Taiwan Today

Lukang is about a 25-minute bus ride from Changhua, a vibrant city in southwestern Taiwan. In the past, Lukang was ranked among the most prosperous cities in Taiwan, with Tainan in the south and Wanhua in the north. However, during the reign of Emperor Hsienfeng of the Ching Dynasty, pirates and brigands raided the area and blocked major traffic lanes. In addition, the fre­quent flood waters of the Muddy River deposited huge volumes of silt, blocking the mouth of Lukang harbor. As a result, Lukang was doomed to decline.

Over the past 20 years, newly mushroomed urban and rural townships in Lukang's vicinity have either become tourist havens or industrial and trade centers. But Lukang, which depended on a small-scale handicraft industry and fishing, has been held back in time.

In the streets of Lukang, you can not hear the whistle of a train nor see neon light. There are no clubs or teahouses. Four tiny hotels offer only simple facilities and are seldom visited by tourists. Today's Lukang has virtually become a scroll of mildewed art. Not only has the glory of its better days faded away, but it approached the brink of total obscurity.

Faded Lukang, however, is the town that best preserves the island's ancient architectural herit­age. The most impressive manifestation of this heritage is, perhaps, offered by the so-called Nine­ Bend Alley. In winter, the alley especially demons­trates an important design aspect. By warding off the raw, sandy winds, the alley creates a non­ winter world, warm as spring. A poet once com­mented on the alley: The ten-month sand-wind fails to penetrate; the nine-day ice storm finds it hard to enter.

The alley bends at intervals of every dozen houses. The twisted, zigzag design successfully wards off strong winds. Along the alley, senior citizens can be seen chitchatting leisurely on the stone staircases. The overall silence is more sharply broken by the occasional vendor's call, or by the musical offer of blind fortune tellers to guide townsfolk on their way through life. In witness of our forefathers' achievement in scientific architec­ture - creation of this secure human haven 250 years ago - we did not stem our admiration.

In Lukang, neon lights and traffic noises give way to remembered poetry

An old bed in the “Hundreds of Children” style still speaks

An internationally renowned Shih Yi Tower still stands in King Shen Alley. Situated across the alley, the tower joins the alley to constitute a "cross" mark. It served as a center for poets and scholars, who gathered to recite poetry and sip tea. It is said that the host, himself an outstanding scholar, was very hospitable and constantly shel­tered literati, who studied poetry, books and paint­ings in the tower.

The tower is gracefully and elegantly decorat­ed in dark green encaustic tile and red brick from southern Fukien Province. Its beauty - a study in tranquility and harmony - is further achieved with twining purple vines and plants.

In the tower, an old bed carved in the "Hund­reds of Children" style propagandizes for a house­ful of children and grandchildren and a family-size portion of blissfulness and longevity. The moon­ shaped windows, arched doors, decorative well­-housing and stone staircases are all artistic master­pieces. It must have been a special joy to mount this tower on a mid-autumn night to sip tea and recite poetry with good friends.

More symbolic than utilitarian? Today's architects wonder

The lou ching is a mezzanine structure. In general, a balustrade running around a square, continuous, four-sided interior balcony is carved with such complicated motifs as clouds, flowers, birds and ancient coins. Some simpler railings are fashioned from straight or ripple-shaped finished wood. Such mezzanines in mercantile establish­ments allowed for efficient lowering or raising of cargo, or for the full observation of activities downstairs. Some architects, however, argue that the mezzanines had a more symbolic than utilitar­ian purpose. For example, altars dedicated to ancestors or gods are located beneath such mezza­nines. The opening through the second floor dis­tances the ceiling, enhancing communication with heaven as in most places of worship. The luxurious railings echo the decorations of the ancestors' niche, an evidence for this theory. Others argue that the mezzanines were designed for improved air circulation, and in same cases, lighting.

Charms ward off a heritage of evil spirits

An old folk superstition has it that any doorstep, roadside, bridgehead, ferry, riverbank, vehicle accident location or junction point for three roads is an inauspicious locale. Townsfolk may set up a stone general at the entrance of an alley or set a small stone tablet on a near wall at such places to ward off evil spirits. In general, the tablets are inscribed with such words as Taishan Shih Kan Tan, implying indomitable force. For in­stance, at Kiulutou in Lukang stands a granite stele inscribed with a Sanskrit charm to prevent drowning. Besides stone tablets, stone lions, animal tablets, tile generals, reversed mirrors, yellow amulets, tablets inscribed "Amitabha" and "give me fortune" may be either placed, hung, erected or pasted at dangerous places to drive away misfortune.

Urn windows are a unique feature

In the early years, ships traveling from Fukien Province to Lukang always carried with them timber, bricks, stones and Shao Hsing wine to add weight and so help secure themselves from drifting away in strong winds. An old story has it that, be they poor or rich, when Lukang townsfolk gave birth to a daughter, they would follow estab­lished custom and buy a jar of Shao Hsing wine or Nu Er Hun, (literally "daughter's red") and bury it in the ground. Not until the daughter's marriage could such vintage urns be dug up. Moreover, drinking wine was an indispensable part of feasts in the then prosperous Lukang harbor area. As a result of these customs, the streets and alleys were crowded with high piles of different sizes of urns. Some innovating architect began the practice of setting urns in the walls, arranging them over the top of the door or in the foot of a wall, mostly in the customary shape of windows, thus facilitat­ing the circulation of air. These insets are called "urn-windows." As no cement was available at that time, a composite of dust, glutinous rice, dark sugar and powdered straw was mingled and applied instead. Under the sun's rays, penetrating patterns of shade and light are clear-cut, serene, decorative. These uniquely beautiful structures are among the most prominent features of Lukang's original architecture.

The utilization of used urns reflects Lukang's comfortable lifestyle, and another purpose - pre­venting bandits from entering through unbarred windows. It is also said that the Japanese occupy­ing the island plundered around. The rich families hid their silver and gold inside the urns. The best of the many urn windows in Lukang belongs to the Shieh family. A record 120 urns were assem­bled in the shape of a huge abacus.

"He planted a yang tao tree in the courtyard"

Yi Tower is a Fukien style bridal chamber in King Shen Alley. It is said that about a hundred years ago, the husband of the newly-wed Lady Yin planned to compete in the provincial examina­tions. Before he left, he planted a yang tao tree in the courtyard and told his bride: "To see the tree is to see me; I will return right after the examina­tion." But he never returned. His bride, guarding the small tree day and night, finally died of melancholy.

The round window in the south wall of Yi Tower is the best preserved classical window re­maining in Lukang. Interwoven calabash and coin-shaped patterns seem to recount the enigmatic and tragic story of Lady Yin whenever rain drops fall.

Conflict at the strategic pass

Another rare artifact in Lukang is the Strategic Pass. In the past, Lukang set up strategic passes in virtually every mouth of every lane. Of the dozens of such passes, only one is left behind today. Though consigned only to speak for ancient history today, these passes once shouldered im­portant defensive functions.

It is said that in times past, only people of the same clan could live together in peace. The three largest clans were surnamed Shih, Huang and Hsu. When dusk descended, each pass door was barred to prevent the pestering of thieves and other troubles from outside clans. Only a small hole was opened in the barred door for after-dusk contacts. That is why people used to say, "Con­flicts never get by the strategic pass."

The "gun tower" was a protection against bandits

The chung kuei, or literally firearms cabinet, may also be called "gun tower," or "pillbox," in modern interpretation. To guard against bandits, the pillbox served as observation post, guard tower and arsenal. Portholes allowed the employ­ment of hand-made explosives.

As a leading trade center in the Ching Dynas­ty, Lukang suffered from plundering bandits. To cope with the situation, pillboxes were set up in addition to the "strategic passes."

Today, the only pillbox left in Lukang is locat­ed next to the Shihyi Tower. Continuous old-coin patterns help to conceal three small holes in the oblong cabinet. As Lukang decayed with time, the pillbox lost its function, and serves now only the sparrows, who build nests there.

The grand and peaceful world of Lung Shan Temple

The air was dead and heavy. The sun shone relentlessly on the temple roof and the red brick courtyard. The silence, too, was heavy. Even the birds and cicadas were mute. The weather-beaten Lung Shan Temple at Lukang seemed too fragile to bear the weight of the heavy air. Finally, heaven showed its mercy. Clouds started to gather. In no time at all rain began to fall, dancing lightly on the old tiles and worn bricks, running down the stone columns and wetting the empty chairs, positioned as rest stops for weary tourists.

The whole atmosphere was refreshed. To echo this natural symphony, the Chu Ying Club, one of the few nan kuan troupes dedicated to the preservation of traditional Chinese music, tuned in to show its joy. Originating in Fukien Province, the nan kuan music seemed to express the long-buried history of the more than 300 year old temple.

The main nan kuan musical instruments are the upper four kuan – bamboo flageolet, balloon-guitar, and two-string and three-string musical instruments – and the lower four kuan, providing drama and rhythm – castanets, gongs and drums. Since the reign of Emperor Kanghsi of the Ching Dynasty, the flageolet has been playing lead.

The players range from as young as eight to as old as eighty. They can be seen playing together frequently in the wings of the old temple, amid the fragrance of incense, which is kept burning continuously.

Constructed in 1666 by the monk Chao Shan, this was the first Buddhist temple in Taiwan; it was moved to its current site in 1786. Famous architects were brought from the mainland to take charge of the construction. The temple was twice damaged by fire, once in 1893, once during the Japanese occupation.

Tourists are usually astounded by the numer­ous wood and stone slabs employed in the temple structure. Though the time-worn architecture looks a little desolate, careful observation will show structure and scope grander than that of the more well known Lung Shan Temple in Taipei. The lifelike 18 generals, positioned in the main hall, are especially impressive. Dragon-coiled columns have special places in Taiwan's history of stone carving.

On the central gate are depicted four door gods, two court ladies and two eunuchs. Four side gates feature four heavenly kings, each holding a balloon-guitar, a sword and an umbrella. The addition of Generals Hen and Ha enabled the temple to be honored as part of the "Forbidden City" in Taiwan.

In the past, open theaters offered performances in the courtyard. Today, though the stages have gone, pillars and domes remain. The ceiling is a plafond in the shape of a spider's web, constructed of overlapping beams. Not a single nail is used in the intricate dome, housing the shapes of eight diagrams - the converging point of numerous rivers. A gorgeous, splendid golden dragon coils multiple heads downward. Yawning mouth and burning eyes confront worshippers who have gone astray. Poetry and paintings decorate the walls beneath the beams, revealing the traditional Chinese belief in the unification of heaven and mankind.

The courtyard in front of the main hall offers two magnificent banyan trees. Though the trunks are majestic - age-old - the branches are green and instill vitality in the temple scene. Under each tree stand several stools and benches, placed so tourists may comfortably enjoy the nan kuan music. A stone slab inscribed with 150 years of temple history is housed in the right wing of the main hall.

The main hall itself is dedicated to the Goddess of Mercy and to the giving of birth. Along its sides are stationed the 18 generals and dragon kings, each with its own individualized expression and other characteristics.

A huge bronze bell is mounted to the right of the main hall. At 2 meters in height, 1.2 meters in diameter and a weight of 1,000 catties, the bell is the largest of its kind on the island. At dusk, a dialogue of drum and bell, peopled with the chanting of sutras, helps woo visitors from thoughts of secular pleasures. It is said that some Japanese tried to make off with this bell during the Japanese occupation of the island. Reportedly, it had already been transported to the dockyard in Keelung for shipment to Japan before the Lukang authorities were able to win it back.

In the courtyard between the main hall and the rear hall stands the Well of the Dragon’s Larynx. On each side are Wells of the Dragon’s Eyes. The Well of the Dragon’s Larynx was once covered, paved over with square bricks and shrub plantings.

In the year the Japanese army invaded and sacked Taiwan, 300-odd Chinese soldiers are said to have gathered in the temple to work out plans to resist the Japanese. At that time, the island suffered from a severe drought When the soldiers saw water oozing from under the trees, they dug to obtain more and discovered the well. At the bottom of the well, they found a fabled “Pearl to Suppress the Dragon,” But as they crowded around the well, carefully silent Japanese army elements attacked the temple. The Chinese soldiers retreated to a back courtyard and escaped over the wall. A scholar was left behind. He knelt beside the well and read the prophetic remarks on the pearl, then threw it back into the well, and knelt in the main hall to pray and await his fate. When the Japanese soldiers entered the temple, they were blind to his existence, and the scholar escaped from death.

The rear hall was burned down during the Japanese occupation of the island, and the influence of Japanese handicraft is pronounced in the consequent overhaul of the damaged temple. Now, the rear hall is dedicated to a Bodhisattva. The hall is flanked by a full-moon door, leading to the wings; reconstruction work is now proceeding at the temple.

Tien Hou - The temple of the black-faced Goddess of the Sea

The temple’s guardian deity accompanied General Shih to Taiwan in 1683.

Tien Hou Temple, dedicated to Matsu, Goddess of the Sea, is one of three scenic monuments in Lukang. Constructed in the years 1647-1661, the temple originally stood to the north of its current site. In 1725, it was moved to its present site to house more worshippers and in order to face its ancestral shrine in Fukien Province, across the sea. Overhauled in 1870, 1922 and 1959, Tien Hou Temple is the only one on the island with a statue of Matsu from the ancestral shrine in Fukien; it was brought here before the war broke out.

In late spring, worshippers from around the island make a pilgrimage to this Lukang religious center. The 300-odd branches of the original Tien Hou Temple now bear witness to her followers of Matsu's benevolence. The densely fragrant incense and bright candlelight are evidence of the goddess' large following in Lukang.

The statue of Matsu in the main hall was originally set up in the Tien Hou Temple al Meichou in Fukien. During the reign of Emperor Kanghsi in 1683, General Shih Lan was ordered to pacify Taiwan. He brought with him one of Matsu's statues, to protect him on his trip across the strait. The general's nephew asked him to leave Matsu's statue at the temple in Lukang for the local people. The goddess' complexion has turned from pink to black after being smoked in incense for the past 300 years. The statue is, thus, also honored as the "black-faced Matsu."

The style and structure of Lukang's Tien Hou Temple are superior to other kindred temples. Green stone walls and structural pieces are dexterously carved with stories of loyally, filial piety, chastity and justice, creating a majestic and solemn atmosphere. Life-like war chariots and warriors coil around dragon columns, bringing back memories of ancient battlefields. The gorgeous mosaic on the ceiling, and exquisitely carved statues of "Eyes that See a Thousand Miles" and "Ears That Hear Sounds Miles Away," are masterpieces of Chinese art. In front of the main hall is a dragon pond, surrounded by seasonal flowers and trees.

European bell-tower rises among antique Chinese structures

A totally alien building in Lukang features a three story, red-brick European style bell-tower, rising high over green lawns. Almost all first-time visitors are surprised to find this Western style tower in this traditional Chinese small town. The building was the residence of Lukang's favorite sons - Ku Chen-fu and Ku Wei-fu - who donated it to Lukang as a historical museum in 1973.

The bell-tower residence was built in 1920. The architects and construction materials are the same as those used for what is now the Office of the President in Taipei. A major difference is that a Chinese style building was connected with the tower.

With the support of local enthusiasts, the center has amassed a collection of historical items. New exhibits are added every year. The collection may be limited compared with similar treasures housed in the national museums; it, however, has distinctive regional flavor.

The exhibits include documents, historic data, photos and models, chairs, tables, vases, daily appliances, religious utensils, puppets, folk­ music instruments, communication, agricultural and fishing equipment, ancient garments, paint­ings, calligraphy, and miscellaneous art and folk art masterpieces. A specific folk village is planned to depict the original Lukang.

Folk-art activities featured a tour of Lukang

Visiting the sights of Lukang on foot was one of the efforts for National Folk Art Activities Week this summer. Though the annual pageant, sponsored by the Republic of China Jaycees, was five years old, a myriad of new attractions were added - Matsu's pilgrimage and parade, a sail push-cart race, the throwing of the rolled silk balls, the pulling of silk threads, a threading­-seven-needles contest, a cooking competition, a convention of world poets, chess tournaments, and presentations of traditional handicrafts and pastimes, such as the fashioning of dough and candy figurines, the art of savoring tea, folding paper toys and incense-making. Also, there were displays of children's games, such as the spinning of tops and ti niu (literally, earth cattle). Perfor­mances such as nan kuan and shadow puppet shows were also presented.

Perhaps the most exciting and nostalgic activi­ty was the contest of sail push-carts. Only the older townsfolk of Lukang had ever witnessed a full display of Lukang's technical talent. Years ago, the fishermen of Peitou and Shanlun Districts had to walk five to six kilometers to transport salt or oysters from coastal areas. The clever fisher­men designed land boats, erecting canvas sails on top of push-carts. Relying on the strength of the winds, the carts moved lightly forward along the roads. Abolition of the old salt fields coupled with the emergence of the motorized trishaw consigned this unique system to the ashes of history. The race was held so the younger generation might better understand the forefathers' life style.

A total of 26 teams - male, female or co­-ed - joined the competition, utilizing push-carts filled with colored sails. One pulled in front, and one pushed in back and controlled the direction of the sail. Each cart carried 100 kg of oyster shell and sandbags to prevent the cart from tumbling. Two to three thousand spectators witnessed the race. Sad to say, a southwestern sea wind proved to be of no help to the contestants.

The silken ball: a gamble for romance

It is said that during the Tang Dynasty (618-907 A.D.), a prime minister's daughter, Wang Pao-chuang, threw a ball of rolled silk into a group of suitors to choose her husband. The ball flew into the hands of beggar Hsueh Jen-kuei, in­stead of to a youth of noble birth. In spite of Hsueh's poverty and humble origin, Wang still made up her mind to be his bride.

This was the second year for the revival in Taiwan of this activity. Last year, two couples actu­ally got married through this hilarious matchmak­ing game. Before 9:30 a.m., thousands of local people swarmed to the playground of Wen Kai Pri­mary School. A temporary tower had been con­structed at the reviewing stand so the girls could have a good look at their targets before they threw the balls.

In front of the tower, a 15 by 10-meter area was cordoned off. Only gentlemen wearing badges marked "Attendance Permit" were allowed inside. The silk ball was fashioned by wrapping red and green silk threads around a plastic center. Colorful tassels were tied to an end.

One by one, 57 shy, nervous girls climbed to the second level of the tower via a house-of-cards staircase. The hostess advised each girl to keep her eyes open while throwing the ball toward a desirable mate.

The wind blew hard. The ball's light weight and long tassels prevented accurate throwing to targeted men. It was only natural that most of the couples, thus formed, soon separated.

"Pull a thread" game had its roots in history

A reverse competition, called "To choose a girl friend by pulling silk threads," was sponsored the following day. The game arose during the Tang Dynasty: Kuo Yuan-chen was a talented and handsome army commander. The prime minister wanted him to marry one of his daughters. He told Kuo: "I have five daughters, each holding a colored silk thread behind the embroidered screen. You may choose a color to decide who shall be your spouse." Kuo chose the auspicious red colored thread and won the third daughter as his wife. At Lukang, the girls stood behind a red cloth-screen, each with a colored thread tied to her right arm. Then a host of threads, some at­tached to nothing, was passed through two tiny holes in the screen.

This writer discovered that some of the girls had attended the ball-throwing activity the previ­ous day, and asked why. One girl said that her part­ner from that event was too young. When another girl was "pulled" by her thread, she was surprised to discover an old acquaintance. The crowd ap­plauded the smiling couple. Participants came from every corner of the island, some from as far as Penghu, Hualien and Keelung.

Threading needles, and the portents of a weaving maid

The only night activity was a needle­-threading competition. A huge painting of the herd boy and weaving maid - star-crossed lovers in an old legend - served as the backdrop in the rear hall of Lung Shan Temple.

The classic nan kuan music seemed to bring back the romantic but tragic story.

For the contest, seven needles were placed in single file on a wood stand. The contestants were divided into three age groups. Fruits and incense were so placed as to seek the legendary weaving maid's blessing. The temple was brightly lit. Crowds of people watched as the contestants patiently edged toward final victory - with great regret that they did not have an extra hand to wipe the beads of sweat from their brows. I thought that even the weaving maid would be moved to tears.

Savoring the essence of the banquet - The recipe counts most

A special cooking competition was held at Lukang Junior High School. A total of 17 three­-member teams from the four counties and cities in central Taiwan participated. The sponsoring or­ganization provided the ingredients for three dishes of meat and fish, three vegetarian dishes, two mixed dishes and a dish of fruit.

Since all the teams featured elite cooks, all the dishes reached high standards of color, fragrance and taste. Almost all teams prepared the nine dishes in 90 minutes.

This program was the brainchild of Provincial Assemblyman Hung Hsin-jung. He believes that local residents today spend too much money on food, and that the custom of placing on a banquet the burden of the host's homage to the guests should be changed. He hoped to remind people not to squander money on food or to serve too much greasy food. He also took advantage of the contest to promote local agricultural products.

But, recently, the government has gone even further, eloquently promoting a "Plum­ Flower-Meal" - which limits a banquet to five dishes. Local restaurants have warmly responded, but Hung thinks they must now pay even more at­tention to the quality of the recipes.

"A true gentleman, watching chess, keeps his mouth shut"

Chess tourneys took place at the Hsintzu Temple. To the right of the temple is a Shen-Teh Building, which has long served as an old men's tearoom. They gather there to savor tea, play chess, recount tales of past Lukang glory or to make music on the pei kuan. Like duckweed, they seem to float together and apart completely unconsciously.

Under the old banyan trees in the square, hot chess games slowly proceeded. It was natural for some of the onlookers to give unwanted instruc­tion, which always drew stares of reproach from the contestants. In defense, most of the chess boards are clearly marked with the following ad­monition - “A true gentleman keeps his mouth shut while watching chess games; a real man never regrets a chess move already made."

Ordinary people didn't spin tops in ancient times

Spinning tops was a game for the Imperial Court elite of ancient times. It was not until four or five hundred years ago that tops became popu­lar among ordinary people. More recently, the rash of newly developed electronic games and other entertainment forms had caused top­ spinning to fall into a new oblivion. However, en­thusiasts at Tachi in Taoyuan County, northern Taiwan, have given new dimensions to the game, and it promises to spring right back into vogue. Some 40 members of the club, "A Generation of Top Kings," traveled all the way to Lukang to pro­mote this pastime.

The first top-like toys date from the Sung Dy­nasty. Originally called chien chien, the game first utilized metal discs pierced by iron spikes. In the late Ming Dynasty, the game became enormously popular with children. People living in southern Kiangsu called the top di ling, literally "earth spirit," because it was so popular. Though there is no evidence, some reports indicate that the top was even used as some kind of weapon in ancient times.

The most traditional of tops consists of a turnip shaped piece of solid wood, which is kept spinning with a whip. Today, toy tops for older children are made of wood or metal; smaller child­ren use tops of plastic. The traditional tops, weigh­ing from 5 to 120 kilograms, are a specialty in Tachi.

Veteran top spinner Chien Wu-hsiung was the central figure in manipulation of the largest tops. He commented that top spinning develops the muscles of the arms and waist and builds stamina.

To set the larger tops in motion, club mem­bers have improved on ancient methods, replacing the hemp ropes with rubber cords. Su Shen­-hsiung, one of the very few to master the spinning of a 120 kg top, described the challenge: "A good giant top spinner must have strong arms, other­ wise he is in danger of injury. Sometimes, instead of spinning the top, a player is spun by it."

At the Lukang demonstration, 78-year-old Chien Chou-feng's mastery of the 15 kg top drew the widest attention. Her graceful and relaxed technique won an enthusiastic ovation. She re­narked that she had been lured by neighbors to try her hand at the game, and at once became fascinated with it. "It makes you feel healthy and young," she said.

Little wood sticks become magical “earth cattle”

An ancient children’s game is called ti niu, literally “earth cattle.” Though the children of Lukang said, matter-of-factly, that ti niu is a common and popular toy, this reporter must admit that it was the first time I ever ran into it.

An old master at the game said that the first step in making a ti niu is to scoop the heart out of piece of bamboo with a sharp knife. Next, cut the piece into 10-cm-long sections, carving out a small oblique hole in each. Then, two small round pieces of wood must be sealed with glue to both sides of the bamboo section. “You must pay attention to carving the small hole at a proper angle, otherwise it will not make such a loud sound when you spin it. Nor is it easy to fashion the two small round piece of wood to fit properly, because the hollow center of the bamboo may not necessarily be in a perfectly round shape. We must use sandpaper to patiently mold them to the correct shape,” he elaborated.

You must locate the hearts of the two round wood pieces, and pierce two small holes through them big enough for a slim stick to pass through. Only a ti niu accurately centered will run evenly, speedily and long.

Our master, 50-year-old Wang Tsai-far, said that he started to play the game in childhood. "It is a pity that children in the large cities don’t know this interesting game. When I was a kid, I had to make my own ti niu. Today, you can buy them a Lukang's stationery stores for NT$20 a piece, Actually, parents today won't let their kids touch knives - too dangerous, A local workshop started to manufacture the ti niu five years ago by machine, but I still prefer to make them with my own hands - more valuable. I am really comforted when I see a hand-made ti niu spinning round and round, sending its sound far and wide," he said.

He went on: "In times past, children didn’t have so many toys. They were forced to create playthings for themselves. In this industrialized world, plastic was adopted to replace the wood of olden days, but the sound is not loud enough. Small ones send out high-pitched tones; large ones are lower. My ti niu record is two minutes.” He talked effortlessly.

I decided to try out a ti niu. Tying a thin string around the ti niu stick, I then threaded it thorough the small hole in the piece of attached wood. When the thread was loosened, the ti niu jumped several times before it stopped altogether.

A veteran 10-year-old enthusiastically gave me instructions. “The trick is to lower your body before you set the thread loose. Only really experienced hands can spin it from a standing posture,” she said, patronizingly.

As usual, the stands of the candy and rice-dough men were surrounded by awe-stricken children. After 30 years of use for fashioning candy characters, the master’s stand – fully occupied by two tiny stoves, a copper chopping board, several wood and iron carvers and a vase of white sugar – is a monochrome, smoked black through the ages.

In other times, he roamed the streets of Taiwan, pedaling his cart up and down narrow alleys. He was a very lonely man who said little and never really smiled. But the children loved him. They watched with big round unblinking eyes whenever the candy man laid out his fare.

A low charcoal fire was lit and a small pan of white sugar placed over it. He took the hot pan, poured out a small amount of liquid sugar on top of the copper board, and hastily carved out his figures before the syrup totally solidified. Strange to say, his works smacked strongly of painter Chi Pai-shih's famous style. With a stroke here and there, a life-like, vivid chick, fish or monkey was born. Before the wind hardened the thin figure, he annexed a bamboo stick to the candy. It seemed that his hands moved faster than the eyes could see.

Children pulled on their mother's skirts, "Can I have the kitten?" "Can I have the puppy?" "Can I have the birds?" "I want the airplane." They clamored as they held out their pennies.

The candy man said he had never totaled how many different shapes he had ever tried. At this juncture, a leg of a legendary candy Kuan Yu was broken. He used some boiled sugar to mend it. And all the children seemed greatly relieved to see the hero restored, his crippled leg cured.

Nearby, pinching small pieces of colorful glutinous rice dough from his wooden box, Shih Ching-chiang molded all kinds of life-like forms - monkeys, pigs, and monks, characters from the Pilgrimage to the West, and flowers, birds, animals and fruits. Also a veteran of 30 to 40 years of experience in this line, except for an occasional vending trip to Changhua on weekends, Shih had spent most of his life at his birthplace, Lukang.

"I don’t make any large figures. The smaller the size of the treat, the easier it is for children to afford a piece," Shih said.

A feast for the tourist - Parade of handicrafts

In still another feast for tourists, a parade of traditional handicrafts was presented. Visitors were moved to see the craftsmen – contrasting with an outside world that moves forward so hastily – immerse themselves in a revival of the declining skills.

Paper-folding was one of this year's demonstrations. H.C. Kuo, general manager of Hun-Kun Enterprise Co., is perhaps the most noted in this field. Though he is an accomplished engineer, Kuo recalls that his interest in paper-folding has never faded since his days in kindergarten.

"I always open my eyes to new methods of paper-folding, and try my best for my own breakthroughs. If I cannot learn directly from a master, I will ask him to send me one of his works. I slowly unfold new works to grope for the technique.

"Now that I engage in the business of plastics, I have opportunities to go abroad. I was amazed to note that in foreign countries, adults love the handicraft as much as children."

Kuo noted that paper-folding originated in China, where Tsai Lun invented paper in 105 A.D. during the Eastern Han Dynasty, The art of paper-folding was first applied to religious articles. Fans, houses, and figurines of folded paper were buried with the dead. Traditional Chinese paper-folding especially copies pagodas, balls, gold fish and ink brush washers. The Japanese adopted the art from China, and have done much to popularize it.

Kuo picked up a bunch of paper rice dumplings, each formed from a combination of three pieces of paper. He then showed me the most difficult-to-make items. "I spend four hours to make a cavalier riding on a horse. The paper is almost torn apart before I finish the work. The beetle is another challenge. I have to fold the paper into six feet and a bloated body. Special care must be put into folding a mother crane, with several baby cranes on her back, because the slightest negligence will result in the separation of the mother and her babies," he said,

Kuo encourages his 70 employees to try their hand at this handicraft.

Lanterns are now used widely for home decoration

One of the most eye-catching activities was Wu Tung-ho's demonstration of lantern painting techniques in the courtyard of Lung Shan Temple. Wu is deaf as the result of a bomb blast during the Japanese occupation of the island. I could only exchange views with him on paper and through gestures until his third son served as an interpreter.

Though he was never taught the technique, Wu's ten years of experience in this craft have brought him to its zenith. He normally paints lanterns for temple ceremonies, weddings and funerals. But, Wu noted, now foreign travelers and students from the cities come all the way to buy his lanterns for home decorations.

Wu's motifs include the Eight Immortals, fairies, flowers and birds, etc, but the dragon is the most dominant theme. It is said that a dragon will drive away evil spirits. Red, blue, yellow, white and green are the most frequent hues. To keep his portrayal balanced, Wu starts to sketch his dragons from the four corners. When the claws and feet of the dragon are fixed, he fills in the dragon’s head and body.

Wu listed incense, flowers and lanterns as the three indispensable items for a temple. The background colors used for the lanterns have diversified significance. A yellow hue, for example, is applied to temple lanterns. White is for family religious use. For home decoration, colors are chosen to match the furnishings of a lobby or rec-room.

A demonstration on the carving of leather shadow-puppets was presented by a young man, James Sheu. Currently engaging in the leather carving business, Sheu was the first archery manufacturer in Taiwan.

Sheu said that the most important aspect of shadow-puppet making is to grasp the unique features of each character - comic, tragic, or historic - as they bear on its role in a story. He picked up one of his masterworks from a stand. "This one, for instance is humorous - a clown. I must know what kind of gestures he will be making before fashioning him. I am very happy to join the exhibition; I hope to take the opportunity to exchange views with all the others in the field. So far as I know, Taipei now has many young men engaging in this line; only, their characters are Western oriented. I think we must fashion Chinese style puppets instead."

The odor of faith, of family unity, of inner peace

Incense is an indispensable part of any reli­gious ceremony. Most of the incense shops in Lukang were founded several decades ago. Each has a secret recipe passed on through the genera­tions. One 32-year-old manufacturer, Chen Teh-sheng, displayed his manufacturing technique during the festival.

Fragrant orchid powder is used for an inner­ most base, linking a central bamboo core adhe­sively with less sticky outer layers. For second and third layers of blend, sandalwood powder is mixed with orchid powder to add its pungent aroma. The proportion of orchid powder is further reduced in a surfacing layer.

He produces two kinds of incense, based on aloewood and sandalwood. The former is cheaper and thus more popular. The sandalwood must be imported from India. Bamboo is used as the center rod of an incense stick. The bamboo is grown in Chushan. It is processed into thin splints by machine. After discarding too soft or too thin bamboo splints, Chen poured out his fragrant powders. After double sifting, the powder was spread on the table, and each of the bamboo splints, after first being dipped in water, was rolled through the mixture. The resulting incense sticks are ready for market after being sun dried for two hours. Chen said that he can produce 80 to 100 cat­ties of incense a day.

Lukang's aloewood incense was regarded as being of the best quality during the Ching Dy­nasty. Today, it can fetch NT$1,600 (US$44) per catty.

He "spins" bamboo miniatures

Geoffrey Chaucer once said in the Canterbury Tales that a person's name can best tell of his pro­fession. This is at least partially true for Kao Shu­-keng, literally "high tree-roots," an artist specializing in miniature bamboo work. It was with some difficulty that I located this master, whose regular occupation, he noted, is "to drill wells and till land."

His stand was surrounded by old and young alike, all apparently taken aback by his dexterous skill. A trove of bamboo works that might fit in a golf ball was scattered across his table. At the foot of the table was a basin of water.

He expounded: "You have to cut each bamboo chunk into thin pieces and submerge them in water to prevent them from becoming too hard and easily breakable. After a while, you can tear them into noodle-shaped slivers with your fingernails. It may take a week to manufac­ture a full set of utensils; I think a set is worth US$150."

The craft was passed down to him from his grandpa. Kao pointed out that good eyesight, dext­erous fingers, patience, thoughtfulness and, above all, proper use of water, are the preconditions for fabrication of a perfect piece. A craftsman must have the strong will to learn, especially with every­ day objects as models for the miniatures. It may take a year to begin to master the skill.

An old lady picked up a magnifier to inspect a small ball no larger than a finger tip. A child could not resist the temptation to touch a tiny ring, a fowl coop, a basket, a ladle and what not.

Kao said he could make anything visible.

While speaking, he began to fabricate a small bamboo ball. Besides needles, an awl, a screwdriv­er and a pair of forceps, his best instrumentality was his fingernail. "What a refined skill." "Marvelous!" The crowd grew larger and larger; he had to ask the onlookers to keep back. In around 15 minutes, he had finished the small ball, to resounding applause.

Dragon boat races commemorate an old incident

The last and best-attended activity during Lukang's National Folk Art Festival was the dragon boat races, held to commemorate an inci­dent in ancient times when boats rushed through the waters to save Chu Yuan, a loyal minister of the State of Chu.

After the eyes were painted on the bow dra­gons in a ritual ceremony, the boats were carried shoulder-high through the streets. Then they were launched on the river, and the races officially started. The cheers and applause of the spectators on the banks of the river mingled with the beats of drums and gongs.

Stamina, experience, body control and team­ work are the key elements in a dragon race. As each boat approaches the finish line, the gong rhythm beater leans out over the bow, balancing his weight on his upper thighs like a gymnast on a side-horse. The one who first seizes the nag wrests the win for his boat, even if it is slightly behind. Not surprisingly, the nag snatcher some­ times falls out of the boat in his enthusiasm. A useful ploy to speed the boat is to ruffle the water at the stern with the rudder, which helps lift the bow out of the water and, also, reduces friction.

During an interval in the dragon boat pro­gram, an across-the-river tug-of-war was held. A main cable strung between the two banks of the Fulu River had five ropes attached at either side, each manned by four people. To prevent the main cable from drooping into the water, it was support­ed by 20 floating oil drums. The winner was, of course, the side which first pulled its opponents over the bank and into the river.

This sport was derived from Kong Su-pan's famous feat during the period of warring states. At that time, the State of Wu in the south dispatched many boats to attack the State of Chu. Kong Su-pan trained some sailors to drag the enemy ships by their mooring cables. This historic en­gagement has turned into a folk contest.