It's not quite shooting fish in a barrel, but it's close.
Taipei's shrimp farms are something of a local institution -- super-sized kiddy pools stocked with shrimp to which many Taipei urbanites come day and night to experience the thrill of fishing without the hassle of having to wait for something to catch. They are places where the shrimp are always biting, nobody goes home empty handed and you can land the big one without having to put down your bottle of Taiwan Beer.
Even though shrimping may sound like a close cousin of fishing, the similarities end with the line and hook. While fishermen spend their morning driving to a secluded beach or river, finding the ideal spot and baiting their hook with the lure perfectly suited to the type of fish they are trying to catch, shrimpers are posed with more basic questions: Should I sit on the right side or left side of the pool? Should I cast by the bubbling water filter or in the calm area? Karaoke before or after? Tsingtao or Gold Medal?
PHOTO: MENG CHING-TSE, TAIPEI TIMES
Naturally, it attracts a different sort of crowd. Most men might balk at the idea of taking their girlfriend on the fishing trip with the boys, but shrimping is a popular activity for couples. Men don't have to risk the embarrassment of taking their significant other on a date and not catching anything, and the rod rental covers the cost of dinner as well as the night's entertainment. The old timers chew betel nut and jabber in Taiwanese with the laoban, parents come with children for some wholesome fun, and yuppies try to keep their miniature schnauzer from eating the shrimp they've caught.
One of the most popular shrimping spots in Taipei is on Zhishan road (至善路) about 1.5km past the National Palace Museum. Driving by at night, it rises up out of the dark like a miniature Las Vegas -- a strip of four practically identical adjoining farms, complete with brightly lit arcade games, restaurants and the mandatory karaoke room. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, they provide impatient Taipei anglers with instant gratification. There is, ironically, a creek running by right outside.
Kuo Kun-wen (
PHOTO: MARC LANGER, TAIPEI TIMES
"Yes, of course," says Kuo. "They are probably professional types who don't have time to shrimp during the day and can only come at night." Kuo, however, doesn't share the same passion that would drive someone to sacrifice sleep for shrimp. "I just work here. Personally, I find shrimping boring," he says.
The Tianyue Shrimp Farm (
"Don't be frustrated if you don't catch any your first time. It takes a while to learn how to do it. I didn't catch any my first time," he said, without elaborating on what the secret to success might be. A certain flick of the wrist? A special baiting technique? Recognition of a telltale bend in the rod?
Save all that nonsense for fly fishing. Successful shrimpers are the ones who are patient enough to watch the bobber without being distracted by the television. In fact, the biggest obstacle standing between you and a meal of freshly caught shrimp is prying the laoban away from his card game to rent you a rod.
The simplicity, however, is part of the appeal. Even with all of his experience, Mr. Lu hasn't needed to develop his shrimping theory past the basics. "You should put the line in by the bubbles. I think they like the bubbles because it's more fun for them to swim around there," he later suggests.
Such is not to say that the farms don't try to create the illusion of chance and skill. They provide two different kinds of bait, as if the shrimp are picky enough to have a preference for one or the other. The water is kept unnaturally murky so that you can't actually see the shrimp on the bottom. Were it not for that, you could probably just reach in and grab them.
Despite the clouded water, there is usually a catch every few minutes. To restock, the laoban comes over with a big crate of shrimp and unceremoniously dumps them in. Some shameless people make the mistake of running over to that spot in the hope that they will be able to take advantage of the higher concentration of shrimp in the area. However, the shrimp are usually still too traumatized to be hungry, and all these opportunists get for their efforts are disdainful looks from the regulars.
And what if, despite everything, you still don't manage to catch any shrimp? At some farms, if you spend a few hours and don't have anything to show for it, the laoban will just give you some to make sure you go home happy. Skewer them, barbecue them on the grill, then vent your frustrations with a ripping rendition of Billie Jean in the karaoke room.
Yes, your friends will inevitably mock you and ask, "Why would anybody want to sit around a concrete pool for two hours to catch shrimp that were already caught by the farm in the first place? Isn't it kind of pointless? Can catching them really be a satisfying feeling?" Don't be angry with these people, who are incapable of grasping shrimping's simple perfection. They don't understand what all true shrimpers do: Real fishermen may get more respect, but shrimpers always get their money's worth.
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