I Blame You Dad: A Cult(ural) Experience

I have a propensity for befriending the strangest of strangers., and for this I fault my father. You see, over the course of my childhood I would often run errands with my dad, as most children do, however running errands with dad was more of a social extravaganza than a time to just get things done. More often than not, we would set out early on a Saturday morning with an extensive list of things to do, and on a productive day we would accomplish three of the tasks we originally set out to do... maybe. This is because dropping a check off at the mechanic was never as simple one would think.

Dropping a check off at the mechanic was a drawn out political debate with Gary about whether or not Ronald Reagan was a good president (which he was not), or a lengthy discourse on the effects the Panzer tank had on the scope of WWII. Going to Home Depot to buy an extension cord was never just going to Home Depot to buy an extension cord. It was a forty five minute discussion with one of the salesman about the current price of raw copper and then deciding that we could go home and make it ourselves for half the price. No matter where we went, there was a character in our strange story to befriend.

Now, this seemingly hereditary quality has spilled into my life, as I have the same quirky behavior and think nothing of spending an hour talking to a stranger. It's fun. It's a game. It's a part of who I am. However, the expansion of my unorthodox circle of friends was temporarily stunted by moving to Taiwan, but it only took a little time before I accumulated a small handful. To name a few, there's my squid-ball guy, who's name I can't remember so we will call him Robert, there's my Mian Chian lady, restaurant proprietor, and there's Mrs. Huang, hardware store owner.

Robert is an interesting guy. He grew up in Taichung, went to university in Taipei, and spent some time in L.A. working with underprivileged children in the ghetto to keep them off the streets. Since returning to Taiwan, he opened up a food stand in the Shida Night Market. I suppose there's more money in squid-balls these days than there is in banking. Now, every time I go to his stand, I get an extra ball or two. Also, he claims to know Tom Cruise.

Next there is my Mian Chian lady. I eat at her "restaurant" at least twice a week. It's a block away from my apartment and super delicious. Her restaurant entails four huge pots sitting on four tiny burners with four different entrees bubbling away. The pots are on a table, beneath an awning that stretches out onto the street, packed with tables and stools. It's always crowded, rain or shine. Each delight is the same price, but whenever I go I order the same thing. Two bowls of spicy Tofu and a bowl of Mian Chian. She laughs at me whenever I see here, because I seem to always end up in front of her looking rather disheveled, maybe from a bike ride in the poring rain or a long day of Frisbee. And when she's done laughing at how I look, she begins to laugh at my poor, poor Chinese. She knows I'm trying though. I just think she likes to laugh.

And then there is Huang Liu, hardware/junk store owner. She sells anything you need, from tools to toiletries and most of it is cheap crap. However, whenever something needs to be fixed in the apartment, I go to her first. About a week ago, on my most recent apartment improving adventure, we began to talk about the little Chinese philosophy I studied in college. We talked about the Daodejing and she told me she was somewhat of a Daoist/Buddhist. We decided that on the following Saturday, she would accompany me to a temple. She told me that for three days before going to the temple I was not allowed to eat meat, and I agreed.

So, for three days, I struggled as a vegetarian, fighting off cravings to devour an innocent baby cow, raw. All this despite the fact that it is extremely easy to eat well as a vegetarian in Taipei. I was under the impression that I would be going to a famous temple, accompanied by someone who knows the culture, though, so I made the effort. I would finally be seeing the practical version of the theories I had studied in college. Hopefully I would learn something about the culture, of Buddhism/Daoism in practice. Three days passed and I arrived at the hardware store a few minutes before noon, followed by ominous clouds in the distance. I parked my bike under an awning, to escape the eroding effects of acid rain, and headed inside. I met her husband who would be watching over the shop for the afternoon and we hopped in a cab. The taxi began to hurry away from Taipei, so I asked which temple we were heading for and was met with a flurry of Chinese, of which I only caught a few words: food, friends, temple. Awesome.

We pull up to a rather ordinary looking building, somewhere in Yonghe (outside of Taipei across the Xindian River) and pay the betel-nut chewing driver. Mrs. Huang leads me inside the building where I am met with a symphony of greetings, in both Chinese and English, by around thirty people, none of whom is younger than forty. I immediately notice everyone is dressed rather homogeneously: white collared shirts for all, black pants and skirts for the men and women, respectively. I am wearing a blue polo shirt. If my skin didn't make me stand out enough, the shirt does the trick. I bypass most of the crowd as I am pulled to the next room in order to be introduced to the head honcho. I first must bow to Buddha three times before I bow to the Daoist Guru in front of me once. He was in Kaoshiung this morning, but came to Taipei for today's ceremony. He tells me it is going to be a special one.

A few women begin to bring out our lunch and I am directed to sit down next to the head priest. Our meal is of course vegetarian cuisine, family style, although it doesn't feel like much of a family as the entire population gathered around the table are men, except for my translator seated on my left. As we are eating I grow uncomfortably aware of my presence as spectacle. The spiritual leader sitting next to me informs me he would like to share a story with me and I am regaled with a tale of a wayward man from Arizona who had lost his way until he found Daoism. The others have finished their meal and ventured over to the room where the women ate their lunch, leaving just the priest, my translator, a somber looking elderly man and I to continue with the story. I have lost my appetite but one of the women walks in and in the most motherly of tones encourages me to keep eating. The food is good, so I can't refuse.

The tale drags on as dessert is placed in front of us. All the while, constituents are poking their heads in the room, eagerly, impatiently. I am asked to make a small contribution and I say OK, the food alone was worth it. Finally, the story of the wayward soul comes to an end and I am ushered upstairs to the temple room. The room is small and filled with an aromatic haze. Everyone packs in, men on the right, women on the left. Three deities are seated on a table in the front of the room, enclosed in glass cases. Incense and candles are burning overwhelmingly. It feels like the room has not been this crowded in a long, long time. Another three bows for Buddha and I am given a front row seat. Six men clad in robes enter the room and produce a rhythm of chants and bows, inducing a direct line of communication with Buddha. We can now proceed with the day's ceremonies. Buckle up.

My translator takes to the podium slightly to the left of the main table and plunges into an electronically prepared speech regarding the nature of Daoism, in English. She speaks of Confucius. She speaks of Heaven. She speaks of Buddha. She speaks of the Eight Fold Path. She speaks of Laozi. She speaks of The Way. She speaks of Jesus Christ. She cites the Gospel of John and Revelations. She speaks of the Apocalypse. She speaks of Salvation. She speaks of Heaven.

The Dao master enters the room. He is greeted with another rhythm of bows from the six robed men as he whisks his whiskers, and takes to the podium. "We are gathered here today to witness our newest friend David receive the Great Dao." This is the nightmare of a twelve year old boy who doesn't believe in god. Twenty three years of living and the closest thing I have had to a religious experience is being sad and hungry in church at my grandfathers funeral, taking communion and being smacked by my mother because I didn't know any better. All I wanted was a cracker. Twenty three years and the closest thing I have had to religious indoctrination is a circumcision. I have always been proud to call myself a heathen. I can't do this. I need to leave. But it might get interesting. I've never been in a cult before. I haven't eaten meat in four days and I really want a hamburger. I can't do this. I need to leave. If I cross my fingers does it still count?

Sweat pours from my brow like the Nicaraguan rainy season. I smile and nod. OK. "Before you receive Dao, we must first teach you the three secret treasures." I am given the three secret treasures. I'm not allowed to talk (directly) about the three secret treasures unless in (direct) communication with Buddha, but I will do my best to outline them for you now. First there is the "Mysterious Door." This is the physical path through which the soul leaves the body to reach heaven. However, I cannot show you where it is. Secondly, there is the "Secret Password." If you couldn't guess, this is the password to enter heaven. It is also used to communicate with Buddha in the waking life. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you what is it. Lastly, the third treasure is the "Holy Hand Sign." This is the way one must situate themselves whilst communicating with Buddha. I can't show you what it is, though. However, I will say that the "Holy Hand Sign" is pretty gangster.

After receiving the three holy treasures, I am ready to receive Dao. I kneel before Buddha while my great master circles me with incense and advises me to stare directly into the flame of the brass, oil candle holder mounted on the ash stained white wall behind the Buddha. The rain is pounding on the metal roof, and I focus on the kerplunk of as many drops as I can pick out. He dictates an ostensibly ancient incantation and I repeat, in Chinese. I am being baptized by fire and spirit (so I suppose there's still room for Christianity). I state my name and the amount I have donated to the temple. I burn a piece of paper with my name on it and part of my soul leaves with my name on Route 66 to salvation. This is to inscribe my name in the scrolls of heaven and bypass the process of reincarnation. Impatient Buddhists. Jumbo-Shrimp. My seat in heaven will be somewhere behind the right field wall with the Bleacher Creatures. I have finished receiving Dao. I am humbly enlightened.

I am given a few more rules about receiving Dao and the day pushes on with the normal ceremonies of a typical service. Chanting and bowing. Offerings and sacrifices are made to Buddha; just fruit, no blood. Mrs. Huang never looked so proud. She beams at me. The ceremonies come to a close, we move back downstairs and I am again greeted with a symphony, this time of congratulations. I am a celebrity, as is Mrs. Huang. I continue to put on a wonderful show, but then again it doesn't take much. I have another sit down with the Dao Guru. He tells me stories of past reactions to the entire process. Others who have experienced great things while receiving Dao. He tells me stories of happy Buddhas and flying rooftops. Angels and deities. Mormons and epiphany. He is setting a precedent. He wants a story, so I give him one. He looks pleased enough, so Mrs. Huang and I make our way to the door and catch a ride home with another constituent. I leave the temple with two books, three pieces of fruit, and a membership card. The rain has refused to let up all afternoon. We are dropped off at the hardware store. Mrs. Huang gives me a blue poncho and I ride my bicycle home. I call up Josh. He is going to bring over a few steaks to cook up for dinner.

Some final thoughts on the day. Due to the fact that I will now be bypassing reincarnation, all hopes of coming back as a monkey are out the window, or rather, the mysterious door. I now have an incomplete soul. Will I continue to make friends wherever I go? Of course I will. They all turn out to be interesting characters, this once just happened to be in a cult. There's a Hare Krishna festival coming up in a couple of weeks. I think I'll attend, however, I will pass on the punch.

Earthquake!

I awake in a pseudo-drunken stupor, unable to maintain a sense of balance just after 2am. For a little longer than ten seconds my bamboo mattress pad seems to be floating atop the rock-hard, coil-spring mattress I call bed. The whole building is shaking. Nature has gone quiet. This is unlike anything I have experienced before (except maybe stumbling home the other night and losing the top half of my ice cream cone). Devastating.

I pop up and stand under my door-frame, just like mama always said, and lock eyes with Antoni and Phill who are doing the same. We wait for aftershock that never comes. The choral ambiance of crickets and cicadas returns after half a minute. Do a quick sweep of the apartment and nothing is broken. "Whelp, see ya in the morning." Back to bed.

I lie back down and still feel as if the world is floating to and fro. The aftershock has merely resided in my mind. Earthquakes are common in Taiwan, but this one was significantly noticeable. It struck just off the coast of southeastern Taiwan. Luckily, no major damage occurred, but in the back of my mind I secretly wish the steel skeleton of the building being constructed next door had fallen over.

To Kaoshiung We Go...

As I walk through the white-tiled cafeteria, filled only with the healthiest of foods, Fei Fei points out some of the greatest athletes in Taiwan. My stainless steel tray is decorated with a mountain of spinach, some beef tips and a small bowl of rice. Our next game is in an hour, so I'm eating light. No need to have it all come back up on the field later. I go to the fridge in the center of the room and grab a couple of bottles of juice, and Fei Fei grabs three Pocardi Sweats for our small entourage. James and I are Fei Fei's guests and will only drink the finest of Taiwanese, Gatorade-like energy drinks. We sit down at our table and I notice a rather intense looking guy staring up at the 40 inch plasma mounted high on the wall. Taiwan sports highlights are the only subject matter being broadcasted on the many screens throughout the room. "Fei Fei, who's that guy?" "Oh him? Olympic gold medal. Tae Kwan Do." This is the closest I have ever been to a medal winning olympian. Do not get on his bad side.

Last weekend I was in the southern city of Kaoshiung, where the World Games will be held in upcoming weeks. I was playing Ultimate Frisbee with a group of guys from Taipei, The Renegades, under the shadow of the brand new, eco-friendly Kaoshiung Stadium. Seven teams from all parts of Taiwan competed over the course of the weekend. Our team, a degenerate mix of expats and Taiwanese, took second place, losing only to the Taiwanese National Team. I am fortunate enough to play alongside an incredibly talented group of guys and gals who have had just a bit more experience playing Ultimate than I, so my learning curve is steep, but I'm getting there. At the very least, Ultimate has been a great way to run around and get some exercise in every weekend... despite the heat.

Kaoshiung is the latitudinal equivalent of Cuba, so to say it's hot is an understatement, especially when you're running around in the blistering heat of mid-day. Weather records show that the temperature hit 100 degrees on Saturday. So, at the end of our last games on Saturday and Sunday we decided to rehydrate with a couple of Taiwan Beers and watch the remaining matches of the day... and heckle of course. Needless to say, a few new friends were made, as well as a few new rivalries, and in the spirit of the game we headed home Sunday with our heads held high and our trusty cooler in tow.

Transportation (Part 1)

Some months ago, I expressed a great deal of interest in joining the madness that is traffic here in Taipei. This dream, born in my mind with volcanic blast force, is now but a cool, oozing lava flow. Sure, I trust myself on a scooter or motorcycle. I more than trust myself. For the most part, my younger, speed-loving soul has found itself reincarnated in some 17 year old from Wichita. Life experience has made me a safe and careful driver. In the words of the great, late Notorious B.I.G., "Damn right I love the life I live."

I absolutely do not trust the Taiwanese on the road, even for just a second. Forget driving for a moment. Let's talk about walking. Yes, walking. The most basic of life skills proves to be a bit difficult for the people of Taiwan. It never occurs to anyone that stopping in the middle of the sidewalk during rush hour to answer their cellphone could be an inconvenience to others. Or that walking like a parabola makes it nearly impossible to create a flow of pedestrian traffic. I have yet to put my finger on the reason, whether it be a lack of self-awareness, or maybe a misunderstanding of spacial relations, but whatever the reason is it can be quite difficult to get from point A to point B on the sidewalk. Now, let's put millions of these people onto 2 wheeled vehicles. Sounds like a blast.

Since landing just over 3 months ago, I have had 2 friends get into 3 accidents. None of them were very serious, but they easily could have been. This is to say that scooter accidents are commonplace, and scooter abandonment is just as popular. Walking along the streets of Taipei, you will often see a busted up bike lying on the side of the road, left for dead. There are so many bikes in Taiwan that it's actually just cheaper to buy a new one instead of repairing a wrecked one. So, when one gets into an accident, their scooter will sit on the side of the road, wallowing away in 2 wheeled misery while it is slowly stripped naked, part by part. As you can see, this scooter abandonment phenomenon is a bit of a Catch-22. No one takes the time to repair their rides, but who can resist free parts on the side of the road?

Besides the whole minor point of traffic safety in Taipei, there's the traffic itself. Green Island was great. I could let loose on the throttle and not have to worry about anything, however, the scooter traffic in Taipei is outrageous. So much so, that I am perfectly content to get around via public transportation. And since better judgment has gotten the best of me and a scooter is not in my immediate future, I might as well say that I'm doing it because I'm making a conscious decision to protect the environment. The subway system, known as the MRT in Taiwan, does the trick, just fine. There are actually two different systems that run in Taipei, a French one and a German one. The French system is above ground and the German system is both above and below ground, connecting at various junctions. And, while I'm not the biggest fan of either of the aforementioned countries, or rather the people in them, they do know how to make a pretty efficient system of transport. Se efficient and effective that Taiwan has great plans to expand. Construction is happening all over hte city as the infrastructure expands. Pasted below, is a map of the future MRT system. I live right by the stations that says Guting. You see it?

Green Island: Hot Springs and Snorkeling

Hot Springs: The first two nights on the island, we thought it best to take it easy and relax in the hot baths (also, we had vouchers to get in for free). Hot springs are a popular way to relax and socialize in Taiwan. Hot spring water is channeled from the depths of the molten core of the earth as it is infused with sulfur, to provide you with a nice, steamy bath. Pretty cool. The hot springs of Green Island, on the other hand, are filled with salt water rather than sulfur water. It is one of three places in the world where hot sea springs exist. The baths are staggered like mountainside rice paddys, so each subsequently lower bath is cooler and cooler. The idea is that you start at the bottom and work your way up, alternating hot with cold to open and close your pores, cleaning out your system. Not scientifically proven, but it is relaxing nonetheless.

Snorkeling: It was just one of those days when we decided to go snorkeling when one little thing after another keeps going awry, until the world is about to implode in upon itself and compress all that exists into a single tiny entity, and then flick it to the side of the road. When all is said and done, though, you walk out a hundred feet from the shore and you're floating above a coral reef staring down at some of the most incredible creatures you only ever see on the Discovery Channel. Our guide, eager to tugboat us along on rescue rings like most groups of Asian tourists, seemed a bit lost when we told him we all could swim. So we all went in separate directions to see what we could see, not to be let down (like our guide).Big, small, tiny, some bright, some camouflaged. Angler fish, Clown fish, eels, snakes, you never want to pull your head away from the water for fear of missing something beautiful. I catch what appears to be a treasure chest lodged between a few rocks so I dive down to try and wriggle it free when I feel a tap on my foot. It's one of the other guides. He shoots a scowl at me and I swim back up. It must have taken him a long time to put that chest there.

Green Island

After two and a half months of back breaking labor here in Taiwan, I decided it was time for a vacation. Fifteen hour weeks prove to be strenuous every Monday, especially when trying to fit my work schedule into my yoga, swimming and movie-watching schedule. So, this past holiday weekend (Dragon Boat Festival) at 2am on Wednesday night, six adventurers set forth and journeyed to Green Island for four days and three nights. The eight hour drive over curvaceous mountains roads took us along the east coast of Taiwan through an endless number of coastal towns for breathtaking, deep blue, moonlit ocean views. As the sunrise cracked its waking eye, the ocean began to lighten and reveal the black, volcanic beaches that sometimes disappeared into the cliffs we were driving over, as if we were driving over the crystalline water itself. About forty five minutes drive south of the Tropic of Cancer our trusty stead pulled into the port city of Taitung and we awaited our ferry to Green Island.

The ferry to Green Island is a bit infamous in its own right. It has the spectacular ability to make you sick, make your friends sick, and make everyone around you sick. Awesome. Luckily, we had heard this ahead of time and proceeded to pop some magic pills (loosely translated to "NO SICK" in English). Well it worked. No sick in our group.

The ferry docked about an hour after departure and we were greeted by a jolly old South African man who had been acting as our travel agent sorting out reservations, a truck and three scooters. So three in the truck and three on the scooters, and I, well,having never driven a scooter before decided that it was best not take the truck. After a good bit of time getting accustomed to my new ride, checking the brakes, adjusting the mirrors, leaning into turns and throttling up, I decided I was ready to have some fun. So, after about five minutes of messing about on the little 125cc moped, I let loose and floored it to 80kph, heading for our "hotel."

Our accommodations were on the complete opposite side of the island from town and harbor, but Green Island is hardly a freckle on the face of the Pacific so it only took about twenty minutes to get there. We were showed to our rooms, which were less than grandiose, and fed a delicious Green Island specialty... goat stew. Over the course of the next few days we accomplished a great deal, always on the go, never on the slow. We went snorkeling, kayaking, hiking, exploring, swimming, feasting and hot springing. A good four days work.

More to come... Also, I posted some pictures, so check out the link on the left.

Night Markets

Suppose it were possible for the city of Las Vegas and a farmers market to conceive a child. The deviant offspring of this preposterous conception would be a night market. Night markets: the perfect union between the strange and the stranger, alley upon alley of bright lights and neon signs, walkways bursting at the sides with visitors shuffling by, the shopping malls of peculiar things, where vendors, artisans and shop keeps peddle their wares at a low low price, just for you. Virtually everything you would never need to survive after a nuclear holocaust can be bought in a night market, but for good measure, everything else is there too. You can eat things you in no way ever imagined to be edible or go shopping for underwear. You can play carnival games or purchase your very own new puppy. The latest trends in trucker hats and hip-hop fashion, and everything weird from Japan is at your disposable, and don't forget to negotiate when you buy that over sized stuffed panda bear.

There is, however, many a practical side to the night market. At 11pm, when nothing else in the neighborhood is open, I stop by the Shida night market after work for a quick bite to eat. The variety can be quite intimidating: noodles, dumplings, barbecued meat on a stick, fried everything on a stick, rice, pancakes, omelets, lots of Taiwanese foods that have no English names, and of course, Burger King. And while I'm there for dinner, I can pick up school supplies if I need them, buy some tea, or grab a new pair of argyle socks. You just never know what you're going to come home with when you go to a night market, which is both incredibly and terribly awesome. For instance, the other day I came home with a box of fried rice, a bottle of water, and a small Godzilla action figure. Good for the soul, not so good for the wallet.

The Merits of Argyle

As the sun bursts forth onto each new day, I learn something new about Taiwan, and more particularly myself. Of late, I have admitted defeat to the inevitable domestification of my life, and tried to embrace it. For instance, argyle. Had you asked me a year ago if I knew what argyle was, I would have responded with a shrug and guessed it was some sort of frustrated medieval creature, but now the multi-colored diamond pattern has entered my life for good. Why you ask? Because one pair of socks will match all 8 articles of clothing I have in Taipei, the pattern never looks dirty and argyle seems to just make one look more professional. Perhaps there should be a warning label on all articles argyle, to ward off demon children and keep argyle in posession of the professional. Argyle: May Cause Maturity.

And the livin' is easy

My apologies. I have been updating this blog far too infrequently of late, but, I have been quite busy. Life in Taipei is always moving, and always moving fast. Settling in and adjusting has been relatively easy. Work and the home front are both going great and I'm truly enjoying myself here in Taiwan.

I have become a corporate sellout. I work for HESS, the largest English teaching company in Taiwan, but I love my job. I'm teaching adults in the evenings. The kindergarten teachers stumble to work in whatever they feel like and I roll up like a high-roller each night in business attire, just as they are making their way home. The cool thing about the adult program at HESS is that we're our own entity, operating separately from the rest of the company. It's a bit different from teaching the youngsters, but in a good way. My students are motivated, they all lead interesting lives, and I don't have to take them to the potty every half hour. It doesn't get much better than that for a teacher.

At the end of a long day's work I venture home. I'll usually stop at the Shida Night Market for a bite to eat (more to come on night markets) and head back to the apartment. I live with 3 guys: one from NZ, one from England and another from the States. The international mix is always fun, but my speech patterns and vernacular have slowly been morphing into some sort of an English language conglomerate. Maybe I'll call it New Ameribrit English... or something like that. This weekend we painted the appartment, including my room, and the place is really comin together. It will soon be the ultimate bachelor pad. Sweet as.

So life is good. I've been playing a lot of basketball and some ultimate frisbee to stay in shape, I've been going to Monday Night Movie Night that my friend runs, and I've started to do a little Yoga. My Chinese is slowly getting better day by day. I might start taking lessons in the near future, but for now, pointing seems to work. Summer approaches and the weather is beautiful. my days are full and life is sweet.

Feeling a Little Van Gogh

I have an affinity for hideously orange bedrooms. They follow me everywhere, or perhaps I seek them out. Whatever the case may be, I seem to attract them. The last two places I have come to call home have both had bright orange walls. The last one, in New Paltz, had a bit of an autumnal feel. It was a pleasant pumpkin orange with brown trim. Currently, I am sitting in a room that should be dedicated to the Florida Gators. The orange is borderline neon with a splash of electric blue. I would like to meet the females who occupied these residencies before I took over, but that seems highly unlikely at this point.

I have finally begun to settle in. I have moved into an apartment and, as you know by my last post, I have a job. Now that I have set up a base of operations, I can begin to take over the world. Work is nice and my social life is nicer. I have taken up the art of Ultimate Frisbee as my modus operandi for exercise. It is lots of fun and quite exhausting. It might be the most tiring activity one can engage in (next to soccer, of course).

So I am expanding my borders and conquering new territory everyday, however, I am not forgetting about the home front. I'm doing a little bit everyday to make this home feel a little bit more like... well, home. Today I went out and bought a mattress pad and decided to carry it back to the new apartment by myself on the subway. It was very entertaining, both for me and every other person who must have been thinking to themselves "crazy white boy." I managed to take a few people out in the process. I got off at Guting station and began the 8 minute walk down Tong An St. toward the river (which I live literally a stone's throw from) and decided to make life just a little bit more difficult. Ginormous mattress pad in one hand, I stopped to grab some lunch to go in the other. I wobbled the rest of the way home, trying not to spill my soup and decided that was enough Martha Stewartness for one day. Tomorrow... I paint.

Humorous Begininnings

The names Grow... Dave Grow. I am 26 years old and I have a Masters Degree is Business. I have been teaching English in Taiwan for over a year. I was born in 1982, the year of the Rooster, and come from New York, where police officers still ride horses. I may or may not be a spy for the Taiwanese government. This is the persona I have taken on for work and the sake of my students... except I lied about 1982, it was really the year of the Dog.

My first official week of classes has come to a close and I have learned many a valuable lesson. Valuable lesson number one: Taiwanese humor is quite different from mine. Due to the fact that Chinese is a tonal language, there are a huge number of words that sound almost exactly alike. So, Chinese humor is largely based on puns, and my sense of humor is therefore rendered insignificant to a group of students with a limited knowledge of the English language. However, we are all learning from one another (language from me, puns from them) and eventually we will meet somewhere in the middle.

For instance, today's lesson was modal verbs and how to make a suggestion or give advice. After we get through most of the lesson, I become slightly disinterested in listening to students repeat the same suggestions about what to take on a camping trip over and over again. I ask students to think of good advice or life suggestions that they can make to one another, and I give an example I think of on the spot. "In America, people will often say to one another 'You shouldn't eat yellow snow.'" In retrospect, a little planning and a better suggestion would have made my life easier.

First, I had to remind my students, all of whom live in a tropical climate, what snow is. Next I had to explain that snow is usually white, and as many of them thought, it's not pollution that makes it yellow. Third, I had to explain that it's a bit of a joke, between kids. This is certainly not the wisdom of the sages. Like I said, though, we will find a middle ground. And if they don't laugh at my jokes, they will certainly laugh at my terrible drawings on the board.

Would You Like A Drink With That Grain Of Rice?

food continued...

One thing pointed out to me before leaving for Taiwan, by many a person, was the need for chopstick skills. On multiple occasions, whilst dining on fine Asian cuisine in the States, someone pointed out that the real test to knowing whether or not you are good with chopsticks is how well you can pick up a single grain of rice. "Try picking up that grain of rice by itself," they'd say. "Let's play a game and pass this grain of rice to each other using chopsticks," they'd joke. And I was under the same impression. Chopstick skills require attention to detail, right?

Wrong. This, in retrospect, was quite possibly the dumbest notion ever to have crossed my mind, and I have done some sublimely idiotic things in my day. Really, who the hell eats rice one grain at a time? I mean, after a long days work on the job hunt and skipping a meal because I was at an interview, the first idea that crawls around between my ears is usually something along the lines of "I can't wait to eat this rice one by one by one by one." Cast under a spell of Western ignorance, and now brought into the light, I see the folly in my previous thought processes and gleefully shovel as much rice into my mouth as humanly possible. And then, with a mouth full of rice I reach over to have a drink and swash it all down, right?

Wrong. There are no drinks with meals here. If you're lucky enough to find a place that serves drinks, good luck getting a refill. The first night in Taiwan, Uncle Fred took Johnny and I out for dinner. We were having soup and I took a bottle of water out of my bag to have a swig of something cold. I received a good number of looks that all said the same thing, "What's with this guy?" As Uncle Fred explained, "Why do you need a drink if you've having soup?" I guess it kind of makes sense. You have your entire breakfast, lunch or dinner right in front of you, all in one bowl. Beverage included with the price of the meal. And what if you're having dry food that doesn't have soup in it, like a plate of noodles, you ask? Well, you just order a bowl of soup to go with it, of course.

An Endless Search for Hun Tun Mian

"How do you feel about the soup?"
"It tastes like a basement."
"Funny, I was thinking Grandma's house."

It has come to pass that the majority of our meal time conversations are about trying to figure out exactly what the hell we're eating. It's kind of fun actually. The streets of Taipei are littered with an abundance of street vendors peddling food from carts much like you would see on the streets of New York. On top of that, about 4 out of every 5 storefronts is a restaurant (the other 20% are banks or 7-11s). We sit down when we see something that looks tasty, or at the very least edible, attempt to have a dialogue in Changlish with the owner that usually just ends up confused expressions on all parties involved, and we sit down.

Plate of Dumplings with Grandma's Basement Soup

Countless times we have searched for Hun Tun Mian (Won Ton Soup with Noodles) and came up short. As each meal came, looking distinctly not like Hun Tian Mian, I shed a little tear and dug in. Not knowing what to expect, the first few bites are always a little interesting, but by the end of the meal the soup that once tasted like Grandma's basement is quite enjoyable. And each meal without Hun Tuns will just make the payoff that much more delicious.

Also, please note that I have uploaded some pictures for your enjoyment. You can find the link to my Picasa album on the left hand side of your screen, right below my beautiful mug.

Home Sweet Home

Enjoy the tour as your humble narrator takes you through his apartment.

Thar she blows.

End of tour.

That's our room. All 16 square feet of her.
Please note the window to the bathroom and the lack of a second bed.
It's almost humorful, but I will survive. And make up words in the process.

Massages with Uncle Fred

So I wake up Sunday morning and after a quick Skype call home, decide that the day is going to be a recovery day to lay in bed and recuperate. The original plan, made on Saturday, was to sleep in Sunday and head over to Fort San Domingo in the afternoon with Uncle Fred. Plans are subject to change, though, and my body just jumped from subject history to biology. There would be no sightseeing today, only a little R&R. Play a little Yahtzee and watch some World Baseball Classic in Chinese. At least that's how I wanted the day to go. Uncle Fred had other plans.

The call from Fred is expected to come around 1230-1 Sunday. So, naturally, he shows up at the hotel around 1030 catching Johnny and I completely off guard.
"Fred, I'm not going out today. I need to rest and recover."
"OK, so we'll just go out for a little bit then."
"Fred, no, I'm not leaving the hotel."
"Come on then, I have an idea. I've been waiting for an excuse to go and this is my opportunity. We'll go get massages. Very relaxing."

Needless to say, we were in the massage parlor about 20 minutes later. We may have jumped the gun a bit because we got there around 11 and the masseuses (masseese? (masseusi?)) don't start work until noon, but we headed to our room, stripped down, and donned kimonos. About an hour later, three young, and very attractive Taiwanese girls walk through the door. They giggle. I nervously giggle along with them. Uncle Fred yaps away in Mandarin and five minutes later they know my whole life story. My lovely masseuse goes to work.

As her palms, fingertips, knuckles, elbows and arms gently kneed, press and roll squeeze the stress from my sinews, I drift off to another world where fevers and stomach aches just don't matter. She works on my neck and back as I lay face up and clearly she has done this before, although I like to pretend she hasn't. I roll over onto my stomach and she begins to layer hot towel upon hot towel, one after another after another, like she is building the great wall of relaxation right there on my spine. Once this cushion of steam has grown large enough, she stands up on the table. Her infinitesimally small feet walk along my body from the tips of my toes all the way up to my neck. Fred was right, this is indeed relaxing. I could get used to this.

Cue the foot guy. I should note that as the foot guy enters the room, Fred begins to describe the experience of the foot massage with a quick anecdote about his Japanese friend who could not stop screaming throughout the massage. So a man of Japanese descent, the group of people who survived the atom bomb and godzilla, screamed throughout his entire experience with the Taiwanese foot man. Great. The foot man goes to work. I'm doing fine the first half, as he uncomfortably digs his knuckles into the little tissue I have on the bottom of my foot, but I focus on my lovely masseuse, who is now working my jaw and eye sockets (it feels a lot better than it sounds). I begin to lose it when he performs a twisting motion on each of my toes that feels and sounds like it came from the Spanish Inquisition. But I survived, and live to tell the tale. I just know never to get the foot massage again.

Not Feeling So Hot

Let's play a game. You all ask a question in unison, like on family feud, and I respond with a boringly clever answer. Ready? Go.

How hot is it?
It's so hot, that in winter, when you turn on the faucet, instead of waiting for the hot water to get hot, you have to wait for the cold water to get cold.

How hot is it?
It's so hot, that the weather reports are saying it is "slightly cold" outside when it's 80 degrees Fahrenheit.

One last time, stick with me here.

How hot is it?
It's so hot, Dave has a fever.

The heat is probably one of the less pungent ingredients, though. Add a cup of jet lag, a tablesoon of stomach pains and a dash of dietary adjustments, stir for 4 days, and you've got a 5 star recipe for feeling like sh*t. Oh and don't forget to wake up on Sunday morning with a black tongue... but don't worry, that's just a side effect from all the pepto bismol you've been taking. What is that!?'
So physically I haven't been feeling 100% but I have been trying to stay positive.

Let's Play Catch Up

Flying and Initial Reactions

It's Monday night and I have other stories half written, but decided I should see this particular blog through to the end. It is boring recapping these things for me, but hopefully interesting for you. Or at least it will answer some of the many questions you may or may not have been wondering about since my departure.

Both flights were fine. The first was actually better than the latter, despite the fact that it was 9 hours longer. If you come to visit, which you probably won't, fly ANA. The food was great, as was the service. Didn't get much sleep though. Johnny and I tried unsuccessfully to sit in Business class on the 2nd flight, but were kicked out soon after sitting down. I believe the line that left my lips after being told to move was, "I didn't know I couldn't do that," a la Dave Chappelle. It would have been nice to get some extra free service and bigger seats, but we were so tired at this point we could have slept anywhere. So, we grudgingly obliged and moved to our original, less comfortable economy class seats. Oh well.

Fred, a good friend of my Aunt and Uncle's who has been helping with this trip all along, met us at the airport and took us back to the hotel. He was flying back to Taiwan from Malaysia and his flight was landing at the same time as ours. He told me that when I exited the airport I should look for an Asian man in a straw hat... he wasn't joking. So I trusted his word, and lo and behold, Fred was the only Asian man in a straw hat in the airport. We headed for the bus station.

The bus traveled through an endless Chinatown and arrived at the hotel around midnight. The number of scooters on the road at midnight was utterly insane. I could only fathom what it would be like during the day. Soon I hope to be a part of that madness. Bright lights and signs in Mandarin. Food being sold on every street corner, from vendors and storefronts alike, and . 7-11s everywhere. Seriously. If you think Starbucks is bad in the states, the number of 7-11s in Taipei is dauntingly outlandish, and kind of awesome at the same time. If the countdown on the crosswalk sign is too long I know I'll have enough time to run in and grab a Slurpee on any corner for about NT$50.

We woke up the next morning around 8, grabbed breakfast and headed out with Uncle Fred. It was a nice easy first day in which Fred had us doing job interviews within the first 12 hours we were in the country, totally unprepared, lacking formal attire and accessories like resumes and pens. But hey, we hit up 4 schools and now know what to expect when we start the job search in the coming days for real, kind of.

Later that night, wandering through a supermarket with Fred I had my first encounter with all those "weird" foods everyone has been asking about. Walking past a steak house style salad buffet Fred turns to me and says something along the lines of free samples late and night. Basically, Fred, like everyone else, enjoys free food and pretends he is not stealing. Works for me. The next line is some along the lines of eat this first, ask what it is after you swallow it. 10 minutes later I am still chewing pigs guts and chicken feet trying not to projectile vomit on some late-night shoppers loafers. Let me tell you, chicken feet look, taste and feel like you would expect them to. Moral of the story? Ask first, then don't eat.

Back To The Future

Where we're going... we don't need roads.
I am in Taipei... and it's tomorrow. The first flight traveled through many a time zone, always chasing the sun, when we very nonchalantly crossed the International Date Line. The conversation between Johnny and I went something like this:

"Dude, we're about to cross the International Date Line."
"It's about to be tomorrow real fast."
"Yea, let's play another game of Yahtzee."

So, we have just finished our first taiwanese breakfast. It was delicious. I had noodles and something else that could have been either fried fruit or meat. I guess I'll never know... The hotel is cozy, very cozy. Johnny and I are sharing a kingsize bed, but no worries. We're probably going to speed up the apartment hunt, though.

More soon...

Where To Go... (the epic conclusion)

I suppose this blog entry is a lot like going to see Titanic or The Mighty Ducks in theaters. You know the boat is going to sink, the Disney sports team never loses, and I will be going to Taiwan. So, despite the lack of a ginormous budget or a teen heart-throb actor, I will try to finish the story and make it entertaining as possible. So, let me pick up where I left off.

Jason and I were destined to teach English somewhere in the world. We just had to decide where to go. As it turned out, Jason's girlfriend, Amanda, had been studying China quite intensely for the last few years and wanted to study there upon graduation... and when I say quite intensely, I mean exactly that. Jason and his girlfriend are the two people in college who sit in the library for nine hours a day and shoot you a dirty look if you sneeze. they're very territorial about their library space. Jason used to hide books in the freight elevator, and even contemplated hiding in it one night so he could stay in the library after it closed. So Amanda and Jason wanted to move to China. I had only ever heard horror stories about pollution and hacking coughs and smog so think you can't see the sun. On top of that, I used to have pretty bad asthma, so China was out of the question for me.

So, logically, our research stemmed away from China. We explored Hong Kong, Thailand, Malaysia, South Korea, Japan and others with some help from our friend Google, when we stumbled upon a little island known as Taiwan: politically stable and progressive, economically powerful, the people speak Mandarin Chinese, less pollution than China. We stumbled upon gold. The decision was made. Taiwan here we come.

The plan was set. Jason and Amanda would go in August/September and I would meet them there a few months later upon completion of my four and a half years in the higher American educational system. Jason started to study Mandarin; I signed up to take a Mandarin class. We prepared, studied, and educated ourselves as much as possible for what we were going to be doing. We were ready to go.

Fast forward 6 months. It's September. Jason's visa was denied and he was never told why. Amanda moved to Wisconsin to work for some hippies. Jason is still in New Paltz. I will be going to Taiwan on my own, sans library rats. I would not let their failure hold me back. In fact, it made me want to go more, but I still had 6 months of school to finish before I could go. So i temporarily put my plans on hold to try and get some work done, but I never stopped talking about it. I told everyone I could what I was going to do. A few friends, here and there, thought about coming for at least a few days but ultimately would not commit to anything. Yet, a few seeds had been planted.

Fast forward again. It's December 19th and I have just graduated. I returned home in two feet of snow to a fridge filled with beer and drunken roommates. The perfect ending to college. I get a call from my friend Johnny who just walked down graduation road with me and he's coming over to hang out. In a drunken stupor at the end of the night we get to talking. He says, "Make me want to go to Taiwan." So I made my pitch. I delved through my mind and recounted tales about Ilha Formosa I had read, and even busted out little known facts about Taiwan that are inexplicably intriguing, and he was sold. That was that.

So here I am, one year later, recounting my tale three weeks before I leave and I'd like to mention how utterly simple this entire process has been. Everything seems to have just fallen into place... but I suppose that's because we haven't really settled anything. We're just going. We don't have jobs yet, or a place to live for that matter. We're just going. We took a class and have since received TEFL certificates, and we'll have our diplomas in hand, but that's about it. Straight up gangster.

What To Do...

A little over a year ago I decided I wanted to move. It didn't matter how I would get there, what I would do there, or where I would be, as long as I wouldn't be here. Quite frankly, here has gotten rather boring. The people are great (sometimes), but the culture is lacking. To be honest, I grew up a pretty cultured child and have been traveling all my life, but something about suburbia has always been a bit blah. Bland, boring, humdrum, monotonous, lifeless: these are all good synonyms for suburbia.

I needed to make a decision about where to live. I considered Europe. I thought about Central or South America. I pondered Asia and Africa, too. I don't think the notion of moving to Antarctica ever quite crossed my mind, but in retrospect it was silly to rule it out. After all, penguins deserve companionship just as much as lions, elephants, panda bears and German people. I suppose at the time I realized I was a people person, hence the ruling out of Antarctica... and Germany.

So, I decided to pick a country completely based on chance and set out to find a globe. I would spin the globe, cover my eyes with my hands and stop the globe with my pointer finger. A few classroom break-ins at the Geography department later, I found a globe and gave it a whirl. Round and round went the topographical surface of a mostly blue sphere: the Andes merged with the Himalayas, the Pacific became the Indian and Antarctica still sat at the bottom, all alone, singled out from the fun. Continents shifted toward each other, Pangea re-emerged as the dominant earthly landmass and I closed my eyes.

Three times I spun the globe, and three times I landed on Sub-Saharan Africa. I had ruled out another place I did not want to live. The fourth time I tried to spin the globe the poles flipped and the Earth came crashing down onto the floor of a classroom I was not supposed to be in. So, before CSI came into the room to draw white chalk lines around the second Big Bang, I decided it would be a good time to leave. Disgruntled and unsatisfied, I went home and got drunk.

The next day, I found myself killing time in a computer lab after American Lit 2 . I thought that perhaps instead of deciding where to go, it would be a better idea to figure out what I would do once I got to where I was going before I got there. I debated which of my skills were most valuable on an international market. Lifeguarding had always proved to be a lucrative industry for most of my working years, however, the number of jobs available for international lifeguards are few and far between. You see, most countries believe in accountability for its peoples own actions, and let you swim at your own risk. Selling toys had been a forte in my earlier working years, but that would only lead me back toward the materialism I was so desperately trying to escape. I had always been fairly good at taking care of goldfish and I am a halfway decent basketball player but neither of these 'skills' would serve me well in my overseas endeavors (or at least they won't be very profitable). The idea of actually using my major, English, had fluttered past my eyes in only the briefest of moments. I had always been told, and assumed myself, that it was a rather useless major. So, at another brick wall, disgruntled and unsatisfied, I went home and got drunk.

However, this particular evening of debauchery led to a great discovery. My longtime friend and roommate, Jason, had been thinking the same thoughts as me. He wanted to leave just as much as I did. So, excited and inebriated, we began to explore the internet. A few Google searches later, we were destined to teach English abroad. How hard could it be? First and foremost, it's something I consider myself to be fairly good at. I speak English good and write good too. I've been doing it for practically all of my life. I think it came quite naturally around age 1 and just a few short years later I stumbled upon the skill of reading. So really, how hard could it be to teach it?