Formosan Food

Surprise, surprise. In regards to my expectations about the food, I was once again deceived by preconceived stereotypes. In my defense, I’m sure a number of National Geographic and Discovery Channel documentaries were also partly responsible in contributing to these flawed expectations.

Before I arrived here, I visualized myself sitting cross-legged, meditating after some mixture of yoga and tai chi, and calmly sipping on some organic, goat urine-based concoction which would tell all the toxins inside me to piss off. I would slim down to .006 percent body fat, achieve a super-human metabolism, and live to be 103 years old.

Well, this wasn’t the case. Admittedly this was at least in part because of my laziness. The idea of doing Bikram yoga, especially in a climate where I already profusely sweat as is, was probably overly ambitious. And my white-boy flexibility (or lack thereof) has never really been compatible with any of those activities anyways.

And while my envisioned exercise regiment was a tad idealistic, the apparent lack of healthy food was surprising. I was convinced that Asian food would be ultra organic, balanced, and nutritious—especially considering how fit everyone seems to be. How else could such slim physiques be possible? (maybe they’re on to something with the betel nut chewing?)

Instead of the uber-hippy lifestyle I imagined for myself, my daily habits usually include indulging in some steamed pork dumplings for breakfast, wolfing down a lunchbox before class, and then sampling fried night market delicacies before retiring for the night. And, of course, running whenever possible to negate the effects of the aforementioned gluttony.

I’ve already given a brief description of how unhealthy Taiwanese food can be in previous posts; how my lack of self-control is continually at odds with my aim of living a healthy lifestyle.  But of course I’m always quick to conclude that I wouldn’t have it any other way. This food, though not exactly best for the belly (or arteries), more than makes up for it by satisfying the taste buds.

Indeed, the majority of the local food I’ve come across here is fried, greasy, salty, sugary, or all of the above. Especially at the night markets. Local delicacies include fried squid, scallion cakes, dumpling balls, wontons, pot stickers, and a whole host of other bomb foods which I don’t know the names of. 

And if all this food sounds disappointing because it sounds like you could order it at PF Changs or Panda Express, there are always those crazy foods that you’d only see on Strange Eats or perhaps even Fear Factor. In the past year I’ve sampled stinky tofu (which literally smells like a baby’s diaper), chicken feet, liver and hearts, and dried pig’s blood. HmHmHm.

Dried pig's blood. Not bad if you can get over the thought of it.

Food in Taiwan is certainly not restricted to traditional Chinese dishes, however. Throughout the country exists an eclectic fusion of mainland Chinese, Taiwanese, American, Indian, Italian, Vietnamese, Korean, and Japanese cuisine— an edible testament to the country’s international history. I never imagined that during the course of the week I could eat sushi, curry and naan, Korean hot pot, teppanyaki, pho, and of course, Outback Steakhouse. That’s a pretty tough lineup to beat.

So while it wasn’t what I was anticipating, it’s turned out to better than I could have possibly imagined. Sometimes the best things in life are the unexpected.  And the unhealthy.

Southeastern Hospitality

*Disclaimer: Once again, it’s impossible to generalize a group of 23 million. The following reflects only what I’ve learned from my experiences.

In my 8 months as an interviewer for Reachtoteach, I’ve been asked a wide variety of questions by potential teachers. I’ve answered in detail about everything from cultural faux pauses to the Taiwanese attitude towards homosexuality. However varied these questions are, there’s always one that inevitably comes up.

“I’ve heard the Taiwanese are really friendly people. Is this true?”

My answer has become as standard as the question itself.

“Indeed, the Taiwanese are unfailingly friendly.”

 

If they probe me for more information, I proceed to give concrete examples to illustrate this point. For example:

On my first full night in Taiwan, I got lost (me?? go figure) trying to find my way back to my hostel. Knowing absolutely no Chinese, and not having a clue on the layout of the city, I began to panic. Lo and behold, a young Taiwanese xiaojie comes to my aid. Using her best English, and being very patient with my lack of communication, she somehow manages to get me on the right bus. How does she do this? She takes the bus with me until I know where I am. If that’s not hospitality, I don’t know what it is.

In my first month in Taiwan, I frequented a breakfast place near my house almost every day. Not only was the food pretty tasty, but it also sported a huge flat-screen HD TV—which during playoff baseball time, provided a welcome taste of home. Before long it soon became apparent to the laoban that the reason I was showing up was for the entertainment. So even if the channel was set to something else, the moment I walked in baseball suddenly appeared on the screen. And as if that wasn’t accommodating enough, every morning I ate there I was given one (sometimes two) complimentary cups of coffee. Why? Because they’re that damn nice.

About 2 months ago, my computer bit the dust for the second time in only 10 months. Naturally, I was pretty livid. And unfortunately the target of my anger was the computer store manager where I took my computer to get repaired. I was an especially unhappy camper when he informed me of the $150 bill. But then he did something that was completely shocking and unexpected. Knowing I would be without a computer for 2 weeks, he offered me a loan, completely free of charge. It didn’t take me any time at all to realize that this was something that would never happen back in the states. Once again, the Taiwanese had proven their generosity.

When I got home that night, I happily posted a FB status declaring how impressed I was with Taiwanese people. My Asian friend Jenny then quickly pointed out that they’re only friendly to me because I’m white. While this provided a laugh, there’s also some harsh reality to this statement.

As I’ve mentioned before, the Taiwanese love white people and being white. If the sun is shining at all, the locals here are quick to throw up their umbrellas in self-defense. At first I didn’t understand this phenomenon. Was it trying to keep cool? Fear of skin cancer? As it turns out, the Taiwanese just like being white, and they avoid tanning like it’s the plague. Whereas Americans embrace color, and some even spend several hours a week in tanning salons to this end, the Taiwanese are of a completely different attitude. Unfortunately, this has very troubling implications for their attitudes towards people of darker skin colors…

In my first month at Hess, I was teaching an older class of 12-13 year olds. The topic for this level was “free time”, and the day’s lesson concerned sports. After the students finished reading an article about the almighty Michael Jordan, I elicited a discussion. The first question I asked was: “Do you want to be famous like Michael Jordan?”

Without hesitation, my student Max raises his hand and says “I do not want to be like Michael Jordan because he is black man.”

To worsen this already deteriorating situation, I had him repeat this answer at least 3 times. I was so shocked at his answer that I couldn’t believe my ears. “Did you just say….what??” After the 3^rd time, my Chinese Teacher rebuked the hell out of him. But at that point the damage had already been done. This was only the first of many examples of outright racism I would witness towards peoples with darker skin.

Wanting more of an explanation on my student’s response, I asked one of my Taiwanese friends why the locals are more racist against darker people. The response here wasn’t more encouraging…”because we can’t see them at night.”

One of my co-teachers recently explained that her mother would never allow her to marry a black man. Why? “Because she says ‘our babies would always look dirty.’” WOW.

But the interesting thing about this racism is that it isn’t all that hateful. Sure, it’s definitely racist. But it doesn’t seem very prejudiced. As my students have explained to me again and again, they just prefer being white and think that being white is prettier. It doesn’t appear that there is any overt hatred towards darker people. And to them, this very apparent discrimination is neither a cause of shame nor is it looked down upon socially. And frankly this last part makes a little sense. After all, the Taiwanese certainly do not share the same painful history us Westerners have in regards to treatment of people of darker skin color. To them it’s hardly even racism—it’s just stating a preference.

But now I know that the “unfailingly friendly” connotation needs an asterisk. Perhaps the reason I am treated so kindly is indeed because I’m white. I’ve been introduced to the darker (literally) side of the Taiwanese hospitality.

Previously, in Taiwan

Wow, I can’t believe it’s been over a month since I’ve updated this thing. As I try to think of a legitimate reason for neglecting this like I have, I’m coming up empty. Maybe the activity on this arc is symbolic of my stint in Taiwan—it started out with a lot of gusto and enthusiasm, began to plateau in the middle, and like all good things, inevitably came to an end.

So without further ado, I should get to my main point, cue the Skylar Grey, and tell you I’m Coming Home. Less than two months from now I’ll be arriving at San Francisco International Airport, returning to the states after a 14 month hiatus. While I’m excited to come home and see familiar places and faces, I’m realizing I’m going to miss Taiwan. Moreover, I’m going to reminisce about all the completely new experiences, the unexpected twists and turns that comprised the last year of my life.

Even as I reflect now, I’m forced to compare the perspectives I had when I arrived against those I now have.  Many of these deal with the expectations (some of them blatant stereotypes) I had about Taiwanese people and culture before arriving. So, with my final posts in this blog, I’m going to address these issues. I’ll separate fact from fiction; play a little Taiwan MythBusters; or whatever other analogy you can think of.

Taiwanese people dress conservatively

Hardly. Of course you can’t generalize a group of 23 million, but in my experience, the dress code here has been anything but traditional and/or conservative. For one, girls have a tendency to dress like it’s Halloween at the Playboy Mansion. Ridiculously revealing skirts, done-up hair, high heels, and tight shirts are the norm. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, the Taiwanese highly value fashion. Heavily influenced by Japan (and by the looks of it, Los Angeles), the locals here are all about showcasing the latest fashions and accessories. My normal ensemble of jeans and a t-shirt, which did me well throughout college, no longer cuts it.

Surprising as the female fashion is here, the real shocker is how guys dress. For lack of a better word, the male fashion sense here is very….gay. The other day I went to the department store to look for a new pair of jeans, only to be disappointed when I couldn’t find a single pair without some sort of glittery emblem or racecar flame decal. On top of that, Taiwanese men have no shame sporting purses. And these aren’t like the “satchels” you would see in the Hangover; they’re full on Sex and the City man-bags (neither confirming nor denying I’ve ever watched that show). But hey, considering my backpack has probably done more damage to my back than a summer’s worth of work for my father, maybe they’re on to something with the purses…

Then there’s the hair. At my gym, there are no less than 15 hair-dryers in the men’s locker room, typically all in use at any given time. When I jokingly mentioned this to a Taiwanese friend one day, they responded by asking me how I dry my hair instead. When I said that I simply use a towel, a noticeable look of horror and disbelief registered on her face. 

My mother used to tease me by telling me the outfits I chose made me look homeless. Now it’s no laughing matter. Out here, in comparison, I do look homeless.

Touche, students. Touche.

I love my students. I really do.

This is the mantra I say to myself almost everyday now, which is usually followed by a long, deep breath. It reminds me a little of the saying my mother used to give us boys every once in a while: "I love you. I just don't always love the decisions you make." True story. And just as my mom was disappointed in our often irresponsible behavior, I too have found myself becoming more and more disheartened by the things my students do. Perhaps I'm getting older. Perhaps I'm becoming more jaded. Alas, saddest of all, perhaps teaching is not for me after all.

Though my kids are unfailingly cute, they seem to have developed a taste for rebellion recently. Maybe it's the summer heat, the fact that they're out of Chinese school for the next 2 months, or maybe this is all an elaborate set-up and I'm actually a contestant on that hidden-camera MTV show Boiling Points. Whatever it is, it's started to wear on me.

There is one exception to this trend though. My D1 Step Ahead Level 9 class, which I usually have on Saturday morning, has failed to disappoint me so far. A class that started out shy and quiet has slowly warmed up over the past 9 months and is now the highlight of my teaching week. Because my Chinese teacher for that class is my manager, who's rarely ever there, I feel a certain responsibility for these kids that I don't necessarily have for the others. I've also taught them levels 6-9 of the Step Ahead series, the "formative levels" if you will. We started out struggling with long vowel sounds; now they are mastering the past continuous tense. Indeed, they make me a proud teacher.

Because of another engagement, my manager asked me to cover this class for her on Wednesday night. All too eager to avoid my normal Wednesday night class, which has driven me to tears and/or the bottle from time to time, I gladly accepted.

The only down-side to this class is that it's on the third floor of a poorly ventilated building. And with it being late June and everything, it was rather hot and stuffy. As I stood there sweating like Patrick Ewing at the free throw line, I decided to crank down the A/C to 23 Centigrade (about 73 Fahrenheit for us stubborn, anti-metric Americans). Of course my students, accustomed to the severity of Taiwan's summer heat, found this unbearably cold. They pleaded with me to turn it up, but I refused.

But then two students did something I couldn't believe. You see, the level 9 reading book is Who's Taking Out the Trash?—yeah, that same book that goofed me up with the ice cream and garbage trucks. Well, the theme of the book is recycling and making the world a safer and cleaner place .On a few of the pages, there are pictures with subtitles that show ways we can help protect the environment. As a result, I've spent countless minutes lecturing to my kids on the importance of these things that I'm sure even Al Gore would find excessively cheesy and preachy.

Literally minutes after I had firmly refused to bump up the A/C, these girls call me over, looking concerned. Wanting to help, I take the bait. As soon as I do, they lift their reading book and simply point to the picture of the air conditioner and the subtitle which reads: "Set A/C to 25".

They ambushed me with the guilt trip! I was so blown away at their clever genius and embarrassed at my own hypocritical behavior that I was forced to concede. I had no rebuttal. I had lost.

D1: 1   Teacher Andrew: 0

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.