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.