Masthead

Letter from the Editor

From the Desk

The Tale of the Big, Big Pigs
By Doug Mitchell

What It's Like to be Married to a Taiwanese Girl
By Andrew Crosthwaite

Top Twenty Bizarre English Names in Taiwan
By Matt Gibson

An Interview with Cole Swanson
By Steve Williams

Art in a Tropical Garden
By Ruth Kozak

Disabled and Displaced in Afghanistan
By Kloie Picot

Kaohsiung Harbor
By Matt Gibson

The Exile
By Chris Scott

Wages
By David Alexander

The Train People
By Albert Creak

The Taiwan Angels Tour for Toys"
By Matt Gibson

Walking in Taiwan
By Paul Andrew

How to Get a Taiwanese Driver's License
By Sean Allingham

It's Just Not Cricket
By Whistlin' John Smith

Get Your War On
By David Rees

Poohat
By Leon

Arabian Nights
By Marion Erskine

Best Friends
By Andrew Crosthwaite

By Doug Mitchell

As a freelance photojournalist, I consider myself quite lucky to have some great Taiwanese friends who tell me about the activities going on around the island. Living in a smaller town (Sinying, in Tainan County), I’m somewhat disconnected from the social-event pipeline. So when my friend told me about a giant pig festival at a temple in Kaohsiung one Sunday in August, I jumped on the train with my camera, not knowing what to expect.

After taking a taxi to Yimin Temple and stepping out into the bustling, blocked off street around 7 p.m., unreality began tickling at my senses. Walking down the street, I remember thinking that I had been there before. Deja vu poked at me from all around. There were the usual night market type food stalls selling everything from squid on a stick to socks, and the throng of people weaving in between. There were firecrackers and fireworks splashing light everywhere. The KTV-style singing on the stage was clashing hard with the pounding, rhythmic drums and crashing cymbals coming from somewhere else. Then I saw them.

They were impossible to miss. The enormous size of the beasts made them almost unrecognizable as pigs. I thought that they couldn’t possibly be real. They were the size of small cars, arranged and displayed in these neon lighted shrines jabbing into the night sky. Now, the rhythmic drumming was pulling me in for a closer look. When I got close enough I discovered that they were indeed real pigs. I stood frozen—both horrified and fascinated by the spectacle.

I stared at the colossal swine, smelling the burning incense and firecrackers, hearing the hypnotic beats, and wondering how in the world pigs of this size could exist. Jolted from my daze, I turned to see the ‘secret service’ pushing and forming a circle for the former Taipei mayor and resigned KMT chairman Ma Ying-jeou who was sauntering through the crowd smiling and shaking hands. It seemed that all the giants were out that night.

I took out my camera thinking that I’d better get some photos before I woke up from the dream. Battling for viewing space, I photographed the pigs. I swear I even heard my camera gasp once or twice.

I’m sure every foreigner in Taiwan knows the feeling of being stared at or pointed at on occasion. It’s something that I’ve gotten used to. But being the only white person that I could see at this temple, taking photos and probably looking like a Neanderthal that’s just seen fire for the first time, I definitely attracted more than a few stares accompanied with smiles of mild amusement.

One curious man struck up a conversation with me in broken English and helped answer some of the questions tumbling through my mind. His father was the owner of one of the pigs and taking part in this festival was a Hakka tradition. He explained that the pigs are raised for about 3 years and on average weigh about 800kg, some reaching 1,000kg. The pigs are killed the morning of the festival and brought to the temple on the back of trucks where shrines are then built up around them. In the evening, when the festival is over, the family dines on their prized pork.

I finished chatting with ‘James’, thanked him for filling me in and took another stroll in front of the sacred animals. There were still many questions and a jumble of emotions to go with them. It was astonishing, disturbing, amazing, disgusting, but most of all, surreal. As I munched on some market food and contemplated the experience I surrendered my senses to my surroundings one last time. I smelled the incense, the market food, and the firecrackers. I heard the buzz of conversation, the thundering drums and crashing cymbals, the exploding rockets, and the singing. I saw eyes briefly locking with mine, colours and lights, and pigs – big, big pigs.

Since that Sunday in August, I have done some research into the festival; some through locals and some through the Internet. I found articles, facts, explanations, and, not surprisingly, a lot of controversy. Now, I could tell you about some of the shocking procedures used to rear a pig to these enormous sizes. I could tell you why they do it in the first place. I could tell you about the arguments that animal rights organizations have, and about the arguments that the Hakka people and festival participants give in return. But I won’t. I’ll let you decide whether you want to check it out and choose your side of the debate, or if you just want to look at my photos and say, “Whoa…those are some big, big pigs!”