through the peephole

As a new resident to the Jing, I soon realized my pad wasn’t going to be that lulling haven of privacy and personal space I had naively imagined – luckily I was eased in gently.

My first landlord, Mr. Li, was a pensioner, and relatively averse to climbing the seventy-odd steps to reach my door. The rare burst of enthusiasm, would of course find him passing through in the wee hours with a team of camera-laden surveyors ready to profile the walls – ‘support evidence’ for damage claims caused by new constructions. In these grandiose intrusions, we would quickly become pajama-clad wall-flowers, and try to avoid the bright flashes. As time passed, I came to consider the occasional loss of space a fair trade for old Mr. Li’s genuine kindness. Lost keys would have him wandering the streets at midnight looking for a locksmith, and my rent-paying occasionally culminated in a drunken ballad.

Mr. Li however, was no training ground for my SanLiTun love-shack collective – ruled over by Li Jie and her troupe of over-sexed cats. It was late one night when I was frying eggs and contemplating reality, that a blinding flash filled the window. A color-wolf! An egg-flipping voyeur! A pervert with a stick-on beard! My claims had my macho-man racing out to accost the offender. Finding Li Jie outside the front-door, he recounted the event. It was then that she unabashedly announced she was just feeling a bit snap-happy; and the Mexican took an extended moment, outside in his slippers, to contemplate a new reality shared with Li Jie.

Another unusual visit soon followed, in which Li Jie attempted to accost some of our household items: old slippers, a rice-steamer, a large kitchen-knife … Spurned on by these visits, the disappearance of a lucky, red paper Fu, and too much Hollywood, a few paranoias began to emerge. A string of 3am phone calls, an hour of banging on our walls, and a blackout, had us huddled, trembling in the dark – waiting for it all to stop. Sweet daylight brought me to the realization that the faulty power-switch was behind our couch; we were to blame for the collective blackout … and maybe Li Jie just wanted her heater to work, not to murder us …

Another series of power-cuts late one afternoon had Li Jie trundling back and forth in front of our apartment. In role as a neighbourhood detective, the Mexican was spying on Li Jie through the door-viewer. He was fortunate enough a witness her ensuing struggle to dislodge our Christmas wreath. Li Jie, caught red-handed, temporarily froze, dropped the wreath, claimed it was for our safety, and scooted out.

Since then, Li Jie has been lying low; and it has become just as likely she will find me peering through her window with binoculars, as I will find her. I remain suspicious that when we’re out of town, she (or at least the cats) loll about in the love-shack, use the rice steamer, and languish in the warmth, but in a strange way, I am becoming ever more comfortable with the idea.


For the massacred version of this article in print: Urbane China, Habitat, February 2008.
*

la familia comunista

¡VIVA LA REVOLUCIÓN!

*

"mass teacher extermination"

I received the following e-mail from one of my current workplaces in Beijing. It is an excellent example of how 'workers rights' are not part of the Chinese vocabulary, and why China needs English schools. Please note that a complete list of the evaluation scores were included!

Check Your Place In The Competition: Should be known!

Ladys and Gentlemen,

Teaching Department will eliminate 10 teachers at the beginning of February. We will add your December evaluation score into the January one and get a total ranking from the highest score. The last 10 people will be eliminated from 15th,Feb.

Those who always rank in the top 3 will have more chances to get a raise and those who are always in the last 5 of the ranking will be cut the class' hours or salaries. This will not include the teachers who did not participate in December evaluations.

Please pay attention and Good luck! Peace, Jacy

My favourite part is still the well-wishing at the end! As you can imagine this e-mail was met with widespread discontent. Here are some of the responses:

1. Make that nine teachers. This is my two week notice. Jivan

2. Correction, make that 8 teachers. This is also my 2 week notice. Ryan

3. Hello Jacy, I take it the ten eliminated will not include those that sleep with, bribe or otherwise coerce their students which is the reason why they are at the top of this list. This is a very bold action resulting in some very good teachers being lost. But I understand the business side of it. Regards, Gerald
*

1.5 million pre-olympic evictions

Olympic related ‘urban transformation’ has displaced more than 2 million people in the last 20 years. In a bid not to let the team down, China is making every effort to violate the housing rights of 1.5 million Beijingers pre-Olympics.

Districts targeted for development and evictions include: (in alphabetical order) Dongcheng, Chaoyang, Chongwen, Fengtai, Haidian, Shijingshan, Xicheng and Xuanwu – most of the city. Human Rights groups have claimed: the evictions are characterized by a lack of formal process; and that tenants are often given little or no notice, and little or no compensation.

It is not uncommon to hear about, or even see, cases of tenants refusing to leave their homes, despite new constructions being approved, and demolition of the site being initiated. These last ‘strongholds’ can be seen clinging to a way of life, even as the rest of a building crumbles around them.

What we can hope to find at the dawn of the Olympics is a spanking new city, full of office buildings, shopping centres, modern apartment complexes, and newly widened roads, overlaying the Beijing that was – its dusty, picturesque alleys, full of hutongs and small-time vendors.


.gongtiyuchan dajie, sanlitun (foto: noveno colectivo)
*

montage of first impressions

it is us. we are dreaming together again – soaring through the sky wrapped in the promises of a hanging full moon. the night has us gently in her palm, but soon she will tire – and leave us to tumble through the darkness …

down, down, to a place where our thoughts and words will be stolen by the roaring of a dying muffler, and our eyes will be filled with the stories of other dreamers, and the night cows who graze sleepily in the quiet hours.


in blinding heat we see flashes of jasmine and marigolds, ripened fruits fermenting on the roadside, and the sandy earth stirring, awaiting the violence of the monsoon. as i turn my head, india turns herself upside-down – the winds of saris sweeping the streets with golden dust.

my hands touch her first, wrists bound in jingling bangles, and palms stained with ash-orange henna. i cover my hair, lower my eyes, and disappear. in sarojini nagar he opens his eyes and looks up. i am no longer me, but her, and he is no longer him, but them.

*

做文明北京人: civilization campaigns

"It is crucial that the public should strive to desert all uncivilized behavior, and work vigorously toward creating a civilized and harmonious society to host a successful Olympic games."

– 2008 Olympic committee President Liu Qi

Pre-Olympic ‘Civilize China’ or ‘Wen Ming’ Campaigns are in many ways no more than a repeat of China’s historical purges – without the public killings. ‘Civilization’ is being imposed with a heavy hand from the government, for the sole purpose of ‘saving face’ when the foreign devils descend upon the city.

Eradicating behaviours such as: littering, foul language, spitting in public areas, smoking, line-cutting, and wrongful conduct at sports events, are now under the jurisdiction of the Government’s Capital Spiritual Civilization Office. The introduction of a 50RMB fine for spitting in public is just one of the government’s new initiatives.

During the past year, mass-mail outs reaching millions have informed citizens about what is now considered ‘proper conduct.’ Additionally, service sector workers such as taxi drivers, shop assistants and bus conductors, along with civil servants have been given ‘civilization training courses.’ The 11th day of every month is now ‘lining-up day;’ and to emulate the attractive, symmetrical lines of the number 11, citizens are encouraged to board public transport in an orderly fashion.

On a more sinister note, a number of taxi drivers are now being sent out in civvies to spy on their colleagues. These ‘undercover agents’ have been put in place to ensure appropriate taxi conduct, and fine the offenders 200RMB (about 10 percent of their monthly wage). Of course there is no excuse for poor conduct, when you consider the notices displayed on every glove-box, reminding the driver that being ‘civilized’ means: brushing your teeth, bathing each day, and changing your clothes regularly.

In a further initiative, petrol multinational Sinopec has masterminded a privately-run campaign aimed at civilizing the Jing’s drivers. More than a sixth of the capital’s drivers have agreed to be secretly filmed, in the hope of making it through ten minutes of civilized driving. Ten road-rage free minutes caught on camera rewards the driver with 200RMB worth of fuel, a 300RMB carwash, and televised glory. Uncivilized driving is treated with televised humiliation.

Overall, we are left wondering if the Government’s campaigns will have any real, lasting effect after the heat of the Olympics passes, and just how ‘civilized’ it is, to enforce ‘civilized’ behaviour.


.sanlitun billboard: be a civilized beijinger for a great olympics!
*

safety: always on the agenda

.free-style cabling outside sanlitun jinkelong (a local supermarket)


.the close-up ... don't be afraid!
*

beijing bike

.free-style parking beijing
*

oxymetazoline love

Since moving to Beijing I have reclaimed my former Taipei status as an oxymetazoline junkie – each day my sanity ever more reliant on the sweet congestive release proffered by this bitter nasal spray. I’m not a physician (or a psychologist), but I’m recognizing a pattern of congestion and dependency related to my residencies in polluted Asian capitals; capitals which render me vulnerable through their overpopulation of inhalable particles.

With oxymetazoline as my savior, I have not been forced to don a space-age air mask; nor join the China Smokers Collective, which in its grassroot efforts to avoid breathing in air pollutants consumes 3 million ciggies a minute. It is my firm belief that many Chinese have come to realize the best way to avoid being one of the 400,000 destined to die a premature death from air pollution each year, is to take fate into their own hands, and become one of the million who die from smoking.

In this era of pre-Olympic transformative development madness, the Chinese government has never been under more pressure to hide both their air pollutants and smokers – at least in the Jing. At first glance it seems impossible, and more than a small conundrum to find a place to put sixteen of the world’s twenty most polluted cities, and a third of the world’s smokers, unaccustomed to regulation. But, luckily for China and the Olympics, the Chinese Government has never been one to shy away from mass-scale implementations, and the looming threat that a crime as small as handbag theft could lead to execution, works wonders in keeping people on the right side of the law.

One relatively successful government policy has been to shut-down (or relocate) a number of central city factories, in an “if you can’t see the air pollution it doesn’t exist” style ploy. It has now been a year since the largest offender, responsible for half of the Jing’s air pollution, disappeared off the skyline, rendering the vision of clear-ish skies. Admittedly the rays are sometimes a muddy-blue or hazy-jaffa, but opposed to popular international opinion, sunlight is a more regular feature than smog on the Jing’s weather chart.

Unfortunately for the government and their regulation enforcement limitations, the wind roams freely; so whilst one day might be relatively clear, with a pollution rating of 50 (25 is safe), a day later, with a change in wind direction, the pollution rating can skyrocket to 500. On these doomsdays, with a sky radiating a dark orangey-grey, the government tends to issue warnings that the children and elderly stay indoors. Incidentally, a number of “warning-rating days” in Beijing coincided with my re-found dependency on oxymetazoline, which depending on how you want to look at it, may be either a physical or psychological reaction to air pollution.

Luckily, we have recently been granted a new outdoor safe zone, as all the Jing’s taxis have been converted into no-smoking areas – one of China’s pre-Olympic “Civilize China Campaigns.” Before this momentous occasion, leaving your apartment was a choice of traversing smog-filled streets with dangerous inhalable particles, or travelling in a confined space full of cigarette fumes. More unfortunate news is at bay for China’s smokers however, as a double government whammy will outlaw hocking up the pollutants and spitting them onto the sidewalk, in a new incentive to hide the air pollution. From now until the Olympics every Chinese citizen will be required to permanently ingest their fair share of inhalable particles!
*

protests in the air pollution capital

.street art around sanlitun: protests in the world's 'air pollution capital'

EVERY DAY IN CHINA ...
24 new skyscrapers are opened
2,074 new cars are sold in Beijing alone
1,000 premature deaths are attributed to air pollution
*

the art of roach war

"Apartment sharing in Beijing often refers to living with a plague of anarchic roaches. They live in squats, hide out in the walls, and chortle about the hysteria that always accompanies their timely raids ..."

Check out the rest of my article: the art of roach war, in: Urbane China, Habitat, January 2008.

*

architect extraordinaire

Architects in China are having a field day in China’s pre-Olympic development boom. For all those architects who felt their ‘art’ was being thwarted for more practical concerns, Beijing has become their second-home. It would seem the key phrases they have in mind are:

PSYCHADELIC VISUAL POLLUTION
EYE-SORE EXTRAORDINAIRE!
*glistening fairy-tale pumpkin*
& SAFETY IS NOT ON THE AGENDA!

EXHIBIT I: The leaning towers of Beijing will become the new home to CCTV - China Central Television Headquarters. When the project finishes, the buildings will reach a height of 230 metres, with a 60 degree lean (20 degrees more than Pisa), culminating in a 90 degree bend across the top! I say: good luck to the 10,000 people going to work there everyday ... The Jing may soon need some new TV journos.

.the leaning towers on their way to completion ...

EXHIBIT 2: Sanlitun's 'Fairytale Pumpkin Palace' or as the architect's have coined it: "the cradle of the rejuvenation of the entire village." When the Village is complete, it will house over 20 four-story retail blocks, a boutique hotel, a cinema complex, bars, restaurants, and the world's biggest Adidas store.


.the windows glisten a brilliant orange in the afternoon sun!


.venturing into the fairytale pumpkin!
*

taiwan sweets: ai yu

.ai-yu seeds are set into cooling jellies in the summer.

Although it may seem improbable, ai-yu seeds, mixed with water, actually turn into a delicious jelly. It is believed that ai-yu cools the body down, and calms yang energy.

To prepare ai yu tie up the seeds in a cloth bag, and drop the bag into a bowl of cold water. You need to rub the bag with your hands for about ten minutes to help the seeds produce their jelly-like substance. Place the ai-yu water in the freezer, and leave it for half an hour to set. It is served with lemon and sugar.

*

penghu: ugly island

I recently dragged my menopausal mother to the PENGHU Islands in the Taiwanese Strait. Lonely Planet claims Penghu is a ‘popular summertime destination for its white sandy beaches, swimming, camping, windsurfing and beautiful coral beaches,’ and ‘a trip through history with its preserved fishing villages and beautiful temples.’ Other claims are the islands have a beautiful, windswept landscape contrasting from Taiwan’s mountainous tropics.

After a four day sentence we have renamed Penghu UGLY ISLAND, primarily for its barren landscape of debris and trash, but also for its devastating lack of trees and geographical contrast. Flat, empty, and covered in mutilated pine tree stumps. Contrary to Lonely Planet’s claims that camping is permitted, Penghu is a strategic and contentious military base located between Taiwan and China. Military training programs mean no beach access, so we spent the first night in a fluorescent-lit, mosquito-filled, white-tiled room. To escape impending claustrophobia, we ventured to the annual Fireworks Festival/Mother’s Day Variety Show with a crowd of 30,000 (great for my Australian mother who thinks Mother’s Day is a day for everyone else to piss off and give her some long deserved peace). The event coincided with the birthday of a very important god (obviously), because he was made entirely of glowing plastic, with a green laser-beam coming out of his third eye, fire and bubbles shooting out of his hands, and a stand adorned with flashing blue-diamond bonsais. The nearby river glowed with the reflection of a neon rainbow bridge, and we were privy to wannabe rock stars, school choirs, nonsensical English ballads, and divinely, crackling fireworks. I eventually realised however that I was the local freak show, finding myself surrounded by TV cameras, bright lights and Chinese questions. Luckily my mother jumped in front of me (in true Leo style), and yes, we made National Taiwan News - the crazed white woman and the gypsy mute.

The next day we left Penghu’s ‘civilization’ for the nearby island of Chipei. Arrival brought the vision of a true nuclear landscape - flattened plains of landfills and dust, intense winds, scorching heat, heavy smog, few surviving plants or buildings, and a coastline littered with the debris of destroyed tombs (which I later found out is intentional – after drying out the bones of the ancestors, they should be kept closer to home). Forget about campgrounds with running water, beach-front cafes, swinging hammocks, tropical cocktails, and ripples licking golden sands. Chipei meant camping alone in a small, solitary patch of pine trees and rubbish (with no books, music, games or extended company), severe sunstroke and headaches, violent sandstorms, and shores littered with hissing, twisting sea snakes.

We were facing three days of utter abjection and each other. My mother began by blaming me for the geographical deficiencies and lack of ‘Keep Penghu Beautiful’ campaigns. She informed me I had some “hare-brained ideas,” partnered by the more vehement “when you reach my age, you are going to regret the suffering you put me through.” To ensure her prophecy comes true, I made her ride on the back of a 100cc scooter, strung in handbags, travel-packs, sleeping bags, a 4-man tent and an IKEA mattress.

The lowest points however were our mealtime tensions and conflicts. Chipei is incredibly remote and survives primarily on a staple of rice and fish - my mother is allergic to both, and my Chinese is seriously limited. Somehow we ended up on a diet of giant snails and sea-urchin pancakes, which I have discovered to be the most effective laxatives after magic mushrooms. Great for camping without a trowel, without toilet paper, and without bathrooms or running water for miles.

.my overall feeling about being trapped on penghu


.my mother's overall feeling about the landscape


.a very important god, and his very important birthday


.punters snapping shots of the god!


.the neon rainbow!


.enjoying the mothers' day festivities!


.overview of ugly island


.enjoying a scenic, coastal ride!


.debris from the opened graves!


.enjoying a bit of nature at the campsite!


.torching shells for a delicious snack!


.mum is all ready for pie, pie, pie, gobble gobble gobble!


.a good reason not to go swimming or barefooted in the sand!


.some small treasures amongst the trash


.a walk along the beach!


.enjoying a bit of quality mother-daughter time ...


.filling the hours with as many facial expressions as possible!
*

stake out at hi-life

The next scooter-less trip Miss Canada and I took was to ALISHAN NATIONAL PARK, which hosts Taiwan’s highest mountain peaks. After working a full day Friday, we took a night bus down to the park, arriving to minus degree temperatures at around 2am. After about an hour of wandering through the dark and abandoned streets of the Alishan Forest Recreation Area, searching at first for a Catholic Hostel, then for anything, we realised not a single accommodation option was open - let alone available.

We decided to STAKE OUT AT HI-LIFE, a convenience store along the lines of 7-11. We settled in with a couple of beers, and some kindly donated fish-ball-soup take-away delights, which are great for vegetarians like Miss Canada. A couple more beers and it was 5am, and time to take the sunrise train. We stood on a mountain peak over deep gorges, as whirls of mist and powder-pink clouds, turned shades of gold and burnt orange beneath us. We stood on that mountain peak with five-hundred other tourists wearing 3D heart-shaped glasses, and a sunrise commentator with a megaphone, who gave a thirty-five minute monologue.

After the sun was well and blaring in the sky, and the temperature had risen to six degrees, our sleep-deprived desperation was starting to dominate. After another hike around ‘no accommodation village,’ we arrived to the Tourist Information Centre. Helpful as ever, they informed us all the accommodation options were booked, but if we wanted to pay 500nt an hour (about $20) we could check in for a few hours at the love hotel – they always had openings. By this time we were bleary-eyed, ready to cry, and beyond all point of caring - so when they offered to let us sleep in the Information Centre is seemed an un-divined luxury. We curled up under tablecloths on the floor, in every item of clothing we owned, and shivered for the next two hours.

Feeling there had to be a better option we made plans to travel to another village, but not before a hefty three hour mountain hike with our luggage. It was invigorating and surreal, and I somehow managed to obtain a beautiful batik of a flute-playing woman with two cranes. After a two hour nap on the train, and a fifteen hour siesta in a real Catholic hostel (which took us through Sunday morning mass), we were back!

Let me reiterate at this point that Lonely Planet Taiwan should be burnt along with other texts of vile mind and raging propaganda. This time it claimed: for many people, taking the train up to Alishan is the peak experience of their entire trip. Oh, was that just a clever pun on words? A great literary achievement there guys. They do however accurately claim it is: one of the only three remaining steep-alpine trains in the world … with a unique system of switchbacks allowing it to traverse slopes ordinarily too steep for trains.

The following is my appendage for Lonely Planet. Don’t forget, you will only be able to see out the window of the Alishan Forest Train if you manage to secure one of the twelve existing seats. The effort the train needs to navigate the steep track ensures every carriage (with its locked windows) fills with stench of diesel. Paired with the see-saw curves, the diesel scented air-freshener makes a lot of people high, then nauseous, and finally vomit. Sometimes they make it to the bathroom, which also stinks of warm shit, and you will probably have to sit by it, because you are an ignoramus to the Taiwanese custom of pushing, and will definitely not have one of the twelve seats.

One hour into the proposed three hour train ride, we found ourselves on the platform of a tiny station in the middle of the forest – oh, fresh mountain air! In these special travellers’ moments, I can assure you hitch-hiking is perfectly safe, and a far more sanitary option!

.5am and still awake on the alishan mountain train


.3D glasses to give real life that extra dimension!


.the alishan sunrise crew



.phoenix detailing on one of the temples


.the middle of nowhere - finally free from the train!
*

taroko gorge: stalk the betel-nut conductor

Taiwan is not a haven for backpackers or happy campers, and Taiwan’s Lonely Planet was clearly written in absentia. The only guarantee is that if it is written in Lonely Planet it is: long gone, only part of the story, or a wild, unsubstantiated claim. In a slow and painful way I have learnt (but not accepted) that spontaneity reaps only trouble, and travel in Taiwan requires: careful planning, booked hotel rooms, and tours or advance scooter rental.

My first adventure took me to TAROKO GORGE on Taiwan’s east coast, with my space-cadet sister and Miss Canada. We took a late afternoon train, a later afternoon bus, and arrived around 8pm to the gates of the National Park, in other words nowhere. Finding no options to get into the park but a taxi, we decided to jump in. We swerved around Taiwan’s most dangerous and twisted highways at breakneck speed with a highly inebriated driver who couldn’t stop gazing in the rear-view mirror and proclaiming “auzhou xiaojie, wo AI ni!” (“Australian girl, I love you!”)

The next day we found ourselves without transport, and hiking back down the same highways, as a result of our first, very important, travel Taiwan lesson. Tourist Information Centre staff don’t know. They don’t know about: public buses, national park buses, pricing of anything, or where to go. After four hours of highway hiking, we stopped for lunch in a road-side shop, and decided to wait for a bus we were told would come in an hour. After an hour and a half the bus finally came. When the conductor saw us hailing him down, he smiled his big betel-nut smile, waved vigorously, and went right on past. Clearly the Information Centre staff hadn’t told him driving a public bus has more to it than going in circles. Miss Canada I were furious, so we hitched a lift to STALK THE BETEL-NUT CONDUCTOR, with all intention of hurling sticks, stones and clumps of grass. We found the bus, but not the driver, luckily for him.

Luckily for us, our rage had taken us to the gates of heaven. We weaved up a steep mountainside, through hanging mist to the top of a spiralled temple. Blissful sleep as we floated in drifting rain-clouds and our dreams filled with the haunting chants from a nearby monastery. We realised later that the chants were not in fact from the monastery, but from a large, antiquated, road-side amplifier, which for the record, can only be found in Taiwan.

At this point we could have accepted that transport and accommodation would never be in great availability, that backpacking was not the way to the light, but we never changed - and in fact went on to greater error.


.sitting in the clouds


.nic, me and anna walking the gorge's highways


.vertigo inside one of the towers
*

two hours of hit and miss with the grim reaper

Other than the foundational road trip, the mountains have whispered to me on two other occasions that my scooter and I may suffer an early death.

The first time was during a night ride home from the mountains, when a wild, wild storm blew in. These roads are twisting cliff faces anyway, but terrifying when they transfigure themselves into raging rivers. Mudslides formed on the edges, and shards of lightning kept striking the roads in rabid madness. The passing traffic was sending walls of water through the darkness, and the onslaught was so thick it nearly swept us off the edges. What should have been a relaxing forty minute ride had become TWO HOURS OF HIT AND MISS WITH THE GRIM REAPER …

Obviously Thor didn’t have the power to keep me off stormy mountains roads though, or I am a close relative of the maze mouse who goes back to be electrocuted for the fifteenth time. On another wintry day, (with the same two friends), we headed into Taipei’s northern mountains. It was a misty, stormy day that took us deep into Yangmingshan National Park, to indulge in the pleasures of volcanic mud baths. Night fell early, and we decided to head back down the mountains for the comforts of Taipei.

My scooter stalled from the cold, and because the mist was so thick, in an eye-blink, my friends’ tail-lights were out of sight. I finally got my bike started, headed up through the mist, and unwittingly took the wrong road. I spent the next hour and a half utterly alone, frozen from the cold, my clothes drenched from earlier rains, and scootering through the thickest and eeriest fogs I have ever seen. There were no lights, no road reflectors, no signs of civilization, and no other traffic. There was barely a road, and I couldn’t see more than a metre ahead through the whirling mists. Eventually I saw some roadside stalls in the distance … I had made it over the northern mountains … in the opposite direction to Taipei! I stumbled into one of the stalls, shaking from the cold, and too terrified to brave the journey back over the mountains.

The family who owned the stall were the most wonderful people I could have met in this moment, and they were of course grateful I had brought a little drama to liven up their evening! They were so genuinely worried they helped arrange for my friend to come back over the mountains in a taxi to find me, and stuffed me full of sweet potatoes, jasmine tea, and bowl after bowl of steaming ginger soup that they wouldn’t let me pay for. They also gave me a bright yellow flower and many, many prayers. I stayed with them for over an hour, as my friend travelled back through the mountains in a taxi. We then spent the next two hours riding through the heavy mountain mists, just to get to the outskirts of Taipei.

It was another hour of bright city rains, before I pulled up outside my apartment at 2am. I got under the covers in my bed and literally stayed there for the next 34 hours!
*

no such thing as an impossible gap

Taipei driving has taught me there is NO SUCH THING AS AN IMPOSSIBLE GAP – it’s just an optical illusion requiring a little spatial adjustment from the Aussie driver! A recent visit from my mother reminded me of how far my driving has come, and how objectionable it would now be in Australia. As the cling-on endured her first terrifying city rides, her legs gripped my backside so tightly I had to remind her we weren’t married. After the first six trips, she began to loosen her hold however, and open her eyes. Feeling more in control, she began to use the grip in a more motherly way – two sharp grips to indicate my scootering was unacceptable, and the occasional rapid grip series to ensure I knew she was there. My father in more Asian style, held tightly to the back of the scooter, keeping his white knuckles out of view, and commenting just once “shit, you get close!”

Nonetheless, I too remember my first impressions of Taipei’s roads, and clearly recall the first time I got on a scooter. The concentration of pulling out from the curb was too much for me; I forget to do a mirror check, and nearly swiped a passing police officer. At the time I thought it was a pretty bad move, but in retrospect, no one in Taipei is using mirrors or looking behind them. You are only responsible for not hitting what is in front of you, and I was in front – it’s very simple really.

To learn how to scooter, Miss Canada and I ventured out in fevered spirits (and in opposition to all public advice), on a three day road trip around the north of Taiwan. We barely got off the bike for three days, as we moved from the breakneck mountain highways, to the deserted back-roads that carried us through lush, green tea fields and hidden valleys, and finally down the monstrosity of a freeway that links Taipei to its closest port city. I’m still not entirely sure how we made it all the way – it must have been sheer will, because it sure as hell wasn’t our bumbling, unskilled attempts at controlling the bike (it had only belonged to us for a week before the trip).

A fair example of our general ineptitude is an incident in which I took us out at high speed onto the wrong side of a busy mountain highway heading straight for a raging onslaught of trucks. It was a slow motion moment, and I can still feel the adrenalin pumping through my arms, that just managed to pull us back to the right side, before we became another betel-nut stain on a Taiwanese road. Still, there were no pansy little rides around the block for us, no circles in empty car-parks at midnight. No Sir – you need to back off! We’ve got enough balls for the entire Taiwanese army!

.nic and i riding through the backwaters of taiwan's north
*

city of scooters

My great Taipei love affair has been with my 125cc Yamaha scooter. It rarely cocks up, and indulges my tendencies for escapism and cheap thrills. Taipei is the CITY OF SCOOTERS, with Taiwanese owning more scooters per capita than any other place in the world; there are 10 million of them island-wide. Taipei also has one of the highest rainfalls in the world, so half the time we are the city of raincoats zipping around. Every intersection has strategically placed scooter boxes, so you can whiz through and edge in front of the approaching traffic. What at first looks like chaos eventually shifts, and routes through the traffic become as clear as the yellow brick road.

There are a mere four traffic laws for scooter riders, the rest are in traffic purgatory. The laws are as follows: 1. Don’t get between a bus and the curb; 2. Don’t get anywhere near a taxi; 3. Don’t brake on the white lines in the rain (unless you liked ‘slip ‘n slide’ when you were a kid); and 4. Never speak in Chinese to the police (unless it’s to utter nonsensical apologies).

Aside from the laws, there is a general code of conduct to follow; this code revolves around the issues of physical contact on the road, and parking. Light physical contact such as the clanking of mirrors, or knocking on car windows when you’re in their blind spot, is perfectly tolerable, and even foreigners adapt. I realised this when I pulled into a traffic box one day, clipping the mirror of the next scooter, and my boss turned around and said in his very cheery Canadian way “hey hey, how’s it goin’?”

Parking poses its own special set of challenges, and often demands the heaving and pushing of a whole row of scooters, just to squash yours into an improbable space. When parking, it pays to remember that: the lines on the road are just decorative – they’re worth nothing; and scratching and breaking off small pieces of other peoples scooters is well within the acceptable code of conduct!

.Nic and I ready to set on one of our first rides in the rain!


.r and i on one of my last rides before leaving taipei!
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raspberries on their stomachs

A more serious concern I carry with me is the lack of physical boundaries between teachers and students. In Australia there is an on-going debate about where the lines should fall. The current laws demand no physical contact under any circumstances; meaning even if a child is hurt, don’t touch them. We are also warned to never be alone with a student, just to ensure our legal protection and their safety.

You can imagine my shock upon arriving to Taipei, where grown men can pick up small girls, tickle them, kiss their faces, and blow RASPBERRIES ON THEIR STOMACHS – it is even encouraged. My students jump on me, pull my hair, and grab my legs when I’m walking, and no one looks twice.

Think about it. To teach English you don’t need any educational qualifications; there are no specific requirements outside being foreign, and no legal checks done on prospective teachers. Any junkie or paedophile (as long as they’re white), can get a job, at the drop of a hat, in a remote and anonymous pre-school, and hide out for years.

After working in Taiwan, I now understand why we have such strict laws in Australia, and why they are so necessary. I am not alone when I say this – many, many female teachers here are appalled and disgusted by the way grown men are able to interact with, and handle small children. I have met so many men I would never let my children near, let alone touch. There is no social awareness about the dangers of sexual abuse, let alone legal protection for the abused. A 45 year old pot dealing Canadian teacher, who thinks he’s Woody Allen, even openly proclaims he finds the small boys he works with sexually desirable.

So, the question is: not if, but how extensive are Asia’s paedophilia rings, and just how linked are they to English teaching?
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detachment from nature

A five year old told me that same week: “teeeacher, if you want to kill a cockroach you need to cut it into six pieces with scissors, and then flush it down the toilet” … One of my most fruitless battles and personal gripes in Taipei has been the intense DETACHMENT FROM NATURE. In all fairness to Taipei’s city slickers, not even pigeons want to live here, so I guess it’s pretty hard to be ‘attached’.

The most reactionary I ever came to this nuance of Taipei culture was during a grade four class in which we read a poignant Amerindian selection: In Charge of Celebrations. The protagonist of this extended poem was a solitary dreamer who spent her days lost in the wild beauty of the Arizona desert, fashioning festivities. There was Dust-Devil Day to twirl and whirl in dust storms, Green Cloud Day, Coyote Day, Triple Rainbow Day, and The Time of Falling Stars. Of course I should have been clued in enough know that on no tenet could they relate to this story; especially when their text responses were along the lines of: “What?? Living alone with no TV?? Sooooooo boring.”

Still, I persisted, and instructed each child to write a composition creating their own ‘celebration of nature’. Every single composition involved destruction, killing, or shopping. The first handed in was the ‘fear of nature story’ – in which entire forests were burnt down by raging lightning. Henceforth, we have Lightning Day – a day for extended prayers that no lightning will ever strike Earth again.

The highlight came though in a story about visiting an aviary of brightly-feathered birds - each bird was intricately described, and I felt hope. The story then moved to a point outside the aviary where a wayward bird stole the favourite pen of the student, and dropped it into a lake. The bird was promptly stoned by the child. So we now have Bird Day – a day to kill birds, because as the student concluded: “I hate birds soooo much!”

I was then given: Buy a Cactus Day and Squirrel Killing Day. On this day at school, I seriously lost it!
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teach the chinese way

My first job was intolerable, so after four months, and much confusion about my legal status, I began employment at Immanuel English Academy (the love I have for Jesus in my heart). Here I was instructed to TEACH THE CHINESE WAY.

My first class was part of the summer program and had four students; three of them were four, and the youngest, Timmy, was three, and on his first day at school ever. My job was to keep them seated for six hours of NO CHINESE and gruelling pencil-pushing, and this is not an exaggeration. They had a five to ten minute break each hour, and after three hours, a short lunch and nap break.

Timmy did not know he had an English name, let alone that he was at school, and not part of a kung-fu film. For the first day he screamed in Chinese for three hours straight, and finding the results ineffective, set about fly-kicking me at every opportunity. Only the great Buddha knows what profanities were leaving his mouth; I can only assume it was: “I need to go pee-pee, why don’t you take me stupid lady who can’t talk?”

After about a week his father came in and asked me if his son spoke English yet. I told him “your son can say rabbit,” (which came at the great cost of gluing five sticks of glitter to a paper cut-out). The inner dialogue of course raged in screeching inflections: are you fucking crazy??? Your son doesn’t even know he has an English name, drops his pants when he needs to pee, and thinks he’s a Bruce Lee action figure … I’m covered in bruises, and he’s three! – No-one can acquire an entire language in four days!!

Oh, the expectations of some parents!
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i will not adjust

The Taiwanese penchant for living life in fast forward (other than dating), and spending most of it working, is best described as incompatible with the Australian spirit.I spent my first twelve months here chanting in mantra style: “I WILL NOT ADJUST – I will never find a six day working week acceptable - I will not adjust – working at 8am on Saturday is not acceptable - I will not adjust!”

After arriving to Chang-Kai Shek International Airport (recently renamed Taoyuan International Airport) at 10pm on a Sunday evening, my presence was expected in the Kojen English Head Office the following morning at 9am sharp. From here I was whisked to the hospital for a thorough check-up to ensure I had all my teeth, and wasn’t trying to infect the Taiwanese populace with HIV. On this day I learnt there is no time for privacy, let alone empathy in the Taiwanese hospital. Blood testing is done at a long counter where ten nurses work in perfect synchrony – one patient per minute. Patients pressing bloodied cotton swabs to their arms, huddle together on a bench for five minutes in case of faintness, before rushing off – past the hospital staff waving people’s swab tests around like air freshener - and back to work.

The next day I started teaching six day a week.
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interpreting signs

One of the most entertaining parts of being new in Asia is English signage - or interpretations of English signage. During my time in Taipei, the government actually issued a notice saying that English signage errors (on official government signs), should be reported to a particular government department, and compensation would be paid!

Here are some examples:


.alishan national park: loving the specifics!


.the train from alishan: i'm figuring only the croc from peter pan can board!


.i'll be stopping by if my tubes are getting a bit dry!



.at the wulai river: i get the no swimming message i guess!
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bitter women

When I first arrived to Taipei, an embittered, pessimistic Australian told me (in a disparaging way) not to bother with men here, foreign or Chinese, and to erase the notions of dating and love permanently from my being. I was a bit taken aback by her attitude, and it crossed my mind that she may be a suicidal depressive. After two months here I had become her number one convert. It’s been bad for the soul in this way; and need I even say what I have become after my scathing attacks on Taipei’s community of Dwarfs and Niges. So quickly I fell to the ranks of Taipei’s BITTER WOMEN, and we are an army. The only difference between Taiwanese and foreign women being that we foreigners are also desperate; somewhere deep-down we retain the vague memories of worlds where respect, love and sex were real possibilities. We can only pray these are parts of us that will stay in Taipei after we are long gone, and not scars we will carry forward like Agent Orange … there have been some dark times in this city.
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my mom's not gonna eat with fuckin sticks

White men arriving to Taipei find themselves on the world’s-greatest- ego-tripping-roller-coaster-orgy-of-a-lifetime. Stock-standard, dole- guzzling, Nigel-no-friends, with an IQ of 35, is now being hailed as the last prophet. Women fling themselves at his flabby back in the street, and whilst a good year at home may have gotten him laid five times, he is now getting laid five times a week by different Taiwanese girls. He in turn, affectionately refers to them as the ‘short-cunts’. Nige has never been happier; he’s come down with ‘yellow fever,’ then, by default, entered Muslim heaven where he’s surrounded by virgins dying to have their cherries popped.

Occasionally, he notices something amiss in his feverish world and makes an angst proclamation: “MY MOM’S NOT GONNA EAT WITH FUCKIN’ STICKS!” he cries. But just as quickly he forgets, because too rare is the Asian woman (and I love my Japanese roomie) who screeches: “why is there white trash like you everywhere!?!” The stakes are too high - she knows just how easily she can be replaced, and it is the Chinese way to ‘swallow bitter pills’. Nige and his cronies often stay for years in their make-shift Asian paradise, eventually choosing one hopeful for marriage – at this point they may or may not speak the same language.

I am not one to paint women as victims, but I have to say, too many of the relationships I see around me are an extension of the Asian sex trade – the ‘mail-order bride’ ideal, just with a trial period. This may be a wild claim, but I could spend hours substantiating it with examples of miscommunications, empty promises, emotional and physical violence, rampant infidelities, rapes, druggings, and sexual exploitation. Too many Asian women have burning and gruelling stories about foreign men that wrench at your guts; these women are Asia’s disposable people.

Maybe money isn’t directly passing hands in Taipei, but in most cases she’s hoping for a better life, financial gain, or a higher social status, by offering sex and a type of servitude; which he takes, disposes of, takes, disposes of, takes, and disposes of. Soon after arriving, Nige starts to wholeheartedly believe he is extraordinarily desirable (so why didn’t anyone at home notice?), a beacon of light to the misguided, a sparkling gem in a pile of shit – oh, sweet yellow fever, never stop pulsing your poison through my veins, for I now truly believe in my delusions of white grandeur!
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the dwarf staff

Foreign wages and foreign work ethics are two terms that repeal the very existence of the other. Let me start by saying the average Taiwanese person works a fifty hour week over a six day schedule. They work extremely hard and long hours, and are loyal even when their bosses trample on their few rights. I work a 35 hour week, and am paid double the average engineering professional. I also work barefooted, and dress in gypsy scarves and boat pants. Some of my closest friends earn a third of what I do and work nearly double time.

To obtain the privileged ‘foreigner’ status, all you have to do is: look white, have an overseas passport, and in extreme cases, forge a degree. Incidentally, I am the ‘exemplary’ foreign staff member at my school, and according to some Dwarfs, in a plot to make them look bad. I am exemplary because: I go to work regularly and on time; I stick children’s compositions on my classroom walls; and the school laoban-niang thinks my father is handsome – nothing deserving great accolades. Nevertheless, there are members of THE DWARF STAFF who have claimed (some on temporary suspensions) the boundaries of acceptable workplace practice are not clear. So, it is not their fault if they: come 30 to 45 minutes late everyday; puke up wine in the children’s bathroom; smoke weed on the tea break; read the newspaper, talk on the phone, or play computer games instead of teaching; or hang children out the window.

At first I couldn’t understand why no Chinese member of staff had any time for foreigners. Now it is clearer than I want it to be!
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the seven socially impoverished dwarfs

Like every expat community, Taipei’s expat’s come in every shape and size, but some stereotypes prevail. There are always the students, the adventurers, the escapists, the vagabonds and aging hippies, but Taipei is also rife with alcoholics, dropkicks and social misfits (of which a healthy 94 per cent are male). Every foreign female in her right mind has fled. In my work place alone I am the only foreign woman, with seven foreign men.

It has been the heart-rending tale of EURASIAN SNOW WHITE VERSUS THE SEVEN SOCIALLY IMPOVERISHED DWARFS. There’s Dopey, Sticky, Gloomy, Drippy, Choppy, Dribbly, and Lazy Eye. Dopey is too stoned to know he’s a teacher, Sticky likes to talk about his wet dreams, Gloomy suffers from world domination delusions, Drippy has no availing personality, Choppy is the all-star American kung-fu hero, Dribbly kindly only talks about my breasts when he’s drunk, and Lazy Eye is the manager who sees nothing that goes on, but he’s not the Dwarf leader. The little-man leader is Sticky, who comes complete with a word-of-mouth history of sexual harassment in the workplace, and a best friend who even made it on to national television once for assaulting a girl in a nightclub. Since then Sticky has repaired his ways, and no longer touches female staff members.

We have however had some pretty serious conflicts, which climaxed when he came into my class one day to stare at my chest, and tell me I was the most arrogant person he had ever met. I graciously informed him he was going to regret the way he treated women the day his darling daughters were old enough to be getting fucked by men like him. We now haven’t exchanged a word for over six months, but he has sent some of the dwarf henchmen to chat with me. Silly little Snow White, so little did I know, and how much they have taught me …

I now know: Taiwanese mothers who enter the school building are asking for sexual scrutiny; secretarial staff should feel privileged if married dwarfs ‘choose’ them for infidelity; commenting on the size of a woman’s tits in the workplace is a compliment; sexual harassment is better than physical violence (and apparently I have to choose one); and mentioning your wet dreams in front of a class of ten year olds is A-OK. Their company is thrilling, really!
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a seasoned hotspringer

Last weekend I was immersed in steaming waters, staring out over a mountainous valley filled with humid rain, and a river hung in swollen clouds. I was dreaming deeply to the sounds of rumbling thunder, and it brought me to thinking about my first Taiwanese bathhouse outings. For those who don’t know, Taiwan is rife in fault lines; apart from the customary earthquakes, they bless the landscape in steaming natural waters, which were built into bathhouses by the Japanese during their fifty year occupation. Each weekend thousands of people venture to these springs, to bathe and unwind in their healing properties – some springs even claim to cure cancer! Most bathhouses have separate sides for men and women, and it is required that you bathe naked, sporting only a plastic shower-cap. After many, many weekends of decadent indulgence, I now raise one sleepy eye when a curious observer comes up to stare intently at my backside, before publicly commenting on the strange and curvaceous beauty of my figure. I am now A SEASONED HOTSPRINGER! … But it has been a rocky road to liberation!

The first hot spring I visited was Xin-Beitou’s public bathhouse, with Miss Canada. We had both been in Taiwan for a less than a month, and this day marked the first of our many adventures. The public bathhouse requires swim costumes at all times, is unisex, and overseen by an angry man with a very loud whistle. Shortly after we entered the complex a piercing WHIIISSSSSTLE cut through the air – Miss Canada had snapped a photograph. Our next obvious mistake was prancing around in bikinis, when every other female patron wore a full piece, skirted costume with a matching cap. This didn’t cause any whistling … from Mr Angry anyway. Then another shrill WHIIIIIIIIIISSSSSTLE because my hair had touched the water, and another, WHIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSTLE, because we sat in front of a sign that probably said: CAREFUL! HOT WATER! Then in a final, perturbed gesture it rolled in like a godless storm: WHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIII SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSTTTLLLE!!!!!!!! We had sat on the edge of a pool, dangling our feet in the water – a definitive gesture of defiant disrespect! By this time we were pretty unnerved, confounded, and on edge enough to make a speedy exit. I was not entirely discouraged though – however, my next visit may have had that effect had the waters not been so divine, and my desire to pass away my weekends gratifyingly naked not so overwhelming.

My next outing was with a group of Chinese and Taiwanese women. Included in the group was a seriously obese and misguided woman with a penchant for harassing foreign women. After a five minute conversation about nothing, she followed me into a pool and promptly mounted me for a ‘piggy back’. It is not an exaggeration or embellishment when I say Miss Piggy weighed over a hundred kilos. All I could feel were the massive rolls of breast and flesh pressing down on me, and her giant bush giving me a rash on the back, as I collapsed under the pressure and started gulping water. Deep in the bubbling springs, I started getting flashing images of my gravestone. DECEASED (26 years of age) – drowned by a colossal, naked, Taiwanese mermaid, with a bush the size of a small shrub. Miss Piggy did a good job of traumatising me, but also began me along the path of realisation that being naked in the Taiwanese bathhouse is not enough. To become a seasoned hotspringer, you also need to: frolic openly like a child, comment brazenly on other women’s flaws and assets, salt scrub and wash your friends’ bodies, and give butt-naked belly-dance instruction!

.feet soaking outside xinbeitou's public springs


.outside at alley 44 ready for a ride to wulai


.the view from wulai springs


.hotspringing at kenting
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