Catholic Asian University Girls In Trouble

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With my internship in full swing, I'm a little too busy, which means I can't embark on as many excursions around Taipei as I would like to. Kind of...unusual for me. I wouldn't have thought that teaching can be that strenuous. No, wait, that was a lie, actually I pretty much expected it to be that way. Tuesday's the worst, where I got three classes with only a short lunch break in between, and afterwards I feel like a bag of dicks. By the way, please spare me the smart arse-comments in the vein of "You think that's a lot? Well, I have five classes each and every day, 365-82, and you don't see me complaining!". For a teaching noob like me it's tough enough standing in front of 40+ students, let alone performing well and putting into practice the subject matter I've spent hours preparing.

But the key to success is intercultural competence, i.e. being able to communicate appropriately and effectively with my students. Without that, I might as well have stayed at home. The concept of irony and sarcasm is relatively unknown in Taiwan, which means they might not understand what you are really trying to say if you're being sarcastic. One example is from my essay class, when we were covering job applications in German. I was giving the students an example for a bad application, pointing out the errors and summing it all up with a snappy "This application is so bad, it's almost like it was written by a trained monkey." No reaction. I reckon some were going "...trained mon-key. Alright!" in their heads. Certainly nobody was laughing about my bad joke. Mind you, these were year four-students, so it wasn't a language issue.

Another thing that has to be exclusively Taiwanese is the following: you ask a certain student, let's say a girl, a question, and you get no reaction at all. Usually she would first look nervously at the friend sitting next to her, hoping in vain that through some obscure magic, the teacher was looking at her while really expecting the answer from her bench mate. Next, she would smile awkwardly, blushing visibly while you repeat your question and reiterate that it's indeed her who's supposed to answer the question. Finally, she would lower her head, biting her lip, pretending to be invisible and fully expecting the teacher to think the same. "Who are you talking to? There's nobody here!" -"Wait, what happened to that girl I just asked a question? Did she disappear? Was she even there in the first place? Must have been my imagination playing tricks on me again, dammit..." Why they can't just say "I don't know" is beyond me.

Intercultural competence demands in this case that you don't keep on asking the same girl and insisting on a reply. She might not understand or not know the answer, so pressing on might lead to the girl being seriously embarrassed. Even worse, as it's in front of all her classmates. The German approach would be to try and 'encourage' her by saying something like "Come on, surely you know this, we talked about it the other day." In our example this tactic would only add insult to injury, as the teacher implies the answer is rather simple, basic knowledge. The Taiwanese method would be to carry on and ask somebody else or the whole class the question, so anybody who's keen can volunteer and the reluctant girl saves face.

I meet up with the other teachers individually to talk about their classes and what I would be able to do during my time here. Mrs Wang, a lovely yet stern lady past her 50s, says: "Well, you shouldn't expect too much from the students. They don't know a lot. It may be a year three-group, but they are still beginners, really. And they're lazy." As it turns out, there's some truth in her words. The class, Travel German, sounds promising, but turns out to be the most difficult and frustrating of all the classes I teach. I feel I can't connect with the students at all, mainly, it appears, as most of them don't understand the words that exit my mouth. I try and talk very slowly, using simple, short sentences and basic vocabulary. Mrs Wang insists I use her book in class, which is another dilemma. It contains 'typical' travel situations, but manages to come across as clumsy and unnatural, plus it's riddled with errors. I suggest to write some texts of my own, but that doesn't impress her at all. "Maybe we can use one or two of your texts, but we have to stick to the curriculum. We need to cover all the chapters that will be used for the exam, and there's not enough time for other subjects. The students will be confused if we do too many extra things on the side."

In another class, I'm asked to do a 30-minute presentation on the Holocaust. Mrs Yeh, the responsible teacher, tells me it should be no problem, as I'm German. Well, it's the very limited time that's the main issue here. I decide to start with the seizure of power in 1933 and dash ahead towards 1945, outlining the most important events along the gruesome way, assisted by 20-25 pictures. The subject matter asks for a more complicated vocabulary. Some words I write on the whiteboard and try to explain in simple terms. Occasionally, Mrs Yeh has to interfere and offer explanations in Chinese. Any expert would be appalled at my outrageously inadequate summaries of individual events that fill whole libraries, but alas, I must reduce everything to the most basic/general components. Surprisingly, the students appear really interested and alert, hanging on my every word. Afterwards, the other intern Nicole and I sit down with them and answer their questions for about half an hour. They are quite surprised at our candid and straightforward replies, and how we generally deal with a subject matter that puts the country we happen to come from in a very bad light.


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On the few remaining weekends, I go hiking. An absolute must when you're in Taipei is to make the short trip to Yangmingshan National Park just outside of town. With several mountain peaks, dense broadleaf forest, a wide network of hiking trails as well as a few hot springs thrown into the equation, Taipeiers can consider themselves quite fortunate to have this treasure right at their doorstep. After some contemplating, I decide on the hike to the top of Cisingshan (or Qixingshan, Seven Star Mountain, 七星山), an extinct volcano, and at a modest 1.120m Taipei's highest peak. Spring has only just begun, but the scenery is already ripe with blooming azaleas, rhododendrons and cherry blossoms. Lucky for me, I caught a beautifully warm, sunny day, with blue skies dominating anywhere you look.

I share the steeply ascending trail with myriad pensioners, most of whom are almost aggressively healthy and certainly fit enough to tackle the moderately arduous two-hour hike to the top of the mountain. They're all wearing full-on hiking gear, with boots, khakis, hats and hiking sticks. They play it smart, though, taking their time, resting frequently and making sure they remain hydrated at all times. About half-way up there's a flat, grassy section on the edge of Cisingshan, where benches, gazebos and rocks await the weary wanderers. This is where people take their lunch break or stop for a snack, which means this is where Taiwanese culture is at its most animated. Groups of people take out rice, veggies, meat and other edibles they carry along, lay it all out on tables and benches and start digging in, sharing everything in the process. They even brought fruit for dessert. Thermos flasks containing green tea surface, I even spot one group taking out a complete hiking tea ceremony set. There's no denying those people have come prepared. Meanwhile, I take a few sips from my water bottle, dying just a little on the inside.

Towards the three quarter-mark, the path becomes increasingly vertical and the stairs difficult to climb up. The hike turns into a workout, sweat starts pouring, and I enjoy myself and the gorgeous scenery more and more. At the top, I find that Cisingshan actually sports twin peaks. I climb up both of them to check out the views of the National Park, parts of Taipei and the Taiwanese north coast. The main peak turns out to be a bit more crowded than its less-visited sister. Still, it doesn't get uncomfortable. After all, they're Taiwanese, meaning they mind their own business, maybe with the exception of sneakily or more obviously watching un-Asianlike creatures like me.

I hang around for a while, then descend on the other side, for I strongly dislike backtracking. The scenery becomes more rugged and mountainous, not as forested as on the way up. I pass quite a few fumaroles that provide that delightful smell of rotten eggs that has become so familiar to me after Rotorua, Chile and Sumatra. No, I actually don't mind it at all. After less than an hour, I've made it to the visitor's centre at the foot of the mountain. I buy some snacks, drinks and ice cream to make up for my coming ill-prepared on this excursion. Refreshed, I hop on the bus back to Taipei.

One manifestation of the pronounced Japanese influence in Taipei are shops that sell Japanese cheesecakes. These are light and fluffy, not as dense and creamy as the European version. I've seen expats rant about this unoffending cake online: "It's disgusting! That shit is not cheesecake! I want some real cheesecake now! Mommy, bake me some real cheesecake! Rabble! Rabble rhubarb retard!". Clearly people get emotional when it comes to food, or rather some people should just stay within their own, narrow little cultures and never branch out. Anyway, there's one famous cheesecake shop (who would have thought it?) in a mall next to the central MRT station. Anytime I pass there, I see a long queue winding its way from the shop into oblivion. That has somewhat discouraged me from trying one of these legendary desserts. This time, though, when I alight from the Yangmingshan bus to Shilin MRT, I discover a cheesecake shop of a different brand. Without people queueing in front! I quickly run over and order one, with the girl taking my order deferently, just to be more Japanese, I reckon. 10 minutes later, I get my fresh cheesecake, neatly packaged in a posh bag, and skip home. Tasting it there, I can only say they're of the delicious, melt-in-your-mouth type. I inhaled twice and a quarter of the cake was already gone. If it's too light for you, maybe you can deepfry it in mutton lard, then attach an anvil to your ankles and jump into the ocean to eat it.


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One of the great things about Fu Jen is the fact that every day, you get a one and a half-hour lunch break. There are no classes in that time, and everyone rushes off campus for lunch and subsequently tries to take a little nap somewhere. Who am I to resist such an important part of Taiwanese culture? A lifesaver for me is my favourite Buddhist vegetarian restaurant, just around the corner from university and where I live. It is run by some amiable, middle-aged ladies, who are always extremely busy, as the eatery is highly popular, but always take my order patiently and serve the food shortly after with a smile. The menu on the wall sports quite a few dishes, but I usually order gan mien, noodles with soy mince, a few greens and a bit of broth, or tang mien, the same, just as a soup. One day when I order my usual, the lady tells me they don't have it, but due to language issues I don't understand why. A bit later I find out that these dishes are considered 'winter food', and as spring has come, they have been replaced by different dishes. I stand there for a while, pondering, unsure what to order, until the lady starts suggesting things, showing me the contents of several pots and saying the names, so I can take note. Gan fan appeals to me the most. It's rice with a corn starch-heavy sauce, some tofu and veggies. Strangely enough, to me it tastes more wintery than gan mien. The next time, I repeat the whole umming and aahing-charade, until I discover ga li fan, Japanese-inspired curry with a Taiwanese twist (i.e. adding pickled veggies and boasting stronger flavours).

Without exception, I round up my lunch break with a tea from Comebuy and a stopover at my dorm, where I power nap fiercely. However, I only get it on two days a week, as I agreed to take over the 'German corner', which are more informal tutorials on German culture and life. It takes place in that break, hence not that many students show up, and the ones who do bring their food and are usually still asleep when I enter the classroom. One of the weirdest things I've observed while teaching in Taipei are students who cut their fingernails in class during the 10-minute break. Come on, kids, are you that busy that you can't do that shit at home? Thankfully, they spare me the sight of them clipping their toenails.

In my debating class, the topic of the week is abortion. I talk about the topic, introducing important vocabulary like womb, fertilisation, implantation and sperm. "Y'all know what sperm is, right? Right? No? Hm, ok. Let's see...a sperm comes...no, that's inappropriate...when a man...no, better not...hold on, I'm gonna draw it on the board." I draw a happy tadpole on the whiteboard, which causes them to aaaaaah loudly, then giggle, and finally laugh in exhilaration and shame. Apart from that little episode, they treat the subject like any other, answering questions and discussing amongst themselves like proper adults. Most of the guys say they'd let their girlfriend decide, as it's their body. One girl says she has a few girlfriends who have had an abortion. Just one red-haired bloke with a sour expression on his face opines that abortions should never, under any circumstances, be conducted. "What about when the woman has been raped?" I ask him. -"No, that shouldn't be a reason." "What about incest?" -"No. It's still life you kill." I try to challenge him a little on his hardline views before I realise I shouldn't let my personal views shine through in order not to compromise the debate, which is to take place the following week, or intimidate the students. Plus, it would be a little unfair to debate with this guy about a topic we disagree so strongly on in my native tongue, a language that's still very foreign to him. Afterwards my supervisor tells me that the guy's parents are very Christian, which sort of explains his asinine, misogynistic views.


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By the end of my stay, I feel so thoroughly Taiwanese I go to line up on a Saturday morning at 7am at a famous breakfast eatery to get shāo bǐng (燒餅), flatbread stuffed with egg, you tiao and a few greens. After half an hour of waiting, it's my time to order. I get a little too excited and get two different shāo bǐng as well as a savoury soy milk-soup and sweet soy milk to drink. Food is something the Taiwanese take very seriously, going to great lengths to get the best quality imaginable. The diners this morning are mostly couples and families. Just the idea of doing the same thing back home with my parents seems rather preposterous. They would never get up at 6am on a Saturday morning just to stand in line for half an hour to eat breakfast. The flatbread is deliciously fresh and crispy, making it all the more worthwhile to have peeled my carcass out of bed this morning.

Afterwards, I take the MRT eastwards to Yongchun Station. Stopping along the way for a papaya milk, I walk towards the Four Mountains (Tiger, Elephant, Leopard and Lion), Taipei's closest escape. What never ceases to amaze me are the Taiwanese elderly. After hiking up a relatively strenuous path for about an hour, I stop at a flat section along the ridge of the Elephant peak where a whole bunch of pensioners are busy working out on the monkey bars, doing push-ups, crunches or simple qigong-exercises. I dash ahead towards the next peak, Lion mountain, which takes me another two hours to reach.

Just short of getting to the top, I catch a glimpse of a character in the distance waving at me, calling out something. It turns out to be an older Taiwanese man, who talks excitedly in pretty good English: "Hello, good day! You wanna do something fun? Come come, I show you!" Slightly hesitant, I follow him to the ridge, where I see some ropes attached to curved metal bars. "We can climb down, walk for 10-15 minutes, then climb up again. I go first. You can do it, you're young and strong!" he laughingly says. Turns out he's taking the piss, as he makes his way down twice as fast as I do. Easing myself down turns out to be tougher than expected, and quite dangerous, really. Safety comes first, of course, so I take my time, not taking any chances. The man is waiting for me at the bottom, grinning from ear to ear as I'm sweating and panting away. He tells me he's 66 years old before rushing onwards. I follow him, barely able to keep up. We reach another set of ropes, as promised. The way up is even harder, but I find I rather enjoy the challenging, technical climb and the fresh air that fills my lungs. My new friend is waiting for me at the top. In many other countries, now would be the moment where I would be asked for money, potentially followed by threats and/or extortion aided by a bunch goons that would be produced via a quick phone call (or they would already be waiting at that same spot). But since I'm in Taiwan, the man shakes my hand, I thank him, and off he goes without further ado.


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To keep shit simple: Taiwan is a fabulous country. I love the food, the quirky Taiwanese people, the nature, the hiking. It's clean (minus the pollution in some parts of Taipei), safe and highly affordable. Teaching at a Catholic university was an interesting experience, and I wouldn't mind coming back were I to be offered a position amongst the staff members at the institute. The kids were adorable, which I'm sure I would never be able to state about a similar institution in Western Europe or the Anglosaxoids countries. Hopefully, I daresay, to be continued? We'll see...

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Photos

Cisingshan 七星山
Seven Star Mountain; Yangmingshan's and northern Taiwan's tallest peak at 1.120m