A strong, chilling wind forces me back to the stone wall of a once mighty house. In this dprotected nook, a well-worn bench appears and I sink into it. I offer thanks to the stonemason who almost a century ago designed this sanctuary for weary miners climbing the steep grades of this now ghost town. The wind howls like voices from the past as a blanket of fog rolls in, hiding me from the world and the world from me. Protected and warm, I close my eyes and dream.
The ghosts of Chiufen parade past, whispering tales of better times when there was gold in the hills and those faithful to the Earth God were led to it. I see Ah-ting, now an ancestor in Chitu village in northeast Taiwan, light three sticks of incense and prostrate herself three times to the gray-bearded god that families like hers depend on to interpret the secrets of the earth. That chore finished, she gathers up the dirty dishes and heads down to the stream like she does every day. But this is not a normal day.
In 1880, before Teflon or scouring powder, sand provided the abrasion needed to clean iron woks caked hard with stir-fry. Today's wok is especially challenging because it has been used to prepare the feast for the Earth God's festival. More than the usual amount of sand has to be scooped into it, swirled around, and ground against the burned-on residue with a split bamboo scraper. Ah-ting does not complain at having to throw in the fourth handful to start the process again, remembering that grandma Li from China's Fukien province had only clay pots and sticky clay soil for cleaning. Ah-ting has a constant supply of black sand washed down daily from the mountains by 1,000 millimeters of yearly rainfall. But more than sand had washed down that day.
Some say it was her devotion to the Earth God shown at the previous day's feast, her indomitable optimism, or just plain dumb luck, but in her wok she saw more than black sand mixed with grime staring back at her. She saw a reflection of the night sky with twinkling stars, thick like the milky way. The more sand that was washed away the more intense the sparkle appeared in the center of the wok. Both excited and fearful of this message from the spirit world, she carefully collected her sparkling sand in a rice bowl and ran to the temple. By nightfall, after long hours of speculation, the gods spoke through the village medium while his body twitched and shuddered in trance. The medium spoke with a voice not his own using a language only the Taoist priest could interpret. After the session he could remember nothing of what occurred, only that he had felt drawn to the temple gates. But the vision he had was remembered for a hundred years.
Ah-ting's discovery was indeed momentous, a sign of great changes to come. The medium saw her twinkling stars under the earth and men making tunnels there. He saw hundreds of shrines with the Earth God sitting inside smiling, in one hand the seal of his office and in the other an ingot of shining gold.
This type of news always spreads fast, for better or worse. Soon prospectors flooded the rugged mountains with their own woks, burning incense to the Earth God and panning the streams. These were a special breed. They were sharing the mountain passes with aborigines, who were indignant at being pushed toward the lowlands by these aggressive Fukienese immigrants.
By 1890, people were beginning to understand the significance of the Earth God's message. Chiufen was the source of Ah-ting's twinkling stars; but unlike the California Gold Rush, where gold nuggets could be panned from riverbeds, here miners would have to "burrow into the earth like worms"
This was the Wild West Taiwan-style staged on a windy mountainside, wet and dreary. But the miners hardly noticed the scenery as they dug madly day and night, gambling their lives in poorly ventilated tubercular incubation chambers. The rush was on with little time wasted to reinforce the mine shafts. Fatalistic Taiwanese reasoned that if the gods wanted your soul, they'd take it no matter how many beams you layered into your tunnels. Protection and guidance were provided by the Earth God.
For a few miners the quest led to fortune, but many more were led to an early grave without fulfilling the filial duties of fathering a son to carry on the family name and care for the ancestral altars. Now they roam the hills of Chiufen as hungry ghosts.
The geomantic artistry of this nook is repeated throughout the town. Each dwelling, no matter how humble, has its spot--a window, porch, or bench strategically set to give access to the stark beauty of the landscape. The steep grade which makes transport such a chore also ensures that no one's view is blocked by the house in front. I bask in the sun and dream of Chiufen's golden days in the 1930s.
Between 1934 and 1943, Chiufen was referred to as Little Shanghai for its proximity to a harbor and its scintillating night life. It had a population of around 50,000 (compared with 4,000 today) and 30 winehouses, more than Taipei itself. Courtesans from as far away as the provinces of China would brave the straits to take up residence here. The lights burned for those lucky few with gold in their pockets.
One day in 1935, a miner named Hsu struck a vein. His hands and knees trembled as he grasped the reality that tonight he could afford to do more than enjoy the lights and music from outside the Gentle Breeze Winehouse as he had for the past 10 years. He had exhausted his inheritance and hid from his creditors. He had even been too ashamed to return to his home village in Miaoli during the Lunar New Year. Everyone had called him a fool; but tonight they would call him an honored gentleman and scurry around, bowing when he walked through the gates. Never again, he vowed, would he eat half-roasted sweet potatoes or boiled pig lettuce. It would be shiny white rice every meal, with 10 dishes covering the table. And for the Earth God, he would construct the grand temple he had promised and cover it with gold leaf. Incense would burn day and night. These were the golden years.
Even though the Earth God is the lowest god in Taoism's crowded pantheon, Chiufen now had more temples to him per capita than anywhere else in China. On the second day of the second moon, the town's residents celebrated his birthday like none other. The procession was led by miner Hsu and other dignitaries accompanying the god's images, with red banners, firecrackers, and bands. It wound endlessly through the narrow streets past humble homes with doors wide open inviting the benefactor spirit to reside in their altar as he did in Hsu's. The party continued throughout the night with puppet shows, opera, and long tables filled with delectables in his honor. Many miners went into debt in order to convince the Earth God of their devotion. He was treated with even greater deference than the Jade Emperor who sits in heaven's highest seat. After all, reasoned the practical-minded Taiwanese, the Earth God lived in the shaft with them and knew its secrets. The Jade Emperor was too far above them to help.
By 1943, the mines were ruinously unproductive. Miner Hsu's money did not stretch beyond his grandchildren, who had to go search for wealth on the high seas now that the Earth God could not provide them a living on land. Matsu, Goddess of the Sea, who protects Chiufen's sailors, quietly displaced the bearded one.