16 posts tagged “taiwan”
Not long ago Nancy’s brother got married and had his first kid, a little girl. The baby was soon taken to her grandparents’ house where she will stay until she is old enough to go to school. Nancy’s parents, particularly her mother now have the job of raising the child while Nancy’s brother and his wife continue with their lives in much the same way as they did before they had a child. Every so often they might come down from Taipei in the northern part of Taiwan to Taichung in the middle of the island to see their little girl, but for the most part they don’t have much contact with her at all. For all intents and purposes the baby parents are Nancy’s parents.
Being raised by your grandparents is quite normal in Taiwan. Nancy also lived with her grandparents for the first few years of her life and she recalls how she used to be rather scared of her father when he came round for a visit. When Nancy was older and moved into the same house as her parents she naturally got to know and grew to love her parents more, but there is still a special kind of affection that is reserved for her grandparents, which is not hard to understand.
When Nancy I got married, Nancy’s parents expected a child to arrive within that first year. They often spoke about how much they looked forward to having a grandchild and what a cute little baby we were bound to have. When no such child arrived in the first year they were somewhat disappointed, and that disappointment grew more and more with every year that passed. When the topic came up I tried to reassure my parents-in-law that we would have a baby one day when the time was right. They would then ask when that time might be, and I would be pressed into corner. Maybe next year, I’d say, we’ll see how it goes. After a while, Nancy’s mother did not take find much comfort in that response either and I would talk in earnest with her about why we were delaying having a child. I told her that I needed to get into a career, be financially secure, have a fixed address, my own home and most importantly be emotionally and psychologically ready to be a father. No matter how much sense I made though, Nancy’s mom would always find a hole in my thinking. Nancy and I should have a child while we were young and strong, she said. Waiting until we were older could complicate the pregnancy and compromise the chances of having a healthy child. Besides, she would go on, it is not nice for a child to have old parents. If we had a child now, she would take care of it and we could get on with things until we were ready to look after it ourselves.
It seems that Nancy’s brother and his wife have taken up on that offer for themselves. In a way it must be a relief to have a baby and not have your life turned upside down. Unlike other new parents they don’t suffer from sleepless nights, nor do they have to change soiled nappies. They don’t have to endure the sound of a baby bawling. They don’t have any of the inconvenience that a baby imposes. By the time their daughter lives with them she will be completely ‘house trained’.
Despite the convenience of having a permanent baby sitter however, I would never want that kind of detachment from my child. If I had a child I would want to give her every bit of my love and be a part of her development from the very first day. I would not wish anyone to do that on my behalf.
Nancy’s parents certainly love their little grandchild to pieces. No doubt about it. She is growing up in a wonderfully caring, protective environment and in that sense she is lucky. But if she were my child I would feel very unhappy to see her grow up in a house where there is not much more mental stimulation than the television in the lounge and a generation gap in the household.
I still think that Nancy and I are right to put off having a child until we can afford to in every sense of the word. Thankfully this is not something that I’ll have to explain to Nancy’s parents now that they are thoroughly preoccupied with their grandchild. Nonetheless, the arrival of a new baby in the family has started tugging at Nancy’s maternal instincts and talk of a baby of our own seems to be it’s finding its way into many of out conversations lately.
Isn’t it scary how dramatically we can change our lives by a single decision? If I simply accepted a job offer at the company Nancy works for in Taiwan, my life would suddenly look very different. For one thing, Nancy and I would be able to resume living together like a normal couple. Furthermore, it would be in a home we could take ownership of ourselves. It is tempting to take the job for these two things alone, but there are other tempting factors too, not least of which is earning a rather sizeable income again. It would instantly free me of the financial strain I face in South Africa. Also, by accepting the job I would enter the world of business, which is something entirely new to me.
Essentially I would be trained as an overseas sales representative for the company. Since the only working experience I have so far is in teaching, the opportunity to enter a different line of work is something that doesn’t often come along. In fact the reason I can get into the company at all is because of Nancy and her family’s close relationship with the boss and his family. As is the Chinese way, they would hire me and train me because I am already a part of their ‘family’ in a sense.
During the interview the sales manager highlighted some of the positive aspects of working there instead of teaching at a school. She said that apart from the thrill of seeking out clients, winning them over and making money, I would be extending my social network all around the world. In a few years, she said, there would hardly be a country where I didn’t know someone. She also said that I would be able to work in different countries without having to start at a new job every time as they are already in the process of opening more offices in Europe, America and Asia.
All in all it is a tempting offer, but I am still hesitant to accept it. Despite the positive aspects of working at the company, I am not that keen on working in an office cubicle in front of a computer (unless it was a Mac and I was doing something creative, but this job is hardly that). I also don’t particularly like selling things (unless they are things that will profit me directly, but this job wouldn’t. I would merely be paid a reasonable salary to make someone else very rich). Despite the convenience of it, I am not really that exited by the idea of working at the same place as Nancy either. I quite like the fact that we have different interests, abilities and types of work. I am also reluctant to work for a Chinese company. I know that Nancy works overtime every single day, and has to go in on weekends too. That’s just the way it goes here. You are busy, busy, busy all year round with a measly 10 days off to recuperate.
Accepting this job would mean becoming someone else and I am not entirely comfortable with that. I quite like who I am now, and what I do and where I am headed. The trouble is that Nancy feels the same way about her situation in Taiwan. If only we could find something we both feel happy doing in the same country, let alone the same city.
The topic this week reminded me of the time I spent teaching ESL in Taiwan.
This weekend I finished a detailed report on a lesson I gave a week ago on the question of design. After having it filmed and reviewed by my peers, I was clear on what went well and where I still need to improve. In fact I have been through the lesson so many times that I could basically give it again word for word.
I also wrote about what I think constitutes effective teaching, and the role of the teacher. It is basically a summary of all that I have learnt not to do in Asia. The educational system in Japan particularly is exactly the opposite of what it is here. Whereas Japanese kids are lectured to at school, given all the information up front and expected to memorise it as is, kids in South Africa are encouraged to find things out for themselves and to think critically about what they are taught.
In Taiwan I taught in a private school that allowed for more creative teaching, but with the obscene workload and the long school hours very few teachers had time to do anything special. Taiwan taught me more how to survive on four hours of sleep a night, to plan an entire lesson including handouts and exercise sheets in an hour and to manage unruly classes on a daily basis.
I often feel bad about wasting so much of my 20’s teaching ESL. Had I left that sordid affair five years earlier I could have completed a Masters in Education by now. Then again, I suppose everything we do counts as useful experience in the end because it makes us wiser. I certainly know a lot more about the world now than I did at 24.
After living in Taiwan I now know how dismal homes can be, how hard people will slog for a wage and how stifling overcrowding is. But I also know how wonderful it is to feel safe and secure like one does there, how kind and generous people can be and how delicious Chinese food is.
After living in Japan I know how far individuality can be stamped out, how robotic we are capable of being, how sad one can feel in a beautiful place and what it is like to be the subject of racism and prejudice. I also know but also how civilized it feels to live in a place that is perfectly maintained and how amazing it is for people treat one another with utter courtesy and respect no matter what they might think of each other.
It is said that our real education takes place outside the walls of schools. Perhaps what I do and say in the classroom doesn’t matter as much as I like to think does. The youngsters I teach already know so much more than I do about so many things, but one thing I have more of is life experience. Hopefully that will deepen the little lessons I write up and give my pupils something meaningful.
After getting lost again in Taipei’s labyrinth of streets, I finally managed to present myself at a nondescript Foreign Affairs Office to cancel my Resident Visa and accompanying Alien Resident Card. It was a fairly straightforward operation: The guy behind the counter asked if I wished to return to Taiwan. I said no. He asked if I was sure. I said yes. He then filled in a document to stating as much, and which I signed at the bottom. I was then handed a pair of scissors and asked to cut the top left corner of my ARC to make it void.
For a moment I couldn’t bring myself to do it. All my previous excursions across Taipei to get it came flooding to mind. It was certainly no easy thing to obtain. First I had to go to a hospital where I was measured and weighed and tested and sampled to make sure that I am not a health threat. This effort was rewarded some days later with a clean bill of health document. Once I had it I could then proceed to level two, which was to apply for a working permit. To get this I required a heap of papers from my employees, my proof of health and regal dose of patience for the hours it takes at the labour bureau. Level three was to get a resident visa (in a different part of town of course). The final level involved taking my passport with a freshly printed visa in it to a specified police station to get an ARC.
If this doesn’t seem all that arduous, it is because I have simplified the entire process by omitting the countless times I got lost, was caught in the rain, got to the offices just as they closed, was missing some or other piece of paper, was referred to the wrong police station or different department, or missed a deadline and had to repeat one or more of the levels. There were also more than a few hiccups along the way that stalled the process, like passport photos deemed unacceptable because they had too much head and too little shoulders in them, or papers returned because my signature on them didn’t match the one I botched up on my passport six years ago... The list goes on, believe me. Suffice it to say that my ARC was quite difficult to destroy.
In the end however I did what I went there to do. It was like cutting a fat cable that had tied me to Taiwan for many years. There are still other cables that tie me to the country, in particular my marriage to Nancy who is Taiwanese and her family who I deeply care about. But not having a job in Taiwan has given me a lot of slack. As the scissors snipped the card in two I felt myself slip further away. It has not so much to do with giving up my hard won residency, but with a whole way of life. I will never return to the job I held here, or to the lifestyle that went with it. From now on I am entering uncharted territory. In South Africa I won’t have the privileged excuse of being foreign when things go wrong, I won’t be paid more for the work I am doing because I am foreign, I won’t get special treatment or given a second glance. As a thirty something year old male I will most probably be judged primarily by the size of my wallet, which is just about flat, so there won’t be any more of the charmed smiles I have grown so used to in Asia. I have essentially snipped off my exoticness. I have become regular. That, more than anything is what made me reel when I let go of my residency in Taiwan. I know I’ll return to these shores again, but it will never be the same as it has been until now. As soon as I have established a life outside of Taiwan I’ll develop a kind of layer that keeps me from being deeply affected by the country.
Wanting to call Taiwan home stripped me naked and exposed me to the reality of it. It made me vulnerable to all sorts of things that won’t bother me in the future, like feeling invisible despite my six foot six frame. Whenever Nancy and I go out to a restaurant for instance, the waiters never ask me what I would like to eat. They don’t even look at me. They just ask Nancy, and she orders for both of us. Since most foreigners don’t speak Chinese I can understand why they just ask Nancy, but for a person trying to fit into a place, this is terribly isolating. When Nancy and I go out shopping the same thing happens. I’ll be looking at ties for instance and the sales assistant will tell Nancy which ones are on sale or whatever. If we go to the movies together the person behind the counter will look over my shoulder and ask Nancy standing behind me what show we would like to see. I hate it. Just today a woman was selling nougat with a pieces out to sample. I went over and tried a piece thinking that it would make a tasty gift for my mother when I see her on Wednesday. I was about to ask her how much a small box was when she suddenly turned her attention completely from me to Nancy realising that she would save her from having to contend with a foreigner. It’s so rude - albeit unintentional.
People only speak to me directly if they are able to speak English, but to be spoken to in English can also be exasperating because it highlights the fact that I am foreign, and that I don’t belong here. If I am just passing through Taiwan, I don’t mind people switching languages every time they address me, but if I intend living in Taiwan, I find it irritating. Nancy would too if no one spoke to her in English in South Africa, but in Chinese. It really is alienating.
Anyway, the point is that I have been cut loose of many deeper feelings attached to my ARC. Suddenly it doesn’t bother me that I can’t fit in here, or that I am treated differently. As just a visitor to Taiwan in the future I’ll have the protection of my own culture about me and an independent, built-in sense of normality.
Up to the very last month of 2006 I was feeling quite satisfied with my set up here in Taipei. My apartment is newly refurbished with a generous balcony and situated in an incredibly convenient location. It is a few minutes walk from all sorts of good restaurants, cafes, patisseries, shops, chemists, banks, hair-salons… you name it. I have never had to walk for more than 15 minutes to get anything. There are also parks nearby, which is a rarity in Taiwan, and areas of interest like one of Chiang Kai-shek’s former residences that is now a museum. Best of all is that the metro station is just 20 meters away. It makes it really easy and stress free for Nancy and I to get around Taipei.
The thought of moving somewhere else never seriously crossed my mind. For the first time in Taiwan I actually felt quite happy with where I was living. Even the idea of going back to South Africa to study further began to lose its pull. Instead I considered studying at the National Taiwan Normal University, which I was pleased to discover, is a credible institution internationally. I even went in to speak to the professors there and get all my application documents in order to start in the fall semester next year. By studying at NTNU I figured, Nancy could keep her job, we could stay in our apartment and I could continue working part-time. Everything seemed to finally be falling in place for Nancy and I in Taiwan. What changed all that was simply taking a trip to Japan for our second wedding anniversary.
Right from the start Japan felt very different to Taiwan. Of course Narita airport was far bigger and more modern than Taiwan Taoyuan airport in Taipei, but the differences went all the way to the finest details, like the placement of all the signs and the correct use of English: things that are not better because they are more expensive, but because they are done right.
It was the simplest matter to collect our luggage, go through passport control and buy a bus ticket downtown. The bus stations in front of the airport are arranged numerically, so to catch the right bus you only need to check the number on your ticket and walk to the corresponding stop. Once you get there a person checks your ticket and collects your luggage to put into the bus when it arrives. The arrival time of the next bus, it’s destination and duration of the trip are also clearly displayed a screen above the bus stop sign. So despite the enormity and bustle of Narita Airport, It would be very difficult not to be able to make your way through it and get to where you need to be in Tokyo or beyond.
The airport busses are called ‘airport limousines’. They all look identical, each one as comfortable as the next. On the bus I noticed a sign that asked passengers to keep their mobile phones in silent mode and to refrain from talking on them. This rule actually applies to all public transport in Japan, and I can well understand the need for it. No one likes to listen to someone else jabbering away on their phone while they are trying to relax with their own thoughts, especially not after a long flight. It is a rule that is carefully observed by most people. On trains and busses the only thing you generally hear is the rustle of book pages being turned. If people wish to talk to one another they do so in hushed voices.
Taiwan is not like this. People talk loudly, especially when speaking Taiwanese, with no thought of those around them. Early this Sunday morning, a woman woke up the entire street by yelling at her husband that it is because he cannot get an erection that she sleeps around. This went on for a good 20 minutes. On trains and busses in Taiwan no one objects to children walking up and down the aisles, everyone is talking at the same time, cell phones are constantly ringing, and to crown it all off there is usually some video or music playing with the volume turned up for everyone to hear. The only way I can find to drown out all the noise is to jam some earphones in my ears and play my own music at top volume. In Japan there is the luxury of silence. One can choose to read, sleep, listen to music or just look out the window.
The trip into Tokyo from Narita airport took about an hour. For most of the way Nancy and I slept, waking up just in time to see the incredible view of the city as we crossed Tokyo bay. I never expected any cityscape to have more punch than Hong Kong, but Tokyo certainly does. It is simply enormous!
As the bus meandered towards our hotel we had our first tour of the city. I was impressed by the flow of the traffic. There weren’t any long lines of cars like I expected in a city as vast as Tokyo. I noticed that drivers in Tokyo keep a safe following distance, stick to the speed limit, use their indicators and give pedestrians right of way. None of this is apparent in Taipei, much less so in the rest of Taiwan. Unlike Tokyo, driving in Taiwan is a hair-raising, white-knuckled experience. One of the biggest problems in Taipei is that there are just too many cars and scooters. Taipei streets are lined with cars, bikes, cyclists and pedestrians (as sidewalks are only to be found in parts of Taipei City). Coupled with the lack of road space is the phenomenal recklessness of Taiwanese drivers. People make U-turns into busy streets, large trucks barrel past elementary schools, parents think nothing of sandwiching a newborn baby between them on a scooter without any kind of protection, youngsters race all over the place hoping to make it to at least third gear in the bedecked cars and fast bikes. To cross the street in Taipei, you have to take a deep breath and walk with a purposeful stride. If you stop for an instant or have a moment of doubt all the cars and busses and taxis and trucks and scooters and bicycles will take the opportunity to weave past you, quickly leaving you tangled up in traffic in the middle of a zebra crossing.
The better quality of the roads in Japan was also quickly realized. I suppose it is not entirely fair to compare the state of Japanese roads to those in Taiwan because Japan obviously has a bigger budget to ensure smooth durable tarmac. But even South African roads are vastly superior. Taiwan just cannot lay down a piece of road that lasts for more than a couple of months at best. The rain literally washes the tar away eroding potholes in no time at all. The tar is of such a low grade that you can make a groove in it by simply rubbing your shoes back and forth. Coupled with this is the problem of manholes. There is one every two or three meters on most roads. The ubiquity of the manholes has to do with the archaic drainage system beneath the streets. As a result Taiwanese streets are constantly in a state of disrepair. In Japan, the feeling of traveling on a smooth road was almost immediately perceptible. I’m sure that most Japanese people don’t think of their tar roads as anything noteworthy, but after being in Taiwan, it really was a pleasure. Even the consistent hum of rubber tires on the tarmac was a sensory delight.
Once Nancy and I got to our hotel the first thing we did was relieve ourselves in the bathroom. Now you might be wondering how on earth this could have been any better in Japan. Well the answer is two fold: More and more toilets in Japan have heated seats with built in bidets and showers that are positioned perfectly to give you a perfect rinse. It is quite an experience and rather addictive at first. Also, and far more importantly, bathrooms in Japan don’t have a wastebasket for throwing one’s used toilet paper. Seriously, of all the things in Taiwan that disgust me, not being able to flush one’s toilet paper is right on top of the list. Since the drainage system in Taiwan is so poor flushing one’s toilet paper causes a serious blockage. You can just imagine how unpleasant it is to use a public bathroom in Taiwan in full knowledge that a mere foot away is a bin filled with skid-marked toilet paper. Just opening the bin to dispose of mine is enough to make me retch. I particularly don’t fancy the idea of having such a bin in my bathroom at home, but it is absolutely necessary. I have broken the rule of disposing my paper Taiwan-style only to be stuck with the far more disgusting problem of an overflowing toilet.
When Nancy first visited me at my mother’s house in South Africa I forgot to inform her that she should flush her toilet paper. When it occurred to me some days later that she had been throwing her toilet paper in the bin, I had the awkward task of telling her that she need not do so without mortifying her. Is there any other country in the world where one cannot flush one’s toilet paper? I have my doubts. Weren’t properly working toilets in operation during Roman times? I cannot understand how a country that is as developed as Taiwan can struggle with such basic things as a tar road and a toilet that can handle toilet paper. Anyway, we certainly enjoyed flushing our toilet paper in Japan. It felt good. It felt clean. It felt civilized. And it was precisely this feeling that made me decide to leave Taiwan.
It is not that I am infatuated with Japan. I have lived there before, so I know it is not perfect. No place is. It is just that Japan made me realize how much I miss a clean environment. I simply cannot feel civilized if I don’t feel clean and that can’t be good.
As the years go by I naturally get used to the filth and pollution in Taiwan. Eventually it becomes bearable. I become more immune it. But the resistance built up is lost the instant I leave the island for a while and experience what it is like elsewhere. I always end up going straight back to square one and have to build up my tolerance all over again. It is exhausting.
Landing in Taipei and passing through Toayuan and all the scruffy towns to get to my corner of Taipei city made my chest feel tight. I wanted to cry out with desperation to see something pleasant. It was a torture to look out the window. Buildings in Taiwan are so breathtakingly drab, dirty, cold and ugly. For miles and miles all you see is a flat-roofed, burglar-proofed, soot-covered, raw-concrete, haphazard conundrum of abodes - and there is just about nothing forgiving to be found in between either. The only relief to be found is to look beyond the last row of buildings at the natural beauty that has not yet been defiled. But even that can be difficult to achieve with the constant humidity and smog.
Ah! It is too much for me. I’m not tough enough. Most people I know can deal with the Taiwan by looking past all the bad things and focusing on the good but I cannot. God knows I have tried. Even though the positive aspects of Taiwan far outweigh the negative I just cannot cope with the dirtiness of the place.
So over the next couple of weeks I’ll be packing up my life here and starting again on the other side of the world in Grahamstown, South Africa. It sure is going to be a year of changes.
Every year there is an impressive fireworks display from the Taipei 101 building, but to see it is one hell of an ordeal. Literally millions of people gather around it for the countdown. Last year Nancy and I almost spent New Years underground as the subway was so packed we couldn't get out. Luckily there were people to control the flow of people otherwise there might have been a stampede to get out as 12 o’clock drew close.
I was reluctant to go there again this year, but I figured if we got there early at around 6 pm we could browse the shops in the building, have a coffee and take our time to find a good spot outside with a clear view. The first part went according to plan, but when we went outside at about 10 pm so many people had gathered around the building that it was almost impossible to walk anywhere or find a square patch of ground big enough to squat on. All the streets around the building had been blocked off and each of them had become a mass of black heads. It was actually an incredible sight to see so many people together. Especially because they were all so quiet and patiently waiting out the last two hours before midnight.
Unlike the kind of New Years events I am used to, the people around Taipei 101 weren’t getting drunk and being loud. They weren’t even drinking come to think of it. There was no smell of weed in the air or music blasting or people cavorting. Instead people were just chatting, playing cards or sleeping under blankets brought from home. The only indication of a celebration was the fluorescent wands and flashing lights on sale.
At midnight the Taipei 101 building erupted in fireworks prompting much cheering. The spectacle lasted a full three minutes and was followed immediately afterwards by a less impressive, but still spectacular display from a neighbouring building. A few minutes later the second show was over too. Then a moment of silence followed as everyone looked around wondering if there would be more. When it was certain that there wasn't to be any more, everyone just got up and left. It was like being at a Taiwanese wedding. Within minutes the streets were already half empty. But wasn’t every one forgetting something? What about hugs and kisses, and wishing one another a happy new year? It was as if an enormous plug had been pulled and all the people had been sucked down a drain without any warning. It was surreal… but not all that surprising in retrospect.
Christmas is a similar non-event in Taiwan. Despite the staggering amount of hoopla hardly anyone even knows when it is exactly. Stores play Christmas carols months in advance, bus drivers are dressed up as Santa and everything is decorated in a Christmassy way, but Christmas itself never comes. Except for a handful of Christians in Taipei, no one sends Christmas cards or exchanges gifts. And of course there isn’t a day off work either. All of this makes the overdone Christmas spirit in Taiwan annoyingly fake, much like the attempt at celebrating New Years from the Taipei 101 building. Even though millions of people gathered to see a fireworks display that cost millions, there was no New Years spirit to speak of.
I don't really understand why the Taiwanese care so much for important dates in other countries. Why not spend that money to mark Chinese New Years for instance. At least it is a date people actually celebrate in Taiwan… Perhaps it is because Taiwan wishes to come across as an internationalised. The fireworks from the Taipei 101 no doubt earned Taiwan a few minutes on the news in other countries, but that is all it was for - That, and an advertising opportunity for SONY who got to display their name in lights in exchange for footing the bill.
Anyhow, Nancy and I waited an hour before making our way to the subway to avoid the rush but it didn't help much because we couldn't even make it to the entrance, let alone the subway station. The crowd was packed so tight that we couldn't get out of it either. Eventually we managed to squeeze our way to the middle of the street where a stream of people was moving forward. We thought we could inch our way with them to the next subway stop and get on there instead, but that proved just as full. By then it was 3 am. Going to a restaurant or something was similarly impossible. Everywhere one looked was a sea of people.
Once again I was amazed at how well behaved everyone was. I felt like a pressure cooker boiling with frustration but everyone around me was completely calm. Amongst those in the crowd about me was a frail old man, a young child on her mother’s back, a businessman wearing a suit and a few young kids with listening to music on earphones. None of them looked particularly perturbed… I suppose they are used to this kind of situation.
In Taiwan, anything remotely fun or pleasant always attracts hordes of people and hordes of people are in turn regarded as confirmation that a particular activity or place is worthwhile. So while I was pretending to be a hollow reed and counting to 10 repeatedly, the people around me were probably patting themselves on the back for being part of something so obviously worth the while.
It was after 4 am by the time Nancy and I finally made it back home. All in all those few minutes of fireworks over New Years took over 10 hours to experience. If there is any good to have come from it, they are Nancy’s money shots of the fireworks.
The problem I have with Taiwan is that it is ugly. I seldom hear people say it outright because it sounds nasty, but it’s true. You could say that Taiwan is bustling, exciting and exotic – but not beautiful. To do so would be as ridiculous as calling the ‘Elephant Man’ beautiful when clearly he was not. I am not suggesting that Taiwan lacks any beauty. Obviously there are areas of beauty, even breathtakingly so, but they are exceptions, the way the Joseph Merrick’s soft lily-white hand was an exception to the rest of his body.
Six years have passed since I first came to Taiwan and I am as appalled as ever by the squalor on the island. It is simply incredible how little people care about quality living conditions. I stay in one of the wealthiest districts of Taipei only to take advantage of such basic amenities as sidewalks and parks, and to have the occasional clean or well-designed building to lay my eyes on. I pay a lot for the privilege though, as much as I would to live decently in Tokyo, Paris or London.
The tiniest of apartments around me go for a small fortune. The rent is astronomical. You would expect people who own a home, particularly one so well positioned, to take care of them… but they don’t. With the exception of a few nice new buildings (that won’t stay that way for long anyway) most places are as much a dirty haphazard jumble of cheap bricks and corrugated iron as they are throughout the rest of the country. Why not just paint the walls? Why not tend to a little garden? Why all the junk? Why live in a slum? I want to ask my neighbours these questions because I honestly cannot fathom why they, or anyone would choose to live in such an impoverished way. They’re not poor people after all. What is it that keeps them from turning their attention to the finer things in live like art and beauty?
What makes the matter all the more confounding is that the Taiwanese are perfectly capable of creating things and places of beauty. The whole area around the Taipei 101 building is first class for instance. It is clean, ordered and pretty. It is so unlike the rest of Taiwan. It looks and feels like another country. You can tell the Taiwanese are proud of this area. It features on almost every promotional video of Taiwan, it is the backdrop to the TV news desk, it is the chosen location for countless adverts and
TV programs… If the Taiwanese were really that adverse to beauty and order they wouldn’t make such a big fuss about that area. The fact that they do reveals an aesthetic sensibility after all.
If there is somewhere remotely pleasant to be found on the island, the Taiwanese will flock there en masse. A simple promenade along the river in Bali, Taipei attracts so many people over the weekend you would swear they are there on a pilgrimage. A quaint little house in Yuanshan that once belonged to a rich tea merchant is pretty much a national treasure. Hundreds, and I mean hundreds of tour busses go up to Yangmingshan Park every weekend. The interesting rock formations Yehliu probably attract more visitors on a single day than the Taj Mahal. None of these places are that amazing really, but for the Taiwanese they are as good as it gets. It is sad how easily they are appeased. If they are so staved for beauty, why not create some of it at home. Shops and restaurants in Taiwan have gorgeous interiors, so why not homes? Whatever happened to ‘feng shui’? Is it for business only?
Deep down I think people here are ashamed of the way they live. Television adverts and programmes always take place in the kind of homes that look like shop interiors in areas like that around Taipei 101. The only time you see the ‘real Taiwan’ depicted on TV is on the news. In fact, if it were not for the language used on TV shows and adverts I would not be able to tell it was shot in Taiwan at all. It looks far too neat to be Taiwan. Even the way people dress and speak on television programs are misrepresentative. One show for example is about Taiwanese mobsters, which shows them suavely dressed with gelled back hair, smooth manners and smooth tongues - almost James Bond-like. Now, whereas they might make passable yakuza, anyone in Taiwan knows that the gangsters here are nothing like that. A Taiwanese gangster wears plastic flip-flops, no suit, chews betel nut and usually speaks Taiwanese, which is loud and coarse no matter who is speaking it. The image they cut is crude and dangerous, not smooth and sophisticated. How can people watch something so off centre?
Similarly, even though Taiwanese homes are characterised by whitewashed walls, neon lights and cheap furniture, I have yet to see a Taiwanese home on TV that does not look like something out an IKEA catalogue, complete with matching carpets and curtains, a Picasso print on the wall and even an unnecessary fireplace with faux logs burning. It is totally ridiculous. Any show or advert on Taiwanese television seems to have been shot in a dollhouse. It seems that the producers are firmly united in steering well clear of the crumbing, soot-covered cluttered buildings that make up the majority of Taiwanese dwellings.
Don’t the Taiwanese don’t feel insulted by such an assiduous aversion to showing anything but a make believe or highly limited view of their lifestyle on TV? Does it not give an indication of what life could be like? Does it not prompt them spruce up their homes a bit and keep them tidy? It’s not that difficult for goodness sake. It doesn’t require a political revolution or something dramatic. It just requires a bit of self-pride. A man’s home is supposed to be his castle…I find it hard to respect a nation of people who have the means to live well but chose not to. It is like a group of people who don’t eat apples, even though they know how wonderful they taste and have the money to buy as many as they like. Instead they pretend to do so in adverts and on TV and flock to any place that has a few dangling from a tree. It is just ridiculous.
I hardly ever venture beyond the confines of Taipei city. It is just too depressing. To me Taiwan is a seething mass of squalor, which makes it difficult for me to appreciate anything pretty or interesting in between. It is like a beautiful lawn strewn with dog turds. Who would to take a stroll across it or find a spot in between to have a picnic? Some people I know do and it does not bother them that much. They travel the whole length and breadth of the island undaunted. They see the most fantastic things. I am too put off by the turds. I can’t look past them, or ignore the smell. The ‘pretty flowers’ at the other end are not incentive enough for me to go for a stroll.
Recently an English girl I knew in Japan came to Taiwan. Unlike me she finds Taiwan merely scruffy - nothing to deter her from being happy or delighting in a myriad of things around her. The last time I saw her she unfolded a big map of the island across a coffee shop table. All the places she had been too were crossed out. Places yet to go to were circled with directions and bits of information scribbled alongside. Her enthusiasm was quite infectious.
One of the things she mentioned was a place along the north coast called Yehliu, which Nancy was happy (and surprised) I agreed to go see this afternoon. It is famous for the unique rock formations caused by wind and surf erosion. Many of the rocks look like giant mushrooms. It’s a great place for taking photos and the weather today was very obliging. Not surprisingly, a couple were having there wedding photos taken there. The place would also lend itself perfectly to nude photography, but I would have to get there very early in the morning to do that.
It felt good to get out of Taipei a bit and see something different. Nancy and I had a lovely day and I have a CF card choc-a-bloc with interesting shots to edit. So perhaps it is time I re-evaluate Taiwan. There are probably many things worth stepping over ‘dog turds’ to see. It’s what I have to do if I intend to see anything further than down my street. I mean I can just imagine the crap I would have to wade through to see the Taj Mahal for instance. Of course I would do it if I had the chance. Any sensible person with an appreciation of beauty would. If someone went to India and told me that they did not venture very far from their hotel because India seemed to be like a lawn strewn with dog turds I would protest that they wasted a fantastic opportunity to see so many wonderful things. Sarah’s look of bewilderment some weeks back that I had not even bothered to see Yehliu makes sense now. From now on I am going to see what there is to see and not what I want to see.