Advertisement
Published: June 17th 2013
As J.'s departure draws nearer, we take full advantage of our last weeks together and indulge in food, sights, and all the cultural activities we can absorb. One excursion we do is to the mountain village of Jiufen, a quaint place along the northeast coast, not too far from Taipei. Once a centre of gold mining during the Japanese occupation, Jiufen retains its wealth these days through clever marketing to domestic, Chinese and especially Japanese tourists as a traditional, olde-tyme village untouched by modernisation. And in fact, after we get off the train in Ruifang and hop on the local bus to Jiufen, all we hear is Japanese. Of course, what we find upon arrival is not an isolated village cut off from civilisation for the last 80 years, but a comely little retro town sporting diligently refurbished Japanese-style homes and decorative old teahouses in narrow lanes where endless food stalls and traditional eateries compete for the tourist buck.
One could argue that Jiufen is a perfectly fake tourist trap, but it actually manages to retain a certain charm, thanks not least to its stunning setting, nestled against the mountains and hemmed in by the sea.
Plus the food on offer is simply fantastic. Among the numerous local specialties, taro (芋圓 yuyuan) and sweet potato balls (蕃薯圓 diguayuan) first strike our interest and then tickle our tastebuds. They are served in red bean, green bean and sweet potato soup. One bowl is not enough, so tasty are they, and we try them at two different famous shops, one of which has a huge line in front. What's also on offer are many different types of mochi, pineapple cake (one lady pitches her 'paineppuru keiku' when a group of Japanese tourists walks past) and deliciously sticky sugar cane molasses. The great thing is that almost anywhere in Taiwan, when it comes to sweets, you can try anything that's on offer, the sellers are certainly not stingy. They know that if you try and like it, you're more likely to purchase.
We hang around for a few hours, eat pungently tasty stinky tofu for lunch, check out some of the marvellous temples as well as an old teahouse, then head back on the bus again. This time, the bus is full of noisy teenage schoolkids. I'm slightly taken aback to see that when an elderly man gets
on, they don't get up to offer their seat. One would expect a little more respect for the elders in Taiwan, but apparently not from spoiled little shits.
***
The following day, we plan on visiting the famous Pingxi Lantern Festival. Problem is, it's famous, so hordes of people cram onto the train to Ruifang (again). It gets even worse once we exit the train station: there are several very long queues for the shuttle buses to Shifen, where the festival takes place. After a good half an hour of waiting, we finally make it on the bus, and an hour later, we arrive at Shifen. First thing we do is inspect the night market and buy some snacks there. The narrow streets are uncomfortably crowded with locals and tourists alike. It is rather unusual to see so many white people in one place in Taiwan; usually the Chinese, Japanese and Korean tourists are far more numerous. We find out later that the festival was on a list of "52 things to do in 2013" in an article published in January by CNN Travel. That could be a reason for this unwelcome invasion. I
reckon the white, affluent, hedonistic neo-hippies flock here for the 'spiritual' experience of raising a sky lantern in another failed effort to fill their hollow, dull existences with some semblance of meaning.
There's an area where people prepare their sky lanterns by painting wishes onto them. One Taiwanese girl has written, amongst other things, "Hope I can find my Mr. Right" and "Dad and Mom can own more money!" onto the lantern, two wishes that are almost cute in their touching, infantile naïveté.
Shortly after dusk, the lanterns are released, illuminating the sky magnificently, like massive upside-down floating candles. The whole spectacle is quite nice to look at, but the stress of metro-train-bus, the long waiting and the crowds are just too much for us. Something more low-key closer to Xinzhuang district would have been better that day. We don't stay around for much longer, but head back to queue up for the shuttle bus back to Ruifang. Three hours later, we're back home, tired and annoyed, thinking it wasn't worth it after all.
***
In the meantime, my internship starts, but it's not until the second week that everything has been
organised properly and I can start attending courses and doing my own lessons. Before that, I meet up with my supervisor Brigitte, her husband Peter, and the other intern Nicole for lunch. Brigitte and Peter are hardened, experienced sinologists with all the linguistic and academic acumen to teach German with the aid of their fluent Mandarin, where necessary, to Taiwanese students. Nicole has just finished her Ph.D. in Jewish studies. At five years' my senior, she speaks about 10 languages and is so keen on gathering experience in teaching German language abroad that she signed up for a six-month unpaid internship at Fu Jen University. Maybe I should mention that Fu Jen is a private, catholic university that holds a certain prestige within Taiwan as educational institution of a long list of celebrities, politicians, musicians and artists. Nicole and I have the same question in mind, "Just how catholic is this university?". Brigitte appeases us, saying we shouldn't worry, Peter and she are also atheists, we just shouldn't spread any blatant anti-catholic propaganda. She says most students were sent there by their affluent parents who may or may not have catholic ties, but the main reason to choose Fu Jen
was the university's prestige.
Thus prepared, I attend my first course, German for law students. When I enter the classroom, what I see is quite a lot of law students, around 60, I'd say. The teacher is Mrs Yeh, a jovial, personable lady whom I take a liking to immediately. Nicole is also there, and after we take turns introducing ourselves and answering questions (using a microphone), class starts. When I tell my students that I visited Jiufen (九份 jiǔ fèn) on the weekend they think I visited xī fàn (稀饭), which is another word for rice congee. Mrs Yeh does some basic grammar and pronunciation exercises, and it doesn't take long for her to ask us to read a certain text sentence by sentence, so the students can repeat them all together. The merit of this is highly dubitable, naturally, but what else to do with that many students? There's certainly no time to check everyone's pronunciation individually. More on the internship in the next blog.
***
One afternoon, we make our way to Longshan district to visit the famous temple of the same name. As it's a Sunday, the square next
to the temple is brimming with old folks hanging out, playing board games, exercising and listening to a really bad band consisting of a middle-aged guy playing the keyboard and a middle-aged woman singing. The latter sports a hat with fake spiky red hair on top, an accessory normally worn by 5-12 year-old kids. Not really sure why she would wear this - to appear younger? Funky? Sexy? Anyway, she fails, so does her singing and her awkward moves, but at least the old men seem to like her.
The good thing about temples in Taiwan is that there's usually a Buddhist vegetarian restaurant in close proximity. You just have to look out for the gentle swastika, which guarantees food containing no dead animals. In Longshan, we have the choice between several of them, and we go for a small one that seems to be very popular with the locals. J. orders a wantan soup while I content myself with a simple rice noodle soup with some veggies and tofu. Both are delicious and filling. Afterwards, we try and find a stall that sells vegetarian pan-fried buns, sheng jian bao (生煎包). I've been browsing food blogs, looking for the
best vegetarian food Taipei has on offer, and one blogger enthusiastically recommended this one. After an endless number of small alleys, we finally find it. They sell the buns filled with cabbage, bamboo shoots and something we are unable to decipher. I order a few of each, despite the fact that both of us are already really full, but in Taiwan, I've learned to ignore the feeling of satiety. The first two buns are very tasty, probably some of the best I've had, just the mysterious filling of the last one turns out to be some type of pungent Chinese radish, or is it mustard leaves? Either way, we don't like it and ditch the bun after one bite.
We finally enter the temple, first strolling around the big inner courtyard, decorated extensively with papier-mâché Buddhas, dragons, pigs, dogs and innumerous lanterns. As it's still Chinese New Year, the temple is jam-packed with worshippers lighting joss sticks, praying for wealth, health and good luck for themselves and their families in the new year. It's all like a big circus, really fun to observe. At around 5pm people start chanting Buddhist mantras, endlessly repeating the same words over and over
again. One thing they chant is 'amituofo', which signifies paying homage to Amitabha Buddha. The chanting is peaceful and relaxing, yet devout and earnest at the same time. There's an intense solemnity to it that brings tears to my eyes. Clearly, religion to them is a seriously personal thing, not something that you go about preaching and proselytising, not something that you take as justification for your political views, nothing you use to distinguish yourself from others.
***
One major annoyance for us is the fact that whenever we want to ask someone a question, be it a food vendor or a passersby on the street, they answer in Mandarin because they expect J. to be a native speaker or her to speak and understand it. They usually disregard my having addressed them, in English on top of that. Why would I do the talking in a foreign language if I had a local with me? It's almost comical how they look at me first with that "oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy, it's a white guy, and he's talking to me in English, what to do?"-expression on their faces, then start speaking to J. in Mandarin. Sometimes they
just keep talking in that language, even if I tell them we don't understand, and after a while, they usually switch to English anyway. Other times, especially with girls, they give J. a dirty look, for they suspect her a snooty local who prefers to speak English to appear sophisticated and worldly. Rarely, she gets so pissed off that she says something like "I don't speak Choinese, moite, I'm from 'stralia, ooright?"
We visit the famous and controversial Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall. The former dictator and his sites, remnants of an intense cult of personality, have been subject to heated dispute and historical scrutiny, his popularity divided mostly along political lines. Good thing we're not here for the politics, but for the panorama of the vast Memorial Hall Square, complete with the National Concert Hall and the National Theatre. In front of the intricate main gate, an endless flow of Chinese tourists is spewed off too many tour buses. They are confronted with a 'Free Tibet'-info booth to the left containing graphic photos of the results of China's occupation of Tibet and the oppression and genocide of the Tibetan people.
Later we attend a play at the National
Theatre. By coincidence, infamous director Frank Castorf of the Berlin theatre 'Volksbühne' is on tour in Taiwan presenting his adaptation of Dostoevsky's 'The Gambler'. Thus, we sit through four and a half hours of rambling, endless shouted and screamed monologues, a plethora of obscure pop-culture references and tacky props, acting anarchy and directorial insanity. How one can demand of an audience, of anyone really, to sit through this, I have no idea. Strangely to me, it appears as though the Taiwanese liked it, at least they give a few rounds of applause at the end. Maybe they just thought German theatre was supposed to be that way.
***
You look around in the streets, in the malls, on the metro, you see a lot of people wearing thick black-framed glasses, many of them without lenses. Other types of glasses are rarely to be seen, so I fit in well in that respect. The sufficiently mentioned no-lens, big-framed glasses are not the only incident of Korean influence in Taiwanese fashion: many young people, especially the guys, wear what I, with my amateurish understanding of couture, would call Gangnam fashion. Without going too much into detail,
to me it looks like expensive, wild randomness in pastel and neon colours. Not to mention some really strange haircuts. Oh, but I should mention one: two guys I can't help but stare at on the metro, roughly 16-18 years old, with matching haircuts that can probably best be described as a crimson nuclear fallout mushroom meets a drunk monk who has fallen headfirst into the tub with crushed grapes. Trust me, it looked even more stunning in real life.
What's also striking is that many younger Taiwanese guys have that effeminate look that borders on androgyny and the matching behaviour. They're constantly checking out their hair in the metro windows, correcting and brushing it with their hands and closely inspecting it from different angles. An indispensable gimmick to them is a handbag, and I'm not talking about man-bags or messenger bags, but real woman-bags. I saw this for the first time last year in Shanghai. I was completely baffled when I realised they weren't carrying their girlfriends' bags, but their own woman-bags. Even more flabbergasted was I when I came to the conclusion they're not necessarily gay. The same applies to these Taiwanese blokes. Maybe this is shocking
to me only due to the fact that society has been teaching me all my life that a man should be and act manly and a woman womanly, and any aberrances in that respect must be due to homosexuality. In a way it's great that such preconceptions are challenged every now and then to keep you from becoming a mindless fossil, but then, it's only fashion. They can strut around wearing skirts and mascara and nail polish and purses and whatnot, but still be homophobes, misogynists, pro-life fascists and/or rapists.
Among the 12-35 year-old females the cutesy good-girl look prevails, which can get tiresome quickly. Only ocassionally does one see a made-up femme fatale in stockings and dangerously high heels, with bright red lips and long, obviously artificial eyelashes. Usually with Taiwanese girls it's Hello Kitty-sneakers, Doraemon attire and other kawaii shit all the way. What unites the two groups is that they both love to wear those circle contact lenses that are meant to make an Asian eye's iris appear larger. In reality, it just looks strained, unnatural and seriously uncomfortable. You see some and you wanna say "Whoooooaaaaaa! The fuck happened to your eyes?", as the forced-open
eyelids give them a creepy, mask-like appearance. I'm not sure if they wanna look more 'Western' or like some bizarre anime character, in a way they merely manage to look fake. Another female type that one finds at regular intervals is the butchy-looking proto-lesbian. She's always in pairs with an infinitely more girlish/female girlfriend/lover/friend/whatever. Quite an interesting sight to behold.
***
One of the most curious aspects of Taiwanese culture is metro etiquette and behaviour: I must have previously mentioned that Taiwanese love to line up very orderly when waiting fot the train, but the longer you stay, the more often you see people sneaking in front, almost all of them beyond their 50s. I always think of them as rude Mainlanders who don't know how to behave. What the Taiwanese do have in common with their Mainland brethren is the general metro laziness: the middle sections are almost always the most crowded, as most people are too lazy to walk to either end to get on the train. A more infuriating thing is that when people board a slightly crowded train, they just stop and stand near the door instead of moving further
into the train so more people can get on.
When they get off the train, almost nobody ever takes the stairs, everybody goes for the escalators or elevators. They go so far as to run out of the train just to be further up in line in wait for the escalator. I walk on principle, so the fact that people usually stand on the right is an advantage to me. The problem is that when the discipline wears off and one person decides to stand on the left for no reason, nobody tells them to move aside, they all just line up behind them. I guess it would be too much work to say 'excuse me' or tap their back or politely push through. Also, when there are four gates to tag off, most people want to pass through the nearest gate, so they prefer lining up there to walking the extra metre and using one of the free or less crowded gates.
The Taiwanese metro experience is also educational. One learns that Taiwanese people really stick to the rules. For instance, drinking is forbidden on the metro, but rather often, I hop on, tea in hand, taking
sips whenever I want to. Sometimes I get disapproving looks, so I start doing it more sneakily. When one day, a lady goes out of her way to tell me it's not allowed, I realise how this is different from Germany: in Germany people love to lecture each other, especially when it comes to rules and regulations that have been set in place by any type of authority. Germans stick to the rules to yield to authority, and when they see someone who breaks the rules they take on the role of satellite authority, knowing the rules, and correcting the people who don't. In Taiwan it's different. The lady didn't finger wag me, she alerted me because I disturbed the natural order of things, a celestial flow that determines how things should be.
***
The Taiwanese people certainly love food. It seems they are constantly eating, drinking and snacking, and always on the lookout for the best restaurants, casual eateries and street stalls that specialise on one particular dish. If you ask them where to get, say, the best stinky tofu, it's like asking an Israeli where to get the best hummus. One person
would point you to a stall in some obscure outer Taipei suburb, the next to a different town altogether. But they do eat a lot of meat, that's for sure. Especially popular is deep-fried breaded chicken, a very greasy-looking affair, but they devour it frenzy-eyed. One dish we are always curious about is a black, vaguely mochi-looking cake coated with peanuts that they sell on a stick as street food anywhere. Our curiosity turns into mild disgust when we learn it's pig's blood cake (豬血糕).
Amongst the street foods that become indispensable to me very quickly are stinky tofu, which I can eat every day, sweet and savoury baozi, the aforementioned pan-fried buns (probably my favourite Chinese buns), and roti filled with egg, corn and hot sauce. I also embark on a mission to try every tea they sell at Comebuy, and to get an idea of the quality of other bubble tea shops. My favourite juices are watermelon juice and papaya milk. I don't know how they do it, but papaya milk is an artform in Taiwan. I also wish I could just casually buy warm soy milk on the way to university in Germany or anywhere I
live, for less than 50 cents to boot. A Taiwanese specialty I exceptionally appreciate is pineapple cake. A box of fine pineapple cakes makes for a great present, but in the meantime I'd rather just drop by the exclusive, posh shops that specialise in that delightful pastry to try several different ones. Makes for a good dessert as well, or so I was told by a friend.
***
In general, I find that Taiwanese people are some of the happiest, most content folks I've seen or observed. It also feels as though they have very little reason to be angry. Sure, there's the thing with China, but at the same time, that's something that unifies the Taiwanese as a people. The culture appears to be rather streamlined and uniform; I haven't been able to observe the existence of distinct subcultures. No punks, emos, gothics, metalheads or other freaks. They might exist, but they aren't as visible as in other countries. The vast majority appears well-off and well-sated. People love to consume, and it's hard to escape consumerism when there's shops and stores and stalls and malls anywhere. In Zhongxiao Fuxing, there's a gigantic Sogo
department store next to another gigantic Sogo department store. You can walk underground through a mall to Zhongxiao Dunhua, the next metro station. Taipei sometimes feels like a mega-mall in itself. The good thing is, people leave each other alone. You can freely choose the time and nature of your purchase without being bombarded by the zombies of capitalism that breathe down your neck and tell you to consume and ask whether you want a facial with your nuts. Another great fact about life in Taiwan is that all public toilets are free of charge and usually sparkly clean. Please, for fuck's sake, pretty much all other countries, take note that it can work!
You can expect good service pretty much anywhere and you don't have to worry about being overcharged or ripped off. Nobody ever shortchanges you; after a few weeks the thought of even counting your change feels strange and paranoid. There are no touts, no scams, no pickpockets, and only once or twice did I even witness people behaving in a loud and obnoxious manner, always younger men who've had too much to drink. People do work a lot, but they seem to get the balance
right, unlike Japanese or Chinese worker ants. It's all about efficiency and smart time management, if you get that right, you can go hiking or exercising in the park or - gasp! - spend time with your family and friends.
I don't want to overly idealise Taiwan, but after a while it feels like a positive parallel universe where things are a little more ok than elsewhere.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.103s; Tpl: 0.026s; cc: 13; qc: 28; dbt: 0.056s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.2mb
The Travel Camel
Shane Dallas
Superb
Having lived in Taipei for four months back in 2006, you have captured the city perfectly, with the only difference since that time being the increasing androgynous look of the young males, and those Korean influenced glasses. I too loved the temples, the syncretism of Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism was touching, and I took to research Chinese philosophy as a result. The food is fantastic in Taiwan, one of my favourites was the deep-fried Tofu - excellent! Not sure if you are still there, but in July/August is a lantern/ghost festival not overrun by tourists, in Keelung - one of the best festivals of my travels. Finally, my favourite quote of the blog: "I reckon the white, affluent, hedonistic neo-hippies flock here for the 'spiritual' experience of raising a sky lantern in another failed effort to fill their hollow, dull existences with some semblance of meaning." When I next travel to India, I'm going to cite that line, it describes many tourist infested parts of that country beautifully.