On Thursday morning we stumbled back to the mansion to catch an hour or two of sleep, then check out and take the shinkansen to Kyoto. Checking out shouldn’t take that long, we reasoned. Wrong… True to our normal fashion, we were late getting out the door that morning, the urgency of the situation not fully dawning on us until we realized that we had to go to another building to check out…with shinkansen tickets departing in an hour. We decided to split up, sending Vince and Christine to the mansion office to check out while the rest of us, lugging their luggage along with ours (although the bulk of it had already been sent ahead by a takkyubin delivery service), went ahead to Tokyo Station to get on the shinkansen. We made it with about ten minutes to spare, but as the minutes ticked by it seemed less and less likely that they could join us.
Finally we get a cell phone call from them as they arrived at Tokyo station—with the shinkansen leaving in one minute. Tim gave them directions and told them to hurry…but soon the doors closed and we started off from Tokyo, wondering if they’d made it. After a while we get a message from them saying they’re “on the train, in car 7”. We were in car 7, and we didn’t see them, so we were a bit confused; did they get on the wrong train? Eventually we got it all straightened out: they were able to catch the next train a few minutes after ours, but we had a nice stressful start to the day.
The shinkansen was nice—an incredibly smooth ride, though not really as fast as I was hoping (like I should be complaining though—Tokyo to Kyoto in three hours is no small feat). I fell asleep for most of it though, which is really too bad because I bet the scenery was nice. We emerged at Kyoto station to wait for them…and wait…until we get a message saying they had already left Kyoto for the hotel. WTF? Really… The term Camille used was janky, but I really wouldn’t have cared so much were I not lugging around Christine’s bag.
So we made another Bad Decision: why shell out money for a taxi when we could just take the subway? I don’t know who decided Kyoto subway stations didn’t need escalators, but I was cursing the architects by the time the day was done. We got to Shijo station searching for an exit—any exit—that had an escalator or elevator for luggage, but alas, we had to just lug our bags up a whole lot of steps. And unlike the subways in places like New York, Taipei, or Tokyo, these stops were fond of concealing just how many steps there were by having you turn about three or four times on the way up. Lesson learned: the subway is best traveled with light baggage.
We emerged into daylight in downtown Kyoto, under the covered arcades of Shijo (Fourth Street)’s shopping district, McDonald’s and Mos Burger (mmm…Mos Burger…) gleaming in the sunlight. The hotel turned out to be a lot farther from the subway stop than it looked on the map but we eventually made it there too.
Our first night there they took us to a great Japanese (well, duh…) restaurant where we sat in a tatami room eating sushi and tempura. Ohh, it was soo good… and, of course, free. The next day we trekked across the Kamo River to the Stanford Center. Kyoto really is a beautiful city on foot. An extensive network of canals and streams meant we were walking along water most of the distance, under blooming trees…so much more springlike than the Michigan I’d left behind nearly a month ago.
Sunday, April 27
In Tokyo we were returning to what should have been more familiar ground—we’d all been studying Japanese for a year and a half so we should have basic competency. When we got off the plane and went through customs, though, they detained us while they tried to figure out what our visas meant. We played gaijin though, not wanting to raise suspicions. That is to say, we forgot most of our Japanese. But after a few calls up and down the immigration hierarchy, they eventually concluded we weren’t part of an evil terrorist group staying on a six-month visa and let us in. By this point our luggage was the only bags left, and a crowd of JAL agents had gathered to see whose it was. The four of us finally showed up and they were delighted to watch us struggle to get them onto luggage carts. I pointed at Christine’s bodybag and said, “Okii sugiru” (It’s too big) and they all replied in unison: Okii sugiru!
After a while we did manage to get our luggage sent to the weekly mansion where we were staying and get on a train to Shinjuku station. It was a nice comfortable ride.
Shinjuku station is a freaking madhouse. Imagine if Caltrain, BART, Amtrak, and the Muni all came into the same station. (Then imagine if everyone actually used those systems.) According to my trusty Lonely Planet, two million people per day pass through that station (or one million go through twice a day…). The station also has a ton of restaurants and two eight-floor department stores. The signage is confusing and naming these depaatos after train lines is frequently done so if you’re not careful you end up in second floor menswear. (Hmm…this train station seems to be made of marble…wait a minute…)
It turns out that Shinjuku station is connected to this vast underground labyrinth of shops and walkways to many of the major skyscrapers in Nishi-Shinjuku. It actually spans most of the distance to the next subway station, so many people can walk from their office to the subway without seeing the light of day.
To make it more confusing, there are two subway networks and at least two rail systems that crisscross Tokyo. But they’re so extensive that most everyone uses them to get around. Rush hour is pretty scary—you don’t so much get on the train as get moved on, involuntarily.
At Shinjuku a kindly Japanese lady walked us most of the way to our transfer, and we met up with Vince at the station near our mansion. Mansion is somewhat of a misnomer… it wasn’t so much a mansion as a tiny two-bedroom apartment. But we fit five people in it without too much trouble. It had a Net connection too…but we weren’t sure what our bandwidth allowance was so we were afraid to use it.
Tokyo was a ton of fun. We went to explore Shibuya with its overpriced stores, and Akihabara, the electronics district. We also met up with some of Tim and Christine’s friends from SJEC, who went to Keio University, so we got to see that campus too.
On Sunday we went to Tokyo Disneyland. It was surreal. Virtually identical to the Disneyland in California—right down to all the English names and signs. But hearing the Pirates of the Caribbean sing in Japanese is just plain weird. We did get to do our hanami though…sadly enough the only cherry blossoms in bloom were in Toontown.
All together now: Chiisai na sekai (literally “small world”), chiisai na sekai, chiisai na sekai; It’s a small world after all…
We also took a trip out to Kamakura to see the Daibutsu (Big Buddha). It was majestic and certainly big… and in true capitalist style you could buy everything from postcards to little Buddha-shaped candies.
On our last day in Tokyo we went to Odaiba, the touristy area near the Rainbow Bridge. I don’t know why it’s called that, and neither did the Keio U students we were with, because the whole thing’s whiter than me. And it doesn’t have a Japanese name—everyone just calls it rainboo buriji. The cheesy touristy thing didn’t end there either—you get on another bridge at the Tokyo Teleport Station to cross over a big highway.
Then we rode a big Ferris wheel at sunset for a nice view of the Tokyo skyline. After this we took test drives in a virtual car simulator (stunt driving mind you, all the Americans already knew how to drive on normal roads). Then we wandered into this mall that looked like something straight out of Vegas—the inside was supposed to resemble the outside of a French market. We ended up getting dinner at this place called Betty’s Bar that was supposed to look like a dusty old American truck stop. It was interesting, shall we say.
When we got back to Shinjuku most everything had already closed. So we decided to go do karaoke—all night long. The first few hours were fun, especially as certain people had certain drinks. I never knew there was a Japanese version of YMCA, called, simply, Yangu Men (Young Men). We exhausted their English collection and ripped through a whole lot of anime and J-pop, plus Dango San Kyodai (Three Rice-Ball Brothers, a kid’s song).
Word of the day: fakkin. I like fakkin. Despite what you might read that as, it’s actually short for faasuto kichin (fast kitchen)—a fast food joint, that’s usually open late. So when we stumbled back out onto the streets at 5 AM, Vince still clutching a half-empty bottle of whisky, where else can you go for breakfast? Fast food really is an art in Japan (it has to compete with the 24-hour konbinis and vending machines that are literally everywhere), and while Americans have come to set much lower standards for fast food’s service, quality, and variety, in Japan it’s been perfected. First Kitchen, for example, has 10 different varieties of furai potato (French, or freedom if you’re feeling nationalistic, fries). And egg muffin sandwiches are far better than McDonald’s.
It doesn’t end there. Matsuya is the bomb. For just 280 yen (US$2.33), you can get a bowl of donburi (rice) with meat. It takes seconds for them to make and it’s pretty damn good. For simplicity’s sake you can get your choice of two drinks: beer or cold ocha (Japanese tea)…or settle for the free water.
Another Tokyo revelation: 100-yen stores. You can get everything from school supplies to snacks, drinks, kitchen stuff, and even underwear if you so desire, all for around 83 US cents. And they seem to be near every major train station. The cheapskate in me is so happy…
After a while we did manage to get our luggage sent to the weekly mansion where we were staying and get on a train to Shinjuku station. It was a nice comfortable ride.
Shinjuku station is a freaking madhouse. Imagine if Caltrain, BART, Amtrak, and the Muni all came into the same station. (Then imagine if everyone actually used those systems.) According to my trusty Lonely Planet, two million people per day pass through that station (or one million go through twice a day…). The station also has a ton of restaurants and two eight-floor department stores. The signage is confusing and naming these depaatos after train lines is frequently done so if you’re not careful you end up in second floor menswear. (Hmm…this train station seems to be made of marble…wait a minute…)
It turns out that Shinjuku station is connected to this vast underground labyrinth of shops and walkways to many of the major skyscrapers in Nishi-Shinjuku. It actually spans most of the distance to the next subway station, so many people can walk from their office to the subway without seeing the light of day.
To make it more confusing, there are two subway networks and at least two rail systems that crisscross Tokyo. But they’re so extensive that most everyone uses them to get around. Rush hour is pretty scary—you don’t so much get on the train as get moved on, involuntarily.
At Shinjuku a kindly Japanese lady walked us most of the way to our transfer, and we met up with Vince at the station near our mansion. Mansion is somewhat of a misnomer… it wasn’t so much a mansion as a tiny two-bedroom apartment. But we fit five people in it without too much trouble. It had a Net connection too…but we weren’t sure what our bandwidth allowance was so we were afraid to use it.
Tokyo was a ton of fun. We went to explore Shibuya with its overpriced stores, and Akihabara, the electronics district. We also met up with some of Tim and Christine’s friends from SJEC, who went to Keio University, so we got to see that campus too.
On Sunday we went to Tokyo Disneyland. It was surreal. Virtually identical to the Disneyland in California—right down to all the English names and signs. But hearing the Pirates of the Caribbean sing in Japanese is just plain weird. We did get to do our hanami though…sadly enough the only cherry blossoms in bloom were in Toontown.
All together now: Chiisai na sekai (literally “small world”), chiisai na sekai, chiisai na sekai; It’s a small world after all…
We also took a trip out to Kamakura to see the Daibutsu (Big Buddha). It was majestic and certainly big… and in true capitalist style you could buy everything from postcards to little Buddha-shaped candies.
On our last day in Tokyo we went to Odaiba, the touristy area near the Rainbow Bridge. I don’t know why it’s called that, and neither did the Keio U students we were with, because the whole thing’s whiter than me. And it doesn’t have a Japanese name—everyone just calls it rainboo buriji. The cheesy touristy thing didn’t end there either—you get on another bridge at the Tokyo Teleport Station to cross over a big highway.
Then we rode a big Ferris wheel at sunset for a nice view of the Tokyo skyline. After this we took test drives in a virtual car simulator (stunt driving mind you, all the Americans already knew how to drive on normal roads). Then we wandered into this mall that looked like something straight out of Vegas—the inside was supposed to resemble the outside of a French market. We ended up getting dinner at this place called Betty’s Bar that was supposed to look like a dusty old American truck stop. It was interesting, shall we say.
When we got back to Shinjuku most everything had already closed. So we decided to go do karaoke—all night long. The first few hours were fun, especially as certain people had certain drinks. I never knew there was a Japanese version of YMCA, called, simply, Yangu Men (Young Men). We exhausted their English collection and ripped through a whole lot of anime and J-pop, plus Dango San Kyodai (Three Rice-Ball Brothers, a kid’s song).
Word of the day: fakkin. I like fakkin. Despite what you might read that as, it’s actually short for faasuto kichin (fast kitchen)—a fast food joint, that’s usually open late. So when we stumbled back out onto the streets at 5 AM, Vince still clutching a half-empty bottle of whisky, where else can you go for breakfast? Fast food really is an art in Japan (it has to compete with the 24-hour konbinis and vending machines that are literally everywhere), and while Americans have come to set much lower standards for fast food’s service, quality, and variety, in Japan it’s been perfected. First Kitchen, for example, has 10 different varieties of furai potato (French, or freedom if you’re feeling nationalistic, fries). And egg muffin sandwiches are far better than McDonald’s.
It doesn’t end there. Matsuya is the bomb. For just 280 yen (US$2.33), you can get a bowl of donburi (rice) with meat. It takes seconds for them to make and it’s pretty damn good. For simplicity’s sake you can get your choice of two drinks: beer or cold ocha (Japanese tea)…or settle for the free water.
Another Tokyo revelation: 100-yen stores. You can get everything from school supplies to snacks, drinks, kitchen stuff, and even underwear if you so desire, all for around 83 US cents. And they seem to be near every major train station. The cheapskate in me is so happy…
Taipei has this big electronics market we went to. It’s all in one building, with lots of vendors crammed into small spaces. Upstairs are computers and related gadgetry, downstairs are manga and porn. In short, everything your basic computer geek could want—and all for cheap. Granted, lots of the software was counterfeit or illegal to sell. But it was all cheap. There were places where you could buy blank CDs in bulk, in a dizzying array of colors and patterns—and places where you could get 10-disc duplicators for all your “backup” needs.
We were looking for a SmartMedia card (known to the locals as an SM Card) for Camille, among other things. I didn’t speak any Mandarin but still I went up to a bunch of clerks, made a little card with my fingers, and said “SM card?”. I got lots of blank stares till Tim translated: “SM caa”. I don’t see how the two are that different; back at Best Buy I used to get far more mangled requests that even I could decipher. But when I asked for an “SM caa” I got even more blank looks. I swear it’s the gaijin thing—just trying to make the foreigners sweat.
The next Wednesday we went to Wulai, a beautiful area up in the mountains. It was pouring rain but that only made the waterfalls even more amazing. I cursed myself for forgetting to charge my camera battery but trust me, it was incredible. Tim’s aunt went with us and kept marching on ahead while we lagged behind, hampered by Christine’s shoes and Camille’s newfound desire to take pictures of everything, having just gotten a big SM card a few days earlier. But I can’t complain, given the time it gave me to enjoy the views…and the fact that I got copies of her photos anyway.
When we got back to the bus stop to wait for the bus to take us down the mountain it was nowhere to be seen. We were with this group of little old Taiwanese ladies who eventually noticed that the bus was in fact parked right next to the stop. So a mob of them went to go investigate and found the driver asleep inside the bus. Picture these ladies growing increasingly militant, banging on the doors, demanding to let us get on the bus. I wouldn’t mess with a mob like that.
Thursday we left Taiwan, with one car taking us and one taking just our luggage. I’ve been on enough group trips to become a firm believer in the idea that if you can’t carry it yourself—nee, even lift the bag, you shouldn’t have packed it. Needless to say, Tim and I ended up as pack mules for Christine, who somehow managed to pack what I like to call a body bag so big she easily could have fit inside. She somehow also managed to go over the JAL weight limit of 70 kg per bag. That’s more than she weighs…
There were amazingly few masks worn in the airport that day—but we all wore ours. JAL pampered us for a few more hours, till we got to Tokyo.
We were looking for a SmartMedia card (known to the locals as an SM Card) for Camille, among other things. I didn’t speak any Mandarin but still I went up to a bunch of clerks, made a little card with my fingers, and said “SM card?”. I got lots of blank stares till Tim translated: “SM caa”. I don’t see how the two are that different; back at Best Buy I used to get far more mangled requests that even I could decipher. But when I asked for an “SM caa” I got even more blank looks. I swear it’s the gaijin thing—just trying to make the foreigners sweat.
The next Wednesday we went to Wulai, a beautiful area up in the mountains. It was pouring rain but that only made the waterfalls even more amazing. I cursed myself for forgetting to charge my camera battery but trust me, it was incredible. Tim’s aunt went with us and kept marching on ahead while we lagged behind, hampered by Christine’s shoes and Camille’s newfound desire to take pictures of everything, having just gotten a big SM card a few days earlier. But I can’t complain, given the time it gave me to enjoy the views…and the fact that I got copies of her photos anyway.
When we got back to the bus stop to wait for the bus to take us down the mountain it was nowhere to be seen. We were with this group of little old Taiwanese ladies who eventually noticed that the bus was in fact parked right next to the stop. So a mob of them went to go investigate and found the driver asleep inside the bus. Picture these ladies growing increasingly militant, banging on the doors, demanding to let us get on the bus. I wouldn’t mess with a mob like that.
Thursday we left Taiwan, with one car taking us and one taking just our luggage. I’ve been on enough group trips to become a firm believer in the idea that if you can’t carry it yourself—nee, even lift the bag, you shouldn’t have packed it. Needless to say, Tim and I ended up as pack mules for Christine, who somehow managed to pack what I like to call a body bag so big she easily could have fit inside. She somehow also managed to go over the JAL weight limit of 70 kg per bag. That’s more than she weighs…
There were amazingly few masks worn in the airport that day—but we all wore ours. JAL pampered us for a few more hours, till we got to Tokyo.
Thursday, April 17
Last Sunday yet another of Tim’s cousins drove us to Hsinchu to meet up with Christine and her family. The trip should have taken only a few hours, but it ended up taking six. We stopped every two hours along the way for—what else—food. Taiwanese rest areas are like tourist attractions in themselves. I thought the ones on the Ohio Turnpike were nice… these were like miniature malls, complete with gift shops and little convenience stores. More cheap delicious pastries and food! By the time we got there the night was shot.
Monday we wandered around to forage for food before heading back to Taipei. The sanitary conditions (or the lack thereof) were really getting to us so we ate at this funky wannabe French café that specialized in spaghetti. We were the only gaijin there. Not surprising, considering we managed to avoid the McDonald’s and KFC nearby. There are even counterfeit food chains—there’s a DFC that also sells fried chicken…
Tuesday we went to Danshui, this touristy little town on the sea north of Taipei. It was nice to get slightly less smoggy air for a few hours. Of course, smog/fog from the city obscured what would have been a great view of the mountains across the water. We started off walking through a street market with so much cheap food we literally kept a constant supply of treats and drinks the entire length of the street, stopping each time we finished the last snack to get another. Some stores had authentic-looking aboriginal crafts (except, perhaps, for the cell-phone charms). Others had really bizarre kitschy stuff—like one that sold little ceramic figurines of pigs. But these pigs were wearing clothes. Or partially at least. So you could tell they were anatomically correct…for humans. Let’s just say they had a variety of different sexual poses and leave it at that.
We saw a sign for some sort of red castle with stairs leading up to a prime vantage point on a hillside for watching the sunset. So we climbed all 106 steps thinking it was some sort of historical site. And indeed it was a nice little castle…but it had been turned into a café. We went upstairs to sit outside and enjoy the view and take pictures, but this turned out to be a relatively expensive place. We were set to order tiramisu (for the price of a whole meal elsewhere in Taiwan) so we wouldn’t just be mooching off the place. But they had a minimum meal amount you had to pay to sit there. It was only US$3, but it’s the principle of the thing—getting ripped off on food just to see a sunset. We walked out, with big neon CHEAP BASTARD signs over our heads.
Monday we wandered around to forage for food before heading back to Taipei. The sanitary conditions (or the lack thereof) were really getting to us so we ate at this funky wannabe French café that specialized in spaghetti. We were the only gaijin there. Not surprising, considering we managed to avoid the McDonald’s and KFC nearby. There are even counterfeit food chains—there’s a DFC that also sells fried chicken…
Tuesday we went to Danshui, this touristy little town on the sea north of Taipei. It was nice to get slightly less smoggy air for a few hours. Of course, smog/fog from the city obscured what would have been a great view of the mountains across the water. We started off walking through a street market with so much cheap food we literally kept a constant supply of treats and drinks the entire length of the street, stopping each time we finished the last snack to get another. Some stores had authentic-looking aboriginal crafts (except, perhaps, for the cell-phone charms). Others had really bizarre kitschy stuff—like one that sold little ceramic figurines of pigs. But these pigs were wearing clothes. Or partially at least. So you could tell they were anatomically correct…for humans. Let’s just say they had a variety of different sexual poses and leave it at that.
We saw a sign for some sort of red castle with stairs leading up to a prime vantage point on a hillside for watching the sunset. So we climbed all 106 steps thinking it was some sort of historical site. And indeed it was a nice little castle…but it had been turned into a café. We went upstairs to sit outside and enjoy the view and take pictures, but this turned out to be a relatively expensive place. We were set to order tiramisu (for the price of a whole meal elsewhere in Taiwan) so we wouldn’t just be mooching off the place. But they had a minimum meal amount you had to pay to sit there. It was only US$3, but it’s the principle of the thing—getting ripped off on food just to see a sunset. We walked out, with big neon CHEAP BASTARD signs over our heads.
Sunday, April 13
Last Friday was a marathon sightseeing day in southern Taiwan with Uncle Vito’s wife and kids, mostly in the former capital of Tainan. It was raining but we plodded on undeterred. We saw a beautiful old temple, with nifty detailed dragons on the rooftop, a pot of incense burning, and a nice garden outside. Then we hit what most consider to be the Big Three historical sites in Taiwan: Chikan Tower, An-Ping Fort, and the Eternal Castle. The Tower was really nifty, built 400 years ago as a Dutch fort and embellished later with gardens, stone carvings, and tablets. An-Ping Fort was almost as impressive, and also a Dutch fort, more structurally than aesthetically though. The Eternal Castle wasn’t so eternal; it was basically a bunch of ruins. Maybe it was because it started raining really hard at this point, but it just didn’t seem that exciting. Outside there were Falun Dafa activists handing out propaganda and a big sign that read, in English and Chinese, “FALUN DAFA IS GOOD”, which was interesting.
Food is cheap in Taiwan. So Tim’s relatives stopped every hour to eat. And they refused to let us pay for any of the food. It was like traveling with a bunch of grandmothers… That night we went to a KTV, the Taiwanese version of karaoke. We got our own private room (Uncle Vito’s an investor apparently) and once we convinced them to go load the English CDs we were able to get in a few 80’s songs we knew. Tim’s cousins did plenty of Mando-pop though, which they seemed to enjoy immensely. At one point the police burst into our room and checked Vito’s ID. If there were ever a time we thought he really was a mob boos that was it. Apparently KTVs have a sketchy reputation for prostitution, drug sales, and the like. Ah well… outside there were half a dozen cop cars lined up for what must have been a big tip or something.
Last Saturday was a national holiday, on which the Taiwanese go to clean the tombs of their ancestors. We made traditional spring rolls with Tim’s family, a once-a-year event. Oh, they were soo good. Then we got ready to go to his grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ gravesites.
Camille and I thought this might have been a private family matter but Tim assured us no one would mind, and we could even take pictures. So we loaded up the car with a ton of food, to be offered for use in the afterlife, and headed off. Taiwanese gravesites are no simple tombstones; they’re elaborate stone terraces with pictures and stories of the deceased, and they’re apparently maintained by the living each year. Tim’s aunt asked us gaijin if we’d like to go take a walk. Not wanting to offend her by appearing bored, we told her we’d like to stay and watch.
We started off by burning incense and ghost money—paper decorated to look like money but for use in the afterlife. Then she came back to us and asked us to go for a walk with her—this was when I realized we might have been intruding. We walked for maybe a hundred meters, then she turned to us and said, “I go back now. You two can keep walking.” Subtle she is. Later his uncle brought the kids out to see us, so we figured they might be done. But no, he took them back to the site, telling us, “You stay here.” It was an awkward day, to say the least. But it ended with sweet creamy Taiwanese ice cream—like Coldstone, almost. Mmm… ice cream…
Food is cheap in Taiwan. So Tim’s relatives stopped every hour to eat. And they refused to let us pay for any of the food. It was like traveling with a bunch of grandmothers… That night we went to a KTV, the Taiwanese version of karaoke. We got our own private room (Uncle Vito’s an investor apparently) and once we convinced them to go load the English CDs we were able to get in a few 80’s songs we knew. Tim’s cousins did plenty of Mando-pop though, which they seemed to enjoy immensely. At one point the police burst into our room and checked Vito’s ID. If there were ever a time we thought he really was a mob boos that was it. Apparently KTVs have a sketchy reputation for prostitution, drug sales, and the like. Ah well… outside there were half a dozen cop cars lined up for what must have been a big tip or something.
Last Saturday was a national holiday, on which the Taiwanese go to clean the tombs of their ancestors. We made traditional spring rolls with Tim’s family, a once-a-year event. Oh, they were soo good. Then we got ready to go to his grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ gravesites.
Camille and I thought this might have been a private family matter but Tim assured us no one would mind, and we could even take pictures. So we loaded up the car with a ton of food, to be offered for use in the afterlife, and headed off. Taiwanese gravesites are no simple tombstones; they’re elaborate stone terraces with pictures and stories of the deceased, and they’re apparently maintained by the living each year. Tim’s aunt asked us gaijin if we’d like to go take a walk. Not wanting to offend her by appearing bored, we told her we’d like to stay and watch.
We started off by burning incense and ghost money—paper decorated to look like money but for use in the afterlife. Then she came back to us and asked us to go for a walk with her—this was when I realized we might have been intruding. We walked for maybe a hundred meters, then she turned to us and said, “I go back now. You two can keep walking.” Subtle she is. Later his uncle brought the kids out to see us, so we figured they might be done. But no, he took them back to the site, telling us, “You stay here.” It was an awkward day, to say the least. But it ended with sweet creamy Taiwanese ice cream—like Coldstone, almost. Mmm… ice cream…
Monday, April 7
Taiwan. Touch your heart. Or so say the touristy signs scattered through out the island. It’s quite a place I must say.
Wednesday we explored the National Palace Museum in Taipei, which was beautiful; the grounds looked like an actual palace. It had a huge collection of Chinese art, pottery, and inscriptions. We got to see the ancient predecessors to characters like mother and how they evolved into the ones used today.
We went to our first night market Wednesday night. All these street vendors cram into any space available on the street along a few city blocks to hawk their wares—from pottery to bootleg CDs—at ridiculously cheap prices. The streets get so congested the cops come every now and then, forcing the vendors in the middle of the street to flee down dark alleys until it’s safe to return minutes later. It’s a sensory assault, with neon glowing from the storefronts and blinking lights and the smell of fried donuts mixing with incense from another table, exhaust from the occasional moped who tries to force through the street, and stinking tofu, which I still can’t disassociate with the raw sewage I once smelled in Tennessee.
Everything is dirt cheap—especially the clothes. Where else can you get a genuine Abcidas sports bag for only US$5? Or a Chanel Paris bag marked “Do not remove from store”? But apparently English is quite a fashion statement. Even reputable stores like the Net (which suspiciously looks a lot like the Gap) carry shirts printed in English, from basic messages like American Style to those with simple but blatant typos to those that simply make no sense (“RNEY: A Product Hist About Ory About A Product”). But the English need not even be complete phrases; we saw plenty of hats and shirts that were just collages of random English words. So it makes sense that you could take it one step further and just throw random letters from our alphabet onto a shirt and call it cool. By far the best find of the night though was a pair of panties with the word FUCK printed on them. Pics of all of these should be in the Taipei gallery soon.
Thursday we took a bus down to visit another of Tim’s uncles’ families in Hsinyin, down south in the tropics (literally). It was definitely tropical…if by tropical you mean rainy. The Taiwan long distance buses are no Greyhounds… they’re like La-Z-Boys on wheels. Massaging La-Z-Boys. With personal video monitors. Makes the Marguerite look like a ghetto banger.
Wednesday we explored the National Palace Museum in Taipei, which was beautiful; the grounds looked like an actual palace. It had a huge collection of Chinese art, pottery, and inscriptions. We got to see the ancient predecessors to characters like mother and how they evolved into the ones used today.
We went to our first night market Wednesday night. All these street vendors cram into any space available on the street along a few city blocks to hawk their wares—from pottery to bootleg CDs—at ridiculously cheap prices. The streets get so congested the cops come every now and then, forcing the vendors in the middle of the street to flee down dark alleys until it’s safe to return minutes later. It’s a sensory assault, with neon glowing from the storefronts and blinking lights and the smell of fried donuts mixing with incense from another table, exhaust from the occasional moped who tries to force through the street, and stinking tofu, which I still can’t disassociate with the raw sewage I once smelled in Tennessee.
Everything is dirt cheap—especially the clothes. Where else can you get a genuine Abcidas sports bag for only US$5? Or a Chanel Paris bag marked “Do not remove from store”? But apparently English is quite a fashion statement. Even reputable stores like the Net (which suspiciously looks a lot like the Gap) carry shirts printed in English, from basic messages like American Style to those with simple but blatant typos to those that simply make no sense (“RNEY: A Product Hist About Ory About A Product”). But the English need not even be complete phrases; we saw plenty of hats and shirts that were just collages of random English words. So it makes sense that you could take it one step further and just throw random letters from our alphabet onto a shirt and call it cool. By far the best find of the night though was a pair of panties with the word FUCK printed on them. Pics of all of these should be in the Taipei gallery soon.
Thursday we took a bus down to visit another of Tim’s uncles’ families in Hsinyin, down south in the tropics (literally). It was definitely tropical…if by tropical you mean rainy. The Taiwan long distance buses are no Greyhounds… they’re like La-Z-Boys on wheels. Massaging La-Z-Boys. With personal video monitors. Makes the Marguerite look like a ghetto banger.
Wednesday, April 2
Well, after some 13 hours of flying, I made it to Taipei. I'm sitting here in a cheap Internet cafe pounding on this grimey keyboard (it looks not unlike an ashtray, actually), but I'm only paying US$1.50 for the priviledge. Lots of stuff is dirt cheap here--we just got a pretty good traditional Taiwanese breakfast for four people for US$5. And next week we're going to hunt down cheap RAM straight from the local chip makers. Yay Taiwan...
Monday's ten-hour flight to Tokyo wasn't that bad really... if you sleep as much as I did. I've never been so pampered on a coach flight. Flight attendants kept bringing us hot towels, snacks, and microwaved chicken teriyaki. Plus we had our own personal video gadgets and movies to watch.
We landed in Taipei at night, at the considerably more ghetto Chiang Kai-Shek Airport. As soon as we stepped off the plane we were surrounded by masked locals. Paranoia about SARS is running high here; one 70-year-old man who thought he might have it jumped off a bridge (it turned out he was recovering from a flu he caught a month ago). We only donned ours till we got out of the airport. There are still a few running around the streets with face masks of varying elaborateness and stylishness. But given how much pollution and smoke there is here it might not be a bad policy, SARS or no SARS.
My time here is running out so that's all for now... a plethora of pictures will be coming soon to my Website. I'm dangerous when armed with a digicam and 64MB CompactFlash card...
Monday's ten-hour flight to Tokyo wasn't that bad really... if you sleep as much as I did. I've never been so pampered on a coach flight. Flight attendants kept bringing us hot towels, snacks, and microwaved chicken teriyaki. Plus we had our own personal video gadgets and movies to watch.
We landed in Taipei at night, at the considerably more ghetto Chiang Kai-Shek Airport. As soon as we stepped off the plane we were surrounded by masked locals. Paranoia about SARS is running high here; one 70-year-old man who thought he might have it jumped off a bridge (it turned out he was recovering from a flu he caught a month ago). We only donned ours till we got out of the airport. There are still a few running around the streets with face masks of varying elaborateness and stylishness. But given how much pollution and smoke there is here it might not be a bad policy, SARS or no SARS.
My time here is running out so that's all for now... a plethora of pictures will be coming soon to my Website. I'm dangerous when armed with a digicam and 64MB CompactFlash card...
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