cultural conundrums

Living Conditions (2007)

2011-05-21T10:57:00.000-07:00

The next few days were a blur of sights and smells as I adjusted to the time zone and my new environment. Finally, sitting precariously on the back of a rickety motorcycle, we commenced the last leg of the trip. Children came out of the woodwork with hands raised in the air to greet us as we sped by. Blank stares and the occasional pronunciation of “Nasara”, their word for white person, also accompanied our arrival in the village.

Béré Adventist Hospital is located a short distance from the town itself. In recent years they have built an enclosure to provide security for the hospital and the adjacent homes. Due to our late arrival, James and Sarah gave me a quick tour of the premises and then whisked me away to the mud dwelling I now call home. With the sun setting, I was introduced to the other American volunteers, Liz and Sonya, before heading to bed.

Here is a brief description of my living conditions. The building itself is made of mud and bricks and is equipped with one door and one window. Along with the roof, these openings are covered by “carefully” fitted sheets of tin. When it rains, a common occurrence now that it is rainy season, I sit and listen to the sound of the raindrops as they fall on the metal roof. It is a comforting and soothing sound that reminds me somehow of Midwestern storms and my childhood. I feel safe from the elements in this structure of sorts.

My bathroom is anywhere and everywhere outside of the hut. Toilet paper is provided in the form of leaves or corn husks found along the ground. To shower, I first draw water from the well using a dilapidated bucket attached to a rotting chord. After pouring the water into a larger green bucket, I then haul it to a circle of bricks with an opening on the side. This enclosure is approximately 4 ½ ft. tall. It is here that I commence to bath, lathering soap onmy body as people pass by on the adjacent path. Some greet me on their way to the fields or the market and others just stop and stare. Little children become distracted from their playing and stop to smile at the pillar of ivory smiling back at them. “Lapia”, I say, and they respond nervously to my greeting.

The house I occupy is part of the extended property belonging to the school master and his family. They live a short distance away in their small compound. There was some confusion following my arrival, resulting in under nourishment for the first few days. The man of the house had left to work his rice field and failed to mention that I would be coming soon to rent from them. Culture demands that if a visitor approaches your home you must greet him warmly with a chair and a bite to eat. However, the school master’s wife had just contracted malaria and the daughters were instructed to only feed me the bare minimum. Intermediaries are essential to resolving conflicts here, so I sent James to explain things before my bones became even more exposed. Once the issue was discussed and the first payment of the month was made, the situation stabilized itself.

My diet consists of rice balls dipped in various slimy sauces, an oatmeal type substance made from millet, beignets and tea for breakfast, a soup made from tomatoes and yams, and the occasional guava. Mango season is still several months away and I am forced to wait in anticipation. The other day I ate an entire fish fried over hot coals, being careful to avoid scales and sharp bones. Cow brain is not entirely rare in these parts. Chunks of mysterious meat appear in the sauces they prepare and I eat without questioning.

While eating or visiting, pigs and chickens migrate through, looking for any semblance of food spilled on the ground or grain left out in the sun. When left to roam the premises, these animals become a great nuisance. In fact, the majority of disputes that occur here in Beré are a result of livestock who wander unchecked through a neighbor’s property. Heated arguments over boundaries ensue when maize is found tampered with or the garden is found trampled. One of the Americans tells me that last night a fight nearly broke out near her home. By the time the daughters of the household got involved, everyone was at the point of exchanging blows. Confused by the shouting and the commotion going on, she asked her “family” what had happened. Turns out someone’s sheep had gotten into their neighbor’s garden and eaten most of their plants.

Arrival (from 2007)

2011-05-07T10:29:00.000-07:00

The mixture of tangy body odor and the distinct smell of burning gasoline accompany my short trip from the market to our temporary bungalow. N’Djamenas’s transit system consists of dilapidated vans on the brink of extinction which are then crammed to their limit in order to maximize profit. Sometimes one is obligated to squeeze into a vehicle already occupied by 20 passengers. Taxis present an alternative to cramped limbs but these, of course, are more pricy.

Despite having sworn not to repeat the lengthy trip from Béré to N’Djamena until final departure, I find myself once again in the capital of Tchad. My first experience in N’Djamena was merely three weeks ago when I arrived at the airport looking haggard after having traveled 50 plus hours. Those hours led me through several world capitals and nights of intermittent sleep spent in the air.

In London I disembarked for a day of casual sightseeing and a chance to escape the confines of the airport. The tube carried me to the center of town where I continued by foot past familiar landmarks such as the Big Ben clock tower. This was indeed my last opportunity to experience what Westerners perceive as orderliness and cleanliness before plunging into the heart of Africa.

That night I hopped on a plane for Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where I would make a connecting flight to Tchad. Africa breeds much patience as I quickly discovered after landing in Ethiopia. Delays and unexpected changes in schedule are commonplace and one must accept them without complaint. Nothing comes as a surprise in a land where anything and everything occurs. Ethiopian Airlines had delayed my morning flight to N’Djamena for no apparent reason and had rescheduled it for that night. A Sudanese water management executive explained that occasionally the airlines wait on purpose to see if more tickets will be sold. This African economic strategy is quite prevalent and is practiced frequently.

Accompanied by Chinese oil tycoons, Muslim merchants, doctors from MSF, and a Sudanese businessman, I was whisked through customs and taken to a fancy hotel to await further developments. Strangely enough, the airlines are willing to waste a fortune by housing waylaid passengers in the capital for 12 hours instead of just sending them on their way.

The pouring rain hindered me from exploring the recesses of the city. In the afternoon my gracious Sudanese friend paid for our visit to the national museum. There we observed the remains of Lucy, the supposed missing link between humans and monkeys that was discovered in the early 90’s. To all appearances it is just an abnormal monkey skeleton used to dispel doubts concerning the validity of evolutionist theory.

Tapestries depicting the Ark of the Covenant’s voyage to Ethiopia lined the museum walls. According to legend, the illegitimate son of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba traveled to Jerusalem following his father’s death to claim his inheritance. The ark was taken to its final resting place in Ethiopia.

That night we were shuttled back to the airport where we continued to await our departure. Sitting next to a man clothed in Arab robes, I struck up a conversation that eventually led to a discourse in Chadian politics. In his accented French, Ahmad also told me of his three wives and his recent business trip to Yemen.

After much anticipation I finally took my first step on to Chadian soil. Despite horror stories involving lost baggage relayed to me by the MSF workers, my bags were the first off and I was through customs without a hitch. Outside the gate I was greeted by an American sporting a white turban. As the darkness of night enveloped the scene, he gave me brief instructions on how to take a taxi to where I would be staying. Immediately the young man left to catch his own plane that would lead him back to the States

I explained several times to the driver to take me to a house of lodging across from the Chinese embassy and to dispose of me there. His confidant words and eagerness to earn a few franks betrayed his lack of orientation. Every few blocks we stopped to ask for directions. At one point we were blocked off from the main stretch by a two foot deep ditch. Here the driver tried to convince me to take my bags and follow him into a dark alley where we would be given directions at a Chinese hotel. I refused and adamantly insisted he get back in the vehicle and take me to our destination

Upon arrival, I was greeted by the sleepy eyed doctor and his wife who were awoken by the sound of the motor as we pulled into the compound at 1 AM. Friendly greetings were exchanged as Dr. James Appel proceeded to argue with the cab driver over the fare. The gloves came off and with voices raised and incessant hand gestures we entered into the ring. 1000 franks and 10 minutes later the battle ended and we stepped inside the building to chat before heading to bed.

Visions of New York

2009-09-04T18:26:00.000-07:00

Commemorating Ted Kennedy

2009-09-04T17:44:00.000-07:00

The magazine cover's image stood out from the riffraff of publications surrounding it. I stooped to inspect the stark black and white photo staring back at me. There stood Ted Kennedy next to his two older brothers, frozen in time and in the history of America's greats. The caption gave away the contents: 1932-2009. One of the most influential people to ever have graced the halls of the Senate had passed away from a brain tumor. Having been preoccupied with the move to New York and the commencement of my graduate degree, I had managed to remain ignorant to America's recent loss. The news suddenly explained the flags at half mast, swaying in the New Jersey summer breeze. Newsweek's Commemorative Issue was a gateway into the life of a political figure I had only heard of in controversial light on evening news circuits. The sorrow of the devastating loss of two older brothers, both of whom died at the hands of assassins within the span of 5 years, hit home as I imagined myself coping with the potential loss of my own two brothers. Years of addiction plagued the career of the last of the Kennedy brothers. Womanizing and booze tended to overshadow the brilliant career of one of our greatest statesmen. Ted Kennedy, despite his struggle with addiction, became one of the most influential senators of our time, playing his part in civil rights legislation, defending healthcare for the impoverished, and finally in recent years, helping pass the No Child Left Behind Bill. He stood for those who too often lack a voice in the political arena: the destitute and underprivileged. His life devotion was that universal health care would eventually become reality. Let us hope that his untiring efforts will not be in vain. The late Ted Kennedy was the embodiment of the human spirit; that every individual must face down the demons of their past and live to create a brighter future for the next generation. Like Kennedy, we struggle through the addiction and depression that plague this present world. However, our legacy, and that of Ted Kennedy, doesn't have to be pinned down to the wrongdoings that each one of us will, or have, inevitably committed. In the face of His Creator, Senator Kennedy will be remembered for his unabashed defense of the downtrodden and not for his untimely mistakes. As I looked at the grainy black and white photographs of a family under the curse of history, and read the compiled articles, I felt a lump in my throat quickly forming. Let us judge a person not by their vices but by their successes. The "Lion of the Senate" will be sorely missed.

Buddha Statue

2009-08-20T17:09:00.000-07:00

The sun bore down on us that day as we made the ascent to the large Buddha on the hill. We had stupidly chosen one of the hottest days of the week to go and visit the cultural monument. At the bottom of the hill we passed Zhong Hua's cultural center, an inviting haven that would surely provide us with some cool air and a chance to fill up our water bottles. After spending several hours perusing magazines, we continued our expedition. Past children playing in the fountain and an elderly couple dipping their cracked and tired feet into the cool stream, we made our way to the top. It would be one of our last outings together. Despite the heat and fatigue, we thoroughly enjoyed the day. Here are some pictures from our voyage.

Globalization and the Power of Music

2009-08-07T20:01:00.000-07:00

Globalization is an unescapable trend that has come to shape the world as we know it. Through the advancements in technology, nations across the world have become more interconnected than ever before. However, human nature remains the same as it was before the birth of cell phones and the internet. As a platform, technology can be used to bring people together or, as some have decided, to divide us into warring factions in order to spread the seeds of instability. Global companies, in order to ensure a large profit margin, have come to disregard the individual. While a Chinese company adds a toxic substance to milk powder resulting in the death of 100's of babies, US food companies still pump chemicals into our food products with no regard for the effects they have on the body. The economy has been in shambles because of manipulation and greed on the part of businessman we are led to trust. Who will adhere to some sort of moral high ground in the twenty-first century? Despite the bleak prognosis for this dying world, there is still hope that the tools present in the globalization of this planet can be used in a way to spread love and joy as never before. Music has always had the ability to unite people under a common language. Certain songs strike a deep chord within our souls. A group called "Playing for Change" is succeeding in bringing people together through music. As a testament to our need for "the other", a need to have someone by your side in difficult times, a team of documentarians went around the world recording song bites from different countries. Here is the culmination of their work: a song that reminds us of what it means to be human and a part of a global community. Isn't that what globalization is truly about, realizing our dependence on others and embracing those around the world?

Language Acquisition

2009-08-05T07:15:00.000-07:00

Her name is Elaine. She's a an intelligent, stimulating, Taiwanese girl who I met while living here in Taiwan. She also has severe muscular dystrophy. Despite the many hardships she has had to endure because of her condition, she personifies the passion that life brings to those who embrace its deep emotions and longings. Two Saturdays ago, I had the privilege of meeting with Elaine to discuss some topics for her upcoming video blogs. What began as a mere attempt to record some interesting footage, quickly turned into hours of conversation and a new-found friendship. With her permission, I have decided to post one of our discussions entitled "Language Acquisition". When she has finished editing the rest of the footage, I will be sure to share with you.

Changes

2009-08-03T02:16:00.000-07:00

Despite having gone into exile, inadvertently allowing this blog to reach the brink of extinction, I will soon be posting more frequently so you can all share in the events of my life. I promise to stray away from my failed attempts at pure journalism and will also be posting videos, random thoughts, and much needed updates. Stay tuned...

With my year in Taiwan coming to a close, I have decided to try and document some of the moments that have come to shape my experience here. Unfortunately I will be leaving my students, my girlfriend, my friends, and my Chinese behind me as I head back to America for graduate school and the world beyond.

The robot dance I have been using for exercise time at the kindergarten has evolved from simple vertical movements of the arms to coordinated head jerks and spins. From its inception "doing the robot" has come to shape my identity as an English teacher. If only I had known the ripple effect of introducing the robot dance to the masses of children at Fong Yuan Kindergarten. "Teacher Robot" has become a household name. As a tribute to robots and humans alike, I have posted a video of my last exercise time in Taiwan. The blips and blops will go down in history as a testament to the symbiotic relationship between humans and their machine offspring. Enjoy.

Chinese vs. Western Education

2009-04-24T21:33:00.000-07:00

Chinese Education vs. Western Education

- Accepts teaching at face value. - Always questioning. Truth
Truth lies in Confucius’ teachings lies in self-discovery and
and 5000 years of written tradition. individual thought.

- The teacher is never to be challenged. - The teacher is to be
He is the epitome of correctness. challenged often. He is merely

a guide.

- Questions are irrelevant. Things are - Questions are encouraged.
the way they are because the teacher Logic and reason provide a
says so. basis for learning.

- Strives for similitude. - Strives for creativity.

Wedding

2008-12-17T06:47:00.000-08:00

Scooters billowed black soot into my unprotected face as they raced by, past flashing lights and neon signs advertising the latest in fashion and confectionaries. The cheesy pop music blaring from some unknown storefront, the endless harassment of consumers by shop owners selling their products, and the girls in miniskirts prancing every which way created a sensory overload, momentarily distracting me from my incessant pedaling. From the nether regions of my book bag came the faintest melody. Careful not to crash my bike into a scooter parked on the sidewalk, I pulled off the road and scrambled to find my cell phone. “Wei?” I answered, in an attempt to sound as Taiwanese as possible. “Do you want to go to a Taiwanese wedding?” the voice on the other end manifested itself. Through a mixture of Chinese and English I accepted the invitation and agreed to meet with several of my Taiwanese co-workers the following morning so we could go together.

Sitting on the back of my assistant teacher’s scooter, I watched as the city gave way to hills and jungle-like vegetation visible through the gaps between buildings. We climbed steadily onward as our caravan neared the bride’s parents’ house. The wind played with my pencil-thin black tie, a smart addition to the formal wear I had on. After some debate as to where the house was located, we finally turned down a side street dotted with festive cars sporting red bows for the occasion. I felt excited at the opportunity to experience a small piece of Chinese culture.

Inside, we were warmly greeted by the bride’s parents who were all to eager to welcome us foreigners into their home. Smiling from ear-to-ear, they ushered us towards the stairs where we began our ascent to the bride’s chamber. She sat calm and collected on her bed as two make-up artists bustled around her like busy bees trying to put the final touches on their handiwork. A TV set at the base of the bed, sat absently creating a drone of indistinguishable noise. The bride looked lovely in an ethereal sort of way. To be white is to be beautiful as the Chinese say. Her pale face greeted us and we sat down to await the arrival of her future husband and his family.

I peered out the window and glimpsed the first set of black sedans arriving. Soon, our chitchatting was interrupted by the rat-a-tat-tat of firecrackers haphazardly thrown in front of the house. Following tradition, the groom announced his arrival by littering the pavement with gunpowder and bits of red paper from the exploding noisemakers. We gathered in the living room to observe the short-lived ceremony. Future in-laws exchanged gifts of fruit as the bride’s parents served rice-ball pudding to the groom’s family in a gesture of respect. Soon, a hush fell over the wedding party signaling that it was time for events to proceed. The bride’s mother and father sat facing the groom’s family. Both groom and bride knelt before her parents before the bride began to speak. Her voice betrayed sadness as she announced her intention to depart from their home forever. Through tears and traditional words of blessing, the bride’s parents entrusted the groom with their beloved daughter. He promised to protect her and be her guiding light while she was away from her family. On the mantelpiece, incense burned in front of a golden statue whose gifts of fruit surround him in his miniature opulence. The gods, too, imparted their blessing on the two lovers.

In a confirmation of the couple’s decision, the wedding party piled into the waiting vehicles in a procession that would lead to the groom’s house. The 15 min. ride was marked by silence after my failed attempt to converse with our chauffer, the groom’s older sister. I glanced out the window towards an isolated factory and the river running past its smokestack as we sped across a reinforced concrete bridge meant to withstand typhoons. Upon arrival at the house, we were made to climb another set of winding stairs. The groom greeted us at the top, where many had already gathered in his bedroom to take pictures with the couple as they hovered over the bridal bed. As token foreigners, or the equivalent of sideshow entertainers, we were thrown into a series of group photos with fingers raised in the all-too popular peace sign. Sitting on the edge of the pure white quilt covering their bed, the shy lovers followed tradition by placing rice balls in each other’s mouth with spindly chopsticks. To the amusement and encouragement of all those around, the couple delicately transferred the tasty morsels between their mouths careful not to linger at each other’s lips. Embarrassed and flushed from the physical contact, the two giggled as pictures were snapped by the onlookers.

An immaculate banquet hall decorated for the special occasion provided an end to the day’s ceremonies. At the entrance, the couple handed out wallet-size professional photos to the guests along with a cheesy love poem, written in almost nonsensical English, printed on brown paper. The photos, another addition to the epitome of romantic, over-the-top Taiwanese weddings, showed the bride and groom in various locations and in various outfits. I picked the one with the bride in an evening gown, with a feather boa slung over her shoulder, and the groom sporting a top had as they leaned against the countertop of an old bar. Not knowing a single soul in the room besides our co-workers, we sat at a round table near the stage. A master of ceremonies welcomed us foreigners before launching into a long discourse involving the families involved in orchestrating the banquet. Finally, the lights dimmed and heads turned as the bride and groom, flanked by candle bearers, entered into the room. Loud, emotional music, complete with smoke rising from vents in the floor, created a dramatic background to their entrance.

After the magnificent display of technology and craft, the food began to arrive. Plates bearing the weight of uncooked slivers of fish and lobster were placed on the rotating table accompanied by sprigs of parsley and small dishes of wasabi sauce. Soon, steaming plates of non-descript meats of varying colors and consistencies followed suit. By the end of the twelve-course meal, I had eaten a large quantity of mystery foods that would hopefully pass easily through my small intestine. Meanwhile, the groom’s family had begun to make their rounds, making sure everyone toasted to the couple’s health with the bottles of whisky that had been provided to each table. Smiling the smile that only drunkards can manage, they held up their class and nodded for us to do the same. “Gambei” (To your health), they exclaimed as the fiery liquid dropped down the hatch.

Kindergarten

2008-09-29T04:47:00.000-07:00

“Good morning Teacher Hans!” Although the semi-circle of fidgety little ones seemed intimidating at first, I was encouraged by their genuine enthusiasm and returned their formulaic greeting. Little Ray took the opportunity to poke Shelly and pull her hair while Lucy began to cry for the second day in a row. Junior had green snot slowly trickling towards his upper lip so I quickly reached for the tissues. I managed to take control of the class after the children’s short lapse into pandemonium and was able to establish a rhythm. Rhythm and rhyme, chanting and singing, are all important elements to the kindergarten day. As energetic as I could be, I flitted around the white board, wildly demonstrating actions and exaggerating the ABC’s as only a foreigner could. The fatigue finally set in as we approached lunchtime. “Lunchtime, lunchtime, yum, yum, yum…” the little ones repeated with hands behind their back as they anticipated their meal.

It is both tiring and rewarding, teaching these little adults how to speak English. Already, each one has begun to form his or her distinct personality. There is Victor who is always worried about what others are doing around him and will

not hesitate to point at others and express concern. “Oh, no!” are his two favorite words which never cease to leave his tiny lips. Then there is Alex. Alex is by far the smartest and zaniest kid of the bunch. When exiting the bathroom after triumphantly washing his hands, he adopts the posture of a dancer and falls flat on his face to impress me. He recently brought a large dinosaur to school that managed to eat several Lego bits during a break time rampage.

In the absence of my roommates who had decided to go south for the weekend, I was invited on my first field trip with the school. As the only Westerner, I felt a little “ganga” (embarrassed), but managed to make some friends on the bus ride. I-pods and photos were exchanged at random, a gateway into our separate worlds. Despite the language barrier, I quickly made friends with the assistant teachers as we made our way towards the dairy farm nestled in the valley. As relationships are the most important element in Asian culture, I benefited greatly from the opportunity to get to know my students’ parents and my fellow workers outside of class.

Patricia, the school’s manager, took me under her wing and accompanied me for most of the day. We converged on the site in orderly fashion, and with the three groups of parents and children, proceeded to follow the trail towards the main dining hall. Here, an educational demonstration commenced explaining the process of making butter, cheese, and everybody's unanimous favorite, ice cream. Several small containers were placed on the table at our disposal and soon adults and children alike were involved in the ice-cream making frenzy. Cameras flashed, smiles were exchanged, and wrists became tired from turning, as the ice cream slowly materialized.

We meandered around the park as I sweat profusely from the oppressive humidity. Sweaty and hairy, they must have thought when they pointed to my soaking t-shirt. From cows to goats to sheep, we made our way through the dairy enjoying the lush grass and blue sky void of the city’s all-too familiar smog. Liam’s mom Jenny, the finance person at our branch, paid for palm-like leaves so we could feed the goats. A tug-of–war quickly ensued between scared children and ravenous goats. I intervened and showed Liam how to properly feed the harmless animals.

The first few weeks have come and gone in a flurry of events and emotions. I have found time to establish a language exchange with one of the Taiwanese teachers from upstairs. She has agreed to teach me Chinese in exchange for me sharing my Spanish knowledge. This has proved to be helpful. The materials I have bought from around town coupled with my language exchange, have helped me make some minor progress in the language.

Typhoons are an unavoidable fact of life in Taiwan. Going outside in not recommended but is sometimes the only remedy to cabin fever, a result of hours and hours spent in a musty apartment with no air circulation. Yesterday, we were hit with the stronger of two typhoons that have struck since our arrival. In preparation for the catastrophe, I set out on a mission to stock up on some local produce and cheap bottles of water. A gust of wind and rain pinned my bike and I to a large lamppost. Not wishing to be caught in the worst of it, I continued down the street as my bike inched slowly forward through the growing puddles. My yellow poncho ballooned out as if to welcome my miserable arrival to the grocery story. The produce aisle looked strangely barren, but I managed to find some potatoes and carrots.

Bored from being imprisoned in a limited living space, we decided to visit Jenny, who lives in the same apartment building, in the afternoon. The wind howled and threatened to tear off her 4th story window as we sat playing an endless game of Chinese checkers while her little son placed pieces on the board at random. Blaring noise from the television provided a soundtrack to our ever-increasing sense of isolation from the outside world. Flipping through the channels provoked a slight pain in my neck. From Japanimation to news to Chinese MTV to Larry King Live with Ahmadinejad, we sat on Jenny’s couch anesthetized by the rotating images. In the end, I took the initiative and pressed the red power button on the remote.

Jenny’s husband finally came home and we were treated to a carefully prepared pot of Taiwanese green tea. He gifted us with a pot from his collection and, in response to my request, showed me how to best place the leaves and cure the vessel. The tea was very therapeutic and provided some calmness under the circumstances. We thanked the family and with teapot and a box of cookies in tow, made our way back to the confines of our apartment.

The storm died down that night. Ready to explore and assess the damage, we took the elevator to the first floor lobby. There, we were greeted by shattered glass and a film of water across the marble floor. One of the large windows looking out into the courtyard had shattered and had sprayed shards of glass across the waiting area. Chairs had been shuttled aside and the glass was swept into several piles. Nature is not only a creative force but a destroying force as well. Luckily, our building suffered no other structural damage and we are alive and well. School was canceled, so at least one benefit came from the torrential downpour.

Fong Yuan Finally

2008-09-13T22:51:00.000-07:00

Accompanied by a shy Taiwanese girl instructed to purchase our tickets and send us on our way, we entered into the Taipei main bus station. She herded us like cattle towards the ticket counter as I tried to strike up a conversation with her as best I could. Just like that, we stood bewildered with tickets in hand to await the arrival of the bus that would take us to Taichung. Our guide had disappeared into the sea of constant movement. Our last connection with Taipei and our initial home in Taiwan had been irreversibly severed.

The wait was short lived and we barely managed to buy some bottled water before exiting the station to join our bus. Having disposed of our larger pieces of luggage, the four of us proceeded to commence the assent into our royal carriage. Indeed, the interior of the bus was a sight to behold. Jaws dropped and shouts of exclamation echoed through the cabin as we sank into the plush, green leather seats. A remote control lay dormant by the armrest waiting to disclose its secrets. Each seat came with a retractable metal arm attached to a small TV set that the passenger could manipulate at will. A “stewardess” greeted us and distributed drinks after verifying our tickets. “Hey, check this out”, a friend’s voice came from behind. To our surprise, our luxurious voyage was complete with a back massager built right into the seat.

Local managers and staff greeted us two hours later in Taichung. I was ushered into the car of our branch manger, Patricia, a very kind middle-aged woman who would soon be my new superior. As her husband navigated the streets of the third largest city in Taiwan, we became better acquainted. I expressed my interest in learning Mandarin and Patricia was all too eager to teach me a few new expressions. We also discussed the school and what my duties would soon be. We arrived at a local restaurant and were quickly joined by the rest of our group. I was introduced to Julie

Joe, the person who runs operations for this entire region and who actually wrote the scholastic material, and was honored when she decided to sit with Patricia and I. Although she had grown up in Kansas and had lived in Taiwan for the last 18 years, Julie Joe possessed a very bizarre accent. “It’s probably that I’ve spent too much time around Australians”, she replied. When the waitress came she ordered in flawless Mandarin.

Our agenda for the day consisted of the following: finding a suitable apartment, purchasing some bedding, and looking for a bike that would serve as transportation to and from work. Uncertain that I wanted roommates, I first requested to look at some single bedroom apartments. However, we decided to visit a three-bedroom apartment in which two other Hess teachers live a short distance away from the town center. With a park nearby and a lazy irrigation canal gracing the view, it seemed like an ideal location for someone who prefers a peaceful environment to the constant noise of the city. Ros, a girl from Britain, and Justin, a tall guy from Virginia, greeted us at the door with warm smiles and an immediate invitation for me to stay with them. I mentioned I was still looking and they offered to give me a brief tour. Complete with two fifth-floor balconies, a kitchen, some furniture, and a decent bathroom, the apartment was all I could ask for. Impressed by both the area and my potential roommates, I said I would think about it. Patricia and I stepped out to contact someone who could provide us with other options.

A phone call away, the landlord, a grungy-looking man who looked like he chewed a bit too much beetle nut, met us in an alleyway. He pulled up on his pollution-stained scooter and motioned us towards a large doorway. Swiping a token-size key card to gain access to the building, he led us through the lobby and into a forlorn elevator. Eight stories later, we found ourselves in a dimly lit hallway waiting for the man to open the room. The door swung open to a dingy pastel-colored room that seemed almost as inviting as a small prison cell would be under the same circumstances. My immediate reaction proved to be the most accurate even after a thorough inspection of the rest of the area. Covered and caked in grime, the bathroom floor provided a backdrop to the landlord’s expectant gaze. There was no apparent cooking area to speak of and the place gave off an air of loneliness and despair that certainly didn’t appeal to my weary mind or body. I politely conveyed my refusal and asked if the man had any other apartments available. The next three were merely repetitions of the first and by the time we had scoured the recesses of the town for a suitable apartment, I had made up my mind. Patricia alluded to the fact that she already had guessed at my final decision. Back at the teachers’ spacious apartment we announced the news before heading into town to purchase some much-needed items.

Training, etc.

2008-09-08T06:51:00.000-07:00

My mind wandered as I gazed out the fifth story window of the Hess owned building. In the midst of the never-ending hustle and bustle down below, planes made their way to the not-so distant tarmac, like lost sparrows dodging obstacles of skyscrapers, temples, and crowded highways to find their nest once again. The National Palace Museum peaked through the smoggy haze, its colorful dragon statues a landmark to the Western eye. The droning of our trainer’s demonstration provided background noise to my distracted observations. Although training had proved to be useful, I was ready to start teaching as soon as possible. One gains experience by doing, I mused as our Wednesday session came to a close. Take fifteen rambunctious kindergartners who only know Chinese and one foreign teacher who has no clue what he’s doing, and see what happens. What an interesting formula, indeed.

That afternoon I hopped in one of the many yellow taxis circulating through Taipei, and went with some new found friends to see the world’s tallest building, Taipei 101. Built to resemble a bamboo shoot pointing its way towards the heavens, Taipei 101 dwarfed our small group as we struggled to lift our heads to take in the enormous structures. From a distance, one tends to question the structure’s claim to fame, but from up close it is easy to test it’s validity. Shapely mannequins, serenaded by blaring techno beats, greeted us as we ventured through the automatic doors of the first floor. Here, the rich and wealthy could indulge their gluttonous appetites while squandering their riches on high-end shopping. Marble flooring paved the way from Armani to Prada and beyond. Ignoring images and beckoning lights, we found our way to the elevators and proceeded to rise above the cash-spending frenzy below. Despite our efforts to reach the top, we arrived too late and were told the observation tower was closed. Another time, another visit, we decided.

Outside, we escaped the sterile environment of Taipei 101 and headed towards a well-known night market not too far away. Vendors selling neon colored t-shirts for discount prices marked the sides of the narrow alleyway. Contrary to popular belief, 80’s fashion is not dead but alive and thriving in Taiwan. A collection of fried goose heads and chicken’s claws caught our eye from their perch above a steaming pot of hot oil. Vertical signs, advertising God knows what in Chinese characters, painted the night sky above the market. Our empty stomachs interrupted our meanderings and we entered into a restaurant whose exterior cast an inviting glow from low hung Chinese lanterns. An interesting fusion of cuisine and traditional medicine, the restaurant serves therapeutic dishes consumed to ameliorate energy levels in the body. I chose the ginseng chicken and was shortly welcomed by the bitter, meaty broth.

After enduring numerous hours of demonstrations and instruction from the Hess staff, training final came to a close. Having been informed of a puppet show involving Kung Fu fighting and a tragic love story as only the Chinese know it, we decided to celebrate by attending the event. The obscure pub was moderately full when we arrived. Eerie-looking martial arts puppets measuring an impressive two and a half feet, lined the bare walls as if to protect the institution from unseen invasion. An eccentric man sporting glasses and a thin moustache made introductions as I gazed at my surroundings. A table of German tourists sat drinking beers, enthralled by the puppet master and waiting for the upcoming spectacle. Several Chinese children occupied the front row as they tore into French fries their parents had ordered.

Nobody came away disappointed. With his assistant nearby, the puppet master began his hilarious masterpiece from behind the black-lit stage. With sound effects, miniature swords, and even a burst of fire, the story unfolded. An exaggerated fight between two rival masters followed a choice encounter with a furry and friendly dragon. Reminiscent of the Street Fighter games and their various spin offs, the puppets delivered flying kicks and punches in appropriate fashion. Torn apart by their love for the same woman, the weapon toting puppets settled the score as one payed the ultimate price of death. Not without its bizarre moments where the puppet master attempted to translate parts of the story into English, the event was thoroughly enjoyed by all.

Of course, the puppet show could not be complete without a small workshop where the primarily foreign crowd has an opportunity to put on their own demonstration of sorts. Clearly passionate about his art, the puppet master shared his secrets with us through smiles, gestures, and explanations in broken English. After receiving our own practice marionettes, we were instructed on how to use the life-like figurines. Graduating from the small to the large puppets, we quickly realized how heavy they were and how tiring it must be to hold them up for an extended period of time. Finally, several of us were invited to step behind the curtain and invent our own brief story. My puppet looked menacing with its painted-on eyebrows, long pony tale, and flowing robes.

KTV, also known as Karaoke Television, is mind-blowingly popular in Taiwan. From a young age, Taiwanese children learn to hone their musical skills while singing into a microphone. For parties of any magnitude, Karaoke never fails to be on the list of activities. We were not to be the exception to this unfamiliar past time. Following the puppet show, a group of us went in search of the perfect place to prove our musical inclinations. Nestled in a seemingly dark alley off the main drag lay the holy grail of KTV venues. A comfortable couch greeted us while the waitress brought snacks of fruit and nuts. Our rowdy neighbors quickly made their presence known in slurred Chinese and encouraged us to sing. Laughter and misunderstood Chinese filled the small room as a duel commenced between the American and Taiwanese groups. I eventually found myself singing and dancing with a crazed lady who insisted I knew the English words flashing on the screen. In all reality, I had never heard the melody in my life. Although only a handful of songs were familiar, a good time was had by all. Needless to say, Karaoke has become one of our favorite things to do on a Saturday night.

Taiwan 101

2008-08-25T05:55:00.000-07:00

The odds were against me. Besides the attractive young lady now making her way towards the first class ticket counter, I was the only Western in an Asian sea of unfamiliar faces. I snuck glances at my fellow passengers as we slowly inched toward the finish line and weighing scale; that all too infamous plate of smooth metal that would determine our monetary fate.

With boarding pass in hand, I made my way through security and towards the sole restaurant still open at that late hour. One last Mexican meal would suffice before crossing the International Date Line and joining the ranks of ESL teachers seeking employment in Taiwan.

The lady who greeted me at the counter was shy, yet assertive. From her accent and color of skin, I guessed at her origins. We struck up a brief conversation and my assumptions proved to be correct. She was Ethiopian. I mentioned I had recently passed through Addis Ababa and how much I had enjoyed Watt and other Ethiopian dishes. This seemed to please her and I managed to provoke a grin. “Do you miss it?” “Yes, of course”, she replied without hesitation.

Usually the AC on planes reduces me to a chattering specter huddled beneath layers of blankets and opened sweaters. On the contrary, this voyage made it difficult to sleep as hot flashes and lack of recirculating air plagued the eleven-hour flight. I had hoped to sit by a sociable Taiwanese person who would be willing to tutor me in Mandarin as the hours ticked by. My failed attempts at communication with my neighbor led me to believe this was not the case. The gentleman was from Vietnam and had been visiting relatives in Seattle for some time. Through one-word declarations and energetic head nodding, I gathered he was a teacher of some sort back in his native country. His wife smiled at our linguistic conundrum from her vantage point in the window seat.

Despite the uncomfortable seat and unpleasant temperature, sleep finally engulfed my weary body albeit for intermittent periods of time. Between wakefulness and unconsciousness, I managed to leaf through the latest edition of “The China Post”, a Taiwanese newspaper printed in English. Apparently a financial scandal involving the former president had dominated the news in recent days. “Bribes”, “overseas bank accounts”, and “allegations” were buzzwords in the latest chapter of Asian corruption.

Breakfast came in the form of what the stewardess referred to as “porridge”. The mixture of rice, fish, shredded ginger, green onions, and a ramen like pack of tuna seasoning redefined my idea of hot cereal. Nothing would be complete without the small carton of soymilk that occupied the left-hand portion of the tray. I imitated those around me with the words “xie, xie” as I handed my empty tray to the polite air-hostess.

At customs I waited patiently in line to receive the Taiwanese government’s stamp of approval. Shortly after joining the queue, I noticed a young looking American wearing shorts and toting a large backpack standing one lane over. As the scene unfolded, I watched dumbstruck as the man addressed a security guard in flawless Mandarin and proceeded to advance to the front of the line. Perhaps one day I, too, could reach such level of proficiency, I thought. At least there’s nothing wrong with hoping.

My first priority after locating my luggage was to exchange dollars for dollars, American for Taiwanese. The moneylender nonchalantly watched as a small contraption with metal pinchers counted out the appropriate bills in what sounded like a gust of wind. With the wad of cash firmly secured in my pocket, I stepped through the sliding glass doors to a world of eager onlookers. Taped to a large pole, was a sign bearing my name. My eyes locked with a man nearby as I pointed insistently to the piece of paper indicating that it and me were one and the same. He grabbed my luggage and my greeting in Mandarin was followed by a slew of indistinguishable words that I understood as “Do you speak Chinese?” I chuckled and shook my head. His English was just as poor as my Mandarin and so we exited the terminal in an understandable silence.

Humid air and the honking of horns greeted us outside. The chauffeur signaled for me to wait on the sidewalk while he went to find the car. Taxis and luxury vehicles with tinted windows criss-crossed their way to the curb to pick up weary passengers. An Australian couple joined me as I wondered if I would be able to recognize my contact when he pulled up. Luckily my brief moment of uncertainty gave way to recognition as the man stepped out of a Mercedes-Benz and gestured towards the backseat.

We merged on to the wide freeway while I sank ever deeper into the plush, leather seats. A crisply folded newspaper and an unopened bottle of water sat in the pouch behind the seat in front of me. So this is what a businessman must feel like, I mused. Waves of cool air bombarded my face as I took stock of my surroundings. Taipei was a short drive from the airport and so I spent the time watching the countryside go by. Large shipping containers were a prelude to apartment buildings and factories, whose prominence was marked by the billows of smoke escaping into the morning air. Lush vegetation interrupted by colorful pagodas gave a much-needed relief from the industrial sector. On the left loomed an enormous building protected by an elaborate gate. As I would discover later, this is the fabled National Palace Museum.

Downtown Taipei was anti-climactic in part due to the earliness of the hour and the fact that it was Sunday. The street was nearly void of pedestrians. Enormous billboards with Chinese characters advertising products and businesses lined the main throughway. We pulled in front of the Golden China Hotel and I was obliged to part ways with my silent companion. At the desk I was told that check-in must wait until 12:00pm. In the meantime, the desk worker encouraged, I could explore the city. I grabbed a toothbrush and toothpaste from my engorged bag and went in search of the restroom. My inquiry was rewarded with a new vocabulary word that should prove to be useful: “Si sou jien”.

Back in the lobby I made the acquaintance of two other new arrivals, an American guy from Illinois and a Canadian girl whose family is Cantonese. After securing our baggage and leaving it in capable hands, we decided to explore a bit of the city. A nearby temple had caught our eyes earlier and so we headed back in the direction of the freeway. Stone dragons and Chinese engravings decorated the roofs and pillars. Some early morning worshippers gathered around a cauldron to offer incense to the ancestors while others tossed wooden objects to the ground to determine their lot in life. Platters of mangoes and rice offered as an offering to the gods occupied the high tables in the courtyard. Dressed in blue smocks, old and young alike sat at prayer benches reciting verses from a holy book open in front of them. We observed the religious proceedings a little while longer before continuing our exploration of the capital.

A local market under a busy bridge provided us with some sustenance. I managed to buy a bunch of bananas for the equivalent of $1.00. The colorful array of distinct fruits and vegetables made me excited for future culinary experimentation. After being follow by a stray dog and attracting stares from a local gang of moped riders, we made our way to a park indicated on the map we had taken from the hotel. Abandoned railroad ties created a zigzag path through the cut grass. Although we were eager to press on, the temperature had increased exponentially since our departure and we were in need of finding shelter from the heat. Finally after many failed attempts at finding an open shop, we located a promising coffee shop. The rest of the morning was spent discussing our backgrounds and goals for the year.

A hot shower wasn’t enough to revive me from inevitable jet lag. Although my stomach was communicating its immediate needs to me, sleep was a more pressing matter. Two and a half hours later I awoke groggy and motivated to find some food. The rains came down and the floods came up. Outside the sky was pouring out buckets of water as people hustled to and fro wearing ponchos and holding umbrellas. Luckily, the hotel had some available umbrellas for use and I borrowed one before facing the tempest. Monsoon season is evidently in full swing.