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Yam Wielding Grannies, Plastic Bugs, and Cilantro Ice Cream

This guest post is from North Carolina author and sculptor Joel Haas, who is traveling in Taiwan and taking plenty of pictures. Today's post is the third installment of Joel's travel reports (also see parts one and two), in which he visits Yangmingshan National Park.

I describe Taiwan to American friends as a place the size of New Jersey, with the population of Canada, divided into a about a dozen ethnic groups (depends on who's counting), speaking about the same number of languages (or more).  Did I mention about 80% of the island is uninhabitable because of steep mountains and jungle?

Yangminshan National Park is more like the majority of Taiwan's terrain than the crowded cities along the western coastal plain.  The forest cloaked mountains rising above the city to the north,  was once the cool, scenic preserve of the elite.  Now, with the island's political and economic development, the park is open to the public.  City buses (the #260) run to it and, in fact, the National Park is part of the city.

But you would never know it.

The park is actually larger in land area than Taipei proper.  Like American national parks, roads and small towns dot the interior.  Camp grounds, nature study sites, trails laid out to see butterflies (best hiked in May and June) and trails to see the cherry blossoms and azaleas (best hiked now), areas of interest to geologists, and areas of interest to people just going out for the views, areas of interest for artists, and for those just looking to relax in some of the many hot springs doting the old volcanoes.

A friend attending a business meeting at the park offices in Yangmingshan took me along several hours before the meeting to a local restaurant with a fantastic view of one of the valleys and, incidentally, one of Generalissimo Chang Kai Shek's villas.

The villa is the low green building, barely visible, on the ridge.

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The proprietress, Ms Lee, was a bundle of energy and good will.  Her mother, renown as one of the best cooks in the area,  is the core of the family restaurant which Ms Lee manages. When not puzzling out the thoughts and actions of the odd wyeguhrun (foreigner), Ms Lee devotes her formidable energy and talents to nature photography, making natural dyes and paints, making terrifically engaging little sculptures of bugs from scrap plastic, and just in general being a force of nature which she so carefully observes and documents in her native mountainside village.

Ms Lee gets some coffee brewing for customers by using an alcohol lamp

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I noticed a bowl of what looked like paper hats on the table.  But that couldn't be right, I thought, not even baby heads are that small.  All was made clear to me in a moment.  It seems in many traditional restaurants, these are little disposable bowls for bones, seed pits, and  gristle.  Children or the grannies make these little folding bowls out of scrap paper.  Nothing to wash and just throw it away.  A great recycling use of old magazines and flyers.
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Our folding paper bones plate (note red sweet potato in the vase)

My friend left for her meeting and I was in the capable hands of Ms Lee.  Between her 100 words of English and my 100 words of Mandarin we did just fine.  I figured out she had said I should wait ten minutes while she finished cleaning up the restaurant and we would go wander the mountainside and village to take photos.    In the meantime, I took photos of Ms Lee's handicrafts, her garden, and of her mother preparing taro to mix with plums and brandy.  Ms Lee's progress was slowed as she would periodically dash out into her garden to name plants for me in Chinese which she uses to make her paints and dyes.  I don't remember the names of the plants, but I did learn my colors in Chinese.
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"Ahmah" (Grandmother) Lee prepares taro

Progress came to a complete halt as a couple walked in with what appeared to be a quivering mass of library paste in a brownie pan. Nothing would do now but that everybody sit down and have some mwahdjee  topped with ground peanuts and caramel (more on the peanuts and caramel later). We had to eat it right now, an elderly gentleman explained, while the mwahdjee was warm and still soft. I poked at it tentatively with my desert fork—I could see his point.  It was already gluey enough we could have pasted tiles to NASA's Space Shuttle with the stuff. Like all traditional Chinese deserts, it possessed only a hint of sweet as we would define it in the West. Sugar is not a major component of cooking here.

my serving of mwahdjee and ground peanuts

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Ms Lee kindly gave me a bug she'd made from plastic box strapping.  She's made dozens of animals and bugs from a variety of colors and textures of box strapping.

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I love the ant!

Ms Lee got her camera, grabbed a few oranges off a tree for us, and we headed down into the village. When I say we headed down, I mean we headed down.  The village is on a mountainside.  There are no up-down roads as such, only narrow stairways and paths steep as a ladder.  I was grateful for all the leg exercises my trainer at the gym had put me through.  Roads along the mountainside are recent, the older ones being more like level paths with the odd handrail or wall to keep you from tumbling down onto a neighbor's roof or field.  We had not gone far before we meet four "ahmahs" sitting in their traditional place along the mountain path into the village.  Of course we had to stop and make our manners here.  I was photographed with the eldest (she's 85.)
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Modernization means cast off office furniture to sit on and corrugated piece of tin over the wide spot they sit in on the mountain trail.
A hundred yards past the ahmahs, we came to an old traditional house dating to before the Second World War.

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An old woman trudges up the lane behind the old house. As you can see, she's not afraid of color.

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Plunging down another lane ourselves, and on past a water tank set in sturdy tree...

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which, it turned out, provided water for part of a local village market in a wide spot in the road above the fields in the valley.

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Cala flowers, sunflowers, dried squid, umbrellas, etc.  What do you want?

Despite having been served waaaaay more food than humanly possible to consume at Ms Lee's restaurant—and with the mwahdjee still making my insides sticky, there was nothing for it but to be polite and try everything offered by the local vendors.  As a guest of Ms Lee and as a foreigner (I did not see any other Westerners on my trip that day) everybody insisted I try their specialty.  Nobody would accept payment—in fact, when Ms Lee left some coins on a vendor's platter while she was away, the lady returned shortly and ran us down to physically force the money back into Ms Lee's pocket!
I started taking lots of photos so I would appear too busy to try more food.

There's always room for ice cream—especially ice cream wrapped in soy tacos and stuffed with fresh cilantro!
Bear with me.  This is one of the most delicious treats I have had here.  Follow the photos below.  We were making our way out of the market area when I spied a block of peanut brittle (it's not, but for lack of a better word...)  I started to take a photo as I saw another little lady sneaking up on my flank armed with breaded fried sweet yam slices on a stick.  Taking several photos to ward off the yam lady, only set up a hue and cry for the vendor at the peanut block to reappear and make his or her manners to the foreign guest.  I had no idea ice cream was involved.

A lady shortly appeared and pulled out what looked like a carpenter's hand planer.  She industriously set to planing off a half cup or so of grated peanut brittle, plopped out an ultra thin taco made of soy flour, and dumped the grated peanut brittle in the middle.  Next, she reached into an ice chest, plopped two scoops of home made vanilla cream onto the peanuts gratings in the middle of the taco and proceeded to chop up a handful of fresh cilantro.  I had no idea what she'd do with the cilantro until she dumped it onto the ice cream.   Then, in less time than it takes to tell about it, she wrapped the taco up tightly and presented it to me.

There was no getting out of this.
Unlike a lot of the other food offered me, you can't simply drop ice cream into a bag with a promise to have it for supper.  Ice cream is now.

Ice cream in a taco with cilantro is thinking outside the box.

With all eyes on me, I bit into it.

Thank God, it is DELICIOUS!

You can bet when I get back to Raleigh, I am going to start running some home experiments with filo dough, crushed peanuts, vanilla ice cream and cilantro.  Or try it yourself before I get back to the States and write me what you think.

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We finally got past the food vendors and into the area with National Geographic quality scenery. (see my Flickr photo sets)

Passing a waterfall fed by a mountain spring, we came upon a garden landscaped with pagodas, pines, cherry trees, azaleas, and more.  From  here, we could look out over the valley.

(I love how the setting sun brushed pink where it hit the water further up the mountainside!)

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At the garden—a young woman stands on the bridge over the mountain stream surrounded by azaleas

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from the bridge—stream and azaleas at sunset

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On the way back down the mountainside we came across the vendors closing up shop.  Before you think "Oh my God, how unsanitary!" please consider these ladies are washing their dishes in pure mountain spring water piped down from the same source as the waterfall; it is pure, and the water they use is then drained along the roadside canal you see into the village vegetable and flower gardens.
Can't say the same for your kitchen drain and dishwasher now can you?

My coach turned into a pumpkin and it was time to leave.  Ms Lee took me to a place only 50 yards above her house to have a perfect position to take photos of the sunset over Yangmingshan.

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Joel Haas is a sculptor and author from Raleigh, North Carolina. You can see his works at his website or at Neighborhood Sculpture Walk, and read stories at his blog.

See also: A Trip to Taipei's Shilin Night Market and Red Bean Filled Hockey Pucks and Mind Control.

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History
How an Early Female Travel Writer Became an Immunization Pioneer
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu by A. Devéria
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu by A. Devéria

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu was a British aristocrat, feminist, and writer who was famed for her letters. If that were all she did, she would be a slightly obscure example of a travel writer and early feminist. But she was also an important public health advocate who is largely responsible for the adoption of inoculation against smallpox—one of the earliest forms of immunization—in England.

Smallpox was a scourge right up until the mid-20th century. Caused by two strains of Variola virus, the disease had a mortality rate of up to 35 percent. If you lived, you were left with unsightly scars, and possible complications such as severe arthritis and blindness.

Lady Montagu knew smallpox well: Her brother died of it at the age of 20, and in late 1715, she contracted the disease herself. She survived, but her looks did not; she lost her eyelashes and was left with deeply pitted skin on her face.

When Lady Montagu’s husband, Edward Wortley Montagu, was appointed ambassador to Turkey the year after her illness, she accompanied him and took up residence in Constantinople (now Istanbul). The lively letters she wrote home described the world of the Middle East to her English friends and served for many as an introduction to Muslim society.

One of the many things Lady Montagu wrote home about was the practice of variolation, a type of inoculation practiced in Asia and Africa likely starting around the 15th or 16th century. In variolation, a small bit of a pustule from someone with a mild case of smallpox is placed into one or more cuts on someone who has not had the disease. A week or so later, the person comes down with a mild case of smallpox and is immune to the disease ever after.

Lady Montagu described the process in a 1717 letter:

"There is a set of old women, who make it their business to perform the operation, every autumn, in the month of September, when the great heat is abated. People send to one another to know if any of their family has a mind to have the small-pox: they make parties for this purpose, and when they are met (commonly fifteen or sixteen together) the old woman comes with a nuts-hell full of the matter of the best sort of small-pox, and asks what veins you please to have opened. She immediately rips open that you offer to her with a large needle (which gives you no more pain than a common scratch), and puts into the vein as much matter as can lye upon the head of her needle, and after that binds up the little wound with a hollow bit of shell; and in this manner opens four or five veins. . . . The children or young patients play together all the rest of the day, and are in perfect health to the eighth. Then the fever begins to seize them, and they keep their beds two days, very seldom three. They have very rarely above twenty or thirty in their faces, which never mark; and in eight days' time they are as well as before their illness."

So impressed was Lady Montagu by the effectiveness of variolation that she had a Scottish doctor who worked at the embassy, Charles Maitland, variolate her 5-year-old son in 1718 with the help of a local woman. She returned to England later that same year. In 1721, a smallpox epidemic hit London, and Montagu had Maitland (who by then had also returned to England) variolate her 4-year-old daughter in the presence of several prominent doctors. Maitland later ran an early version of a clinical trial of the procedure on six condemned inmates in Newgate Prison, who were promised their freedom if they took part in the experiment. All six lived, and those later exposed to smallpox were immune. Maitland then repeated the experiment on a group of orphaned children with the same results.

A painting of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu with her son, Edward Wortley Montagu, and attendants
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu with her son, Edward Wortley Montagu, and attendants
Jean-Baptiste Vanmour, Art UK // CC BY-NC-ND

But the idea of purposely giving someone a disease was not an easy sell, especially since about 2 or 3 percent of people who were variolated still died of smallpox (either because the procedure didn’t work, or because they caught a different strain than the one they had been variolated with). In addition, variolated people could also spread the disease while they were infectious. Lady Montagu also faced criticism because the procedure was seen as “Oriental,” and because of her gender.

But from the start, Lady Montagu knew that getting variolation accepted would be an uphill battle. In the same letter as her first description of the practice, she wrote:

"I am patriot enough to take pains to bring this useful invention into fashion in England; and I should not fail to write to some of our doctors very particularly about it, if I knew any one of them that I thought had virtue enough to destroy such a considerable branch of their revenue for the good of mankind. But that distemper is too beneficial to them, not to expose to all their resentment the hardy wight that should undertake to put an end to it. Perhaps, if I live to return, I may, however, have courage to war with them."

As promised, Lady Montagu promoted variolation enthusiastically, encouraging the parents in her circle, visiting convalescing patients, and publishing an account of the practice in a London newspaper. Through her influence, many people, including members of the royal family, were inoculated against smallpox, starting with two daughters of the Princess of Wales in 1722. Without her advocacy, scholars say, variolation might never have caught on and smallpox would have been an even greater menace than it was. The famed poet Alexander Pope said that for her, immortality would be "a due reward" for "an action which all posterity may feel the advantage of," namely the "world’s being freed from the future terrors of the small-pox."

Variolation was performed in England for another 70 years, until Edward Jenner introduced vaccination using cowpox in 1796. Vaccination was instrumental in finally stopping smallpox: In 1980, it became the first (and so far, only) human disease to be completely eradicated worldwide.

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travel
Why You Should Never Take Your Shoes Off On an Airplane
iStock
iStock

What should be worn during takeoff?

Tony Luna:

If you are a frequent flyer, you may often notice that some passengers like to kick off their shoes the moment they've settled down into their seats.

As an ex-flight attendant, I'm here to tell you that it is a dangerous thing to do. Why?

Besides stinking up the whole cabin, footwear is essential during an airplane emergency, even though it is not part of the flight safety information.

During an emergency, all sorts of debris and unpleasant ground surfaces will block your way toward the exit, as well as outside the aircraft. If your feet aren't properly covered, you'll have a hard time making your way to safety.

Imagine destroying your bare feet as you run down the aisle covered with broken glass, fires, and metal shards. Kind of like John McClane in Die Hard, but worse. Ouch!

Bruce Willis stars in 'Die Hard' (1988)
20th Century Fox Home Entertainment

A mere couple of seconds delay during an emergency evacuation can be a matter of life and death, especially in an enclosed environment. Not to mention the entire aircraft will likely be engulfed in panic and chaos.

So, the next time you go on a plane trip, please keep your shoes on during takeoff, even if it is uncomfortable.

You can slip on a pair of bathroom slippers if you really need to let your toes breathe. They're pretty useless in a real emergency evacuation, but at least they're better than going barefoot.

This post originally appeared on Quora. Click here to view.

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