The Real Taiwan

I’m in an almost vegetative state. 4 hours of teaching sometimes feels like 8, especially when you have back-to-back classes of little Treehouse demons. I’m watching the best Taiwan television programming has to offer, totally shit movies on HBO, Hollywood, Cinemax, etc. I turn to ESPN whenever there’s a break from my shit movie. It’s a replay of Yankees-Rays, Yankees-Red Sox, Yankees-does it really matter? It’s the same one that’s been showing all day. Though I most likely already know the outcome, I sometimes tune in just to hear the Chinese announcers. In between all the incoherent babble, they will invariably insert American baseball lingo in there, maybe for comedic effect for us foreigners. “Sabathia ting tang tong shi wo bu he pinglinwn chu K YOU VERY MUCH! Buzhi dao le”, or something to that nature. Sure, this isn’t exactly high quality stuff I’m watching here. But after being away from television for 8 months, unwinding in front of the tube after a long day is a pretty simple pleasure. 

Suddenly I’m jolted awake. A familiar song begins to boom over the loudspeakers outside my apartment. At first I’m not sure what this noise is, and why it plays four times a day. I had heard it a lot in my previous 7 months in Taipei, but for the very first time I’ve forced to acknowledge; I’m forced to live by its restrictions; I’m a slave to it.

It’s the Taipei theme song for garbage trucks. Whenever you hear that song, you have approximately 5 minutes to haul your trash out to the street, where you will then heave it in to a moving yellow truck, like a quarterback pitching to his running back on an option play.

It took me about a month of living in Taiwan to establish the ironic connection between the classical music and trash collecting time. At my first apartment, we were fortunate enough to have a couple of kind gentleman take our trash out for us. Therefore I was pretty apathetic about finding out more about this strange, daily music. For me, it was just another weird part of Taipei.

Then one October evening I was teaching my E6 class, Step Ahead Level 10. As is the case with all Step Ahead classes, part of the curriculum is reading through a cartoon story book to learn new vocab, grammar, etc. Anywho, the name of this particular story was Who’s Taking Out the Trash? The story features a young American boy who visits his friend in Taiwan. One night, this boy is suddenly awoken by what he believes to be the familiar ice-cream truck jingle, only to be rudely disappointed when he discovers it’s the trash truck. I still remember the amused look on my students’ faces when I abruptly stopped reading and said “really???” I, too, had thought it was an ice cream truck. Damn.

But as I exit my building, arms loaded with an assortment of trash and beer bottles, it hits me. I’m living in the Real Taiwan now; a Taiwan where something as simple as taking out the trash is a community activity. The first stint of my Taiwan experience was pretty sugar-coated. I lived right by ShiDa University, an area home to many expats and Chinese with moderately strong English-speaking skills. The atmosphere was unmistakably international. There, speaking English, broken Chinese, or simply pointing at stuff sufficed for the most part. Here, it’s a whole new ball game.

 I stand at the intersection of our tiny alley and tiny lane, pretending not to notice all the gawking and staring. Finally a man approaches me and asks me where I’m from in Chinese. Elated I actually understood his question, I respond confidently that I’m from America. Of course this elderly man then mistakenly assumes I can speak Chinese, and goes on about something or rather from America. I’m completely lost. Thankfully he ushers me over to his wife, who non-verbally shows me she would like to take my recycling. Her eyes bulge out in amazement at the sight of all the beer cans and bottles I hand over to her, aftermath from our house-warming party the week before. She really doesn’t need to say anything; her facial expression gives away her thoughts. This American is definitely an alcoholic. But at least he’s a generous, environmentally responsible alcoholic. She “xie xie”s the living crap out of me. As I turn to head back to my building, I see a young man burning Heavy Money for loved ones who have passed on. He rotates between tossing money into the fire and puffing on his cigarette, almost as if to suggest he’s in a hurry to reunite with them. Once again, this is a sight that would be completely foreign in the upper-scale, almost ritzy ShiDa area.

This night has been a reminder that living here will certainly be much more of a challenge. But it will also be much more of an experience. Much more real.

View from my balcony

A small glimpse into the motor madness of Taiwan

Man burning Heaven Money. Come on man, it's June. Isn't it hot enough already?

The Things I Carried

I carried just over 12 oz. of water, hardly enough to fight the day’s heat, which has recently announced the arrival of Summer In Taiwan. 34 degrees Celsius reads the marquee outside of a local supermarket. While that only converts to about 93 Fahrenheit, the overwhelming, incessant humidity that accompanies the afternoon air makes it feel like a sweltering hundred. I begin to perspire the moment I exit my apartment building, after walking down six flights of stairs. The shower I just finished taking has been officially rendered pointless. Dripping sweat as I walk down the street I’m forced to acknowledge the weather that will be commonplace for the next 3 months. But I refuse to despair for long. I find myself suddenly grateful that at least some appropriate sunshine and clear skies have accompanied the relentless heat. Merely 15 minutes into my journey, the water has disappeared. My Sub-Zero Nalgene container is an empty vessel. I take comfort in the knowledge that, when I undoubtedly need to rehydrate, I can duck in to any of the ridiculous numbers of 7-11s sprawled throughout the city.

I armed myself with an almost-empty canister of Coppertone sunscreen, SPF 30. Once again, I severely underestimate the weather; my immortal enemy. My canister expires quickly into my journey, forcing me to intermittently seek refuge in shade to avoid getting scorched by the summer sun. Flashbacks surface of Sihanoukville and subsequent pain and peeling for weeks. Never Again. I equip myself with a New Era Milwaukee Brewers cap and cheap knock-off Taiwanese sunglasses, anything extra that might help keep me cool.

I strap on my red and black Burton backpack, purchased a few years ago with the help of my friend Kim’s employee discount at Sports Basement. My constant companion, this backpack has come along with me almost everywhere I’ve gone in Taiwan. It’s housed my dirty gym clothes, a handful of novels, water bottles, beer. It even served as a make-shift pillow when I made camp on the Kenting beaches. But today the backpack is a necessarily evil. Naturally I can’t do without it, but the combination of its weight and predominantly black exterior with the aforementioned heat make this journey even more treacherous.

I slip my fully-charged Ipod Nano into my pocket. My goal is to leave it there unperturbed, hoping to instead find a pleasant, natural soundtrack along the way. That hope quickly fades. Before long I find my thoughts nearly drowned out by the incessant roar of motorcycles and auto-repair shops operating, an orchestra that fairly accurately defines what it’s like to live in one of the densest nations in the world (Whoops, did I say nation? Sorry China). Sure enough I give in and put in my headphones. By the end of the day my battery is flashing the “low battery” warning.

Stuffed messily into my backpack is my Taipei City Map. Like the backpack, this map too has been with me through most of my time here in Taiwan. It’s taken quite a beating, been scribbled on numerous occasions, and all but lived out its usefulness. Yet, perhaps for sentimental reasons, I’ve chosen to stick with this map instead of simply grabbing another from the helpful ladies at the Taipei Main Station information kiosk. I carry the map for far more practical reasons, however. The map is an ally and a lifeline that somewhat alleviates the fear that I will become lost in Taipei, a phenomenon that has occurred far too many times as a result of my dysfunctional navigation skills, which are apparently incapable of improving. Today I’m on a mission. I don’t want to spend any unnecessary time questioning where I am or where I’m heading.

Sitting comfortably in the outer pouch of my backpack is my newly purchased Canon digital camera. I make sure to be extra cautious when handling this camera, constantly aware of my history with electronics and how sand murdered my previous camera in Kenting. The plastic cover remains over my LCD screen—I refuse to allow anything to taint the camera just yet. I’m actually impressed with my camera’s ability to catch the beauty of the day as I snap shots from a bridge overlooking the XinDian River. I hope in vain that some of the boats from the Dragon Boat Festival will sneak their way into the shots. Alas they don’t, but I smile knowing that I had been fortunate enough to capture some the day before. The pristine view of the XinDian River, with a combination of mountains and buildings adorning the background, is simply an added benefit of today’s adventure.

I strap on my water-proof digital watch that I received several Christmases ago. I typically opt to sport my other, sexier Puma watch which my brother Austin so graciously gave me as a graduation present last June. However, this is once more a decision of practicality. I need a watch that can take the heat and tell me exactly what time it is. Today I’m timing how long it takes me to walk from my new home to my school. Tired of being daily sucked dry by MRT and bus fare, I decided to seek alternative means of transportation. Noticing the relatively short proximity between the two on my map, I decided to time how long it would take for me to walk. If the time were reasonable enough, and the path more or less safe, I told myself I would buy a bicycle. My watch reads 1:11 when I first exit my apartment. Once I discover I’m walking in the wrong direction, I double back and officially start past my place on my way at 1:25. Another 14 minutes of my life wasted on directional disability.

Finally, I slide my wallet into my back pocket. Immediately aware of it weighing down my pants, I decide instead to put it in the trusty backpack. I’m carrying 5000NT on me, a significant sum of money. I do so because of the exhilarating prospect of buying a bicycle at the end of the day. I finally make it to my school at 2:36. A grueling 70 minute journey was complete, and a celebration at the local Mos Burger was in order. I spend 135 dollars on food, preparing myself to fork over another large sum of money soon for a bike. I spend the rest of the day walking around Ximending, Taipei Main Station, and the Taipei 101 Mall—where I seek a lengthy respite from the heat in Page One, which easily boasts the best selection of English books in Taipei. Unfortunately, by the time of my return at 6:30, the local bike shop has closed for the day, likely because of the holiday.

Yet the day was a triumph. Today, I got the confirmation I needed from my experiment. I got some healthy color and exercise. I got some great shots, capturing the day’s beauty. And to top it all off, I got inspiration to finally update this blog; to write a story echoing the style of Tim O’Brien’s classic novel. Tomorrow, I get a bicycle.