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With food running low in the cupboards of his mountain shack, world-traveling author Jeff Quinn decides to do the unthinkable...Get a job! Setting off with his Cambodian wife Phach, Quinn travels to a remote Taiwanese island to teach English. Teaching as his cover, Quinn insatiably curious, examines the historical, cultural, and natural nuances of his temporary home on the island of Nangan. The island, lying within sight of the Chinese mainland, was once the setting for tense frontline hostilities between Taiwanese and Chinese forces during the Cold War.

 

282 pages/Published in 2011

 

A Nutty Habit...

 

Soon after arriving on the island, I began noticing a substantial portion of the male species engaged in a curious ritual...The indulgence of betel nut. The reddish orange teeth were a dead giveaway.

So what exactly are these curious little nuts and why all the fascination with them? For starters, the nuts referred to as betel nuts aren't betel nuts at all. The nuts are actually harvested from tall, wispy areca palm trees native to the shores of the Indian and Pacific Oceans. Areca nuts are slightly smaller than your average walnut and are extremely hard. Although some users opt to add candy or tobacco, there are basically three main components involved in the preparation of chewing grade betel. First, it is of course necessary to procure the aforementioned areca nuts. The nuts are then wrapped inside a freshly picked leaf from the betel tree (thus the name betel). Lastly, in order to generate the “kick” or desired effect, an alkaloid known as arecoline must be introduced. One of the most popular means of triggering this chemical process is through the use of lime powder derived from crushed oyster shells. One now has the requisite components of the three-part harmony.

So where do they chew the stuff? Before answering, I must inform you that betel nut chewing is really betel nut sucking. But as that sounds somewhat grotesque we'll refer to the practice heretofore as betel nut indulgence. That just sounds better doesn't it? Betel nut indulgence is found in nearly every nook and cranny throughout the continent of Asia. Strangely, the practice is virtually unknown throughout most of the western world. The reddish-orange stains gracing sidewalks and streets remind me of the Old West, to a time when chewing tobacco was at its height of popularity in America. Just like back then, there are signs informing people that betel spitting is prohibited. In Papua New Guinea, for instance, “No Betel Nut Chewing” signs are posted right alongside “No Smoking” signs. Though I must admit I never came across any of these signs on Nangan, just a lot of juice

What I find mind blowing is that a full ten percent of the world's population indulge in betel. Ten percent! Some 200 million people throughout the world have reddish-orange stained teeth at various times during each day. Some contend that betel indulgence is safer than smoking cigarettes, but in my experience, many favor enjoying both passions simultaneously. Archeological evidence uncovered throughout the Southeast Asian countries of Indonesia, Thailand, and the Philippines, suggest that the three main ingredients (areca nuts, betel leaves, and lime) have been used together for over 4,000 years.

My own personal and exotic experience with betel nut took place on a cloudy Sunday afternoon a couple weeks after arriving on the island. Phach had procured the concoction earlier in the day from a small storefront in the village of Qingshui while out running some errands.

After spending a generous portion of the day cooped up writing, I decided a little fresh air might do me some good, so off toward the sea I went. This, of course, is a bit of a joke when you live on a small island where the sea can be accessed in every conceivable direction without much effort as long as the route isn't interlaced with land mines or a cliff face. After climbing a short steep road from the village of Magang to the White Horse Temple, I descended a steep and crooked path down to a sparingly used beach where Phach and I had picked up sea shells several days earlier. The small beach, normally devoid of humanity, is hemmed in on both sides by a series of concrete bunkers built directly into the granite cliff faces at the height of the tensions with China. Jagged shards of green and brown glass still cling to the rocks surrounding the bunkers. The glass was deployed to deter bare-footed frogmen from becoming overly curious.

Sitting on a rock shelf at high tide, I admired the scenery, wondering what it must have been like to anxiously stand watch in one of the bunkers. Peering out into the inky night as the waves crashed on the beach and the slightest noise might be construed as the enemy. With these thoughts in mind, I withdrew my satchel of betel and crunched the nut down between my back molars expecting it to taste like a fetid version of Skoal. To my surprise, it tasted palatable. You might even say it had a wintergreeny taste sensation.

What were the effects you ask. Well, I'm not really sure. But if there truly were any effects, I guess I'd have to say they were similar to those associated with the infamous “Special Happy Pizza” in Siem Reap, Cambodia, where pizzas topped with marijuana offer a negligible to nil “effect”. Like coca leaf chewing in Peru, betel nut indulgers swear by the natural feeling of heightened alertness and the uncanny ability to stave off weariness while engaged in anything from climbing dizzying trails in the Andes to driving dilapidated trucks down dilapidated roads in Indonesia. The betel, pronounced like the insect, beetle, did seem to have the effect of keeping me awake that night. And when I did finally nod off, I seemed to have experienced several vividly bizarre dreams. But then I can't be positive if the dreams were actually caused by the betel or mold spores. In one dream I was climbing a rickety ladder up an endless cliff, while in another, I was driving through an endless blizzard. “Endless” seemed to be the key component of each dream.

Betel Nut Beauties...

In the 1990s, scantily-clad young women began appearing in booths alongside streets and roadways peddling betel nuts. Over time, the booths have become more ornate and exquisite, many illuminated by neon and configured by professional designers. Most booths are constructed completely out of glass, affording the predominantly male-based clientele, an opportunity to view the samples within. The saleswomen working the booths are known as “beauties”. What began as a racy fad unique to Taiwan, has now become fully ingrained into the cultural fabric. Today, there are nearly 18,000 betel nut vendors scattered throughout Taiwan.

To be sure, the booths are controversial. To some they represent nothing more than sensationalism in advertising. Sex simultaneously sells and assists with selling. Niches the “beauties” exploit wonderfully.

Of course there are plenty out there who view the practice as an utter abomination. For instance, feminists feel the practice degrades women, while others charge that booths staffed with half-naked young females invite all manner of negative side effects ranging from sexual assault and prostitution, to traffic fatalities stemming from gawking motorists.

Health officials feel the booths promote unhealthy habits leading to oral cancer, while environmentalists charge betel indulgence overtaxes the landscape and causes soil erosion. Some local officials frown on the practice, seeing it as nothing more than a low-brow activity leading to an unwanted form of voyeuristic tourism.

No such controversy seems to exist on the island of Nangan. Then there are no elaborate betel booths nor beauties peddling the product either. Don't get me wrong, from what I saw, the betel business was booming. It just wasn't being sold by young women in bikinis, but rather by middle-aged women in parkas.

As you might imagine, the vast majority of betel nut beauties are young, most choosing only to stay in the business for short periods of time before swapping professions. Although the boredom factor must surely be off the charts, the money is said to be good.

Most girls earn double the income of their university-educated counterparts entering the workforce following graduation.

Shakedowns by police and the introduction of city ordinances restricting the practice in certain locations in Taiwan have hampered business, but certainly not flattened it. Through the creation of laws regulating "how much skin is too much skin to show", officials have recently been doling out tickets and fines in some locations. I read rumors relating incidences of prostitution and organized crime. While I'm sure these things do exist, they seem to do so on a small scale.

A word of advice. If your taxi driver takes you out looking for betel nut beauties and pulls up beside a shop with tinted glass and a barber pole...Beware. It's probably a brothel. “Uh, I think there has been some misunderstanding...”

Phach's grandmother was formerly a betel-nutter in Cambodia. Phach says that betel nut indulgence is more of a female thing in Cambodia, whereas in Taiwan, I can't ever recall seeing a woman partake. Phach's grandmother gathered discarded clam shells to use as her lime base, while harvesting leaves from nearby betel trees and the areca nuts from the village market. In Cambodia, the practice is relegated mainly to the older generations. Months later, I witnessed Phach's mom indulging, a sight I'd never seen before. Neither had Phach.

As the sun, a reddish-orange hue similar to betel spittle sank low on the horizon, I stared out at the hazy mountainous outline of mainland China wondering if I'd ever get to visit in person. I finished up my last Taiwan Beer and spit out the pulpy vestiges of betel nut before making my way back up the steep steps leading to the White Horse Temple at the top of the rise. Just as I was leaving, an R.O.C. Coast Guard cutter bore down on a weathered blue fishing vessel a few hundred meters offshore. After some shouting on a loudspeaker, the cutter proceeded to escort the craft in the direction of Fu'ao Harbor, where I can only imagine a bit of questioning took place. Witnessing the shakedown, brought to mind visions of pirates, who once skulked about the islands.

Cheung Po Tsai, a legendary Chinese buccaneer, who at one time claimed to possess between 200 to 600 vessels and 20,000 to 50,000 faithful followers, once plied his trade in Matsu. Cheung Po, the son of a poor fisherman, was kidnapped at the age of 15 by a pirate named Chen Yat and his wife, Ching Shih. The charismatic young Cheung Po quickly learned the ropes and became Chen Yat's favorite new “recruit”, rising rapidly through the pirate ranks. When Chen Yat suddenly died during a storm, Ching Shih, known now as “Widow Ching”, took control of the pirates with Cheung Po as her right-hand man. The pair became cozy and eventually married. Later, Cheung Po took over complete control of the fleet and legend has it Cheung Po's pirates were well-disciplined, shared the booty equally, and never harmed women. Take that for what it is worth.

Along with fellow pirate mastermind, Cai Qian, Cheung Po raided the coastline until 1810, when Cai Qian's fleet was destroyed by the Qing government. Cheung Po, hoping to avoid a similar fate, agreed to join forces with the Qing by becoming a captain in the navy where he took on the ironically incongruous task of eradicating piracy. After his sailing days ended, Cheung Po enjoyed cushy administrative jobs within the Qing bureaucracy.

Cheung Po may seem familiar to fans of the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, as the character Sao Feng in the Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End, was based on Cheung Po Tsai's life...More or less anyway. Cheung Po is perhaps best known today for his mythical hidden treasure said to be stashed in Cheung Chau cave on a small island near Hong Kong. Though many a treasure hunter, some armed with very expensive modern equipment, have searched, no one has yet succeeded in locating the booty.

It seems, the only pirates skulking around Matsu these days hail from mainland China, where bands of hungry souls motor over to fish illegally and filch tern eggs near the island of Beigan. Not a lot of ho, ho, ho in that, now is there.