I just thought I'd share that.
I was picking up a friend after her yoga class tonight, trying to find Gongzheng Elementary School, where we'd agreed to meet. This made a bit of a strange place for meeting at 10:30 pm since the school is under construction and totally deserted at that hour, though on a busy main road. So when I asked a fellow mototrist at a red light where I could find Gongzheng Guoxiao (=Gongzheng Elementary School=Gongzheng Guomin Xiaoxue=Gongzheng public elementary school), and she told me to follow her, I found myself wanting to explain why I was going to this shell of a building in the dark. "I'm waiting for my friend," I said easily enough. "She's coming from a yoga class." The two women looked at me blankly. Yes, two. The motorist had a friend on the back of her scooter (scooters are family vehicles here; it almost feels selfish and wantonly wasteful to drive a scooter all on your own). Here, as you can see, things got a bit difficult. I reached into my memory, trying to remember what my students always said when I was teaching them the phrase "doing yoga." They often shout out the Mandarin equivalent for what I'm teaching. It's a way for them to confirm amongst themselves that they understood me (I do my best to ignore it, keeping up the idea that I don't speak any Chinese). It also clues slower students in to the lesson. The shouting usually comes from the cram school students, who find English easier than do their classmates, and are eager to show off their skills and demonstrate how easy it is for them. (This is great for them, but can make teaching the class a bit tricky since it's easy to mistakenly think the whole class understands something when you hear the answer shouted loudly by several students; in fact, most of the students may be in the dark while a few are ahead of the material.) So, trying to recall the words I had tried to tune out in class, I amended: She's in a douyou class, a youdou class...it's exercise. At this point, I may even have tried some elementary yoga while still straddling my scooter. I almost got off my scooter and stood on one foot with my arms raised above my head, like a tree. The two women turned to each other and consulted. "Yu2jia1" suggested one. Yeah, sure, I said "yujia...douya, whatever." It should be clear to you by now that any of the words I tried for yoga were complete gibberish. "Okay," said the women, still looking a bit mystified, "she should be back a bit over there." And they waved at a building next to the elementary school. I thanked them for their help and turned back to wait for my friend coming out of her youdouyajiayuga-whatever class.
On the way home, I stopped off at a 7-eleven to see if I still had money on my phone card. (You can pay your bills at Taiwanese 7-elevens.) Pulling out of the sidewalk-strip lot was a bit difficult, though, since there was a giant praying mantis in my way. He hopped a bit to the side when I approached, but not enough to make me feel comfortable. I did not want to be the cause of the demise of such a noble creature, and I certainly didn't want to hear any sickening crunches.
Safely past the mantis (actually, I performed a bit of a U-turn in order to evade him), I headed back to my apartment. On my way to meet my friend and on the way back, the street was partially blocked off by a police car, several orange traffic cones, and a pulled-over car. I wasn't sure if we were allowed to use the road, but followed other cars and scooters through, waved on by a cop with his orange dayglo traffic-directing stick. As I pulled into a nearby store (the same one mentioned in my Sinlaku post) for a bar of soap and some ice cream--well, I had to break a 1,000 NT bill, ok?--I asked a couple guys standing on the corner if there had been an accident. They take accidents seriously here, and you are strictly forbidden from moving any vehicles involved in a collision until the police arrive. This reminds me of Chinese laws reaching into antiquity that forbid moving suicide and homicide corpses, which I find pretty cool. Anyway, the guys shook their heads no. "Drinking," one muttered. "Ooh," I said, "drinking and driving?" They assented. "Ouch," I said in English, and they laughed. Then I went into the store for my hand soap and ice cream cone. (Difficult maneuver, that--choosing a cone not too near the bottom [which might not have been replaced in 6 months] and not too near the top where it might have melted from people opening the freezer/possible power outage during the typhoon. Luckily, the stuff I was going for was more like synthetic cream than ice cream proper and therefore likely impervious to spoiling.) One of the sidewalk guys came in to ring me up. And that is the story of the yoga, the mantis, and the drunk driver.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
All Bark, Little Bite
I woke up this morning to a calm and quiet world. Noticeably quiet, considering the sounds I had fallen asleep to. I went to bed and somewhat melodramatically placed a pillow upright lengthwise between my head and my window. I lay there hoping that the pillow would act as some type of guard against glass if necessary, and wondered if it was wiser to have my face or the back of my head (brain) face the window. Grim, neurotic thoughts. I blame the hour (around 3 am) and my upbringing.
As I lay there waiting to fall asleep—and scared to do it—the storm died down! It was quiet! I went to the large windows in the den to look at Gongzheng Lu, the street below us. It rained, but didn’t storm. The rain shimmered as it fell on the black pavement lit by yellow streetlights. The traffic light overlooking the scene blinked a red stop light off and on. Thankfully, I went to bed. A few minutes later, the storm began again, back to its full force. I mentally groaned and miraculously fell asleep.
So when it was quiet this morning, I wanted to know if the storm was really over. And I wanted the internet back. The trees on the street were at rest. No howling to be heard. I reconnected the internet and checked the news. I was a bit miffed to read that the winds were only traveling at about 43 mph, but then happily saw that the central winds were more like 170 mph. I don’t know what that means. Are there circular winds at the center of a typhoon? Was the typhoon as a whole only going at about 43 mph? It was category 3 before it hit Taiwan, but only category 2 on land, I think. The pictures of the hurricane in Texas looked worse than anything I was hearing about Sinlaku.
But how could I be sure that the storm had ended? Short of a dove, I decided to check it out for myself, especially after I heard the announcement broadcast throughout the building: Floor one flooded, some vehicles may be overturned. Or something like that. If there were overturned cars, I wanted to see them! I got down to the lobby which was basically in one piece, though there were leaves and small branches from indoor plants scattered about the floor. A couple trees looked like they had been chewed up by the winds, but maybe they were never growing properly. A large number of potted plants from the lobby’s garden were gathered behind a wall of the garden to shield them from the wind. On the way to the door, I met the guard. Going out for breakfast? he asked me. This made quite a change from the don’t-go-outside-let-me-go-with-you-if-you-insist of the day before. Can I go outside? I asked. Yes, he said, then offered me his umbrella and cautioned me to put my camera I my pocket so it wouldn’t get ruined. I hadn’t brought an umbrella since I figured that if the winds were very strong it would be useless. He noted that I needed proper rain gear (I was wearing flip flops). It’s ok, I said, I’m just going out for a look around. Outside was disappointingly orderly. At first I thought the top of the street sign had been knocked off and planted in the ground, but actually it was only let down low on its pole so it wouldn’t get damaged by the wind. Some young trees were messed with and may have to be replanted. Some bikes and a motorcycle were on their sides, but this isn’t too out of the ordinary. Old motorcycles are often on their sides, as if the riders had leapt off the backs on reaching their destinations, leaving the scooters to their own devices. The one I saw was shiny and new-looking, so maybe this way an accident, but I noticed that the mirrors were also absent—on both the side the scooter had fallen on and the other—so maybe the owner had prepared for this. And there was rain.
At five in the afternoon, it is still raining. Aside from my morning excursion and my outing now to a coffee shop/bakery, I stayed indoors all day puttering about. But I did not feel restless, as I did yesterday when shut indoors. What is the difference between a typhoon precaution and a lazy Sunday? Maybe it’s just the matter of choice. Yesterday we were all antsy, and Faith and I joked about taking a refreshing turn about the room as once suggested by the artful Caroline Bingley.
As far as I know, there has been no serious lasting damage inflicted by Typhoon Sinlaku. And so, my friends, it would seem that school will be open tomorrow morning. I remember the shout of glee that went up in the Academic Affairs office when school was closed early for the storm. Forget the students. How sad will all the teachers be tomorrow!
As I lay there waiting to fall asleep—and scared to do it—the storm died down! It was quiet! I went to the large windows in the den to look at Gongzheng Lu, the street below us. It rained, but didn’t storm. The rain shimmered as it fell on the black pavement lit by yellow streetlights. The traffic light overlooking the scene blinked a red stop light off and on. Thankfully, I went to bed. A few minutes later, the storm began again, back to its full force. I mentally groaned and miraculously fell asleep.
So when it was quiet this morning, I wanted to know if the storm was really over. And I wanted the internet back. The trees on the street were at rest. No howling to be heard. I reconnected the internet and checked the news. I was a bit miffed to read that the winds were only traveling at about 43 mph, but then happily saw that the central winds were more like 170 mph. I don’t know what that means. Are there circular winds at the center of a typhoon? Was the typhoon as a whole only going at about 43 mph? It was category 3 before it hit Taiwan, but only category 2 on land, I think. The pictures of the hurricane in Texas looked worse than anything I was hearing about Sinlaku.
But how could I be sure that the storm had ended? Short of a dove, I decided to check it out for myself, especially after I heard the announcement broadcast throughout the building: Floor one flooded, some vehicles may be overturned. Or something like that. If there were overturned cars, I wanted to see them! I got down to the lobby which was basically in one piece, though there were leaves and small branches from indoor plants scattered about the floor. A couple trees looked like they had been chewed up by the winds, but maybe they were never growing properly. A large number of potted plants from the lobby’s garden were gathered behind a wall of the garden to shield them from the wind. On the way to the door, I met the guard. Going out for breakfast? he asked me. This made quite a change from the don’t-go-outside-let-me-go-with-you-if-you-insist of the day before. Can I go outside? I asked. Yes, he said, then offered me his umbrella and cautioned me to put my camera I my pocket so it wouldn’t get ruined. I hadn’t brought an umbrella since I figured that if the winds were very strong it would be useless. He noted that I needed proper rain gear (I was wearing flip flops). It’s ok, I said, I’m just going out for a look around. Outside was disappointingly orderly. At first I thought the top of the street sign had been knocked off and planted in the ground, but actually it was only let down low on its pole so it wouldn’t get damaged by the wind. Some young trees were messed with and may have to be replanted. Some bikes and a motorcycle were on their sides, but this isn’t too out of the ordinary. Old motorcycles are often on their sides, as if the riders had leapt off the backs on reaching their destinations, leaving the scooters to their own devices. The one I saw was shiny and new-looking, so maybe this way an accident, but I noticed that the mirrors were also absent—on both the side the scooter had fallen on and the other—so maybe the owner had prepared for this. And there was rain.
At five in the afternoon, it is still raining. Aside from my morning excursion and my outing now to a coffee shop/bakery, I stayed indoors all day puttering about. But I did not feel restless, as I did yesterday when shut indoors. What is the difference between a typhoon precaution and a lazy Sunday? Maybe it’s just the matter of choice. Yesterday we were all antsy, and Faith and I joked about taking a refreshing turn about the room as once suggested by the artful Caroline Bingley.
As far as I know, there has been no serious lasting damage inflicted by Typhoon Sinlaku. And so, my friends, it would seem that school will be open tomorrow morning. I remember the shout of glee that went up in the Academic Affairs office when school was closed early for the storm. Forget the students. How sad will all the teachers be tomorrow!
Sinlaku
Yesterday school got out early by a period in order to allow people to get home and prepare for Typhoon Sinlaku. I rode home in the threatening rain, and parked my scooter in the apartment garage for the first time since the Golden Monkey’s suicidal charge. It took a Grade 3 typhoon to get me to park in the garage again.
Nell came home and the two of us went shopping for food to last through Sunday. This is unusual and quite mind-boggling in its own right, since usually people here just buy food for immediate use. In the US, my kitchen and fridge at home is neatly stocked with food, and I couldn’t be put out of sorts if a hurricane suddenly dropped out of nowhere. Here, however, Nell and I wandered up and down the four aisles of the shop down the street, wondering how much we would eat in two days. We settled on a hodgepodge of noodles, saltines, orange and grapefruit juice, and a packet of bread. Then we swung by the bakery hoping to get better bread, but settled for the day’s remnants of pastries (though one option was a delicious whole wheat bread stuffed with nuts). We also went to a kaorou place nearby (a stand that roasts food) and picked up some cooked food and red tea. We knew we wouldn’t go hungry since we had more noodles and oatmeal at the apartment, not to mention an unspeakable number of moon cakes.
Sunday is the Moon Festival (Zhong Qiu Jie [Mid-Autumn Festival]) which marks the occasion of when a lady was sent to the moon in order to fulfill her wish of living forever, I think. The Taiwanese celebrate with barbeques (not sure how traditional this is), going out in families to gaze at the moon, and giving friends, family, and coworkers moon cakes. Moon cakes are round pastries that fit in the palm of you hand. They are filled with green bean paste, red bean paste, egg yolks, some kind of marzipan-y pineapple paste, mootchie (thick gelatinous stuff), dried meat filings, etc. They are packed in boxes in rows of three, and, depending on how upscale the box is, may come with an assortment of other cookies, candies, bars, and moon cakes of a different shape—circular but flat, and almost as large as your hand. They are high high high in fat content. You absolutely must offer the people around you moon cakes, but while many will happily accept them, a good number flatly refuse and back away, saying they don’t want to get fat. The moon cake exchange ritual reminds me a lot of mishloach manot. You are socially compelled to offer food to everyone around you. Nobody really wants so much junk food. And yes, I will admit it—I have cake recycled. But only once! I was holding a box with three or four cakes left (I’d had 12 to start with) and went into an office to give a fellow English teacher a cake. Inside were three teachers, and I couldn’t very well give to one person right in the face of two others. I think the teachers might have even said something about thanking me for bringing them all cakes. So I handed them out, though one of the teachers might have turned down my cake. (Just so you know, having your moon cake turned down does come with a sense of rejection.) I now had one cake left. The English teacher, however, extended a box of moon cakes toward me, and I gratefully accepted a chocolaty-looking one. Still not enough for the rest of the English teachers at Wu Jie. So I headed back toward my office instead, passing the nurse’s office on the way. Inside were two people. Aha! I thought. This was a good opportunity to speak with someone whom I’d previously only waved at through her office window. The two women inside were happy to receive the cakes and to chat with me a bit (“Oh, you speak some Chinese! We can practice our English—it’s pretty rusty…”). So that was nice and I only felt the slightest guilty twinge at the origin of the chocolate moon cake.
Back to Sinlaku…I was originally supposed to join my landlady and dean (that’s one person) on Saturday with my roommates for a Moon Festival celebration, but all such celebrations have been canceled due to decidedly inclement weather.
Nell and I returned from our shopping spree (done in two stages, since we dropped off our first purchases with the building guard and went back for the bakery and kaorou) quite wet with rain. The typhoon takes some time to pass. On Friday, we felt light rain and wind from the outskirts of the storm. The ride home from school was mainly uneventful, but a bit unnerving since my scooter was pushed a little to the side by the wind on 2-4 occasions. Anyway, we felt pretty prepared with our typhoon supplies, and were set to do as Dr. Wu had advised via email: settle down in our apartments for the weekend with a good book.
The next morning, more tape had to be bought for the windows. We have large windows around two corners of the den, and a roll of tape goes pretty quickly. The building guard told us not to go outside since it was dangerous, but we were worried by the prospect of shattered glass. The building guard and his friend offered us tape, then rain gear when we said we wanted to go out and get our own, and then would probably have lent us money, as well. He had on his raincoat and wanted to go with us to make sure we’d be ok, but we told him that wasn’t necessary. Someone from my suite went with an ETA from another suite. Outside was rainy, but no too windy. Some shops were open, including the shop Nell and I visited, a fruit mart, a home appliance center, and the 7-eleven. There still wasn’t enough tape in the end for all of our windows, but the building guard came up to check out our apartment and said it was ok, since we only needed to tape up the front-facing windows in the den.
Throughout the day, we kept looking out the windows and venturing onto our balcony. It rained with some gusts of wind. What a lame typhoon, we said, and egged it on. This was quite unnecessary.
At around 10:00/11:00 pm, the storm picked up. Wind howled and whistled—and sometimes shrieked like a frightened girl—through the trees, the palm trees bent to the side, their fronds whipped up into balls of frenetically waving leaves. A thin layer of water on the street in front of our apartment undulated in small ripples. Green ground plants moved in the wind, not rhythmically enough to be like the ocean, but like some kind of muscled, scaled creature. A few birds flew through the air during the day, and I wondered if they were insane. Cars and motorcycles are still out on the road (it’s almost 2:00 am now), and I know those people are out of their minds. The wind throws the rain about and drives it up the street, herding it in misty gusts away from my apartment. When the wind picks up, the mists swirl about over the asphalt. There are patterns and tiny waves on the street. The palm fronds wave about as if they are thinking about coming loose and leaping away in a crazy tribal dance. Our green den curtains blow in the wind supposedly locked behind the glass doors, and the doors themselves reverberate in the wind. Faith, Nell, and I ogle at the scene below us and take pictures, then leap away (sometimes with a small shout) by turns. Rain has leaked from our air conditioner, from a spot in the ceiling by the windows, and from under the window in Nell’s room. We have towels on the floor to soak it up, and have unplugged all wires from the wall (thus losing our internet). If it leaks more tomorrow—and I’m guessing it will—we will have to use clothing to stop the water. Where are all the people in cars and on scooters going? Did they get caught in the storm, or did they do this on purpose? The three of us in my suite agreed it would be rotten to have an emergency this weekend. Then we heard ambulance sirens. Crazy motorists involved in an accident? We were scared to go to sleep, but the other two already bit the bullet, and soon I will to, trusting my windows to stay intact. Laughing and mostly joking around, we determined that our entryway would be the safest spot in our apartment, since it has no windows and is partially blocked off from the den by a shoe case (that’s like a bookcase but for shoes). It leads out to the hallway, which should also be rather secure since the door to the stairwell has been closed for the first time since we got here, presumably as a precautionary measure. (The stairs are open in places to the outdoors.) So if the windows blow in, that’s where we’ll go. While the three of us discussed these issues and dropped towels on the leaks, I rescued my computer and gift box from the coffee table in front of the den windows. Because we know what the caption will read in the worse-case scenario: Three Girls Buried Alive for a Week, Survive on Moon Cakes and Their Own Urine.
Nell came home and the two of us went shopping for food to last through Sunday. This is unusual and quite mind-boggling in its own right, since usually people here just buy food for immediate use. In the US, my kitchen and fridge at home is neatly stocked with food, and I couldn’t be put out of sorts if a hurricane suddenly dropped out of nowhere. Here, however, Nell and I wandered up and down the four aisles of the shop down the street, wondering how much we would eat in two days. We settled on a hodgepodge of noodles, saltines, orange and grapefruit juice, and a packet of bread. Then we swung by the bakery hoping to get better bread, but settled for the day’s remnants of pastries (though one option was a delicious whole wheat bread stuffed with nuts). We also went to a kaorou place nearby (a stand that roasts food) and picked up some cooked food and red tea. We knew we wouldn’t go hungry since we had more noodles and oatmeal at the apartment, not to mention an unspeakable number of moon cakes.
Sunday is the Moon Festival (Zhong Qiu Jie [Mid-Autumn Festival]) which marks the occasion of when a lady was sent to the moon in order to fulfill her wish of living forever, I think. The Taiwanese celebrate with barbeques (not sure how traditional this is), going out in families to gaze at the moon, and giving friends, family, and coworkers moon cakes. Moon cakes are round pastries that fit in the palm of you hand. They are filled with green bean paste, red bean paste, egg yolks, some kind of marzipan-y pineapple paste, mootchie (thick gelatinous stuff), dried meat filings, etc. They are packed in boxes in rows of three, and, depending on how upscale the box is, may come with an assortment of other cookies, candies, bars, and moon cakes of a different shape—circular but flat, and almost as large as your hand. They are high high high in fat content. You absolutely must offer the people around you moon cakes, but while many will happily accept them, a good number flatly refuse and back away, saying they don’t want to get fat. The moon cake exchange ritual reminds me a lot of mishloach manot. You are socially compelled to offer food to everyone around you. Nobody really wants so much junk food. And yes, I will admit it—I have cake recycled. But only once! I was holding a box with three or four cakes left (I’d had 12 to start with) and went into an office to give a fellow English teacher a cake. Inside were three teachers, and I couldn’t very well give to one person right in the face of two others. I think the teachers might have even said something about thanking me for bringing them all cakes. So I handed them out, though one of the teachers might have turned down my cake. (Just so you know, having your moon cake turned down does come with a sense of rejection.) I now had one cake left. The English teacher, however, extended a box of moon cakes toward me, and I gratefully accepted a chocolaty-looking one. Still not enough for the rest of the English teachers at Wu Jie. So I headed back toward my office instead, passing the nurse’s office on the way. Inside were two people. Aha! I thought. This was a good opportunity to speak with someone whom I’d previously only waved at through her office window. The two women inside were happy to receive the cakes and to chat with me a bit (“Oh, you speak some Chinese! We can practice our English—it’s pretty rusty…”). So that was nice and I only felt the slightest guilty twinge at the origin of the chocolate moon cake.
Back to Sinlaku…I was originally supposed to join my landlady and dean (that’s one person) on Saturday with my roommates for a Moon Festival celebration, but all such celebrations have been canceled due to decidedly inclement weather.
Nell and I returned from our shopping spree (done in two stages, since we dropped off our first purchases with the building guard and went back for the bakery and kaorou) quite wet with rain. The typhoon takes some time to pass. On Friday, we felt light rain and wind from the outskirts of the storm. The ride home from school was mainly uneventful, but a bit unnerving since my scooter was pushed a little to the side by the wind on 2-4 occasions. Anyway, we felt pretty prepared with our typhoon supplies, and were set to do as Dr. Wu had advised via email: settle down in our apartments for the weekend with a good book.
The next morning, more tape had to be bought for the windows. We have large windows around two corners of the den, and a roll of tape goes pretty quickly. The building guard told us not to go outside since it was dangerous, but we were worried by the prospect of shattered glass. The building guard and his friend offered us tape, then rain gear when we said we wanted to go out and get our own, and then would probably have lent us money, as well. He had on his raincoat and wanted to go with us to make sure we’d be ok, but we told him that wasn’t necessary. Someone from my suite went with an ETA from another suite. Outside was rainy, but no too windy. Some shops were open, including the shop Nell and I visited, a fruit mart, a home appliance center, and the 7-eleven. There still wasn’t enough tape in the end for all of our windows, but the building guard came up to check out our apartment and said it was ok, since we only needed to tape up the front-facing windows in the den.
Throughout the day, we kept looking out the windows and venturing onto our balcony. It rained with some gusts of wind. What a lame typhoon, we said, and egged it on. This was quite unnecessary.
At around 10:00/11:00 pm, the storm picked up. Wind howled and whistled—and sometimes shrieked like a frightened girl—through the trees, the palm trees bent to the side, their fronds whipped up into balls of frenetically waving leaves. A thin layer of water on the street in front of our apartment undulated in small ripples. Green ground plants moved in the wind, not rhythmically enough to be like the ocean, but like some kind of muscled, scaled creature. A few birds flew through the air during the day, and I wondered if they were insane. Cars and motorcycles are still out on the road (it’s almost 2:00 am now), and I know those people are out of their minds. The wind throws the rain about and drives it up the street, herding it in misty gusts away from my apartment. When the wind picks up, the mists swirl about over the asphalt. There are patterns and tiny waves on the street. The palm fronds wave about as if they are thinking about coming loose and leaping away in a crazy tribal dance. Our green den curtains blow in the wind supposedly locked behind the glass doors, and the doors themselves reverberate in the wind. Faith, Nell, and I ogle at the scene below us and take pictures, then leap away (sometimes with a small shout) by turns. Rain has leaked from our air conditioner, from a spot in the ceiling by the windows, and from under the window in Nell’s room. We have towels on the floor to soak it up, and have unplugged all wires from the wall (thus losing our internet). If it leaks more tomorrow—and I’m guessing it will—we will have to use clothing to stop the water. Where are all the people in cars and on scooters going? Did they get caught in the storm, or did they do this on purpose? The three of us in my suite agreed it would be rotten to have an emergency this weekend. Then we heard ambulance sirens. Crazy motorists involved in an accident? We were scared to go to sleep, but the other two already bit the bullet, and soon I will to, trusting my windows to stay intact. Laughing and mostly joking around, we determined that our entryway would be the safest spot in our apartment, since it has no windows and is partially blocked off from the den by a shoe case (that’s like a bookcase but for shoes). It leads out to the hallway, which should also be rather secure since the door to the stairwell has been closed for the first time since we got here, presumably as a precautionary measure. (The stairs are open in places to the outdoors.) So if the windows blow in, that’s where we’ll go. While the three of us discussed these issues and dropped towels on the leaks, I rescued my computer and gift box from the coffee table in front of the den windows. Because we know what the caption will read in the worse-case scenario: Three Girls Buried Alive for a Week, Survive on Moon Cakes and Their Own Urine.
Teacher Alana
Drive to school—cut off by teachers?
The Golden Monkey has a mind of its own—parking trouble, foot in puddle
Searching for Bess, office
Call to assembly—“Mama Mia” standing in lines, army drills
Interview in front of the whole school. Fudged it a bit.
No classes this week, met Jasmine
Gift from Jin Hua
Some introductions, inc black dogs
Got breakfast
Imagine a hamburger place that opens at 5. imagine eating one at 5.
Settled into desk
Students and I both nervous, timid, shy of each other. But I don’t drop my water bottle and run away giggling every time I bump into one of them. Happened to me at least twice. Students jumping out of my way. One guy saluted me. They see me in the halls from their classrooms.
Looked over quiz/questionnaire given by Jessica
Hecked out library. 1st time a Taiwanese told me I was too small to be an American
Lunch w/Jessica and a 9th grade. Spoke w/Dick and Betty
More quiz review, settling schedule
So much food! One person in the office remarked on how I’d be fat by the end of the year. Everyone laughed when I assented.
Cake from guy whose wife had a baby. Discussion of traditional Chinese practiced. Drove Yu Chun crazy w/speaking English.
Gmail
Home. Dropped Jessica off by her car, rocky driving in the mud. Chased ants off my scooter.
Got home safely, despite streets slightly wet from rain. Cut off again by people, also not teachers.
Home: chat w/nell and Faith, skype w/M and Evie.
EAT CAKE!
Ah, nap.
Too lazy again to take out garbage
Read
Tidy room
Discover cockroach. Yeck!
Here.
The Golden Monkey has a mind of its own—parking trouble, foot in puddle
Searching for Bess, office
Call to assembly—“Mama Mia” standing in lines, army drills
Interview in front of the whole school. Fudged it a bit.
No classes this week, met Jasmine
Gift from Jin Hua
Some introductions, inc black dogs
Got breakfast
Imagine a hamburger place that opens at 5. imagine eating one at 5.
Settled into desk
Students and I both nervous, timid, shy of each other. But I don’t drop my water bottle and run away giggling every time I bump into one of them. Happened to me at least twice. Students jumping out of my way. One guy saluted me. They see me in the halls from their classrooms.
Looked over quiz/questionnaire given by Jessica
Hecked out library. 1st time a Taiwanese told me I was too small to be an American
Lunch w/Jessica and a 9th grade. Spoke w/Dick and Betty
More quiz review, settling schedule
So much food! One person in the office remarked on how I’d be fat by the end of the year. Everyone laughed when I assented.
Cake from guy whose wife had a baby. Discussion of traditional Chinese practiced. Drove Yu Chun crazy w/speaking English.
Gmail
Home. Dropped Jessica off by her car, rocky driving in the mud. Chased ants off my scooter.
Got home safely, despite streets slightly wet from rain. Cut off again by people, also not teachers.
Home: chat w/nell and Faith, skype w/M and Evie.
EAT CAKE!
Ah, nap.
Too lazy again to take out garbage
Read
Tidy room
Discover cockroach. Yeck!
Here.
The Middle of Nowhere, Taiwan OR The Golden Monkey Lives
Rode w/Nell on back. Success.
Re-affirmation of intent to buy more comprehensive helmet, if only to keep my eyes from drying out and to avoid swallowing mites
Supply own radio
Radiation plants along side of the road
Is any of this familiar?
Proof of psychological study that we key into the bizarre. Didn’t remember going over bridge; remembered floppy dwarf-like/ tipsy witch-hatted haystacks with tires on top to keep heap from spilling over.
The Descent. Honor, pride, physically.Surprised, pleased to hear parents keep their cool.
Re-affirmation of intent to buy more comprehensive helmet, if only to keep my eyes from drying out and to avoid swallowing mites
Supply own radio
Radiation plants along side of the road
Is any of this familiar?
Proof of psychological study that we key into the bizarre. Didn’t remember going over bridge; remembered floppy dwarf-like/ tipsy witch-hatted haystacks with tires on top to keep heap from spilling over.
The Descent. Honor, pride, physically.Surprised, pleased to hear parents keep their cool.
Legend of the Golden Monkey
Cruising behind Cynthia and her boyfriend down a main road in Yilan County, I started thinking over possible names for my scooter. Instead I really ought to have been focusing on the road in order to remember how to get to school on Monday (learning the route being the purpose of our trip). I don’t think I missed on much, though, since it’s pretty much straight all the way, with a left (or right, depending on which school I’m going to) at the police station and a left by the tall pink apartments. I’m leaving out a few turns, but hopefully I’ll know them when I see them on my test ride tomorrow. In any case, when giving names to objects, I like to think of the most absurd possible, names you would never give another human being. Names like Olga, Hedwig, and Ursula, and I hope no one stumbling on this blog has an aunt by that name. So I thought of something along the lines of Gloria (the actual name now escapes me), when it occurred to me that this being Taiwan, I ought to give the scooter a Chinese name. Having had dinner with a colleague by the name of Golden Flower a couple nights ago, I came up with Jin Hu, aka Golden Monkey. Moneys are rather important animals in Chinese culture. There’s a year of the Monkey, not to mention a central character in one of the first and most renowned Chinese novels, Journey to the West (which, no, I have not read, but I mean to someday, along with The Brothers Karamazov). But why a golden monkey? I thought. “Monkey” seemed fitting enough, especially for a nippy little scooter, but “golden” was entirely unexplained. Jade might be a better idea, I figured. The Chinese are very into jade, and many people are named after it, such as one of my friends from Columbia. That would make the name Yu Hu. Yoohoo. I mentally giggled about that for about 50 meters, and then came to my senses. I could never grab, steer, park, or accelerate a Yoohoo and maintain my self-respect. My scooter is 125 CC and large enough to not be named after a chocolate beverage. Thinking back on my jade friend, I wondered why I didn’t just key in my scooter’s name to my own. Picking from my four characters, I figured Yang Hu would make the most sense, the Sun Monkey. But it just wasn’t that catchy. For that matter, I reasoned while checking my speed and balance, why not name it Zun Hu, Respectful Monkey, in anticipation of future successful driving and traffic compliance. Loser. And so I was back at Jin Hu, figuring that if I knew the name for silver, I might substitute that for Jin since my scooter is a silver-grey. With that, I refocused on the road and pensively wondered why my bike was bouncing and juddering along some of the pavement.
We arrived safely a few roads away from Wu Jie and stopped to get some food at a 7-11. I got off my bike and walked toward the store, at which point Cynthia turned to me and said her fiancée wanted to know why I was still wearing my helmet. “I don’t know,” I said, “I just forgot to take it off.” Well if you go into a 7-11 wearing a helmet, she said, they’ll think you’re trying to rob the store. Wearing the helmet makes it easier for you to get away quickly. I laughed and quickly removed mine. This is especially a concern, Cynthia continued to inform me, with banks and post offices, especially if the person is still wearing a scooter mask, in addition to the helmet. This was a lot of fun to hear, imagining the difficulties caused by a nation so fond of motorcycles. It was especially amusing given my first impressions of Taiwan’s scooter drivers as resembling suicide bombers, what with their helmets, sunglasses/visors, masks/handkerchiefs, jackets worn backward to minimize the added heat while getting protection against tanning, and squares of fabric pockets hung over the handles to make them easier to hold and possibly also anti-tanning devices. Question: who would rob a post office?
I am happy to report that I made it to and from the schools twice today without incident. Some things to work on are U-turns (more necessary than you’d think because of the two-part turn rule for left turns), keeping the brakes held firmly when stopped on a steep hill (nothing like sliding down a highway backwards on an open metal contraption), and making sure to brake with the left hand (rear wheel) before the right (front) to avoid flipping over. Also, sunscreen. I wore a long-sleeved t-shirt, which helped a lot. So now the two bright red strips of skin across the back of my hand (where the sleeves left off) look just a bit strange. In addition to the bottoms of my cheeks, causing me to fear I’m getting fat.
My only other accomplishments today were paying my phone bill (really just buying more minutes) so now I can make calls again instead of waiting for others to contact me, and finally watching the last half of 21.
We arrived safely a few roads away from Wu Jie and stopped to get some food at a 7-11. I got off my bike and walked toward the store, at which point Cynthia turned to me and said her fiancée wanted to know why I was still wearing my helmet. “I don’t know,” I said, “I just forgot to take it off.” Well if you go into a 7-11 wearing a helmet, she said, they’ll think you’re trying to rob the store. Wearing the helmet makes it easier for you to get away quickly. I laughed and quickly removed mine. This is especially a concern, Cynthia continued to inform me, with banks and post offices, especially if the person is still wearing a scooter mask, in addition to the helmet. This was a lot of fun to hear, imagining the difficulties caused by a nation so fond of motorcycles. It was especially amusing given my first impressions of Taiwan’s scooter drivers as resembling suicide bombers, what with their helmets, sunglasses/visors, masks/handkerchiefs, jackets worn backward to minimize the added heat while getting protection against tanning, and squares of fabric pockets hung over the handles to make them easier to hold and possibly also anti-tanning devices. Question: who would rob a post office?
I am happy to report that I made it to and from the schools twice today without incident. Some things to work on are U-turns (more necessary than you’d think because of the two-part turn rule for left turns), keeping the brakes held firmly when stopped on a steep hill (nothing like sliding down a highway backwards on an open metal contraption), and making sure to brake with the left hand (rear wheel) before the right (front) to avoid flipping over. Also, sunscreen. I wore a long-sleeved t-shirt, which helped a lot. So now the two bright red strips of skin across the back of my hand (where the sleeves left off) look just a bit strange. In addition to the bottoms of my cheeks, causing me to fear I’m getting fat.
My only other accomplishments today were paying my phone bill (really just buying more minutes) so now I can make calls again instead of waiting for others to contact me, and finally watching the last half of 21.
Trust Me
Today makes the second time I have heard or seen that phrase here. The first was proudly emblazoned on a container of floor-cleaning solvent in my Yilan apartment. What does this mean, I asked my suitemate, Brittany. She figured it meant we should trust the company’s recommended dosage of solvent. Sure enough, using just the small amount they prescribed worked to make our floors shiny and clean.
Today it came from someone selling me a used scooter. I was far less inclined to be trusting. In America, we all know that used car salesmen are the most conniving, desperate people the market has to offer. They are just a notch below the devil and one above bank robbers. But perhaps here that is not the case. I still can’t tell.
This morning I decided to walk around and find a better deal than the options from yesterday—a scooter under 10 years old and under 20,000 NT. I’d heard that another ETA had found a scooter near the train station, so that was where I headed, only slightly concerned that I wouldn’t be able to find one specific shop whose name I didn’t know among the packed area surrounding the station. Half an hour to 45 minutes after stepping out my front door, I arrived at the station, sweaty and highly doubtful of any chance of success. Along the way, I had found only one shop that sold only new scooters. They told me new ones were better since they were safer, no concern for prior histories. Thanks anyway, I said, and asked if they knew any places that sold used models. They didn’t. But they did point out the way to the train station. Used scooters are preferable, at least for the ETAs, since they are less likely to be stolen and for one year we’re looking for something serviceable, not a long-term investment. I finally found myself facing the train station. Great. Now what? I decided to turn right and see what I ran into. A few blocks down, I ran into a Kymco repair station. Kymco is a popular scooter brand in Taiwan. The guy there was very friendly, discussed the models I’d found yesterday, told me to look for something in the 6-8 age range, and recommended a shop on Gongdeng Road.
I headed over there and test-drove three models. None were satisfactory. I walked over to the train station, where Jessica, another English teacher at Wu Jie, picked me up. She drove me over to Wu Jie to pick up some textbooks, and then she, Bess (my LET from orientation), and I headed out to look for more scooters. They seemed impressed that I’d gone searching on my own for scooters. They decided to take me to a place that was owned by the father of a friend of Jessica’s from college, and who was also teaching English at San Xing Junior High, another school participating in the ETA program. Jessica kept calling the woman by a Spanish name since they had been in Spanish class together, but the woman introduced herself to me as Tiffany, her English name. At the moment, they did not have any suitable scooters in the shop, but the father said he would look for one for me. They said they knew I was looking for something cheap under 10 years old. Yes, I said, but I’m more concerned about safety than price. “It’s ok,” Tiffany said, “trust me.” Bess, Jessica, and I left it to them and headed out to go to the beach at Dali and to get our fortunes told. I imagined a Mama Fortuna-type lady draped in black lace with a crystal ball and a pack of grimy cards.
On our way over, though, the LETs received a call saying that the scooter shop owner had found a scooter for me.
We headed over and found a beautiful silver 6-year-old Sym scooter for 22,000 NT. The scooter shop owner said he’d look it over and make sure everything was in ship-shape order for me. I test-drove it a bit. I think it was Jessica who rode on the back with me since I was a bit nervous about the heavier traffic on the street. Brave soul. Bess also tested it. I asked if it had ever been in an accident, what type of guarantee there would be (though this was misunderstood to mean insurance, which the scooter shops—and not third parties—provide), etc. I tried to remember what my dad had done when buying cars. “Wow, you’re so nervous!” Tiffany exclaimed. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. Trust me.” I agreed to buy it. I figured that the LETs seemed to trust the situation, so this was probably normal for Taiwan (neither having an independent mechanic look at the vehicle nor drawing up a contract), and that since Jessica and Tiffany were friends, I wouldn’t be screwed over (at least not too much). They had me pick out a complementary helmet (it covers half the head and is silvery blue) and put down some money. I paid 15,000 of the 22,000 NT and agreed to pick it up later that night. I would pay the remaining 7,000 when I got an ATM card and could access my bank account. (This took longer than I thought—slightly over a week—, and Tiffany called Jessica to make sure I hadn’t forgotten—so embarrassing! Tiffany said she understood about the ATM card and was perfectly friendly. But I bought her family a box of moon cakes (it being moon cake season) as an apology and also to thank her father for helping me with my scooter for free when I accidentally dropped it—more about that later. I also had her count the 7,000 NT to make sure it was all there [even though she said she trusted me]…and also as an opportunity for her to check it there and give me a receipt saying that I had fully paid for the scooter, instead of us just trusting each other and knowing it was paid off without any written proof.)
Bess, Jessica, and I headed out again, but had to leave off the beach since time was running short. It turns out the fortune teller was an ordinary-looking person who works in a temple. I think it’s a Buddhist temple. But it could’ve been Daoist. The temple was intricately painted in blue, green, red, yellow, white, and black. The colors seemed brighter than similarly painted temples I had seen in China. They told me about some of the various gods and symbols I saw. There were too many to go over everything. I really liked the images of the door guard gods, with they weapons and sitars.
We headed back to Luodong, passing some rather interesting architecture on the way. One building was built of numerous arches and “legs” coming from the building. It reminded me of a crouching spider, but was a governmental building. I never thought bureaucrats could be so hip. Another was the entrance to the beach, or at least one of the entrances. It was a large, bright orange wall shaped like an upside-down isosceles triangle (base facing upward), but as if it had been stuck somewhat deeper into the sand on one side than it had on the other. From it protruded a shelf-like platform. A big square opening, and maybe a window, too, was cut in the orange wall. The last was a large white Arabic palace. It was like we had suddenly landed in Morocco. I think some rich man had just got the urge to build himself a palace, and so he had, squeezing it in with the local shops and Buddhist temples.
I brought my scooter home, driving slowly and led by my dedicated LETs and slooowly walked it down a rather steep ramp (for a scooter) into the parking garage.
Today it came from someone selling me a used scooter. I was far less inclined to be trusting. In America, we all know that used car salesmen are the most conniving, desperate people the market has to offer. They are just a notch below the devil and one above bank robbers. But perhaps here that is not the case. I still can’t tell.
This morning I decided to walk around and find a better deal than the options from yesterday—a scooter under 10 years old and under 20,000 NT. I’d heard that another ETA had found a scooter near the train station, so that was where I headed, only slightly concerned that I wouldn’t be able to find one specific shop whose name I didn’t know among the packed area surrounding the station. Half an hour to 45 minutes after stepping out my front door, I arrived at the station, sweaty and highly doubtful of any chance of success. Along the way, I had found only one shop that sold only new scooters. They told me new ones were better since they were safer, no concern for prior histories. Thanks anyway, I said, and asked if they knew any places that sold used models. They didn’t. But they did point out the way to the train station. Used scooters are preferable, at least for the ETAs, since they are less likely to be stolen and for one year we’re looking for something serviceable, not a long-term investment. I finally found myself facing the train station. Great. Now what? I decided to turn right and see what I ran into. A few blocks down, I ran into a Kymco repair station. Kymco is a popular scooter brand in Taiwan. The guy there was very friendly, discussed the models I’d found yesterday, told me to look for something in the 6-8 age range, and recommended a shop on Gongdeng Road.
I headed over there and test-drove three models. None were satisfactory. I walked over to the train station, where Jessica, another English teacher at Wu Jie, picked me up. She drove me over to Wu Jie to pick up some textbooks, and then she, Bess (my LET from orientation), and I headed out to look for more scooters. They seemed impressed that I’d gone searching on my own for scooters. They decided to take me to a place that was owned by the father of a friend of Jessica’s from college, and who was also teaching English at San Xing Junior High, another school participating in the ETA program. Jessica kept calling the woman by a Spanish name since they had been in Spanish class together, but the woman introduced herself to me as Tiffany, her English name. At the moment, they did not have any suitable scooters in the shop, but the father said he would look for one for me. They said they knew I was looking for something cheap under 10 years old. Yes, I said, but I’m more concerned about safety than price. “It’s ok,” Tiffany said, “trust me.” Bess, Jessica, and I left it to them and headed out to go to the beach at Dali and to get our fortunes told. I imagined a Mama Fortuna-type lady draped in black lace with a crystal ball and a pack of grimy cards.
On our way over, though, the LETs received a call saying that the scooter shop owner had found a scooter for me.
We headed over and found a beautiful silver 6-year-old Sym scooter for 22,000 NT. The scooter shop owner said he’d look it over and make sure everything was in ship-shape order for me. I test-drove it a bit. I think it was Jessica who rode on the back with me since I was a bit nervous about the heavier traffic on the street. Brave soul. Bess also tested it. I asked if it had ever been in an accident, what type of guarantee there would be (though this was misunderstood to mean insurance, which the scooter shops—and not third parties—provide), etc. I tried to remember what my dad had done when buying cars. “Wow, you’re so nervous!” Tiffany exclaimed. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. Trust me.” I agreed to buy it. I figured that the LETs seemed to trust the situation, so this was probably normal for Taiwan (neither having an independent mechanic look at the vehicle nor drawing up a contract), and that since Jessica and Tiffany were friends, I wouldn’t be screwed over (at least not too much). They had me pick out a complementary helmet (it covers half the head and is silvery blue) and put down some money. I paid 15,000 of the 22,000 NT and agreed to pick it up later that night. I would pay the remaining 7,000 when I got an ATM card and could access my bank account. (This took longer than I thought—slightly over a week—, and Tiffany called Jessica to make sure I hadn’t forgotten—so embarrassing! Tiffany said she understood about the ATM card and was perfectly friendly. But I bought her family a box of moon cakes (it being moon cake season) as an apology and also to thank her father for helping me with my scooter for free when I accidentally dropped it—more about that later. I also had her count the 7,000 NT to make sure it was all there [even though she said she trusted me]…and also as an opportunity for her to check it there and give me a receipt saying that I had fully paid for the scooter, instead of us just trusting each other and knowing it was paid off without any written proof.)
Bess, Jessica, and I headed out again, but had to leave off the beach since time was running short. It turns out the fortune teller was an ordinary-looking person who works in a temple. I think it’s a Buddhist temple. But it could’ve been Daoist. The temple was intricately painted in blue, green, red, yellow, white, and black. The colors seemed brighter than similarly painted temples I had seen in China. They told me about some of the various gods and symbols I saw. There were too many to go over everything. I really liked the images of the door guard gods, with they weapons and sitars.
We headed back to Luodong, passing some rather interesting architecture on the way. One building was built of numerous arches and “legs” coming from the building. It reminded me of a crouching spider, but was a governmental building. I never thought bureaucrats could be so hip. Another was the entrance to the beach, or at least one of the entrances. It was a large, bright orange wall shaped like an upside-down isosceles triangle (base facing upward), but as if it had been stuck somewhat deeper into the sand on one side than it had on the other. From it protruded a shelf-like platform. A big square opening, and maybe a window, too, was cut in the orange wall. The last was a large white Arabic palace. It was like we had suddenly landed in Morocco. I think some rich man had just got the urge to build himself a palace, and so he had, squeezing it in with the local shops and Buddhist temples.
I brought my scooter home, driving slowly and led by my dedicated LETs and slooowly walked it down a rather steep ramp (for a scooter) into the parking garage.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)