've been feeling more unsettled as the year's end nears. For the first time I'll have no father to cheer. It's not that I even like Santa and his gang of helpers, but the thought that I can't even ring dad and wish him a good holiday. . . .

Early Friday morning thoughts

I hate to dwell on the Taiwanese protest issue, especially since I'm not in Taipei to personally witness it. But I had to skype my mom last night to see about her welfare. She was under the hot sun all day to protest police actions limiting public speech.

Some may ask what the big deal is. Why are the Taiwanese protesting a trade deal that will expand direct flights and shipping lanes between Taiwan and China? Perhaps they're not. Perhaps they are protesting against the rollback of hard-won civil rights. One has to remember that as recent as 1987, the island nation was governed by a dictator under marshal law.

To protect a visiting Chinese diplomat, the Taiwanese government deployed 7,000 - 9,000 police in riot gears, erected wired barricades and blocked off several square kilometers of downtown Taipei, detained individuals for expressing their political views about China, and shuttered an area business without properly served warrants. One does not engage in such actions without eliciting a response from a free people. Reminiscent of Beijing on June 4, 1989, the university students have started an around-the-clock sit-in and are being dragged away one-by-one by the police for their troubles.

Most English-language press gave awful coverage to what's going on in Taipei. The New York Times outlined the inked trade deal in an article, and added that the Chinese envoy was met with "a handful of protests." The best part - one of the contributing writers wrote the story from Paris. The South China Morning Post out of Hong Kong focused on police officers injured by the protesters and a quick scan of the Sydney Morning Herald produced nothing on the subject. All this nothingness about a demonstration that drew over 100,000 marchers. I know, Taiwan is not my country. But I have roots there and like to cheer for democracy advocates.

I've turned to on-the-ground bloggers who are providing primary accounts of what occurred in Taipei the last few days. The Far-Eastern Sweet Potato wrote an eloquent summary of what that writer saw at the Thursday protest. Emotions came to me when the writer wrote "Perhaps no scene touched me more than that of a middle-aged police officer crying as he surveyed what was going on, caught between his responsibility to his troops and the people he is supposed to be serving." Mucha Man, another blogger in Taiwan, took some fantastic photos of the protest.

Thanks to Baino's Friday Fuckwit, I had a smile this morning.

Words

In passing last night my mother asked me the damndest thing. She asked me if the American people would willingly subject ourselves to be ruled by a black man. The question surprised me.

Does her question expose her own biases? Or does it just reflect what she thinks about racial relations in the United States? She didn't bring me up to judge on account of skin color.

Then there is the semantics of the question. Maybe I can't properly translate her words from Mandarin to English, but I just can't see a democratic nation being ruled by anyone. We're subjects to no monarchs or dictators. Democrats are governed, not ruled.

On another subject, for those interested in geeking about politics in East Asia, the Taipei rallies my mother and I talked about was adequately summed up by the View from Taiwan. If the cited sources are accurate, the abridgement of civil rights is quite breathtaking.

Siege in Taipei

I've been so wrapped up about the U.S. election I've been neglecting some of the news from across the big pond. Skyping my mother tonight she reminded me that we Americans were not the only ones struggling for democracy yesterday. The Taiwanese also have a wee donnybrook of their own in Taipei. As I previously blogged, an ongoing visit from a high-level Chinese envoy is attracting a bit of attention from Taiwanese democracy advocates.

Since my mother has been attending demonstrations in the Taiwanese capital, I've been quite worried about the escalated police presence and recent government detentions of opposition lawmakers and party officials. Denied permits to demonstrate against the Chinese diplomat, many Taiwanese have resorted to besieging government buildings hosting Beijing's top negotiator to Taiwan. According to my mother, who was at a Taipei protest yesterday, police efforts to break up demonstrations have resulted in scores of injuries to the civilians. Another rally is scheduled in Taipei today and organizers are expecting 100,000 to march.


I admire my mother for acting on her convictions. Democracy is a fine thing to stand up for. Since my father's passing in September my mother has been very keen to express herself on this issue. However, I also question if Taiwan and China's toxic history with each other is clouding the people's judgement. After all, the Chinese negotiator is only in town to sign accords to expand shipping and flights between the two countries.

Nonetheless, Taiwan has a special place in my heart. It's the land where my grandparents are buried and it is a fellow democracy. Go you good thing!

*Photos - Banner in the top photo declares "Taiwan is a country," referencing China's campaign to deny Taiwan de jure nationhood. Bottom photo - no explanation necessary.

Willamette Dammit!

McMinnville, Oregon - I ran west for twenty minutes. The problem with running with an iPod is that one cannot hear one's own breathing and footsteps. I like hearing my own rhythms when I run. But I also like time to fly by faster while conducting an activity I consider torturous. Music helps. On my return trip, I was rewarded with a glorious Oregon sunrise.

I'm burying dad this afternoon in Portland. I have been thinking for quite some time, without any success, about what to say at the service. While it's just going to be family, something should be said about pops (or perhaps nothing at all should be said).

The overnight excursion into the Willamette Valley gave me space to think about my past, my relationship with my dad, and about what I face in the immediate future. However, after spending yesterday afternoon amongst the vines and the evening at Hotel Oregon, I still haven't the foggiest the path my heart will take this afternoon.

On a more pleasant subject, I visited a few Yamhill County wineries yesterday and this morning. One shall remain nameless because their pinots tasted like a oafy Newfoundland who went for a swim in an oak barrel full of muddy water. However, Chehalem's just-released 2005 Reserve Pinot Noir was a lovely lass! She is young, cheerful, but mysterious enough to go for a second date. Unfortunately, at $60 per bottle she is also a spendy date. But I did get a very tasty bottle of 2006 Chehalem Corral Creek, who is feistier than my usual preference for pinots. This is a bottle to pop open and enjoy soon rather than sit in the cave (or under my bed).

Arriving in America with an extra large Stetson and cowboy boots

Portland, Oregon - The slurring Englishman and I discussed the virtues of a six-pack of Scrumpy Jack at Bridgeport Brewing Company. It's not everyday that one gets to debate the fine points of a Hereford cider over a piss, but the rant distracted me from the business of dad's burial arrangements and the USC Trojans' loss to Oregon State University tonight. Who loses to a football team called the Beavers?!

I arrived at Seattle - Tacoma International Airport at 18:40 on September 24, 2008. It's only the second time I traveled internationally with my dad; the first time was in 1980, when my family of four last took a vacation together.

It's difficult to imagine that my mother, sister, and I arrived in the United States in Spring of 1983, without ten words of English, and me with a fancy for cowboy get-ups and Wild West movies. I would soon fall under the spell of David Hasselhoff and Knight Rider (little did I know at the time that the program's producer labeled the show a "sci-fi thing, with the soul of a western"). Quelle horreur!

I had friends and poor grades at my elementary school in Taipei. I was happy. Moving to the States was my parents' choice. Since becoming a Californian, I have spent most of my energy fighting my parents' dreams, and have wasted their efforts to provide me with a proper education.

But the last two weeks of reflection with my mother was nice. While it wasn't entirely pleasurable, it is good that I had one of the unusually frank exchanges with one of my parents. I told her that I want to leave the U.S. for graduate schools in Europe, I'm not getting a MBA, and that I am not entirely happy that I didn't have a say in our family's move to North America in the early '80's.

So they won't rent a gringo a motorbike

Hualien, Taiwan (written on paper on 09/22/2008) - I took the 13:15 train out of the Stalinist-styled Taipei Main Station on September 20th, the day after dad's wake. I questioned if it is appropriate or if I'm emotionally ready to strike out on my own so soon after dad's service, but c'est la vie. I need to get away from people.

The train glided smoothly past crowded Taipei suburbs, polluted industrial parks, and emerald green rice paddies. As the conductor announced Ilan, a coastal town with an especially heavy aborigine influence, the scenery suddenly opened up, with the sky and the turquoise sea becoming one.

I don't know how, but I found myself a surfer hostel in Hualien; I wasn't even aware that the Taiwanese are keen on riding the waves! With the past twelve days consumed by death and family, it's great to not have to answer questions. Travelers at the hostel only cared about where I'm from, what I'm planning to do on the coast, and if I'm ready for another tall boy of Taiwan Beer (a brew that rivals a biggin' serving of Miller High Life, the champagne of beer) - and a Swedish couple was happy that a bilingual American was able to help them arrange a rafting tour for the next morning.

Hualien is endowed with an abundance of natural beauty. Sandwiched between 3,700 meters-tall peaks and the Pacific Ocean, the town made me happy. Unlike Taipei, the sky is blue, the air clean, and the beaches are absolutely empty!

I was in the mood to move on my own and explore up and down Highway 9 and Highway 11, two coastal roads hugging the Pacific. While I originally fancied a Sanyang Wild Wolf 125cc, the local rental agencies wouldn't oblige me since I'm without a Taiwanese bike endorsement. So I resorted to dodgey tactics and found a dodgeyer agency to rent me the dodgeyiest of all scooters, a Kymco 125cc without a functional speedometer or fuel gauge. I just had to sign a lengthy Chinese-language consent form waiving the agency of all responsibilities for my well-being (they didn't think I can read Chinese), and promise that in the event of an encounter with local flics, I would plead ignorance in English and do whatever the Taiwanese 5-0 desires.

But the blasted thing got me around the coast for two days.

Bones, trains, and ghouls

Taipei, Taiwan - I visited grandma this morning. Although I didn't think much of it before, it was important for me to pay my respects to my maternal grandmother; she did raised me in my youth while my parents were frequently away.

Grandma's remains were cremated upon her passing last year and now reside in a Buddhist temple in Xindian, a Taipei suburb. I said bones because unlike the American cremation system, the Taiwanese cremation service incinerates the flesh but leaves the bones intact. Since the location isn't serviced by the Taipei Metro, mother and I bumbled about the Taipei city bus system until we found the correct service that got us to the temple.

After dad's wake and cremation on September 19th, I plan to leave the next day for Hualien, a seaside city on Taiwan's east coast. The city is famed for its scenic coastal highways (I plan to hire a motorcycle when I get to Hualien), big wave surfing, and Taroko Gorge, a park that has been compared to Zion Canyon. I desperately need to get away from people. I know my family and my parents' friends mean well, but I just want to get through this process alone. Is that so wrong?

It is nice to visit a country with a proper rail system. Unfortunately, since Hualien is on the east instead of the west of the island, it's not serviced by the Taiwan High Speed Rail (台灣高速鐵路). The east coast, which faces the Pacific, is rocky, mountainous, and highly unsuitable for trains to travel at a high speed. But I've got the regular service, provided by the Taiwan Railway Administration. Trains leave Taipei Main Station every 30-40 minutes and the ride will take three hours. The roundtrip ticket is US$26 - not bad! I just bought the tickets this afternoon.

I am doing all these blogging from the Taipei Brewery, a former producer of Taiwanese suds during the early part of the 20th Century. It is now a non-profit modern/performing art complex that is host to art exhibits, black box theaters, and fashion shows. For some reason there is a Hong Kong group here this afternoon and they are throwing a Halloween in September party; so I seem to be the only person who isn't dressed like Mardi Gras in this café.

Dad's passing

09:25 on September 10, 2008 at Mackay Memorial Hospital in Dansui, Taiwan

A few moments of clarity

My dad told me he's afraid this afternoon; he opened his eyes, looked at me, and expressed himself to me in a way he's never done in my life. My dad never admits his feelings to anyone.

I wish I have my journal. In my haste to leave for Taipei I left it back in Washington. Damn it!

To the subtropics via the arctic

This is much harder than I ever imagine it to be. For a son to see a dying father . . .

As of last weekend, it seemed as if my trip to Québec would never end. The drive through the Poconos, across the Catskills and up the Adirondacks was lovely and relaxing. Aside from sneaking into the Boy Scouts’ Ten Mile Run campground to bunk down on Thursday night, I didn’t have a care in the world outside of taking in whatever comes my way. I was happy.

I felt like I was alive again! I simply let my curiosity navigate my course and enjoyed the journey. Originally planning to gun straight up the New York Thruway to get to Montréal as quickly as I can, I ended up finding the fife and drum band at Fort Ticonderoga (but missing Fort William Henry, a place I’ve always wanted to visit since I read the Last of the Mohicans years ago), taking a ferry boat across the Champlain, and striking north through the upper half of Vermont to get to Québec. It was a fantastic detour!

Pacing around Anchorage International Airport at 03:30 yesterday was torturous. Since I got mother’s call on Wednesday morning, I caught the first flight I could get a seat on that night and flew out to Taipei for perhaps the last time in my life. I’m not sure how long I have to be here; I suppose as long as it takes to see dad through. While I hope that the stay will be a while, I’m not sure if that is the best thing for my father.

Here’s to hoping.

Dancing with a butterfly

It was a weekend of fear management.

As I woke up on a warm Sunday morning on the Appalachian Trail (AT), I faced 14 miles of walking in 98F heat, and blisters the size of small grapes on both my feet. I was not looking forward to hiking my way out of the mountains. But the weekend in the Blue Ridge Mountains was difficult in more ways than my physical challenges.

Although I have expected the eventual end to dad’s predicament, my Friday night call with mother filled me with fear. More than my fear of dad’s expected passing, I fear for his comfort during his last days. But most of all (perhaps selfishly), I fear for my ability to make the right decisions. As he nears his end, we are faced with a most difficult final question; should we shorten the process and let dad go peacefully, or prolong the inevitable and spend limited resources for medical procedures that will briefly extend his life without addressing the core issue? What is a son to do when faced with these questions? These thoughts stayed on my mind all weekend.

We started our walk at VA-605 Saturday morning and planned on arriving at Harpers Ferry Sunday afternoon. By all measures, it was an ambitious goal. The portion of the AT we targeted is known as the “rollercoaster.” During our first 11 miles, the pace was slow as we fought the heat, the hills, our 50 lbs rucksacks, and ourselves. The landscape was a constant 1,000 ft up, and 1,000 ft down. Each step forward and upward was about conquering the fear of pain. It wasn’t so much the hurt that bothered me, but the anticipation of it. It was quite intimidating to descend 1,000 ft knowing that another 1,000 ft steep ascend was already staring me right in the face. It was a long day’s work and I enjoyed and hated every second of it.

However, rather than driving the demon out of my mind, the more I tried to focus on the trail, the more I thought about mother and dad. As I struggled to find the strength to fight that mountain, I could not but think about what the right decision is for dad.

The 2.5 miles downhill hike on the Ridge to River Trail was the longest walk in my memory. Looking at the topo map, we assumed that it would be well-worth the effort to get off the AT and camp by the Shenandoah River. Images of jumping into the water to cool off drove us forward. However, the mountain and the heat took a great deal of our energy and left our legs and hearts weak. While the S. River site was already taken when we got there, I could not have been happier to make camp by Sand Spring, dunk myself in the ice cold water, and enjoy the simple pleasures of food and relaxation before quickly falling asleep.

Day two was tougher than day one. With my blistering feet, I could no longer move quickly. Advising my hiking partner to move ahead to meet our ride without me, I was left to walk at my own pace. Having gained my solitude, I also earned the pleasure of monopolizing my own pains. Somewhere along the way at approximately 3 miles from our predetermined meeting spot, a butterfly with black and teal wings playfully danced around me, willing me forward for the next few miles home.

The AT always does wonders for me. It is a beautiful and challenging place that always gives me space to reflect and come away a different and hopefully better person. While I still question myself about my decision, I have my answer.

Bad news

I just got words from mom last night. Dad's brain tumor is growing again. It happened quite suddenly. In the course of last two weeks, the growth is large enough that it is affecting his neurological functions again. I'm in pain but find myself resigned to the eventual outcome.

Reconnecting with my sister, road work, and disappointment

My sister and I have never been close. For that matter, for most of my life, I've rather wished that I've no family at all. JYL and I have gone through a couple fairly rocky years. To say that we haven't talked much would be an understatement. However, since I reached out to her after her separation from her boyfriend, she has been calling me to ask for advice and just to talk. I'm not the best listener. But I hope I've been helpful to her through her painful ordeal.

She called me last night from a Feist concert in NYC. She loved the music but expressed to me that she felt very old in a crowd of 20-somethings. Goodness - I feel that way most of the time. I'm a thirty-something who hangs out with my 20-something friends all the time! I'm even keen on one of them. But if I enjoy it, why not go with it.

In preparation for Aconcagua, I've been trying to get into a fitness routine. Since my crossfit workout on Tuesday, I ran for 43 minutes last night.

In researching more about Aconcagua, I've discovered that the expedition may be beyond my financial means. Instead of my initial assumption about the trek's $1,500 - 2,000 price tag, I've learned that it will be closer to $4,000. I'm not sure I can spend that much money on a mountain.

While I'm not abandoning my idea that easily, I've been thinking about an alternative. Perhaps I can bus from Buenos Aires to Cuzco and hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu? Maybe stop along the way to sample wine in Salta and revisit San Pedro de Atacama?

Mullets in Taipei?

I'm upset about my current visit to Taipei - and it's not just about the mullets I see all over Taipei's young hipsters. I'm unhappy about this visit because I'm here to probably see my father for the last time. He's got brain cancer and his chances aren't good.

Since I arrived three days ago, I've spent virtually all my time with my dad. It's amazing that even in his current state, he can still manage to infuriate me. He just has that special skill to be disagreeable. But never mind my conflicted relationship with dad. I must see him through and make sure his remaining days are as comfortable as can be.

Our days involve daily visits to the hospital for radiation treatment. Mother and I try to take him on daily walks in the park with his dog Patjiang, and special trips to Danshui, a seaside town within an easy commute on the Taipei Metro. Our Friday trip was especially meaningful for my parents since Dansui was where they went to boarding school and got married. I wish time could have stopped for my parents while we were at their alma mater.

During this Taipei trip I'm witnessing an interesting donnybrook between the pro-Taiwan independence political parties (greens) versus the Nationalists (blue). The greens, who control the government, unilaterally renamed the Chiang Kai Shek Memorial the Taiwan Democracy Memorial Hall (TDMH). The blues, naturally against everything green, have been protesting the move. Further, since the blues control the Taiwanese Legislature and the Taipei City Hall, refuse to harmonize the name of the metro station that services the TDMH. IMHO, since Chiang was a fairly despicable dictator and didn't even like living in Taiwan, I'm all for the renaming of the memorial and the metro station. But what do I know, I'm just an American in Taipei . . . .