The Bombing of Master HanDan (part I)

I had originally planned to return to Ping-shi on lantern festival proper (1/15 by the lunar calendar, which falls on February 9th this year) to re-shoot some long exposure photos. However, the night before, Feiona invited me to join her family on a trip to Taidong, a city in the southeast, to visit a curiously named festival: The Bombing of Master HanDan. I initially thought it would be similar to the more famous Yan-Shui Beehive Firecracker festival, where barrages of rocket firecrackers are fired in all directions and even into the crowd. However, it took a few minutes for Feiona's explanation to register in my head - we were going to witness people deliberately throwing firecrackers at naked men until they're burnt and bloody??? It simply didn't make sense.

Embarking on the 7 hour drive at the crack of dawn, we looped around the northern tip of the island and headed down the eastern coast. After an hour, we headed up the mountain via the Su-Hua highway, with some spectacular views.



We then made a pit stop at the eastern end of the Central Cross-Island Highway in Taroko National Park. Constructed in the 1950s after the nationalists arrived from China, the highway made it possible to travel directly from Hualien to Taichung. It was an arduous and dangerous process, as over 10,000 workers – mostly former KMT soldiers – cut through steep marble cliffs with only axes and dynamite in an area that was prone to earthquakes and typhoons. By the time of completion in 1960, over 200 workers had died.



On the way, we made several stops to visit Feiona's relatives. I found it very difficult to explain the concept of "roommates" - Taiwanese people generally live with their parents until they get married, and rent outside Taipei is so cheap that there is simply no need to live with another person.




One of her uncles is a cultivator of orchid plants, which are surprisingly valuable!

We finally reached Taidong County around 3:00 pm. The first town is Chih-shang – famous for its rice. Restaurants serving Chih-Shang Rice Boxes are found all around the island, but this is the very original shop.





The rice was perfectly chewy and fragrant. I have to say, it lives up to its hype.

Before we left, I tried to take a picture of another rice box shop. Suddenly, two large, muscular women appeared and asked if I wanted to buy anything. When I said no, they rushed towards me, yelling obscenities. As any man who has pissed off a buff woman would do, I ran away.

May your wishes fly

It was drizzling lightly as my friends and I stood in line for the bus to the Sky Lantern Festival in Ping-Shi Township. A couple of middle-aged women were serving coffee and tea to people waiting in line. "Which drink has more caffeine?" I asked, as I was still jetlagged. Sipping on my coffee, I started to count the number of people walking out of the Taipei Zoo wearing panda hats. China had recently given 2 pandas to Taiwan, and named them "Tuan-Tuan" and "Yuan-Yuan", which together means "reunion." Though many criticized the gift as a symbol of China's intent to reclaim the island, the pandas still drew over 20,000 visitors per day.

Ping-Shi is actually right next to Shi-Chih City, where my parents live. It's probably less than 30 minutes away by car. However, I got into an accident earlier that morning on my way to the post office, and I wasn't ready to drive again just yet. The bus ride took around an hour, and we arrived 3 hours before the event started. The streets of the tiny town were already jammed with thousands of festival-goers, roadside vendors, and motorcycles.




Though observed throughout East Asia, the practice of lighting sky-lanterns in Ping-Shi began in the early 1800s, when Chinese settlers from Fujian Province moved into the area. Due to the remoteness of the location, the villages were frequently under attack by bandits. During these attacks, the elderly, women and children would hide in the surrounding mountains while the young men stayed behind to defend the villages. After the bandits left, the men lit sky-lanterns to announce that it is safe to return.

Nowadays the lanterns are made by gluing paper to a metal frame with a cardboard base soaked in kerosene. When the bottom is lit, hot air fills up the lantern and it rises into the air. People write their wishes on the lantern and hope that their prayers reach the heavens.



Last time I came here was in 1999, the year I moved to the States. There were far less people back then, and the event was less structured, with people just randomly setting off sky-lanterns in the local middle school field. This year, rules were strict. There were specific areas for people to light their own lanterns, and the main field was fenced off and divided into sections for 13 waves of lantern lighting throughout the evening. To participate in the main waves, people had to arrive extra early and wait in line. Also worth noting was the sanitation effort - cleaning people were stationed at each street corner, ready to swoop in whenever a piece of rubbish touched the ground.

The rain was getting harder and harder, and we were having trouble seeing anything due to all the umbrellas surrounding the main field. The mostly empty 2nd floor balcony was reserved for media people, and there were many angry people yelling at the guards. A traditional Chinese performance was going on at the main stage, but few could actually see it and nobody was really paying attention.



Luckily, right before the first wave of lanterns was to rise into the air, the host announced, "Please put away your umbrellas!" The participants assumed their designated positions, and 200 lanterns flew up at once. It was truly a majestic sight, carrying an air of serenity unlike the usual lively and boisterous Taiwanese festivals.





Each wave had a different theme accompanied by different performances. Highlights included President Ma Ying-Jeou making an appearance and writing "Let the economy rise again" on a giant lantern, and special lanterns from Mexico and Japan, respectively accompanied by Folklorico dancing and Taiko drumming. After 2 or 3 waves, many people started to leave. We rushed in and secured our optimal photo-taking spots.






The rain never let up. Drenched after the 7th wave, we decided to light a lantern for ourselves and then go home. We bought a large red one, and walked towards the booths that supplied brushes and pens to write our wishes. However I noticed that the person at the booth was obnoxiously commenting on and giving suggestions to what people were writing. I told my friends, "If we don't write anything, all of our wishes will come true." As I watched our lantern slowly rise toward the moon, I realized that there really wasn't anything specific that I wanted to wish for. Anything could happen in the next six months, and I just hope for a big adventure.

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