Danzón!

The couples dance as if in a trance, moving slowly to the rhythm, seldom speaking.
It's fascinating to watch.

I have visited Mexico three times. One visit was really just a tentative toe over the border, across the Rio Grande in mid-summer, from Brownsville, Texas, to Matamoros - its name improbably borrowed from Spain's patron saint, Santiago Matamoros, St James the Moor Killer (I don't recall my history books talking about Mexican involvement in Spain's expulsion of the Moors). My overwhelming impression was of dust, diesel fumes and decay. On another occasion, I flew in to Mexico City for a brief visit. The diesel fumes were still here, but the city, buzzing busy as a beehive, dazzled with graphically stylish facades and silvery skyscrapers. I munched ripe melons in the zona rosa, communed with mummified monks (Mexico's obsession with death is on display everywhere) and puffed my way to the top of the ancient Aztec pyramids on the city's periphery. I came home armed with pottery and glass and paper-mache, primitive but beautiful. I have them still.

Girl in toyshop, Zona Rosa

Campesino waits to cross the street

University facade

Piñata

Zona Rosa cafe

Diego Rivera mural detail

Shop facade, Zona Rosa

Mummified monk

Atop the pyramid (no that's not me!)

Later, much later, I came back to Mexico, this time to discover what I had previously missed: danzón! In Córdoba, every Thursday afternoon, in the large plaza by the cathedral, the band arrives, brass instruments reflecting the sun. A few oom-pah-pahs later and couples, mostly middle-aged, move closer and the dancing begins. Danzón has its origins in Cuba, where it is very popular, and it is now part of the cultural scene in many parts of Mexico, especially in the state of Veracruz. The couples dance as if in a trance, moving slowly to the rhythm, seldom speaking. It's fascinating to watch. As the sun sets, the band departs and the dancers take their leave. They'll be back next Thursday.

In the luminous city of Veracruz, on the Gulf coast, I watched danzón with delight once more. It was late afternoon, dusk had arrived and large black birds were settling down with much cackling in the almendra trees which shade the park by the plaza. As the band tootled and the lights flickered on, the dancers were slow-moving shadows on the darkening square. Danzón! Mexican magic. And you're invited.

Shikoku

If you're here, as I am, in autumn, strings of bright orange persimmons will be hanging to dry in the sun—a dazzling counterpoint to all those dark cedar beams, sliding paper doors and pine-shaded walkways. All that is missing from this dream is the sound of a shakuhachi flute floating in from the garden.

It is mid-morning on the island of Shikoku and the mountains beyond the small fishing town of Iyo, where I am staying in a tiny wooden house, change from sun-drenched green to shadowed blue haze and then, around the next bend, to green again as we speed along the expressway, through a dozen tunnels, towards Uchiko. This is the mountain town that the Japanese government deems extra special, and protects with heritage orders. Mitsu is with me. My architect friend wants me to see the other Japan, the hidden world that the centuries have barely changed, away from the gleaming steel and glass of the big cities. We pass a sign that warns of wild boars which roam free in the mountains. "There are deer here in the mountains, too" Mitsu says, "and deeper in the mountains, small bears." I look up and see, terraced on surrounding slopes, small farms, with neat vineyards and orchards. "Kiwi fruit" Mitsu tells me, pointing to a property. "Strawberries grow here, too - and persimmons, grapes, pears, peaches and apples. This is November. The apples are ready to be picked."

Persimmons dry in the sun, Uchiko

Like most travelers who come to Japan, I first explore the fabled Osaka-Kyoto-Tokyo circuit to the north, in Honshu. But I am determined not to miss, as most visitors do, the rustic tranquility that Shikoku offers. This is the smallest and least populous of the four main islands of Japan. Mountains that run east and west divide Shikoku into a narrow northern subregion, facing the Inland Sea, and a southern part bounded by the Pacific. Most of the 4.5 million inhabitants live in the north and its larger cities are located there. So I extend my stay and fly down to Matsuyama, an easy one hour flight from Tokyo. It's in Ehime prefecture, which straddles the northern coast of the island. And Ehime has a lot to offer— Seto Inland Sea National Park with islands of various sizes that are visible from the coast, Omogokei gorge with towering cliffs and waterfalls and Mt. Ishizuchi, the highest peak in western Japan.

Pilgrims, Shikoku

After the Honshu razzle-dazzle I've just seen, the peace here is palpable. Matsuyama seems unhurried and infinitely gracious, with its lake-fringed parkland, ancient castle, quaint tramways and popular Dogo-onsen Hot Spring, a public bath and an important cultural asset. At night, I stand and watch the kimono-clad patrons of Dogo-onsen stroll about under lamplight, turning the area into contemporary kabuki, or so it seems to me.

Matsuyama city (above) and Dodo-onsen Hot Spring

Iyo is a 30 minute train ride west from Matsuyama along the coast. Here, too, is serenity on smaller scale. I live for a few days Japanese-style, sleeping on tatami, munching soba noodles, okanomiyaki (a delicious cabbage omelete) and grilled eel. I wander about, taking in the local scene— fishing smacks that creak and sigh on blue water, roadside artisans who chip away at marble to create gods and monsters, traditional wooden houses that cast long shadows on cobbled streets, and—one whisper-quiet afternoon— a tiny woman in grey who, unaware of my presence, approaches a shrine by the sea. She stands silent, claps her hands, communes with her ancestors. And then, just as suddenly, she is gone.

Street scene, Iyo

So up we go now, into the mountains which rise behind Iyo, to Uchiko. Founded in 1271, this small rural community grew into a village serving the local farmers. By the Edo Period (1603-1867) the village had become a town and later, during the Meiji Period (1868-1912) wax and paper production became important to the local economy. At the Kami-Haga residence and Wax Museum, easy to locate on the main shopping street, you go back in time. Here, wealthy wax merchants lived and created wax products, like candles. I wander, shoeless, through the house, and later observe how wax was made—I even see wax berries hanging from a sumac, or wax tree. If you're here, as I am, in autumn, strings of bright orange persimmons will be hanging to dry in the sun—a dazzling counterpoint to all those dark cedar beams, sliding paper doors and pine-shaded walkways. All that is missing from this dream is the sound of a shakuhachi flute floating in from the garden. Shikoku, by the way, is pilgrim-country and many Japanese come here to trudge from temple to temple (there are 88 altogether, one in Uchiko) wearing traditional attire—woven hat and leggings and a stout cane. Watch for them.

Kami-haga house facade; display in wax museum; house interior; shadowed paving stones in the garden

Not far from Uchiko, Ozu offers another glimpse of old Shikoku. If it's summer (June to August), you're in for a treat. After dark, you can sit on a houseboat that floats on the river, drink warm sake by torchlight and watch black-robed fishermen use tethered cormorants to catch fish. A bird swivels and disappears into the dark water, and suddenly – splash– there it is, with a sliver of silver wiggling frantically in its beak. These smart birds receive a lot of loving care and are just like members of the family, which must be why they live around three times longer than their wild brothers and sisters.

Cormorant fishing, Ozu

East of Matsuyama, in Tokushima Prefecture, lies the Iya Valley, and if you have time, you might want to visit this mist-wreathed region of wooded mountains and silent valleys, strung about with vine bridges (steel cable is artfully hidden under the vines) and dotted with thatched farmhouses that date back centuries. It's not the easiest place to get to, and, alas, concrete and electric pylons have intruded, but there are bus services and places to stay, including Chiiori House, made famous by Alex Kerr whose love affair with Old Japan (and anguish at the New) is detailed in his book, Lost Japan. Kerr's first view of Iya— "rivers were tinged with emerald, and the towering cliff faces looked like carved jade" are enough to entice me there, when I return, as I must, to Shikoku.

Vine bridge, Iya Valley

Blue Sky. Red Desert. Silver City.

...the producers of Mad Max (and many other movies) came here to use the sweeping red panorama as a backdrop. It is magnificent. A seemingly limitless horizon - you can almost see the curvature of the earth from this vantage point.

It's high summer, 1883, out in the hot red desert country in western NSW, as a miner from Cornwall, one of many here (because of their mining skills) carefully and painstakingly drills a hole, slowly turning a steel bar while his partner wields a heavy hammer. It’s slow and painstaking work, in this era before power tools - turn, hammer, turn, hammer - until the hole is deep enough. Now the miner takes black powder - gunpowder - and lights a fuse. Quickly, he retreats to a safe place and waits till he hear a dull thud and the sound of splitting rock. The rock pieces that fall away gleam in the candlelight. Packed into that rock, waiting to be crushed and smelted, is silver.

Miners at work in Silverton circa 1895

The miners, strong and tough, earn 7/6d per week. The young boys who help, some as young as 14, earn 1/3d. Life is hard. Water comes by horse and cart and costs a shilling a barrel. Lunch underground is bread and jam. There's a working smelter up on a hill, to separate the minerals from the rock, and scattered all around are small rock-walled dwellings with canvas roofs to house hundreds of miners - along with the inevitable ladies of the night. This was a place called Silvertown, later Silverton, and this mining venture marked the beginning of activity and exploration that would see, a few years later, major ore discoveries close by - and the rise of what was to become a thriving mining community and a significant Outback city.

The red desert that surrounds Silverton

It's high summer, 2007. I'm here, same spot, about to see and explore what remains of the mine, today called Day Dream Mine. Caretaker Beth is my guide. She gives me a belt with battery, a helmet with a spotlight attached, and down we go, into the remains of the mine to try to get a sense of what it must have been like, way back when. Outside, the sun blazes high in a blue sky, but down here, in these narrow corridors chiselled out over a century ago, it is cooler. The Cornishmen worked here by candlelight. Such huge effort, such primitive tools, so long ago. But Beth assures me the effort was worthwhile. Our spotlights pick out silvery glitters in the rock above our heads. The rock mined here, the silver it ultimately produced, returned handsome dividends for the mine owners: $10,000 in the first year alone - a fortune in today’s dollars.

The entrance to Day Dream Mine; the approach to the mine

The red earth I see all about me when I finally climb out of the mine contrasts quite dramatically with what I saw earlier that morning, as my CountryLink train raced past neighbouring Menindee, on the Darling River, which supplies much of Broken Hill’s water needs. Days ago, heavy rains had inundated the region, and already golf-course green grass covered the ground as far as the eye could see. This was causing much excitement among the local animal population - feral goats were nibbling and then dashing away as the train approached. Sheep, too, came close to the track, flocks of emus danced about in celebration and kangaroos anticipated a tasty meal before the sun rose high in the sky. It was an enthralling sight.

Kangaroos shelter from the midday sun

And then, after a relaxing and comfortable trip, we reached the end of the line - Broken Hill, popularly known as The Silver City, and set at one end of the Barrier Range, 48 km east of the South Australian border. The city sits 304 m above sea level and has a population of about 22,000. Although mining created Broken Hill and is the source of its wealth, it is also an important centre for pastoralists, many of whom have huge sheep properties. Millions of wool-producing Merinos are protected from dingos by a 600km fence.

Before coming out here, I’d researched the region, and as I wander around, I discover that history is a tangible presence, above the ground and under it; it permeates the countryside as far as the eye can see. The vast semi-arid desert, dotted with blue-grey saltbush, truly beguiles. For 30,000 years, the Willyama people lived here, until the arrival of explorers like Charles Sturt who noted, in 1844, a “broken hill” in the diary of his journey. Sturt was followed by settler-pastoralists (including two sons of novelist Charles Dickens) and in the early 1880s by prospectors. When valuable minerals were discovered, miners came in their thousands and a syndicate was formed to lay claim to the area. What had been discovered was beyond their wildest imaginings - a massive lode containing silver, lead and zinc, an orebody shaped like a boomerang, 7km long and 220 m wide. Head frames, powerhouses, workshops and winder houses went up along the top of the ridge that held the lode and lower down, on the slopes, smelters were constructed. The syndicate became The Broken Hill Proprietary Company and ”the broken hill” in northwest New South Wales became one of the world’s main suppliers of lead and silver, setting the stage for a new start to Australian industrial development.

But I’m still in Silverton, and before leaving, I look around the atmospheric old “ghost town” that squats in the dust - isolated yet an integral part of the Broken Hill experience. The famous pub is here, a cafe and some art galleries (there are many artists resident in the region) along with two restored churches. Don’t be surprised if a camel strolls by - you can even enjoy a sunset camel ride if you feel so inclined. Not far away, you can look towards Mundi Mundi Plain, to a view you’re not likely to forget; small wonder the producers of Mad Max (and many other movies) came here to use the sweeping red panorama as a backdrop. It is magnificent. A seemingly limitless horizon - you can almost see the curvature of the earth from this vantage point. The pub, incidentally, has pictures from various movie productions on display along with other classic Australiana.

The old hotel, Silverton; "Mad Max" country

Thirty minutes back along the road and I’m in Broken Hill. The first thing that strikes me is how similar the city centre is to many others I’ve seen in country Australia - Bathurst immediately comes to mind. The same wide streets, angle parking, classic old buildings, unhurried atmosphere, friendly greetings. Pubs, too. Many are ancient, including the Palace Hotel (1889) with its long verandahs casting welcome shade and cast-iron balustrades. It featured in the movie, Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

But as familiar as it looks, Broken Hill is different, because it backs onto a massive grey-black wall of rubble and smelted leftovers, maybe 100m high. It runs the length of the town, and leaves the visitor in no doubt as to what Broken Hill is all about. Up top, a handsome restaurant called Broken Earth gives me great food and a grandstand view of the city. And after I order (Tuscan burger with marinated eggplant and roasted peppers) I walk the few metres over to the city’s Miner’s Memorial, where hundreds are listed and recalled - names, dates and cause of death. It’s a sober reminder of the perils underground, and up here, overlooking the mines and the city, an appropriate place for quiet remembrance

Smeltered leftovers rise high behind the old Palace Hotel

Mining back in those early days was tough, conditions were often dangerous, wages were low and fat profits went into the pockets of the syndicate. It’s not surprising that the emergence of a strong union movement - and industrial action - is woven into the tapestry of this city from its very beginning. Strikes were common. A strike in 1892 to protest the use of scab labour saw union leaders imprisoned. Many strikes were to follow, up and into the new century, culminating in a work stoppage in 1920 that would make life better for the miners.

Today, the industry is constantly changing; the 3,000 miners needed to extract ore has been trimmed down to just 600, thanks to computerized equipment. You can see the action at Delprats Underground Tourist Mine. It’s a 2-hour tour, deep in the bowels of the earth. You descent in a cage, just as the miner’s do, with your helmet and spotlight. Go south on Iodine Street, cross the railway tracks and turn right following the signs. Tours are held at 10.30 am weekdays and at 2 pm on Saturdays. You should arrive 15 minutes before the tour starts.

I am in the old Trades Hall now, a graceful building featuring stained glass, a fine polished wooden staircase, union banners and memorabilia - and a huge banquet hall, with a handsomely decorated ceiling in pale green. Here, the history of Broken Hill comes to you not with a whisper but a defiant shout. On the walls are portraits of union officials cleverly created in crushed stone, in display cases are rows of buttons worn with pride by men long since gone to their rewards. The hall was built from 1898 to 1905, for the Barrier Industrial Council, which was an amalgamation of eighteen unions. Its foundation stone was laid by the father of Federation, Sir Henry Parkes.

Facade of the old Trades Hall

Broken Hill is a surprisingly green city. For this, the locals owe much to a local named Albert Morris, who lobbied (in the 1930s) for a protective reserve around the town to keep dust storm damage to a minimum. And, helpful to a visitor like me, plaques at regular intervals offer capsule histories of streets and sites. These wide thoroughfares are named mostly for minerals or chemicals or for Broken Hill bigwigs. It’s easy to find your way around, and there are plenty of good motels, cafes and restaurants to make your visit comfortable and carefree. When you arrive, I suggest you head first to the local Visitor’s Centre and pick up a map to assist you on your walking tour of the city. The brochure gives details of important buildings and heritage sites like the museum with its display of old locomotives, railway machinery and minerals, or Australia’s first mosque, built in 1891 for Muslim camel drivers from Afghanistan and India, or the Royal Flying Doctor Service headquarters. There’s a Driving Tour map, too, called The Silver Trail - get one, rent a car and you’ll get to see what I saw.

It’s time now to head for Broken Hill’s many art galleries. The late Pro Hart heads the list, of course. The famed artist’s gallery features a remarkable collection of Australian works - Albert Tucker, Arthur Boyd, Norman Lindsay, John Perceval, Charles Blackman, David Boyd and Fred Williams. A room is devoted to works by William Dobell. Pro Hart was born in Broken Hill in May 1920 and he worked underground as a miner before before devoting his life to art. He loved to collect vintage cars, including Rolls Royces (one is covered with his artwork). The three-storey gallery is at 108 Wyman Street, open 9-5 weekdays and Sunday afternoons.

No visit to Broken Hill would be complete without a visit to the Silver City Art Centre and Silver City Mint - and, later, as the sun sets, to the sculptures in the Living Desert. The Art Centre, at 66 Chloride Street, contains a superb collection of art along with hand-crafted jewelry pieces in silver. This gallery is home to The Big Picture, which is an understatement if ever there was one. In a specially designed space is the world’s largest painting on canvas, 100 metres long and over 12 metres high, stretched in a circle around you. The painting features the landscape of the region, along with local animals, reptiles and birds. Painted by Peter Andrew Anderson, it was opened to the public in 2001. It is a breathtaking accomplishment.

Painting and jewelry on sale, Silver City Art Centre

The Living Desert (and Sculpture Symposium) is on the northern outskirts of Broken Hill, along Nine Mile Road. Its 2,400 hectares contain aboriginal sites, a regeneration reserve and panoramic views from rocky outcrops. On one of these are twelve huge sandstone sculptures, carved by artists from around the world, including indigenous Australians. They are monumental, majestic and perfectly complement the site’s natural beauty, especially as they catch the setting sun. Stand in the silence, watch a wedge tail swoop high in the sky, marvel at this pristine landscape as shadows lengthen and dusk arrives. I can’t think of a better way to conclude a visit to Broken Hill and Australia’s accessible Outback.

View to the Pinnacles from The Living Desert lookout

http://www.visitbrokenhill.com.au

The Road to the Taj

The road to the Taj is a road well traveled, by man and by beast. It's a road that teems with life from sunrise until well after dark. Humanity lives and works and chatters and cooks and eats and drinks and laughs and bargains and gossips and sells and buys (among the more mentionable things) on each side of this road, which usually bakes under an unforgiving sun. At the end of this road, the Taj promises a glimpse of utter tranquility, this monumental and mysterious memorial, this dream in gleaming white marble.

We enter through the gardens, a woman faints in the heat and is quickly surrounded by saris...and there, there it is...

A Taste of Taiwan

Speeches followed, and then it was time to push the button and bring that great pig to life. The ceremony was accompanied by massed drummers - an exhilarating theatrical performance. A last triumphant shout and the boar appeared out of the darkness in a rainbow of colour as fireworks exploded in sky above. Pure magic.

Festival decorations, Taiwan

Like many Australian travelers I'd never really given much thought to Taiwan as a place to visit. If I thought of it at all, it was in a political context. Chiang Kai-shek and his Nationalist government fleeing the mainland in 1949 as Mao's Communists took over, the sabre rattling and uneasy peace that followed. Today, Taiwan’s leaders are much less confrontational and, with a recent visit by the country's newly-elected president to Beijing, rapprochement of some kind seems likely.

So I knew a bit about the politics. But did I know anything about the island that lies 160km off China's coast? Very little. That was about to change.

Taiwan is about half the size of Tasmania with a population much the same as Australia's. Its people speak Taiwanese, Mandarin and a variety of aboriginal languages. There was significant migration from Fujian province in mainland China in the sixteenth century, followed by incursions by the Portuguese (who called it Ilha Formosa, Beautiful Island), the Dutch, the Spanish and most recently - until 1945 - Japan. For a time it was a haven for pirates. Although native Taiwanese (who are mostly ethnic Chinese) remain a majority, the island's demographic profile changed irrevocably when millions of immigrants from the mainland arrived in the late 1940s. The nine main tribes which made up the island's indigenous population have been submerged but remain a vocal group and a reminder of ancient times. The country has a dynamic economy, exporting electronic and computer goods, textiles and clothing to its major trading partners - the US, Japan and China (via Hong Kong).

I flew into Taipei aboard a brand new China Airlines Airbus 330, with symbolic plum blossom decorating its tail. It was a smooth flight from Sydney direct to Taipei - lots of new video bells and whistles, excellent food, friendly service. The jet was full, because it was Chinese New Year, the time for family reunions.

And being New Year, it was spring in Taiwan with blossom out, or mostly out. I hadn't realized that the island is sub-tropical and the humid heat, especially in the south, was a surprise. Taipei, the country's capital, was spruced up for the celebrations - and first glance at this modern city reminded me of Osaka, in Japan. This initial impression was reinforced when I went shopping.

During my week in Taiwan, I got to see "the other China", learn something of its history, and marvel at its geographic diversity. Although it's the mainland that most people think of when they plan a China visit, Taiwan has many secret pleasures which set it apart from Big Daddy on the other side of the water. Here are some of them.

Taipei trio

There's much to do and see in this busy yet laid-back metropolis, which is like many prosperous Asian cities. Here are three stand-outs to put on your must-see list.

—When the nationalists arrived here, they came not only with 600,000 soldiers but also China's national art treasures, which are now housed in the impressive National Palace Museum in Taipei. These had been protected on the mainland when the Japanese invaded by moving them west, and they now had a new home. These artifacts, many from the Forbidden City in Beijing, provide the perfect introduction to classic Chinese art and culture. The collection includes paintings, sculpture, calligraphy, porcelain and jade pieces that are breathtakingly beautiful. The famous jade cabbage is here. The National Palace Museum, which sits on the side of a wooded mountain on the city's periphery, has been expanded and its souvenir shop is well worth a visit before you leave.

—The importance of the military to the island's security (jet fighters are a constant presence) is evidenced in the city's Military Martyrs' Shrine - a memorial to all who died in various expeditions and campaigns. At the imposing entrance gate, specially trained young soldiers stand guard - spic and span, ramrod straight, still and silent as statues. These honour guards, from all three services, change every hour from 9 thru 5, and it's an impressive ceremony, choreographed with military precision.

Nightscape with Taipei 101

—Taipei 101 is, for now, the world's tallest building, 508 metres, 101 floors - and, whew! you reach the summit in the world's fastest elevator. I visited the building on a bleak day, so my view was interrupted by passing clouds and mist, but I saw enough to make me go weak at the knees. It's a long way down to those rooftops. Several floors in the lower level atrium offer the visitor upmarket shopping, and by upmarket I mean Tiffany and its kin. Take your wallet. Taipei 101 is the place to go for a skyhigh experience - and on a clear day, as the song goes, you can see forever.

“Call me Venerable”

Located in Kaohsiung, south of Taiwan, Fo Guang Shan, which means Buddha's Light Mountain, is the largest Buddhist monastery - and the largest charitable organization - in Taiwan. The Zen order was founded in 1967 by Hsing Yun, a Chinese monk, to promote Humanistic Buddhism and make it relevant in the lives of people everywhere. The Master is an old man now, and he lives here, but I didn't see him.

This huge complex on many levels has shrines, hotel accommodation, school, offices - and it's home to hundreds of Buddhist monks and nuns. I arrived in the afternoon and was pleasantly surprised at the room I was offered - it had an ensuite bathroom, a comfortable bed, even a TV. This is not luxury accommodation by any means but you wouldn't look for or expect that at a monastery. Soon after I settled in, I had a chat with "call me Venerable" Bhiksuni Chuehmen, an English-speaking, brown-robed nun who arrived here from Singapore about twenty years ago and who has risen through the ranks, if I can put it that way, to become an official in the order's international outreach. She was quite a character, an ever-smiling source of esoteric information, her dark eyes sparkling with passion and humour behind glasses with round wire frames. I was encouraged to go take a look around the monastery's gardens, up as far as the gigantic Buddha which beams beatifically from the hilltop to the local population below. As the weather looked threatening, I took her advice. I wandered along terraced walkways, under festive lantern decorations, past regiments of gold-painted buddhas (I stopped counting when I reached 270 - or was it 370?) until I reached the top and the towering 40m high Buddha. Then the rains came, a torrential downpour that had me racing for cover. Fortunately, I was able to coax a young boy with a large umbrella to shepherd me back to my quarters.

That night, the rain stopped and the Venerable took charge again and I got to ring the monastery's huge bell, practice calligraphy and meditate. From the moment I arrived until late at night, the monastery and its gardens echoed with the sound of chanting from hidden speakers. That sound, melodic and repetitious, remains with me. Visitors can come here for a night or a week or longer, enjoying the strict but tasty vegetarian cuisine and taking religious instruction if they wish. This Chinese Mahayana Buddhist monastic order is now established around the world - even on a hillside near Wollongong, NSW.

Light up the night

I arrived for Chinese New Year, so my timing was perfect. The major Taiwan cities now take it in turns to host the spectacular Lantern Festival (also known as Shang Yuan Festival) and this year the event was held in Chiayi, an hour south of Taipei on the smooth-as-silk High Speed Train and not far from Tainan. The city authorities put on quite a show, and if you are planning a visit to Taiwan, and are ready to be enchanted, do so at this time of year.

A huge area was set aside for the festival and when I got off the bus in the afternoon, people were arriving in their thousands. In the daylight that remained, I saw decorative lanterns everywhere - from simple paper lanterns to giant gravity-defying constructions. Lanterns, lanterns everywhere - lanterns that looked like birds and fish and beasts and people and ships and airplanes - many crafted by schoolchildren and entered in competition, others created by artists or by corporations. And in the centre, surrounded by this colourful cavalcade, stood a massive 5 story-high boar, tusks and all, symbolizing the newly arrived Year of the Pig.

When it was finally dark, the lanterns lit up the night in dazzling display. But the best was yet to come. Surrounded by police escort, the country's Prime Minister and then its President arrived. Speeches followed, and then it was time to push the button and bring that great pig to life. The ceremony was accompanied by massed drummers - an exhilarating theatrical performance. A last triumphant shout and the boar appeared out of the darkness in a rainbow of colour as fireworks exploded in sky above. Pure magic.

Aboriginal adventures

The Formosan Aboriginal Culture Village, in Nan-t’ou, central Taiwan, is a theme park with a difference. Ignore the razzmatazz rides which lie in wait to trap the unwary and head for the skyway which will lift you up over gardens and woods and up to the top of a mountain. You'll see thatched villages below as you ascend - and you'll be taking a close up look at these when you get off and start your walk down back to the Village entrance gate.

The major Austronesian-related tribes are all represented here, so you can see what they looked like, how and where they lived. The Ami, Atayal, Bunun, Paiwan, Puyuma, Rukai, Saisiat, Shao, Tsou and Yami - each tribe with its own distinctive dress and customs. Their languages are related, yet different and their traditions of weaving, song and dance are popular in contemporary Taiwan. Physically, I have read, the indigenous people resemble Filipinos - particularly the facial bone structure - but I also thought I saw, as I watched them dance, reminders of the North American Indian. Maybe it was the feathers.

The houses you'll explore are fascinating - and halfway down the mountain you'll get to see a special display of song and dance. It's colourful and lively - and surprising. Surprising, because on an island that seems overwhelmingly Chinese, here, suddenly, is a window into a world that's very different. A world that’s still here, preserved for you to experience and enjoy.

Butterfly bouquet

Forget Formosan Village's "European" garden, which is colourful, manicured kitsch, but head for the amazing Orchid Plantation in Houbi, Tainan County. Started by an orchid enthusiast a few years ago as a tiny one-man nursery, Orchid Plantation is now a large operation, exporting to the world and specializing in the exquisite Butterfly Orchid. I've never really been an orchid fan, viewing them as cold and trifle pretentious, but I have to admit that the display in the greenhouses here are positively jaw-dropping in their perfection and variety. The visitor goes from the baby nursery, where hundreds, thousands of tiny green babies peep out at you from bottles, to preschool, thru primary and then to graduation - gorgeous, massed blooms ready to be shipped.

Blooming beautiful at Orchid Plantation

Marvellous munching

In Taipei: Din Tai Feng is one of few restaurants in Taipei that has earned not only local, but global recognition for its delicious food; Time magazine called it one of the top 10 restaurants in the world. Walk inside and note its bustling lack of pretension. In a central section, behind a window, a dozen cooks busy themselves rolling the dough and creating the dumplings, mostly pork filled, and steamed to perfection. Din Tai Feng is always crowded - arrive at the wrong time and you'll stand in a queue out in the street. Open 10.30am-2pm, 4.30pm-8.30pm Tue-Sun.

In Tainan: the Five Cent Driftwood House is a cavernous, baroque restaurant from Taiwanese designer Xie Li-xiang who creates fanciful spaces combining driftwood, recycled materials, pottery mosaic and lots of glass. To walk inside is like walking into a fairy tale; you half expect to see Red Riding Hood sliding down a banister and a wolf prowl outside amongst the cinnamon trees. The food is equal to this magical environment. Don't miss it.

LaLu on the lake

Lots of fine hotels in Taiwan, but there's nothing to compare with LaLu, which looks out over Sun Moon Lake. From afar, it doesn't look like anything out of the ordinary, but when you walk up through its gardens and into its entrance plaza, you know you're in for something quite special. Designed by Singapore-based Australian architect Kerry Hill to complement the beauty of the lake, LaLu is an all-suite hotel (there are private villas, too) with tariffs to match. Its dramatic simplicity and style - along with ultraluxe facilities and an awe-inspiring view - make it the place to head for if you’re in the mood to celebrate perfection and don't mind lashing out just this once.

LaLu Teahouse overlooks Sun Moon Lake

Villa at LaLu has its own private garden: ultraluxe

Sunset at Sun Moon Lake

Sun Moon Lake offers dreamlike vistas everywhere you look

Sun Moon Lake was a favourite of Chiang Kai-shek. He often came here on holiday, and always stayed at the original LaLu. The day I was here, the lake was blue under a grey sky, thanks to limestone in the water. The surrounding mountains were wreathed in mist. I took an hour-long boat cruise, stopping at a temple and a small island sacred to the original inhabitants. Great drifts of ginger lilies seemed to float on the water, their roots providing shelter for baby fish. On a faraway peak, a pagoda stood silhouetted against a pewter sky. Located in the geographic centre of the country, home to the Shao people, Sun Moon Lake is an unforgettable Taiwan dreamscape.


Mountain high

Taiwan's highest mountain is Jade Mountain, or Yushan, nearly 4,000 m high, but the more accessible Alishan National Scenic Area is a mountain resort and natural preserve located in the mountains of Chiayi County in Taiwan. Originally settled by the Tsou aboriginal tribe, the area contains timbered wilderness, small villages, waterfalls and hiking trails. The area is very popular and Alishan Mountain offers Aaah-inspiring sunset views, Oolong tea and wasabi plantations - and fireflies, March thru June.

Sunrise over Alishan

I visited Alishan on an overcast day. 2,500 metres up, the air was crisp and cool, and mist hovered over cedar slopes. I wandered about, inspecting great moss-covered stumps that the years have hollowed out like caves. Then it was time to take the little mountain train down the mountain. Built by the Japanese to help move timber to the plains, the train offers the visitor panoramic views as it chugs its way down gorges and through tunnels. The terminus is a little village called Fencihu where you can shop for local goodies and meet the Lunch Box King who operates a takeaway restaurant. With his twinkling eyes and wispy white beard, he looks like a character straight out of Chinese opera. Expect mist in the mountains. It adds to the atmosphere.

Shop till you drop

Taipei at night: Shihlin Night Market is close to downtown and sells everything from pet puppies to Portuguese egg tarts. It's a fun place with market prices and you can nibble as you shop.

Taipei by day: Sogo is a huge department store and its shining green tile exterior is a local landmark. Here you can find the best in just about everything (the kids are really well served), restaurants, a multi-floor food court with an astonishing variety of beautifully presented and packaged goodies (shades of Japan) - even presentation packs of the Oolong tea I saw growing back on Alishan Mountain. You'll love it.


http://www.taiwantourism.org

Sydney's Macquarie Towns

In 1857, one traveller reported, “the poor horses were tried to the utmost by the deep ruts...and hollows of mud. A large load of hay was capsized in the centre of the road and by the side of a hill, a dray full of grain had also upset.”

Chain gang at work

The road to Windsor and beyond is steeped in history, and it echoes, as other Sydney roads do, with a convict’s cries. “Many a tear did I shed”, wrote one, “when contemplating upon my hard fate.” And hard it was. In summer heat or winter sleet, the men of the road gang shuffled along, dragging their clanking leg-irons, cutting and hauling sandstone, sweating in their stained yellow uniforms. Travellers did their best to avert their eyes. “The thought of how awful a crime had led to this disgraceful punishment made me positively dread passing a band of the miserable wretches,” one lady wrote, reaching, no doubt, for a perfumed handkerchief.

Governor Macquarie was in charge of the colony in these early years and it was he who was instrumental in putting Windsor and its neighbour Richmond on the map—which is why they are known today as the Macquarie Towns. In 1794, the first 22 settlers arrived in the Hawkesbury Valley area to plant seed and farm their 30 acres and help feed the growing little community in Sydney Town. But getting here was difficult, through dense bushland, so by 1828, over twelve hundred men toiled in the gangs to connect the Port Jackson settlement to the new agricultural hinterland and then, via the mountain barrier which had been crossed in 1813, to the western plains. The area in and around Windsor, to the northwest and almost in the blue barrier’s shadow, became, quite literally, the colony’s first frontier and many local families can trace their origins back to this pioneering era. It’s an hour’s drive from Sydney today, but in those days, it was a 16-hour trip by wagon, costing seven shillings and six pence, with an overnight stopover at Kelly’s (now Kellyville). Later, a faster passenger service was introduced; 4-horse coaches left Windsor each morning at 5am, arriving in Sydney at 10am, with four changes of horses along the way. But the journey could still be a problem. In 1857, one traveller reported, “the poor horses were tried to the utmost by the deep ruts...and hollows of mud. A large load of hay was capsized in the centre of the road and by the side of a hill, a dray full of grain had also upset.” The arrival of a railway made all the difference, cutting the time for the trip to just two hours.

Fortunately, Francis Greenway was not among those convicts sweating it out on the roads. By this time he was free and making a name for himself as an architect in the new colony. The glorious Georgian buildings that can be seen in Sydney today, like Hyde Park Barracks, are Greenway creations, and so, too, is the great church he designed for the settlers in Windsor. St. Matthew’s Church (1817-1820) is still in use today and in its churchyard lie 26 First Fleeters. A walk around this churchyard is a sometimes poignant and always evocative experience, for here you can see, engraved on stone, the birth of a nation. In fact, many of the churches in this area reflect the tranquillity (and perils) of another age. Beyond St. Matthew’s, you’ll discover Ebenezer Church, the oldest church building in the country, built of stone by local settlers in 1809; St Matthew’s Roman Catholic Church, Windsor, completed in 1840; St Peter’s Church of England, Richmond; St. John’s, Wilberforce and St. James, Pitt Town; St. Andrew’s Uniting Church in Richmond and more. In some, small churchyards provide eloquent testimony to the lives of the local gentry (and occasionally, rogues) who have long since gone to their rewards.

St Matthew's Windsor; a pioneer's grave in the churchyard

Here in Windsor, there’s much to see. Start in Thompson Square (Andrew Thompson was a convict and later a magistrate—his was the very first grave in St Matthew’s churchyard) and visit the Museum and Information Centre. The museum houses a fine collection of militaria and the Information Centre has local records. Next to old Windsor Court House, which has many historic associations. Mary Reibey, transported to New South Wales in her youth for horse stealing and later freed to become a property developer of considerable affluence in the Sydney Rocks area, was found guilty here, in 1817, of an assault on one of her debtors!

Windsor Courthouse; John Tebbutt

Close to the court house you’ll find John Tebbutt’s Observatory, which you can visit —and you can eat here at Tebbutt’s VII restaurant. Tebbutt lived his whole life in the Hawkesbury district. He was born on the 25th May 1834 in Windsor and was educated by local parsons. During his lifetime, John Tebbutt became one of the world’s most accomplished amateur astronomers. A gentleman farmer by occupation, astronomy was his passion—and for nearly sixty years he continued a remarkable astronomical career at his observatories at Windsor. He discovered the Great Comet of 1861 and Comet Tebbutt of 1881, observed the Transit of Venus in 1894 and conducted many meteorological observations. Two of his observatories built in 1879 and 1894 were built to house his telescopes and journals and both still stand on the Tebbutt property, adjacant to the house where he lived, which he built in 1845, surrounded by his fields and close to the confluence of South Creek and the Hawkesbury River. Tebbutt was elected a Fellow of the Royal Astronomical Society in London in 1873 for his contribution to astronomy. During his life he published numerous booklets, reports and journals and kept rainfall and flood level statistics. He died on the 29th November 1916, aged 82 and was buried in St. Matthew's churchyard. To honour his many achievements, the International Astronomical Union renamed a lunar crater on the moon in 1973 and for a time he appeared on the Aussie $100 note.

Floods were often a problem in the area

And always, close to the action, is the river. Once an important route for transporting produce to market in eighteenth-century Sydney (the trading boats used to dock at the wharf below Thompson Square) the wide Hawkesbury meanders past the town and has been a source of pleasure—and occasional flood terror— since the early settlers arrived. The river was central to the lives of settlers in Windsor, Richmond and other villages here. It flows past Richmond, too, which is just to the north of Windsor, and, like Windsor, a Macquarie Town with many historic old buildings abd it is surrounded by farms and horse studs. Richmond Air Base is here; the original airfield was at Ham Common, now Clarendon, where, in 1912, a Parramatta dentist, Bill Hart, opened a flying school. This school was subsequently taken over by the NSW Department of Technical Education in 1916 to train pilots for WWI and the location shifted to the present Richmond site in 1923. On the periphery of the region you’ll find St Albans and Wiseman’s Ferry. The Settlers Arms Inn at St Albans, built in 1842 has been restored as a popular drinking hole and is once again attracting visitors. Northeast of Windsor is Ebenezer; its Uniting Church has been serving Presbyterians since 1809 and is still holding services every Sunday at 8am. On the same grounds is the Schoolmaster’s House built in 1817 which is now beautifully preserved as a museum. Pitt Town and Wilberforce are close by, the latter being named a Macquarie Town in 1810. The village here has the oldest timber cottage in Australia still standing on its original site— Rose Cottage, built in 1811—and the old Tizzana winery is also worth a visit. Built in 1887, this superb sandstone building is a local treasure.

The river at Windsor; the river at Wisemans Ferry

The best way to conclude your visit to the Macquarie Towns in the Hawkesbury Valley? Maybe a visit to Wisemans Ferry, on the region’s outer limits. In 1817, Solomon Wiseman constructed his residence, Cobham Hall, now the Wisemans Ferry Inn. He later established what is today the oldest operating ferry service in Australia to supply provisions to the convict workers on
the Great North Road. Solomon was notoriously harsh with the convicts in his employ but he was also a man of vision, lobbying the government for a road through the area that would link Sydney with the Hunter Valley. The road was built and a ferry joined the two sections together. Wiseman was given exclusive rights to ferry passengers across the river. Thus Wisemans cable ferry was born and Solomon operated it until the government bought him out in 1831. It is the oldest ferry service in Australia.

Hall of Remembrance, Yad Vashem

Yad Vashem, Jerusalem

Atop a hill overlooking golden Jerusalem, Yad Vashem brings us face to face with the Holocaust and the millions who perished during the Nazi era in Europe. It is a profound and poignant place, both beautiful and terrible, lovingly created so that we never forget the unforgettable.

A stunning new museum, mostly underground, replaces the one I visited, presenting the story of the Shoah from a unique Jewish perspective, emphasizing the experiences of the individual victims through original artifacts, survivor testimonies and personal possessions. At the end of the museum’s historical narrative is the Hall of Names - a repository for the Pages of Testimony of millions of Holocaust victims - a memorial to those who perished.

A boxcar donated by the Polish government at Yad Vashem

Boxcars arrive at Auschwitz

In the new Hall of Names, Yad Vashem



Yitzhak Perlman returns to Cracow

Simon Srebnik returns to Chelmno