最近生活的狀況：一個更新版 [An update on stuff going on in life recently]

[我還沒翻譯完這篇文章，我需要多一點時間。]

A little more than a month ago, on the spur of the moment I decided to go for a hike outside Taipei. That was the best thing I did in the recent months; in hindsight probably the only good thing I did.
[一個月多以前我在最後時刻決定去爬山。回想起來我覺得那是我最近做的最好的是。]

June was a particularly dark month, both literally and metaphorically. With my spirit running low, my errant thought process forestalled any progress I was making on the things I was working on. July was a much better month. I have been making efforts to get closer to the kind of life I have imagined, and the pace has been steady more or less. I hit a plateau in most things I have been working on - fitness, language learning, programming and getting more social. I write this to keep a track and also since writing is one of the few things that calm me.
[五，六月我不太快樂。我普通做的事的進步停止了。我正在努力把我生活變成我理想的生活。為了記下我的進步我寫這篇文章。在說，寫文章讓我輕鬆。]

Outdoors: I went to WuliaoJian (五寮尖), a small mountain to the south of Taipei. While it wasn't physically or mentally challenging, it helped me get out of the groove and I found the much needed repose. I committed to devote every weekend to exploring the wilderness of Taiwan. I made a few more trips to the northeast coast of Taiwan, and discovered how underrated the Taiwanese landscape was. 

The northeast coast of Taiwan is a range of jaw-dropping volcanic cliffs lined along the deep blue Pacific Ocean. A hike to any mountain here offers an extended view of the horizon whose beauty is compounded by the ocean in the foreground. All I need now is a bike to explore the area thoroughly.

Parkour: A lapse of about a month severely hindered all developments I was making with my fitness. Most of the skills I had been learning were at a cusp of being committed to muscle memory and relapsing back again. A month of practice more and I would have gone past the most difficult stage of getting a well conditioned body. My progress on precision jumps, handstands, handstand push-ups, muscle ups and kong-vaults has been absolute zero in the last three months. I was learning to do a double kong vault, but I haven't tried it after moving to my new place. I need to find a good spot to practice it. 

A few days ago I intensified my physical activity with a renewed fervor. By the end of September I aim to be able to learn all the aforementioned skills. I usually practice in a small park near 101 which has all the equipment I need to practice. I am also looking for someone to record my moves so that I can see if I am doing it right. 

Mandarin: I have been learning Mandarin at a slow but steady pace. My listening skills are woeful, probably due the lack of social participation. It just takes a couple of months to get a hang of how these characters are created and the underlying notions of logic or randomness. It is interesting, but you need to keep it applying in daily life which at times becomes a little challenging.

I will try to re-write this post in Mandarin but there are sections which are too complicated for me to translate into Mandarin. Let's see.

Programming: The least wanted and a little unpleasant part of my schedule is programming. I have to be fiercely motivated or at least happy to get ready to code, but lately in the wake of drooping endorphins it's been a rather tough task to do.

I should be done with most of what I have been doing within a week or two if I keep pushing myself.
===
Next update next month. I hope it's rather positive in the nature of its content.

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Fiddling with Endorphin Levels

This place was supposed to be a succor for me. I spent the last year roving the different lands of Asia, absorbing as much as I could. HK was supposed to be my last stop, where I was supposed to kick-start my career. Each of the nine days I spent in HK was a day of agony, dejection and disappointment. The claustrophobic cityscape and its extreme money-minded pace of life appeared to be an antithesis of Taiwan - a tiny island with warm welcoming people who had not yet been gutted emotionless by consumerism. I came here again. And then again.

Throughout my travels I kept going through phases where I had to struggle to keep my endorphin levels from falling down. Something would happen every few weeks - a dull morning, an irrational fear of something unknown after a long siesta or just a phase of unsolicited partial anhedonia. I noticed people, and I noticed it was relatively easier for them to be happy.

I am certain of two things that I affect my endorphins boots - a) I am not meant to be doing nothing when alone. Every second I spend on my own relaxing or doing nothing depresses me.
b) Being in motion calms my nerves. Anything from a random midnight saunter to a quick jaunt in a train calms me down. There's something soothing in the state of dynamism, and in the cradling action that galvanizes certain parts of the brain into action.

The only thing that constantly kept making me happy was intense physical activity. After a hiatus of more than seven months, I began programming again. I had not imaged, but I did get a kick out of it. Writing, watching favorite snippets of movies and other similar actions also temporarily gave a rush.

Then I noticed one more thing about people. They thought about other people a lot, very often actually. Most people had fond memories of others they were attached to via companionship or blood kinship. This emotional intimacy certain did trigger a rush of endorphins.

People thought about other people. People thought about things. I just thought about things in my life. Wherever I went, I talked to people, made acquaintances, had interesting conversations once in a while and left the place. Having spent more than four months here in Taiwan, I ended up knowing a lot of people. Maybe it's my blunted affect that disallowed me to form close relationships with anyone.

I am nowhere close to an unsocial droid scuffing away from the society. I love the outdoors. I love the buzz and the bustle of people, which is why I love this place. I program in cafes, student halls or other public places. The loud chatter and white noise I hear when sitting in a pub soothes me. But at the end of the day, all I am left with to occupy my mind is inanimate things.

I notice when people are down or sad or scared, they think of other people. They ring someone up. They talk.
When I am down or sad or scared, I think of things to do. I go running. I make myself so tired that I lose the ability to think.

The gush of endorphins after a long run or an acute physical exertion takes over all other positive or negative feelings. I feel happy. Relaxed. Tired. I go to sleep.

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An Italian's attempt for Sapara Pokhara in Nepal

It was another of those gilded winter evenings. A bunch of people, mostly Europeans, snuggled onto a pile of cushions in a sheltered nook of a lakeside restaurant in Pokhara. Puffs of smoke and thumps of percussion filled the air. I saw them as I passed by the place walking along the lake.

On my way back I saw one of the them searching for something in the muck that lined the edge of the lake. She was actually picking plastic bags and other toxic stuff out of the mucky bank. Dressed in a hippie outfit, her body adorned with piercings and a prominent tattoo, she carried on unfazed by the stares of people around. She was Belgian. I lent her a helping hand. With a broad smile, she gave me a large empty plastic bag to collect the trash in.

I steered away from the northern end of the lake where she was, and discovered a few more tourists dirtying themselves in a bid to clean the lake. Apparently they all knew each other. A guy approached me, thanked me for the help and said, "You should get some more Nepali friends of yours." He was Italian.
"I am not Nepali, I am from India", I said.
"Can you speak Nepali?"
"No, but everyone here can speak and understand Hindi.", I said pointing at a big crowd of locals watching in curiosity.

All attempts to make the by-standers join us failed miserably. A little kid who knew me asked me,"आपको सफाई का पैसा मिल रहा है क्या ?" ("Are you being paid for cleaning the place?"). Most people took a defensive stance, claiming they never threw trash into the lake. But no one joined.

The Italian guy was the mastermind behind the act. Back in Italy he taught environmental sciences as a profession.
"We will clean the lake, buy some dustbins and put them all along the lakeside. I plan to visit the municipality and talk to them. We can print 'Sapara Pokhara' (clean Pokhara) everywhere. Can you come with us and talk with the people in municipality?", he said in a distinctive Italian accent.
"Sure, but let's do it this week. I am going back to India the next week."

He gathered a big crowd and began talking to them, trying to explain how important it was to keep the lake clean and the environment healthy. As corny as it may sound, most people got defensive and began explaining themselves.

A week later, on my way to Sunauli in India I saw him in the bus again. He had probably given up on the people of Pokhara. I lost him at the border but ran into him again in Gorakhpur after a couple of hours. He was haggling with a ticket agent over a ticket to Varanasi. His notion of Varanasi was a haven of spirituality, religious piety and peace.

He left for Varanasi that night. Phewa Lake in Pokhara is A LOT cleaner than the holy river Ganges in Varanasi. I wonder how he reacted to the ground reality of the holy town and its holier river.

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我眼中的反服貿運動 - Taiwan Sunflower Movement: A Unique Spectacle

這篇文章不討論政府的條約。這就是我眼中的被學生主辦抗議簡述。身為一個外國人我得分享這件事。

This post isn't about the contentious pact between Taiwan and China. It's rather parochial in outlook - it focuses mainly on how the students pulled off a strike that left me impressed. 

If you don't know what I am talking about, read this. 

The strike was primarily organized by students coming from various universities across the country. Marked by elements of ingenuity, technical innovation and efficiency, it was the most evolved form of strike I have ever seen or heard of.

Makeshift tents and the protesters 

OB Vans and makeshift tents lined up 青島東路 (Qingdao East Rd). Bootstrapped stalls holding items of daily use arrayed after the OB vans. The area occupied for the protests ended with a row of portable toilets. All of this was interjected with posters, novelties and knickknacks defending democracy and ridiculing Taiwan's president Ma Jeou.

Inside the gates of Legislative Yuan (LY) was a makeshift tent with medical assistance for the needy. For sake of solidarity, passers-by were requested not to take pics of the place. There was another stall on 濟南路一段 (Jinan Rd) offering counselling and other services to those in need of help with psychological problems. At the end was a stall being set up to provide information and services for getting to Taipei from other cities in the country.

On the left at the entrance of Qingdao East Rd was a stall where students could get help with their school assignments and homework. There was a board listing the subjects one could help with.

Top: Placards advertising the availability of free showers.
Center: 課輔教室 (Supplementary lesson teaching unit)
Bottom: Massage for the needy (not sure if it was free)

There were stages set up for people to give speeches and screens erected for projecting videos. Most of the space on the road was occupied by the protesters who peacefully kept on with their usual chores. The big screens often played a live telecast of the happenings inside Legislative Yuan (LY) using simple P2P mobile apps.

The content played on smaller screens was a miscellany of movies related to historic revolutions, short films expounding terms like democracy and freedom, documentaries on past cover-ups of government or on ancient heroes and so on.

At one of the intersections a stall was set up to charge cell phone batteries. A person who wanted to get his phone charged was given a token number to serve as a unique identity. Huddled in a corner was a bunch of routers. One of the students informed me that they had come from Japan as a token of appreciation after Taiwan offered them help when it was hit by Tsunami.

Top: A FarEastZone Vehicle with outfitted with
routers to make wifi available in the area.
Bottom: The tech team hidden in a nook. 

Free WiFi was available in the whole area. A tech based NGO volunteered to set up a network and take care of the wherewithal needed to establish and maintain proper communication with the people inside LY. The team was hidden from public view and the visitors were not allowed to visit the place. I kind of felt sorry for the programmers there for not getting the much needed social participation.

The protest was not getting the much needed exposure and in some cases was shown in a bad light. A group of protesters then came up with a website of their own - 4am.tw where they put forth their point of view replete with photos, videos and links to other articles.

Pylons and ribbons demarcated the area to be used by pedestrians. At the periphery of the protest area volunteers made sure that the traffic was diverted smoothly. The people liaised with a few hotels who offered free showers to the people staying there. The location was kept undisclosed to the public.

Top: Students protesting
Middle: Students hanging out
Bottom: Free coffee for everyone

Taiwanese people got a few things damn right - even in the wake of an extreme situation like this they were sensible enough not to suspend the basic attributes of safety and cleanliness. And they were smart enough to implement things in an efficient manner. Every small piece of litter was disposed of. The whole area remained packed with people all the time. In spite of the overwhelming crowd there was absolute lack of dirtiness and bedlam. 

Trash cans for each type of garbage.
Cleanliness was one thing NOT ignored during the whole protest

The whole area was abuzz with various kinds of activities and had buoyancy similar to that of a fest. People unleashed their creativity on posters, tee-shirts, banners, little crafts and simple contraptions. 

Jinan Rd primarily served stage-shows, live performances and other art related events in the backdrop of the protest. There were coffee stalls serving free coffee. This road had a lesser footfall than Qingdao East Rd.


I can go on describing the multitude of activities that went on there and how well the whole thing was organized. As much as I was supporting their cause, I also had my own set of reasons to spend most of my time there. The place had a lot of things that kept me ticking - constant buzz, a warm presence of people around, all the basic means to get by and a concourse indulging in expression of their selves in various forms. I loved talking to the people there, and they loved talking to me. My newfound room was dull and depressing. I haven't anyway ever spent a lot of time indoors.

Some of the posters
covering the walls

On my second last visit to the place I saw a woman sitting on a bootstrapped bedding with her son. While talking to me she told me she was a teacher in Taichung, and that she used to come every weekend to Taipei to support the students. Everyone in her school had been discouraged from supporting the protest but she had openly stepped forward and made her stance clear. I asked whether her little son knew about what was going on. She replied, "He knows. He is witnessing history."

That night I was happily given a plastic mattress and a thin blanket after I told them I wanted to sleep there. I found a spot near the entrance to Qingdao East Rd under a tree. There was a bunch of girls just down the footpath who had come from Kaosiung. The protesters tried to continue the activities throughout the night but in a much quieter way. There was a big screen playing some movie a few meters away from me. A few hours into the night the volume was turned down.

Top: People drying their clothes in the open.
Bottom: One of the makeshift shops having the wherewithal for overnight stays

I woke up at five in the morning. I wrapped my bedding and as I began to proceed to a counter to return it, a homeless woman came to me and asked me for the bedding.

A week later, the protest was called off. The event got floppy media coverage from international community but it was an unprecedented event in recent history of Taiwan. What puzzles and amazes me is that the people driving the protest had never seen any form of unrest in the country before. They haven't had any encounter with violence or chaos. Probably that's what gave this whole protest the much refreshing elements of technocratic supremacy and pacific execution.

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A Chronicle of Running

Constant downpour and glum weather had frazzled me badly. I can't stress it enough - I _need_ to be outdoors to keep my spirits up and senses ticking, and that's exactly what I couldn't do in this weather. Fortunately, the sky grudgingly offered some sunshine over the weekend. And I did what I do best - go running outdoors. 

I ran along the riverside for the first time - it's a gorgeous stretch of parks, meadows and lush foliage on one side. The opposite side offers sweeping views of 新北市 and of mountains girding the city. Pumped up, I ran faster and longer than usual with a couple of stops in between and very proudly ended up with sore calves.

I am no great runner, but I can run much faster now than I did nine months ago when I left Singapore. And I made most of my progress in the past two to three months, thanks to the cold weather.

My first run in the post-employment itinerant phase was in Seoul. I participated in a free 10 km running event organized by Seoul Flyers. The location was a well paved riverfront along Han river. It was spring in full bloom, and the entire run was as smooth and calming as morning breeze. It took me an effortless forty five minutes, but later in the day my latent IT band injury resurfaced, and I limped badly for the next two days.

During the three weeks I spent in Laos, I went running just one day. It was different world, and I was more in awe of the place than usual. I spent some of the most intense, and some of the laziest days there. The day I went running in Nong Khiaow I had to constantly dodge vehicles on the road, and when I agreed to put up with that mild annoyance I was chased by a bunch of xenophobic canines. So much for a run.

Thailand was a big flop. I had a presentiment of it being banally touristy, and it came true. I recoiled in Bangkok, and spent time touring lavish malls of Sukhumvit and reading in spare time. Koh Samui was much nicer and it had the much needed space and nature. After weeks of torpidity, I swam in the choppy water and then ran on the beach barefoot. It was nothing less than a transporting experience, and it was one of the few memorable experiences I had in Thailand. This was Lamai beach, I tried running again at Bophut or BangRak beach, but it turned out to be too rocky to run. In spite of all the tawdry commercialization, the beaches in Thailand are heavenly!

Xiamen is a coastal city renowned for its university and its marathon. It's unlike any other city I have been to in China, and its neighborhoods resemble Taiwan more than China. It has a LOOONG stretch of beach that starts from 下大 which has been very efficiently decorated. The concrete pavement is meters away from the water, and sits on an elevated land. That's where I ran. And after a long time did I run for more than an hour. 

All these running drills were sporadic and non-incremental. Then came a phase of two months or more when I hardly ran. A big jump then came in November when I went to Nepal.

Nepal is the only place other than Laos where I spent days in a different state of mind. I spent a month in a mountain town nestled among giant hills. In this one month I tried my best to eradicate all randomness from my schedule, and took incremental steps for my fitness and career both. I used to go running early morning in the biting cold on a fixed path that ran along a scenic lake for a fixed distance. My run ended on top of a small hill that overlooked the lake, the town and a landing spot for para-gliders wafting gracefully in the air. On weekends, I used to hike up a mountain, trying to go as fast as possible. This was the month when my fitness went up a notch. I spent a long time working out, and I was totally enjoying the intensity of my lifestyle.

While I tick 'running 5k in less than 20 mins' off my list, I jot down new goals. I go running in a stadium nearby, and usually it stays as the highlight of the day. Currently my progress is highly incremental in nature, and I guess it will take a while before I hit another plateau. It just compounds the kick I get out of running including the little quanta of joy I feel while writing about it.

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Taitung

I loved windy nights. I loved wide open spaces. I loved winters. I loved the novelty of new places. There was no way I could not be entranced by the something that conflated all these elements. Strong gusts of wind buffeted my face as I stepped out the station on a wintry night in Taitung. A huge garden fronted the building, and near-abandoned roads sprawled out. Footfalls of passengers mellowed out in the buzz of the wind. There were so many trips I had taken just to lose myself in such a transporting ambiance. Sight-seeing and other travel worthy stuff took a backseat in such instances. Like in Hualien, the plan was to spent a night homeless, but was thwarted by the biting cold. 

I waited until the people vanished. A walk and a hitchhike later I found myself in the city center. Unlike the tortuous alleys of Taipei, streets here were much less dense. 

There were these phases when I recoiled myself socially, particularly when I felt hopeless or scared regarding the future. I took this trip after a terrible week spent vegetating in the hostel mulling over future plans, and consuming more info, with every thought process hitting a brick wall. I took a break from everything, temporarily jumping ship. This was probably the only thing I could do. I had made some good friends in the hostel I was staying in, but in such phases of lowness, there was no one I could vent my frustration with, either online or offline. Getting back into my former comfort zone characterized by solitude and constant activity was the thing to do. And so here I was.

The next morning, in the slight drizzle, I left the hostel and went to the beach. It must have been a morning drill for the pilots stationed at Taitung airbase. The roar of fighter jets boomed out in the sky as they repeatedly made round trips. The air strip was located near a bridge (something 大橋) to the north of the town. I began walking up north and reached the bridge. It was quite a site to behold as the jets landed on the strip, flying a few meters away from the bridge at the same altitude as the bridge, with a marvelous mountain range in the backdrop. 

Another hitch-hike took me across the bridge to a place I didn't want to go to, so I hitched yet another ride to come back to the city. A couple of hours on a crappy bicycle and then I decided to go back. 

I visited three beaches that day - all empty. I met two weird women from Vietnam with whom I had an awkward conversation. I ate at a 7-11 for umpteenth time. But the highlight of the trip was those first sixty minutes spent at the station on that wintry breezy night. 

I found it very soothing being in a place of absolute unfamiliarity. Maybe it was the freewheeling spirit decoupled from all prejudices, or the charm of solitude. It was something that's better left undescribed. And untouched.

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YehChina Gameroom - Support URL

YehChina Gameroom is a series of games aimed at practicing Chinese language. It has games to test and hone your pinyin tone, character building, hanzi identification and pinyin identification skills. The content spans HSK levels 1 to 4.

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Of Winters and Mediocrity

The last thing I wanted to think about was myself.

I hated white noise, the constant drone of which eerily used to scare me. That's why I loved winters - it cloaked all bits of white noise. The stunned silence enhanced the visual imagery created by puffs of mist seen through glass windows made fuzzy with morning dew.

This trip was a sweet revisit to my past. Those irrational paroxysms of energy were back. I would be woken up again in middle of the night by frisson tingling my nerves, and an urge to do something, anything. The biting winter kept that urge in check. Only this time, it came with the realization of my mediocrity.

My not-so-recent history is largely devoid of interactive elements. There lies no mention of social validation, memorable moments, intimate confessions, pep talks or adolescent curiosity. All I remember is the intensity of things. The last thing I wanted to think about was myself. I sought comfort through vicarious means. This was the comfort I felt in the mild susurrus of people's voices.

Like everyone else, I wanted to escape mediocrity. I spent years in high hopes of accomplishing the same. What was it that made masterminds so smart? Maybe they had different neural pathways in their brains. Maybe they had a higher number of active neurons. Maybe they had an extremely efficient feedback learning system that honed their mental acumen every time they evaluated something. The brain, as they say, is plastic. It can be molded. An immediate about-face of perspectives is possible, and a gradual one can be executed successfully.

I grew up to realize I was merely an aberration, that odd glitch in a smooth graph. I wasn't ahead of the curve, but behind it. We lacked the incisive insight of savants, but filled the void with rich experiences and consumption of knowledge. We deluded ourselves with exaggerated positive self-evaluation, and sought validation from our social circle. That's how we dealt with the harsh truth that our lives were engulfed in ineluctable mediocrity.

There was something soothing in the chattering sound of burning wood. The flickering flames of fire were similar to darkness. There was nothing to focus on - everything was amorphous. That's what made it so comforting.

I loved winters for various reasons. My body responded to physical exertions better and faster. I could think clearly. I gained more from my high BMR and suffered less. I had almost forgotten the uncanny feeling of going for a run before sunrise, and watching my shadow quiver in the thick pellets of fog suspended in air whenever a vehicle whizzed past. I loved watching my fingers go numb by gusts of chilly wind. In moments of such extremities, in kicks of dopamine and thrills of adrenaline, maybe I got a taste of how it felt like not being a mediocre. Maybe.

So much for a middling life. 

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Stars, mountains and isolation

I saw the peaks on a clear morning the second day. It took me days before I ventured out for a better view of the Annapurna range. I arrived here with a plan to isolate myself, surround myself in the ether of unfamiliarity and get into a routine. No chitchats, no significant societal interactions and no off-the-cuff decisions. The plan was to create a lifestyle seething with constant consumption and physical exertion. No distractions. The urge to go out and meet people bugged me for the first few days, but it evaporated gradually.

x-x-x

The second time I hiked up Sarangkot, I took a detour to reach the cusp of a neighboring mountain. It offered an expansive view of the Annapurna range. I spent the night on the mountain top. What I saw that night and what I saw the next morning are two most majestic things I have ever seen.

As the place went dead after sunset and the lights went out, the sky opened it's treasure trove of celestial bodies. Standing in pitch darkness, under a sky gloriously spangled, staring into the past, I lost myself. I had transcended beyond my corporeal existence. I was merely a cipher looking at the firmament above. There were no thoughts, no sound and no lights to intervene. Temporal things like making a career or getting fitter seemed like piffling concerns. It was so easy to lose sense of things like time or tactile sensation.

A dog's bark tore through the stillness. I went back into the room.

x-x-x

The process was gradual - first the stalwart peaks began to loom out of darkness. Then the rays of the sun that was yet to rise dispelled all traces of darkness. Then those rays painted the peaks with cerise tinge. Then the sun rose. Heads and cameras turned to the east. The sun turned brighter. The peaks began to gleam.

It was not the aesthetic beauty of those peaks that captured my head. It was their sheer grandeur that was so captivating. It was their insulation that was so mystifying. The peaks were barely thirteen kilometers away. And the whole world changed within that distance - the elevation increased by about seven thousand meters, world's deepest gorge passed through, flora and fauna vanished, surroundings turned white and air became thin. The pattern was visible. These mountains exuded an air of unearthly mystique. It was a feeling that could not be explained. It's hidden vales and unseen grottoes triggered wild imagination and awakened an irresistible urge to visit them.

These mountains are still geologically alive. There used to be life here before two lands collided giving birth to the Himalayas. Kali-Gandaki river carries their fossils, mostly ammonites. 

x-x-x

Being outdoors meant taking long walks to new places, running along bumpy pebbled roads, hiking up the peaks around or having quick meals at an eatery. Being indoors meant devouring contents on my laptop, working out or getting some sleep. There was nothing in between. Life seemed to have stuck at a crest of the sinusoidal boots of energy and motivation. The restlessness was back. And back was my former anti-social self. 

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(Mis)adventures of Overnight Layovers in Airports

Hat Yai is a bad-ass city in southern Thailand where insurgence has militated against all the colorful touristy elements typical of Thailand. Even the airport has been bombed once. As soon as I arrived in the city, I made a beeline for the airport even though my flight was the next day. I snuggled in my newly found sweet spot and fell into a lovely sleep. I was woken up by a policeman with intimidating moustache. He couldn't speak English so he elegantly kicked me out of the airport which was empty now. After inquiring a little more affable lady who, fortunately, could also speak English, I came to know the airport had been closed. Like a restaurant. All my pleas to let me stay fell on deaf pointy ears of the inexorable policeman and his malicious aide. I decided to find a place just outside the airport but the pesky man in uniform balked at the idea. He began to call up a hotel to have me picked up. At this point I uttered with little forethought "No money!!". It was apparent that he understood my words. He mumbled something to his aide who then asked me to follow him. The policeman gave me a very warm smile. I was led to a small prayer room, with a stairway in the corner that led to a toilet downstairs. "Very nice place", he said. I thanked him. He locked me inside and said, "I will open it tomorrow morning. It is the rule." I thanked him again. 

Jinmen is a small, pretty much neglected island that belongs to Taiwan and is a thirty minute ferry ride from Xiamen in China. I spent one night here. I was annoyed to learn that even this airport closes at night. Like a restaurant. With unshakable bullheadedness I decided not to spend money on another expensive hotel. There were no cheap hotels around. In the evening I left for a stroll outside. The slowness and antiquity of the town was intoxicating. I came back at night; the airport was empty, and closed. Fortunately the entrance was open. I went to the security and said "我要去太北明天早上。我想在这里睡觉". The man in uniform said,"沒問題 (no problem)". Sweet! It is a lovely and strange feeling sleeping in such a huge enclosed area all alone.

I landed at Guangzhou airport at night, and I had a flight to catch the next morning. It was a biting winter. I was looking for a tea/coffee shop in the sprawling airport. A tiny man in formal black attire approached me and asked me in broken English where I was going. I showed him the ticket of the flight next morning. "You have to go out", he said constantly nudging me towards the exit. 

"Why?"

"Your flight tomorrow morning. Come tomorrow. Airport closed now."

"But there are people still sitting here inside."

"They have flight now."

A small argument ensued. I was outside the building out in the open now, arguing with him, being a little chary talking to someone in command. He called a shabby van and asked me to get in, "This will take you to a hotel. It's very cheap." Nasty bugger, I thought, he is just a broker. 

"I am going back in." I told him angrily. 

"You can't go back now. It's closed. Go to the hotel."

I tried a few doors operated by optical sensors. None of them worked. "Okay. So I will spend the night here in the open. I am NOT going anywhere. No hotel", I said to him dauntingly. He looked at me for a few seconds. Realizing I was having none of him, he said in a tone of dejection,"Ookayy, go to gate number five." I went to gate number five, and it magically opened. Boom!

I have never seen a city in Asia where real estate is as expensive as Hong Kong. That was one time when I bolted to the airport with a single-minded intent of saving money. And I have never seen an airport where so many people come to sleep overnight. The connection is simple. And the airport security doesn't seem to mind so many people dozing there. 

My overnight stopovers in other airports have been rather uneventful, just the way I wanted them to be. It's interesting how the repetitiveness of even a mundane activity brings forth interesting patterns. And you manage to save a few bucks in the meanwhile!

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