The typhoon is here, the typhoon is here, it’s all over the news and we all know it’s here. While the people in cities all around us are caught in the storm, it is not much of it going on in Hsinchu. So, I have gone to the beach to get some typhoon action. To my left is the greyish sea, to my right a series of concrete wave breakers buried in the sand and an embankment leading up to the waterfront path. And underneath my feet is the dark gray, almost black, surface of the low tide sand. Light colored, dry sand from higher up the beach blows across the plain like a creeping mist. When the wind gust subsides, it falls down again and forms a pattern on the moist surface but is quickly absorbed. The sand grains sting against my legs as they pass, like a piece of sand paper being rubbed against me, and I keep my back turned to the flow of sand to keep it out of my eyes. I take off my sandal to feel the wet sand with my feet and immediately the wind picks it up and hurls it seaward. I have to run to catch it. As I get closer to the sea, the wind feels more intense and the green grey water is rippling and spitting, almost boiling,  in the vigorous wind. Out here the typhoon does feel real, yet it is still a plaything that sets a piece of bamboo rolling along the beach at great speed. They say typhoons are bad, but I can’t really sense the danger.