One of the easiest places in Taiwan to get around in the rain is Taipei. Much of it is indoors and the MRT goes everywhere, underground. Taipei is also far more foreigner-friendly than the south. There are “English” signs all over the place and more people speak at least some version of English than anywhere else in the country. Didier wisely chose to go on a day that both Lily and I were available.
Rather than drive, we took the gaotie. The drive from Kaohsiung to Taipei takes at least four hours, under the best conditions. Once there, driving is pointless and parking is expensive. The fastest train takes 90 minutes. Didier's previous train experience was on the xiaotie from Chiayi to Tainan. Otherwise, he got free rides everywhere. For him, the difference between xiaotie and gaotie was like transporting from 1980 to the early 21st century.
One of the Taipei stops is Taipei Main Station, the only gaotie station in a city center. The station directly connects to the two largest MRT lines, the main bus station, and the xiaotie station. It is also an easy walk to several museums, 228 Peace Park, and the Chiang Kai Shek Memorial. Chiang Kai Shek was a murderous dictator, but his memorial hall is one of the more impressive architectural landmarks in the country. Had it not already been on Yi Jun's list, I would have recommended it.
Lily recommended busy and bustling sights like Bopiliao and Ximending, both of which are good examples of Taiwan's culture, though from different centuries. Bopiliao (Longshan Temple station exit #3) is an old Qing Dynasty street that has been restored to its natural state, with seismic reinforcement and ample fire exits. Ximending (Ximen station exit #6) is a purely modern pedestrian street. People often claim it looks like Tokyo, but that is only because there are millions of neon lights and youngsters shopping all night. That is where the similarities end. Both streets are close to Longshan Temple (Longshan Temple station exit #1). At 300 years, it is not the oldest temple in Taiwan, but it is probably the most famous.
That would have been an easy afternoon of walking, but Didier wanted to avoid the crowds, and he had already spent a day at Fo Guang Shan. Longshan Temple and Fo Guang Shan are completely different religions, but from his European point of view, they were the same.
I suggested a few museums. They are indoors and never nearly as crowded as the shopping streets. From Taipei Main Station, the Museum of Contemporary Art is one block north, the National Taiwan Museum (NTU Hospital exit #4) is three blocks south, and the National Museum of History (Xiaonanmen exit #3) is a few blocks further south. The National Taiwan Museum is in 228 Peace Park (NTU Hospital exit #1 & #4), which is a nice little park a block away from the Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall (Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall exit #5). The National Museum of History is in the Taipei Botanical Garden (Xiaonanmen exit #3), which is a nice little garden just west of Chiang Kai Shek. Walking to any or all of the museums would be easy. Instead, we went to the National Palace Museum in Shilin, which is nowhere near Taipei Main Station. It is, however, the single best place in the world to see Imperial Chinese art. Didier liked the sound of that.
Taipei is known for its nightlife, with the most popular shopping, the most expensive dance clubs, and the most famous night markets in the country. Didier wanted to avoid everything. I find a night of dancing quite relaxing, but he was still afraid of being around too many people while his side of the world was deep into a plague. Even stranger, he was not a fan of dancing. Something he was willing to do was take the turbolift up to the top of Taipei 101 (Taipei 101 exit #4). I think the views are much better in the daytime, if it is not too cloudy, but the lights at night show how large Taipei is, by Taiwan standards, and how tiny it is compared to Tokyo.
We spent the night at the Home Hotel (Taipei 101 exit #4), a small boutique hotel about three blocks from Taipei 101. It was also the hotel I stayed in the first time I went to Taipei. I like it because it is smaller than the typical business hotel and the service is better than anywhere else in the city.
We started the next day with a morning bicycle ride through the riverside parks along the Keelung River. Morning is easily the best time to ride a bicycle in Taipei. Not so much for the weather. It is always going to be hot and humid, no matter what time of day. But afternoons and evenings along the river get far too crowded. Mornings are comparatively empty. There are almost no lights along the winding river, and the packs of stray dogs can get a bit territorial, so the middle of night might not be the best time. There are a variety of hiking options in eastern Taipei, but we did some hiking in Kenting, so Didier was looking for something a little less strenuous.
Had it just been Lily and me, we would have ridden the bicycles from the hotel to the river. It is only a ten minute ride, at most, but it requires navigating busy streets and dodging traffic in a country where right of way is an alien concept. Anyone without a firm understanding of the culture should stick with the clearly marked bicycle paths in areas where cars and trucks are physically blocked from entering. With Didier, we took the MRT to Jiannan (exit #3) and rode through the more scenic parks just north of the airport. Starting from Nangang and riding west until the river ends makes more sense, but Didier is more of a leisurely stroll bicyclist.
The Sun Yat Sen Memorial Hall (Sun Yat Sen Memorial Hall exit #4) was on Didier's list, so we went there. When there are no performances or events, the hall is little more than a large public space. There are better parks in Taipei, but it is an easy walk from Taipei 101. Before we went to Taipei, I thought Taipei Main Station would be our hub from which to branch out around the city. But since we stayed at a hotel next to Taipei 101, that became our reference point.
Just outside the Sun Yat Sen MRT station (exit #2) is a “German” bakery that I thought Didier might enjoy. Like pretty much everything else in Taiwan, it is far more Taiwanese than whatever other region it claims, but they have large German style pretzels. Lily thinks they are terrible, but she is not German. Neither is Didier, but France is a lot closer than Canada. He had been in Taiwan for a while at this point, and I know of no authentic French restaurants anywhere in the country, so a fake German bakery would have to do. Unfortunately, Didier agreed with Lily about the pretzels. But he liked the brioche.
About a ten minute walk north of the bakery is Little New York Pizza. Lily says it is the best pizza in Taiwan. It certainly looks like New York pizza, and the slices are large enough, but I doubt it tastes anything like New York. It was also not at all French, but our goal was to find food unlike the Taiwanese and Chinese Didier had been eating every day. Pizza, at least real pizza with tomato sauce and cheese, is not at all Chinese.
There are thousands of pizza places in Taipei, if not hundreds. Most of them claim to have the best pizza in the city, county or country. It is as absurd as all the “original” pizza places in New York. Unfortunately, I can say nothing about the taste, but few look like they could ever be the best. Far too many serve “pizza” without cheese or sauce, and for some reason, proofing the dough is considered unlucky. Almost all of them serve something other than pizza as a main course. Most have more traditional Chinese dishes. More than a few have various noodle and/or pasta dishes. Little New York is the only one I know about that only has pizza, aside from fries and maybe garlic bread, but those are acceptable side dishes. In my experience, the best pizza places concentrate on pizza. Anything else on the menu is an afterthought. Big Boyz Pizza in Songshan (Nanjing Fuxing exit #5) has Chicago style, which is unheard of in Taiwan, but their New York pizza looks nothing like New York, and Lily said it was criminally undercooked. If they can't take the time to cook a New York pizza, I can only imagine how the Chicago turns out.
I should probably point out that there is more than one Little New York Pizza in Taipei. The one on Yanji Street, just north of Civic Blvd, is the only one that is all pizza. The others have larger restaurant menus.
From Taipei, we went to Hsinchu. The gaotie only takes 30 minutes, but the Hsinchu station is not actually in the city of Hsinchu. Ordinarily, a trip around Taiwan could easily skip Hsinchu, but Didier heard that Hsinchu is the technological capital of Taiwan. While true, that does little for visitors, unless you want to tour a semiconductor factory. Since Lily knows someone who knows someone whose house we could stay in, we went to Zhubei, which is just across the river from Hinschu. Conveniently and coincidentally, the house was only a ten minute Uber ride from the Hsinchu gaotie station, which is in Zhubei.
I downloaded Uber onto my phone for this trip. I had thought about using it once before, but I have a car in Kaohsiung and use the MRT in Taipei. I almost never have any need for Uber, unless I am going to or coming from the airport. Then I get a ride from someone or take a taxi. While Hsinchu has plenty of taxis, I thought we would spend more time going back and forth between Zhubei and Hsinchu. Having Uber on my phone made sense.
Downloading the app was a bit of a chore. My 4-year-old phone has its original battery. I can remember a time when I would charge it two or three times a week. Now, I keep it plugged in when not in use. Downloading the Uber app sucked up the battery. I had to plug mobile devices into other mobile devices, making everything far less mobile. It was a whole production. The app works exactly as it should, and the technology is pretty impressive. I push a button on my phone and in five minutes or less, someone picks me up and takes me where I want to go. And no cash changes hands. But I have to make sure my battery is above 80% when I use it. I was at 70% when I opened the app one time, and 1% when I gave the driver a 5 star review. I might need to get a new battery.
I hate the entire “citizen critic” system that has infected every aspect of modern life. Everyone wants to give everything a review. Almost no one is qualified to be a professional critic in any given field, and most people are not nearly as nice online as they are in person. I say, unless your driver was smoking or drunk, give him 5 stars. Was the ride perfect in every possible way? Probably not. But there is no need to be a dick about it.
We did pretty much nothing in Hsinchu and spent most of our time in Zhubei. The house where we stayed was in the middle of the restaurant district. There were no French restaurants, of course, but they had a branch of a Taiwanese-Italian restaurant we have in Kaohsiung and a popular pizza place that is generally decent, but not New York.
Hsinchu was nothing like Didier expected, but he took the technological label a little too literally. He thought it was going to be some advanced city with evidence of the future in every direction. Instead, he got a typical Taiwan city that looks pretty much like every other Taiwan city. Taiwan has a lot of positive aspects, but it is definitely not known for its architecture. Go to pretty much any city in western Europe and you will see people taking pictures of random buildings. No one does that in Taiwan. I expected nothing out of Hsinchu, but found a nice little neighborhood across the river.
When Didier finally went home, he had only crossed a fraction of the places he wanted to see off his list. It was an unrealistic list. Taiwan is a small country, but you can never see it all in one visit. He is always free to come back, but I get the impression that this place is simply too depressing for him. Not because he and Yi Jun spent too much time here, but because they did not spend nearly enough.
Wednesday, October 20, 2021
Wednesday, October 13, 2021
Bereavement Tour part 1
Didier is still in Taiwan. There is still paperwork that needs to be filled out and Yi Jun's family is currently arguing over her life insurance. I think everything should go to her children, as she specifically requested. But it is not up to me. Didier is also trying to avoid going back home without his wife. It will happen sooner or later, but he is not ready.
Though I only met Didier once before Yi Jun died, I am the closest thing he has to a friend in Taiwan. He knows Yi Jun's family and me, though he does not know them especially well. It kind of seems like Yi Jun did not particularly want to live in Taiwan. When she was married to an American, she lived in Michigan. When she was married to Didier, she lived in France and Ohio. Yi Jun and Didier used to visit Taiwan during the New Year and special occasions, but Didier was largely unfamiliar with the culture. In me, he saw someone who knows the culture and can speak to him in a language he understands. I like to think I can speak French on a good day, but we mostly communicate in English. And I knew Yi Jun in a way that makes more sense to him. Her family knew young Yi Jun. We knew the more modern, adult version.
During Yi Jun's last round of treatment, Didier stayed in her sister's house in Chiayi and the hospital hotel. After the funeral, there was no point in staying at the hospital, and he did not want to spend any time in the sister's house, so he went to Tainan. Getting from Chiayi to Tainan is pretty easy, and Didier is comfortable with trains, but he had no idea how to get around once he was there. His phone call started our grand tour of Taiwan.
Before going back to France, and possibly never coming to Taiwan again, Didier wanted to see all the sights that Yi Jun talked about. Getting around the west coast of Taiwan is pretty easy without a car. The slow trains are not at all on time, but they go to pretty much any city you would ever want to see, and most stations are downtown. The high speed train is far more reliable, cleaner, and comfortable, but only one high speed station is in a city center. Most are not even in the largest city of their respective counties. The stations were built out in the countryside where there were large enough patches of empty land. Had Didier taken the gaotie from Chiayi to Tainan, he would have actually gone from Taibao to Gueiren. Chiayi's station was convenient, in his case, since Yi Jun's hospital and sister are in Chiayi County rather than Chiayi City, but Tainan's station is practically in Kaohsiung. I think the hospital was built close to the Chiayi (Taibao) station on purpose. Most stations have free shuttles that take you to the city, and there are ample taxis at every station, but every shuttle and almost every taxi requires at least some knowledge of the language. Foreigners are better off with the xiaotie, which has stations in the middle of each city, though all announced changes are in Chinese.
Today's language lesson: “xiaotie”™ is not a real word. I made it up. The high speed train is 高鐵 (gaotie). The slow speed train is actually 臺鐵 (taitie). Somewhere along the line, I started calling it 小鐵 (xiaotie), which is a bit of a pun, though not a very good one. 高 (gao) and 小 (xiao) are opposites, and rhyme. 臺 is short for 臺灣 (Taiwan), and does not even come close to rhyming.
Didier was going to travel around Taiwan alone. I thought that might not be the best idea. It is certainly possible, but probably not ideal while grieving and not entirely thinking straight. When I offered to help, he assumed I only meant guiding him around Kaohsiung and that he should take the train from Tainan, even though there were places in Tainan on his list. What he did not realize was that I could drive to his Tainan hotel in under 45 minutes. At his hotel, he showed me his list of all the places he wanted to go. He vastly underestimated both the size of Taiwan and the travel times by train. It is a relatively small island, but he had enough sights for a month of travel. I had a car that could reduce travel times, but I also had a job that required my participation.
I knew he was never going to see everything on his list, so I concentrated on the highlights. We were already in Tainan, so we started there. Tainan is an old city and has a great deal of historical sights. Most of them are outdoors and it was raining ropes. Didier thought it was a typhoon. It was certainly typhoon season, but this was a light drizzle by comparison. Instead of Chihkanlou, or Anping, or any of the temples, we went to the Chimei Museum. The outdoor grounds are nice, but the indoor museum is what you want to see.
I had to go to work, so I was going to Kaohsiung with or without Didier. He had a lot of Kaohsiung on his list, so he took the free ride.
I have lived in Kaohsiung for a little over a year. There are parts of the city I have yet to see myself, but I know enough to show someone around. From a French point of view, Kaohsiung is a large, crowded city. From a Chinese point of view, Kaohsiung is pretty small. To experience the culture, you have to go to night markets, food stalls, and places where people are generally packed together like lemmings. Didier is from France, where they are struggling with a bit of a plague right now, and most recently lived in the United States, which refuses to settle for anything but first place. The last thing he wanted was to be in a crowd, especially in a culture that considers it unlucky to cover one's mouth while coughing or sneezing.
So I took him to Fo Guang Shan. Outside of ceremonies and special occasions, the monastery is rarely crowded, and the museum is large enough to seem empty on most weekdays. It is also probably a pretty great place to experience right after burying your wife.
I may not be the best guide for Kaohsiung, but I know a thing or two about Fo Guang Shan. I spent some time there last year and know a few of the monks personally. I introduced Didier to my former laoshi and reminisced around campus while they talked about the meaning of life and death for a few hours. Didier still has to go home without his wife, but at least he had an experienced shoulder to cry on and heard something more meaningful than the usual platitudes most of us never adequately know how to express. Didier felt a little better, and we went to the museum where other monks gave him a tour through a few thousand years of Buddhism. When we went to the monastery, it was lightly raining and looked like there was more on the way. When we walked out of the museum, the sun was shining and birds were happy. Didier saw it as a sign. I saw it as autumn weather.
One of the places Yi Jun talked about the most was Kenting. Taiwanese love Kenting. It is the Hawaii of Taiwan. Having been to both Hawaii and Kenting, I disagree. Kenting is in a tropical monsoon climate zone, making it far hotter and wetter than Honolulu. When I was in Hawaii, it would rain for an hour at most and another hour later, you could never tell it was anything but sunny. If it is raining in Kenting, you will not see any sun that day. Hurricanes almost never hit Honolulu. Typhoons hit Kenting all the time.
But it was at the top of Didier's list and only a two hour drive. Most people go on the weekends, but my days off are during the week. We went on a Tuesday. The last time I went to Kenting was a Saturday in the middle of summer. As it turns out, the place is far less crowded on a Tuesday after the school year starts.
The beaches in Kenting are easily the most popular in the entire country. I have no idea why. There is nothing particularly wrong with them, but they are small, usually crowded, and swimming is either highly discouraged or completely illegal. Most people just go to take pictures for the Facebook. Sunset is the popular time, even though the beaches face south and east. Didier is from France, which has a few nice beaches down south and some enormous, sprawling beaches up north. He was not impressed with Kenting.
We spent most of our Kenting time at the national park. Even with the tropical climate and intermittent rain, it is an easy park to hike, with ample trails and paved staircases. You could easily spend a few days exploring the entire park, but we had a few hours. We had no plans to spend the night in Kenting, and I had to show Didier the night market.
Despite the popularity of the beaches, most people go to Kenting for the night life. Several streets downtown become a large night market after sunset. Normal shopping streets during the day take on a carnival atmosphere at night. You can play old style arcade games, like that one where you try to throw a ping pong ball into a tiny fish bowl with an opening too small to fit a ping pong ball, or the one where you throw dull darts at underinflated balloons. Most people stick to buying cheap crap. And, of course, everyone goes for the food. It is not a night market without countless food stalls selling everything from 愛玉 to 仙草. Didier avoided the night markets in Kaohsiung, so Kenting's night scene was essential.
Kenting has plenty of hotels, most of which have plenty of rooms available this time of year. But it is only a two hour drive to Kaohsiung and I was busy the next day, so we did not spend the night.
Hualien was on Didier's list, and I recommend Taroko Gorge wholeheartedly. It is easily Taiwan's best nature site. It is also about as far from Kaohsiung as you can get. Leaving from Kenting would be much easier, though not faster. Whether Didier decided to go to Haulien or not, I was unavailable. I could have put him on the xiaotie, but then he would be on his own in a place that requires some form of transportation, or at least a bicycle. The rainy season technically ends in September, but it has been dragging on longer this year, and since hiking Taroko Gorge in the rain is not the best idea, he decided against it.
I like Didier's idea of traveling around the country and seeing all the sights Yi Jun talked about, but she died at the end of the rainy season and the beginning of the school year. Most vacation days are used up by the end of summer. At any other time of year, I probably could have found people to take him to most of the places on his list.
Though I only met Didier once before Yi Jun died, I am the closest thing he has to a friend in Taiwan. He knows Yi Jun's family and me, though he does not know them especially well. It kind of seems like Yi Jun did not particularly want to live in Taiwan. When she was married to an American, she lived in Michigan. When she was married to Didier, she lived in France and Ohio. Yi Jun and Didier used to visit Taiwan during the New Year and special occasions, but Didier was largely unfamiliar with the culture. In me, he saw someone who knows the culture and can speak to him in a language he understands. I like to think I can speak French on a good day, but we mostly communicate in English. And I knew Yi Jun in a way that makes more sense to him. Her family knew young Yi Jun. We knew the more modern, adult version.
During Yi Jun's last round of treatment, Didier stayed in her sister's house in Chiayi and the hospital hotel. After the funeral, there was no point in staying at the hospital, and he did not want to spend any time in the sister's house, so he went to Tainan. Getting from Chiayi to Tainan is pretty easy, and Didier is comfortable with trains, but he had no idea how to get around once he was there. His phone call started our grand tour of Taiwan.
Before going back to France, and possibly never coming to Taiwan again, Didier wanted to see all the sights that Yi Jun talked about. Getting around the west coast of Taiwan is pretty easy without a car. The slow trains are not at all on time, but they go to pretty much any city you would ever want to see, and most stations are downtown. The high speed train is far more reliable, cleaner, and comfortable, but only one high speed station is in a city center. Most are not even in the largest city of their respective counties. The stations were built out in the countryside where there were large enough patches of empty land. Had Didier taken the gaotie from Chiayi to Tainan, he would have actually gone from Taibao to Gueiren. Chiayi's station was convenient, in his case, since Yi Jun's hospital and sister are in Chiayi County rather than Chiayi City, but Tainan's station is practically in Kaohsiung. I think the hospital was built close to the Chiayi (Taibao) station on purpose. Most stations have free shuttles that take you to the city, and there are ample taxis at every station, but every shuttle and almost every taxi requires at least some knowledge of the language. Foreigners are better off with the xiaotie, which has stations in the middle of each city, though all announced changes are in Chinese.
Today's language lesson: “xiaotie”™ is not a real word. I made it up. The high speed train is 高鐵 (gaotie). The slow speed train is actually 臺鐵 (taitie). Somewhere along the line, I started calling it 小鐵 (xiaotie), which is a bit of a pun, though not a very good one. 高 (gao) and 小 (xiao) are opposites, and rhyme. 臺 is short for 臺灣 (Taiwan), and does not even come close to rhyming.
Didier was going to travel around Taiwan alone. I thought that might not be the best idea. It is certainly possible, but probably not ideal while grieving and not entirely thinking straight. When I offered to help, he assumed I only meant guiding him around Kaohsiung and that he should take the train from Tainan, even though there were places in Tainan on his list. What he did not realize was that I could drive to his Tainan hotel in under 45 minutes. At his hotel, he showed me his list of all the places he wanted to go. He vastly underestimated both the size of Taiwan and the travel times by train. It is a relatively small island, but he had enough sights for a month of travel. I had a car that could reduce travel times, but I also had a job that required my participation.
I knew he was never going to see everything on his list, so I concentrated on the highlights. We were already in Tainan, so we started there. Tainan is an old city and has a great deal of historical sights. Most of them are outdoors and it was raining ropes. Didier thought it was a typhoon. It was certainly typhoon season, but this was a light drizzle by comparison. Instead of Chihkanlou, or Anping, or any of the temples, we went to the Chimei Museum. The outdoor grounds are nice, but the indoor museum is what you want to see.
I had to go to work, so I was going to Kaohsiung with or without Didier. He had a lot of Kaohsiung on his list, so he took the free ride.
I have lived in Kaohsiung for a little over a year. There are parts of the city I have yet to see myself, but I know enough to show someone around. From a French point of view, Kaohsiung is a large, crowded city. From a Chinese point of view, Kaohsiung is pretty small. To experience the culture, you have to go to night markets, food stalls, and places where people are generally packed together like lemmings. Didier is from France, where they are struggling with a bit of a plague right now, and most recently lived in the United States, which refuses to settle for anything but first place. The last thing he wanted was to be in a crowd, especially in a culture that considers it unlucky to cover one's mouth while coughing or sneezing.
So I took him to Fo Guang Shan. Outside of ceremonies and special occasions, the monastery is rarely crowded, and the museum is large enough to seem empty on most weekdays. It is also probably a pretty great place to experience right after burying your wife.
I may not be the best guide for Kaohsiung, but I know a thing or two about Fo Guang Shan. I spent some time there last year and know a few of the monks personally. I introduced Didier to my former laoshi and reminisced around campus while they talked about the meaning of life and death for a few hours. Didier still has to go home without his wife, but at least he had an experienced shoulder to cry on and heard something more meaningful than the usual platitudes most of us never adequately know how to express. Didier felt a little better, and we went to the museum where other monks gave him a tour through a few thousand years of Buddhism. When we went to the monastery, it was lightly raining and looked like there was more on the way. When we walked out of the museum, the sun was shining and birds were happy. Didier saw it as a sign. I saw it as autumn weather.
One of the places Yi Jun talked about the most was Kenting. Taiwanese love Kenting. It is the Hawaii of Taiwan. Having been to both Hawaii and Kenting, I disagree. Kenting is in a tropical monsoon climate zone, making it far hotter and wetter than Honolulu. When I was in Hawaii, it would rain for an hour at most and another hour later, you could never tell it was anything but sunny. If it is raining in Kenting, you will not see any sun that day. Hurricanes almost never hit Honolulu. Typhoons hit Kenting all the time.
But it was at the top of Didier's list and only a two hour drive. Most people go on the weekends, but my days off are during the week. We went on a Tuesday. The last time I went to Kenting was a Saturday in the middle of summer. As it turns out, the place is far less crowded on a Tuesday after the school year starts.
The beaches in Kenting are easily the most popular in the entire country. I have no idea why. There is nothing particularly wrong with them, but they are small, usually crowded, and swimming is either highly discouraged or completely illegal. Most people just go to take pictures for the Facebook. Sunset is the popular time, even though the beaches face south and east. Didier is from France, which has a few nice beaches down south and some enormous, sprawling beaches up north. He was not impressed with Kenting.
We spent most of our Kenting time at the national park. Even with the tropical climate and intermittent rain, it is an easy park to hike, with ample trails and paved staircases. You could easily spend a few days exploring the entire park, but we had a few hours. We had no plans to spend the night in Kenting, and I had to show Didier the night market.
Despite the popularity of the beaches, most people go to Kenting for the night life. Several streets downtown become a large night market after sunset. Normal shopping streets during the day take on a carnival atmosphere at night. You can play old style arcade games, like that one where you try to throw a ping pong ball into a tiny fish bowl with an opening too small to fit a ping pong ball, or the one where you throw dull darts at underinflated balloons. Most people stick to buying cheap crap. And, of course, everyone goes for the food. It is not a night market without countless food stalls selling everything from 愛玉 to 仙草. Didier avoided the night markets in Kaohsiung, so Kenting's night scene was essential.
Kenting has plenty of hotels, most of which have plenty of rooms available this time of year. But it is only a two hour drive to Kaohsiung and I was busy the next day, so we did not spend the night.
Hualien was on Didier's list, and I recommend Taroko Gorge wholeheartedly. It is easily Taiwan's best nature site. It is also about as far from Kaohsiung as you can get. Leaving from Kenting would be much easier, though not faster. Whether Didier decided to go to Haulien or not, I was unavailable. I could have put him on the xiaotie, but then he would be on his own in a place that requires some form of transportation, or at least a bicycle. The rainy season technically ends in September, but it has been dragging on longer this year, and since hiking Taroko Gorge in the rain is not the best idea, he decided against it.
I like Didier's idea of traveling around the country and seeing all the sights Yi Jun talked about, but she died at the end of the rainy season and the beginning of the school year. Most vacation days are used up by the end of summer. At any other time of year, I probably could have found people to take him to most of the places on his list.
Thursday, September 30, 2021
Huang Yi Jun
Huang Yi Jun was diagnosed with T-cell prolymphocytic leukemia at the beginning of September. She died in the middle of September. Her funeral was Saturday.
Yi Jun and I met at a medical facility in April 2020. We were both trying to gain weight. My weight loss was from a TBI a few years earlier. Hers was from leukemia, though no one knew it at the time. She was tested for a wide variety of ailments, but apparently not the type of leukemia she had. Neither of us gained any weight at the camp, but we became friends.
Yi Jun was born and raised in Chiayi Hsien, Taiwan. She was always a good student and got into the best schools. She studied chemical engineering at National Taiwan University, which is generally considered the best school in Taiwan, according to people at National Taiwan University. After graduating, she moved to Michigan, started her career, got married, and had a daughter.
English was never her best subject, but she had a high enough ranking job, and more importantly, made enough money that she faced less discrimination than the average expat in the United States. Her American husband, on the other hand, often complained about her poor English. Naturally, he never bothered to learn Chinese. They also had the usual cultural issues. Americans often have problems with people from other states. Taiwan might as well be on a different planet. I never met her ex-husband, but from what she told me, he sounded like a typical xenophobe. Why he ever married a Taiwanese is anyone's guess. My assumption is that he thought she would be a passive and obedient wife, which is a bizarre stereotype in the United States that is as far removed from reality as their views on international relations and the shape of the Earth.
Four years after getting married, they were divorced. When Yi Jun decided to move back to Taiwan, there was a custody battle for their daughter. Since she wanted to take her child, who was born in the United States and far too young to make any decisions for herself, to one of them foreigner countries that don't speak no English, the court gave the father full custody.
Before fully putting her life back together, Yi Jun met a man from France. I would have advised against jumping in the pool so soon after almost drowning, but I did not know her at the time, so she moved to France and married Didier. Ironically, this husband got a job in Ohio. Yi Jun knew she could easily find a job in the United States with her chemical engineering background, and Ohio was much closer to her daughter than Taiwan or France, so she moved again. Fortunately, this husband was French, so their cultural differences were never seen as a negative.
When she started to get sick and lose weight, they spent a small fortune on doctors and tests. One doctor told her it was stress. Several treated her as if she had a learning disability because she was a foreigner who spoke English poorly, never mind that she was fluent in twice as many languages as they were. Every doctor who failed to diagnose her leukemia sent a bill and demanded to be paid in full. Eventually, Yi Jun and Didier went to Taiwan, where no one has to go bankrupt to get healthcare. Her doctor sent her to the Taipei weight camp, where we met.
A few days after getting a diagnosis, she started chemotherapy for the sole purpose of wiping out her immune system. Chemotherapy does little to nothing for leukemia, but they used it to prepare her body for the stem cell transplant. I was surprised by how quickly they found a bone marrow donor. Since the doctors never had to wait around for any insurance company approval, they moved quickly at every stage of her treatment. It was as if treating her was more important than filling out the right paperwork. When she went home from the hospital, everyone was optimistic. T-cell prolymphocytic leukemia has a ridiculously low survival rate, but there were no complications from the stem cell transplant. Everything was looking good.
Despite feeling terrible, Yi Jun was worried about looking terrible. She was always a pretty girl who looked younger than she really was. When I met her, I thought she was in her mid twenties. After chemo, she looked middle aged. We talked a lot about losing our hair. Mine had grown back and was getting longer every day by the time she lost hers. It is amazing how important hair is to young women. You expect men to go bald, but a woman without hair is a shock. Yi Jun and I both went from having long hair most of our lives to suddenly having nothing. She wore a wig pretty much all the time. I used to wear a lot of hats.
We talked about recovery. Mine was slow and painful, and she took comfort in the long, detailed stories that make most people's eyes glaze over. A craniotomy is absolutely nothing like cancer, but she liked the parts about overcoming the odds and getting myself back to full speed, or at least 90%. She was competitive enough to think that if I could do it, she could, too.
Yi Jun's sister told me over the phone that Yi Jun died. I would have preferred to hear that in person, but at least it was not a text message. I only knew her for 17 months, so I was probably pretty far down the list of people to call. All things considered, it was nice of her sister to let me know.
Yi Jun's husband was in Taiwan during the last round of treatment and was with her in the hospital when she died, luckily. He speaks no Chinese and her family speaks no French. At least the doctors could speak to him in English. But it was the family that planned the funeral, and none of them knew more than a few words or phrases in English. I was drafted as their translator.
Yi Jun and Didier lived in France and the United States. Yi Jun mostly lived away from Taiwan the last ten years of her life. But there was never any question among her family that her funeral would be in Taiwan and everything would be done the Taiwan way. This was news to Didier, but he was in no position to argue. He later told me that he would have preferred taking her back to France and doing everything the French way, but by then it was too late.
I have only lived in Taiwan for 16 months; less time than I knew Yi Jun. I am not the first person you go to for information or explanations about Taiwan funeral practices. In fact, Yi Jun's was my first Taiwan funeral. Yet I was supposed to tell Didier what was going on before it even happened. The first of many awkward situations was when I read her obituary to him. It was written by her family and pretty standard as far as obituaries go. It mentioned when and where she was born and when and how she died. It mentioned her parents more than you usually see in Western obituaries. It mentioned that she was survived by her husband, two sons, and daughter. This part was a little confusing. Yi Jun had a daughter with her first husband and no children with Didier. They were married less than three years when she got sick. Didier assumed I was translating the obituary incorrectly, but it very clearly said two sons and one daughter, and gave their names.
A quick phone call to her sister cleared everything up. I did not know her sister particularly well, but she was my liaison for all things funeral. It turns out, according to her sister, that Yi Jun married a Taiwanese at 18, had two sons, and was divorced by 21. Her American husband, who I thought was her first, was her second. They got married when Yi Jun was 24 and divorced at 28. Didier was her third husband. I have no idea why Yi Jun never told me about her Taiwanese husband, or her two sons, but we only knew each other for 17 months. I never knew her when she was healthy. Then again, she told me plenty about her American husband and daughter.
I was stunned by this new information, but I could see where maybe she did not go around telling everyone that she got married too young and it ended poorly. And maybe it was easy to talk to me about the American husband because I have some experience with failed American relationships. But the real shock was how shocked Didier was to learn about the Taiwanese husband and two sons. She never mentioned them to him either. He knew all about the American husband and daughter, including plenty of detailed stories Yi Jun never told me, but she never told her French husband that he was number three. Didier had a lot of questions, but I had none of the answers. He would have to talk to Yi Jun's sister, and that would require me translating. Somehow, I landed in the middle of a Taiwanese telenovela. We tried to set up a lunch before the funeral, but everyone was too busy. To date, this conversation has not happened. I think her family is avoiding Didier as politely as possible. They knew a Yi Jun that he never met.
Fortunately, the funeral was straightforward and pretty intuitive. The funeral home put the body in a casket, everyone came and sat in the audience, a few people gave speeches, including her oldest son – who was not at all a shock to most of the people in attendance, a small choir sang “Amazing Grace” and a few Taiwan folk songs, they showed a low quality video that looked like a 1980s VHS tape of people who could not be there in person giving their condolences, the family put flowers on Yi Jun's body, everyone else lined up to cover her with flowers, the funeral people dramatically carried the coffin into a waiting hearse with everyone following in a processional, and most of the guests went home. It was only after they took the body away that Taiwan custom started to diverge from what Didier and I consider routine.
None of Yi Jun's ex-husbands were at the funeral. Both of her teenage sons were there, but her daughter was not. Yi Jun and her daughter never had the best relationship, and as an American, the daughter would have been subject to some strict entry requirements had she tried to come to Taiwan. A few of Yi Jun's Ohio and Michigan friends and colleagues recorded messages for the low quality video, but her daughter was not among them.
Only the family followed the hearse away from the funeral. Since I was Didier's translator, I came along for the ride. Very few bodies are buried whole in Taiwan, so we did not go to a cemetery to inter the coffin. We went to the local crematorium. I had warned Didier about this ahead of time, and cremation is not so unusual in his country, but I could not warn him about how they would prepare the body because no one ever told me. When they asked him to help take Yi Jun out of the coffin and wash her body, we were both surprised. I had no idea this was part of Taiwanese culture. Most people around here never talk about funeral rites, until it is time to get down to business. I like to think I am pretty open minded when it comes to cultures different from my own, but I was more than a little uncomfortable watching Didier and a few female relatives wash the lifeless corpse of my friend. Didier was pretty much horrified, but he went along with it because it was expected of him, and he mostly walked around in a daze that day.
Mercifully, we did not have to personally set the body on fire. They put her in a cheaper coffin, since the one at the funeral was a ceremonial rental, and machines did most of the work. We were not even in the same building when they fired up the oven.
I had a chance to warn Didier about the next part, because I knew it was going to happen. Once cremated, the remains were brought out to the family, where they literally picked her bones. In Taiwan, just like China, and probably more than a few East Asian countries, the bones are not pulverized to a fine dust and placed in an urn. They are scattered on a large tray where immediate family can pick out the bone fragments they want to keep. Most of her relatives will bury their portion of Yi Jun in their local cemetery and visit her every year during 清明節 (Tomb Sweeping Day). Didier's plan is to take his Yi Jun bones back to France and bury her after a more familiar memorial service.
The point of a funeral, as far as I know, is to say goodbye to someone. Yi Jun's funeral was not for or about me, and almost everyone knew her longer than I did, but I never really got a chance to say goodbye since I was busy explaining everything to Didier. It was an honor to be in that position, and a highly educational experience, but I would have liked the luxury of mourning my friend with everyone else.
Huang Yi Jun was 34 years old.
Yi Jun and I met at a medical facility in April 2020. We were both trying to gain weight. My weight loss was from a TBI a few years earlier. Hers was from leukemia, though no one knew it at the time. She was tested for a wide variety of ailments, but apparently not the type of leukemia she had. Neither of us gained any weight at the camp, but we became friends.
Yi Jun was born and raised in Chiayi Hsien, Taiwan. She was always a good student and got into the best schools. She studied chemical engineering at National Taiwan University, which is generally considered the best school in Taiwan, according to people at National Taiwan University. After graduating, she moved to Michigan, started her career, got married, and had a daughter.
English was never her best subject, but she had a high enough ranking job, and more importantly, made enough money that she faced less discrimination than the average expat in the United States. Her American husband, on the other hand, often complained about her poor English. Naturally, he never bothered to learn Chinese. They also had the usual cultural issues. Americans often have problems with people from other states. Taiwan might as well be on a different planet. I never met her ex-husband, but from what she told me, he sounded like a typical xenophobe. Why he ever married a Taiwanese is anyone's guess. My assumption is that he thought she would be a passive and obedient wife, which is a bizarre stereotype in the United States that is as far removed from reality as their views on international relations and the shape of the Earth.
Four years after getting married, they were divorced. When Yi Jun decided to move back to Taiwan, there was a custody battle for their daughter. Since she wanted to take her child, who was born in the United States and far too young to make any decisions for herself, to one of them foreigner countries that don't speak no English, the court gave the father full custody.
Before fully putting her life back together, Yi Jun met a man from France. I would have advised against jumping in the pool so soon after almost drowning, but I did not know her at the time, so she moved to France and married Didier. Ironically, this husband got a job in Ohio. Yi Jun knew she could easily find a job in the United States with her chemical engineering background, and Ohio was much closer to her daughter than Taiwan or France, so she moved again. Fortunately, this husband was French, so their cultural differences were never seen as a negative.
When she started to get sick and lose weight, they spent a small fortune on doctors and tests. One doctor told her it was stress. Several treated her as if she had a learning disability because she was a foreigner who spoke English poorly, never mind that she was fluent in twice as many languages as they were. Every doctor who failed to diagnose her leukemia sent a bill and demanded to be paid in full. Eventually, Yi Jun and Didier went to Taiwan, where no one has to go bankrupt to get healthcare. Her doctor sent her to the Taipei weight camp, where we met.
A few days after getting a diagnosis, she started chemotherapy for the sole purpose of wiping out her immune system. Chemotherapy does little to nothing for leukemia, but they used it to prepare her body for the stem cell transplant. I was surprised by how quickly they found a bone marrow donor. Since the doctors never had to wait around for any insurance company approval, they moved quickly at every stage of her treatment. It was as if treating her was more important than filling out the right paperwork. When she went home from the hospital, everyone was optimistic. T-cell prolymphocytic leukemia has a ridiculously low survival rate, but there were no complications from the stem cell transplant. Everything was looking good.
Despite feeling terrible, Yi Jun was worried about looking terrible. She was always a pretty girl who looked younger than she really was. When I met her, I thought she was in her mid twenties. After chemo, she looked middle aged. We talked a lot about losing our hair. Mine had grown back and was getting longer every day by the time she lost hers. It is amazing how important hair is to young women. You expect men to go bald, but a woman without hair is a shock. Yi Jun and I both went from having long hair most of our lives to suddenly having nothing. She wore a wig pretty much all the time. I used to wear a lot of hats.
We talked about recovery. Mine was slow and painful, and she took comfort in the long, detailed stories that make most people's eyes glaze over. A craniotomy is absolutely nothing like cancer, but she liked the parts about overcoming the odds and getting myself back to full speed, or at least 90%. She was competitive enough to think that if I could do it, she could, too.
Yi Jun's sister told me over the phone that Yi Jun died. I would have preferred to hear that in person, but at least it was not a text message. I only knew her for 17 months, so I was probably pretty far down the list of people to call. All things considered, it was nice of her sister to let me know.
Yi Jun's husband was in Taiwan during the last round of treatment and was with her in the hospital when she died, luckily. He speaks no Chinese and her family speaks no French. At least the doctors could speak to him in English. But it was the family that planned the funeral, and none of them knew more than a few words or phrases in English. I was drafted as their translator.
Yi Jun and Didier lived in France and the United States. Yi Jun mostly lived away from Taiwan the last ten years of her life. But there was never any question among her family that her funeral would be in Taiwan and everything would be done the Taiwan way. This was news to Didier, but he was in no position to argue. He later told me that he would have preferred taking her back to France and doing everything the French way, but by then it was too late.
I have only lived in Taiwan for 16 months; less time than I knew Yi Jun. I am not the first person you go to for information or explanations about Taiwan funeral practices. In fact, Yi Jun's was my first Taiwan funeral. Yet I was supposed to tell Didier what was going on before it even happened. The first of many awkward situations was when I read her obituary to him. It was written by her family and pretty standard as far as obituaries go. It mentioned when and where she was born and when and how she died. It mentioned her parents more than you usually see in Western obituaries. It mentioned that she was survived by her husband, two sons, and daughter. This part was a little confusing. Yi Jun had a daughter with her first husband and no children with Didier. They were married less than three years when she got sick. Didier assumed I was translating the obituary incorrectly, but it very clearly said two sons and one daughter, and gave their names.
A quick phone call to her sister cleared everything up. I did not know her sister particularly well, but she was my liaison for all things funeral. It turns out, according to her sister, that Yi Jun married a Taiwanese at 18, had two sons, and was divorced by 21. Her American husband, who I thought was her first, was her second. They got married when Yi Jun was 24 and divorced at 28. Didier was her third husband. I have no idea why Yi Jun never told me about her Taiwanese husband, or her two sons, but we only knew each other for 17 months. I never knew her when she was healthy. Then again, she told me plenty about her American husband and daughter.
I was stunned by this new information, but I could see where maybe she did not go around telling everyone that she got married too young and it ended poorly. And maybe it was easy to talk to me about the American husband because I have some experience with failed American relationships. But the real shock was how shocked Didier was to learn about the Taiwanese husband and two sons. She never mentioned them to him either. He knew all about the American husband and daughter, including plenty of detailed stories Yi Jun never told me, but she never told her French husband that he was number three. Didier had a lot of questions, but I had none of the answers. He would have to talk to Yi Jun's sister, and that would require me translating. Somehow, I landed in the middle of a Taiwanese telenovela. We tried to set up a lunch before the funeral, but everyone was too busy. To date, this conversation has not happened. I think her family is avoiding Didier as politely as possible. They knew a Yi Jun that he never met.
Fortunately, the funeral was straightforward and pretty intuitive. The funeral home put the body in a casket, everyone came and sat in the audience, a few people gave speeches, including her oldest son – who was not at all a shock to most of the people in attendance, a small choir sang “Amazing Grace” and a few Taiwan folk songs, they showed a low quality video that looked like a 1980s VHS tape of people who could not be there in person giving their condolences, the family put flowers on Yi Jun's body, everyone else lined up to cover her with flowers, the funeral people dramatically carried the coffin into a waiting hearse with everyone following in a processional, and most of the guests went home. It was only after they took the body away that Taiwan custom started to diverge from what Didier and I consider routine.
None of Yi Jun's ex-husbands were at the funeral. Both of her teenage sons were there, but her daughter was not. Yi Jun and her daughter never had the best relationship, and as an American, the daughter would have been subject to some strict entry requirements had she tried to come to Taiwan. A few of Yi Jun's Ohio and Michigan friends and colleagues recorded messages for the low quality video, but her daughter was not among them.
Only the family followed the hearse away from the funeral. Since I was Didier's translator, I came along for the ride. Very few bodies are buried whole in Taiwan, so we did not go to a cemetery to inter the coffin. We went to the local crematorium. I had warned Didier about this ahead of time, and cremation is not so unusual in his country, but I could not warn him about how they would prepare the body because no one ever told me. When they asked him to help take Yi Jun out of the coffin and wash her body, we were both surprised. I had no idea this was part of Taiwanese culture. Most people around here never talk about funeral rites, until it is time to get down to business. I like to think I am pretty open minded when it comes to cultures different from my own, but I was more than a little uncomfortable watching Didier and a few female relatives wash the lifeless corpse of my friend. Didier was pretty much horrified, but he went along with it because it was expected of him, and he mostly walked around in a daze that day.
Mercifully, we did not have to personally set the body on fire. They put her in a cheaper coffin, since the one at the funeral was a ceremonial rental, and machines did most of the work. We were not even in the same building when they fired up the oven.
I had a chance to warn Didier about the next part, because I knew it was going to happen. Once cremated, the remains were brought out to the family, where they literally picked her bones. In Taiwan, just like China, and probably more than a few East Asian countries, the bones are not pulverized to a fine dust and placed in an urn. They are scattered on a large tray where immediate family can pick out the bone fragments they want to keep. Most of her relatives will bury their portion of Yi Jun in their local cemetery and visit her every year during 清明節 (Tomb Sweeping Day). Didier's plan is to take his Yi Jun bones back to France and bury her after a more familiar memorial service.
The point of a funeral, as far as I know, is to say goodbye to someone. Yi Jun's funeral was not for or about me, and almost everyone knew her longer than I did, but I never really got a chance to say goodbye since I was busy explaining everything to Didier. It was an honor to be in that position, and a highly educational experience, but I would have liked the luxury of mourning my friend with everyone else.
Huang Yi Jun was 34 years old.
Saturday, September 11, 2021
911
Twenty years ago, the United States changed, and not for the better. A small group of terrorists wanted to strike at the heart of America's financial power. They did little damage to corporate America and had no effect on corporate greed and domination. If anything, they helped make it easier for the unscrupulous to manipulate the gullible. But those terrorists were highly successful at making the people even more hateful and paranoid than before.
When I was a child, an Egyptian family moved into the neighborhood. This was a big event because, from my point of view, they had children my age. The adults probably noticed that this new family was not white. Racism was popular long before 9/11, but no one in our neighborhood seemed to care that this family was Muslim. Most of the talk was about pyramids and mummies. Some of us were baffled that the new family's children had never seen pyramids in person. That was like being from France and never seeing the Eiffel Tower, though it is pretty hard to spot from Nice. I never heard anyone use the word terrorist.
That would play out very differently today.
I can remember a time when Americans of different political persuasions could talk to each other in a civil manner. Believe it or not, there was even a time when people acknowledged that more than two political parties existed. In 1992, Ross Perot had a significant impact on the election. He was neither Republican nor Democrat.
Today, there might as well be only two parties, the Capulets and Montagues. They are not rivals for the same throne. They are sworn enemies. Where it used to be Americans who saw things one way versus Americans who saw things another way, today it is patriots versus traitors; real Americans versus unAmericans. The end of the Cold War played an enormous part in the country's internal division. With no common enemy to unite against, the house was free to divide against itself. Saudis flying planes into buildings did not cause any of that, but it certainly did not help.
Wednesday, September 1, 2021
Naked Day 2021 part 3
The Islands
Sofia's favorite beach was everything she had described, though larger than I expected. She kept telling us that it was tiny. I thought it would be maybe a dozen meters wide instead of half a kilometer. The sand was as white and soft as Sofia remembered, and we were the only humans on the island. We sailed past the pier on the way to the cove and it looked like it had not been touched in months, which made sense. The pier is only used by people visiting the island to watch dolphins migrate. Since the dolphins are getting closer to extinction every year and avoid Hong Kong during the crowded boat traffic of summer, the island gets fewer visitors than ever.
The purpose of a beach, to me, is a means to reach and/or look at the ocean. With the boat, I did not particularly need the beach. My skin goes straight from pale to burned. Getting a tan is never on my agenda. And if I wanted to burn, there was plenty of sunlight hitting the boat. But Sofia is a beach person. She knows where all the best beaches are in Hong Kong. That might sound like a wasted talent, like knowing which heavy metal singer has the sweetest voice, but knowing someone who knows where the beaches are can save a lot of time in a place like Hong Kong. Assuming you like beaches.
Swimming from a boat in a shallow cove to a beach is easier than hiking through the brush of a volcanic island, but we found our own obstacles. Beach towels tend to get wet when you swim to the beach, so we carried ours in waterproof bags. Amy could not carry a bag because she is a weak swimmer. Growing up in Hong Kong, swimming was never a priority, and she was in a serious car accident four years ago that permanently damaged one of her arms. She can keep afloat and move around, but she had to doggy paddle to the beach while I played lifeguard. We were both largely indifferent to spending time on the beach, but Sofia was going no matter what. We went to keep her company, and that meant bringing towels and drinks.
The beach was our primary destination, but we spent more time on the boat than anywhere else. We sailed around some of the smaller islands that were little more than large rocks in the water, which was more interesting the more I thought about it. Hong Kong is generally seen as a steel and concrete jungle, and even when you live there, it looks that way most of the time. But most of Hong Kong is country parks and uninhabited islands.
The most interesting stop of the day was easily Tai A Chau, the largest of the Soko Islands. Though just as deserted as all the others, it has remnants of previous inhabitants. We docked at a run down and weed infested but large and well built landing. Unlike the other islands, there were roads and paths to walk, even if they had seen better days. The villages on Tai A Chau were abandoned 40 years ago, and there was a refugee camp 15 years later. The buildings are mostly gone, but you can tell someone lived there at some point in time. It was like a smaller version of Yim Tin Tsai in Sai Kung, which has an abandoned village of houses full of furniture, clothes, and a variety of personal possessions. You can walk around as if everyone disappeared in a Twilight Zone episode.
Walking around Tai A Chau was far less creepy than Yim Tin Tsai, but it felt more dangerous. We probably should have put clothes on, but this was Sofia's naked day. Officially, I will say it was all her doing, but I did not object nearly as much as I would have expected. The island was conspicuously bereft of mammals.
I should probably point out that such a thing is completely illegal in China. I can recommend walking around naked in your living room, but doing so in public can become a jagged little pill if you get caught. And I can almost guarantee that no judge in Hong Kong will accept “but Hailey did it” as an excuse.
The newest structure on the island was the tiny Mazu temple, no bigger than a backyard tool shed, though not the smallest temple I have ever seen. It was originally built 200 years ago, but rebuilt 20 years ago. The bright new brick walls looked out of place on an island where nature reclaimed everything else. Walking into the temple naked was far and away the most inappropriate thing we did that day. But it felt less sacrilegious than it sounds because Mazu is essentially a Mother Nature goddess. Who better to appreciate our natural state? And the rebuild made it look almost fake. In my experience, most temples look much older.
With only 13 hours of sunlight in the day, we decided to head back after Tai A Chau. You can legally drive a boat at night, and Hu Jian was certainly qualified, but we did not rent it for the full 24 hours. We took the same route back, at an equally leisurely pace. The boat was comfortable enough to lie around and watch all the islands drift by, with large cushions near the bow and a soft sofa at the stern. Most of the people who rent the boat probably use it for fishing, which might be one of the reasons it is furnished for sitting around all day.
Past Lamma Island, we all got dressed again. Everyone in our group, especially Hu Jian, followed Sofia's lead when it came to nudist etiquette. He was the boat expert and she knew all about the dress codes. Amy and I went along for the ride. We were the experts at eating and drinking on our day off.
The purpose of a beach, to me, is a means to reach and/or look at the ocean. With the boat, I did not particularly need the beach. My skin goes straight from pale to burned. Getting a tan is never on my agenda. And if I wanted to burn, there was plenty of sunlight hitting the boat. But Sofia is a beach person. She knows where all the best beaches are in Hong Kong. That might sound like a wasted talent, like knowing which heavy metal singer has the sweetest voice, but knowing someone who knows where the beaches are can save a lot of time in a place like Hong Kong. Assuming you like beaches.
Swimming from a boat in a shallow cove to a beach is easier than hiking through the brush of a volcanic island, but we found our own obstacles. Beach towels tend to get wet when you swim to the beach, so we carried ours in waterproof bags. Amy could not carry a bag because she is a weak swimmer. Growing up in Hong Kong, swimming was never a priority, and she was in a serious car accident four years ago that permanently damaged one of her arms. She can keep afloat and move around, but she had to doggy paddle to the beach while I played lifeguard. We were both largely indifferent to spending time on the beach, but Sofia was going no matter what. We went to keep her company, and that meant bringing towels and drinks.
The beach was our primary destination, but we spent more time on the boat than anywhere else. We sailed around some of the smaller islands that were little more than large rocks in the water, which was more interesting the more I thought about it. Hong Kong is generally seen as a steel and concrete jungle, and even when you live there, it looks that way most of the time. But most of Hong Kong is country parks and uninhabited islands.
The most interesting stop of the day was easily Tai A Chau, the largest of the Soko Islands. Though just as deserted as all the others, it has remnants of previous inhabitants. We docked at a run down and weed infested but large and well built landing. Unlike the other islands, there were roads and paths to walk, even if they had seen better days. The villages on Tai A Chau were abandoned 40 years ago, and there was a refugee camp 15 years later. The buildings are mostly gone, but you can tell someone lived there at some point in time. It was like a smaller version of Yim Tin Tsai in Sai Kung, which has an abandoned village of houses full of furniture, clothes, and a variety of personal possessions. You can walk around as if everyone disappeared in a Twilight Zone episode.
Walking around Tai A Chau was far less creepy than Yim Tin Tsai, but it felt more dangerous. We probably should have put clothes on, but this was Sofia's naked day. Officially, I will say it was all her doing, but I did not object nearly as much as I would have expected. The island was conspicuously bereft of mammals.
I should probably point out that such a thing is completely illegal in China. I can recommend walking around naked in your living room, but doing so in public can become a jagged little pill if you get caught. And I can almost guarantee that no judge in Hong Kong will accept “but Hailey did it” as an excuse.
The newest structure on the island was the tiny Mazu temple, no bigger than a backyard tool shed, though not the smallest temple I have ever seen. It was originally built 200 years ago, but rebuilt 20 years ago. The bright new brick walls looked out of place on an island where nature reclaimed everything else. Walking into the temple naked was far and away the most inappropriate thing we did that day. But it felt less sacrilegious than it sounds because Mazu is essentially a Mother Nature goddess. Who better to appreciate our natural state? And the rebuild made it look almost fake. In my experience, most temples look much older.
With only 13 hours of sunlight in the day, we decided to head back after Tai A Chau. You can legally drive a boat at night, and Hu Jian was certainly qualified, but we did not rent it for the full 24 hours. We took the same route back, at an equally leisurely pace. The boat was comfortable enough to lie around and watch all the islands drift by, with large cushions near the bow and a soft sofa at the stern. Most of the people who rent the boat probably use it for fishing, which might be one of the reasons it is furnished for sitting around all day.
Past Lamma Island, we all got dressed again. Everyone in our group, especially Hu Jian, followed Sofia's lead when it came to nudist etiquette. He was the boat expert and she knew all about the dress codes. Amy and I went along for the ride. We were the experts at eating and drinking on our day off.
Tuesday, August 24, 2021
Naked Day 2021 part 2
The People
I have friends in Hong Kong. That is the sort of thing that happens when you live there. One of them is a card-carrying member of the Hong Kong Boating Industry Association. He does not actually own a boat, but he is saving up to buy one. Ask him and he will tell you all about it. Parents have pictures of their children on their phones. Pet owners have videos of their cats knocking things off tables. He has pictures of the boat he wants to buy. It is nice, as boats go.
His girlfriend is a card-carrying member of the American Association for Nude Recreation. She literally has a membership card. She is from Canada, where I would not expect a great deal of recreational outdoor nudity most of the year, but she lives in Hong Kong, where there is even less.
They wanted to rent a boat and find a secluded island for their own naked day. They also wanted some people to join them because renting a decent boat is far from cheap. Lily, Kevin, and I were in. Hong Kong has some beautiful islands, and it always intrigues me how you can live in the city for years and never see most of them. Lily and I recruited Amy, the best massage therapist in all of China, as far as I know. We have all known each other for years.
Lily and Kevin met each other in Canada, long before any of us and long before I ever thought about living in Hong Kong. I met Lily and then Kevin more than ten years ago. I met Amy when she started giving me leg massages nine years ago. We started out professionally, but quickly became friends. I met Sofia about six years ago, immediately after which Sofia and Hu Jian met each other on their own. And since it is a small world after all, and Hong Kong is even smaller, Amy and Hu Jian discovered that their brothers went to school together, though they never crossed paths at the time. Their full biographies are not particularly important. What matters is that we have all been friends long enough that the initial idea of a naked boat day did not repel me. Though I always knew there was a 50/50 chance that it would turn into a regular, clothed boat day.
Lily and Kevin dropped out before anyone paid for the boat. They offered to pay their share anyway since it was a last minute cancellation, but that was completely unnecessary. Though we are all on our summer vacations, Kevin also had work to do. And I think he and Lily were looking forward to their own naked day at the big house, as long as I was out to sea.
That left four people on a boat designed to hold six to eight. I think more space is always a good idea whenever people are on a boat, especially if everyone is naked. We were never going to spend the night, so we never needed to adapt to close quarters. I was in it for the wide open islands anyway.
Hu Jian took care of all the boat logistics. He was the boat person in our group and this trip was his idea. Amy and I met at her house and went down to Kwun Tong together, where Sofia, Hu Jian, and the boat were waiting. The boat was moored in the middle of the water with a bunch of other boats, so we took a smaller boat taxi out to our boat. Hong Kong does not have nearly enough spaces to park all the boats, forcing most of them to park in the water without any kind of dock. That is the main reason Hong Kong has so many typhoon shelters.
From Kwun Tong, we sailed out of Kowloon Bay, into the South China Sea, around Hong Kong Island, and headed west. On a map, it makes more sense to go west through Victoria Harbour and then southwest between Hong Kong Island and Lantau, but that area holds something like 90% of all the boat traffic in Hong Kong. The way we went was faster, required less paperwork, and was more scenic. I suppose if you have never been to Hong Kong, sailing from Kowloon Bay through Victoria Harbour would be the bees knees, but anyone who has lived in Hong Kong for more than a month has seen Victoria Harbour from every angle. The islands south of Hong Kong Island are less frequently explored by pretty much everyone.
Our destination was the Soko Islands, less than 35km southwest of Kowloon Bay. I have no idea how many nautical miles that is. It took us about two hours, but we made a few stops and were in no hurry to get there.
Hu Jian chose the Soko Islands for a few reasons. The islands are easy to get to from Kowloon or Hong Kong Island, and even easier from Lantau, assuming you have your own boat. There are no ferries because they are completely uninhabited. North of Lantau is a rather large airport, freeways, and a lot of commercial and private boats going all over the place. South of Lantau is pretty much nothing but wild islands that most people never visit. One of the islands also has Sofia's favorite beach in Hong Kong. It is not especially large, but the sand is soft and white, and the beach is probably always deserted. There is a tiny pier on the island where we could have parked the boat, but getting to the beach from the pier requires a bit of a hike, and there are no trails. It was much easier to park the boat in the cove and swim to the beach.
Hu Jian was the only one wearing clothes by the time we arrived at the Soko Islands. He claimed to be busy driving the boat, but he was clearly the shy one in our group. At Kowloon Bay, we were all fully clothed. Technically, it is illegal to be nude in any public space in Hong Kong. Inside the cabin of a boat is considered private, while out on the deck is public, even on a large body of water with no other people visible to the naked eye. Go nude on the deck of a boat in the middle of Kowloon Bay and you might get a visit from men in uniforms. Go nude south of Lamma Island and no one will ever know or care. Supposedly, Lamma Island has an unofficial nude beach, but I would think it is too populated. Then again, I know Lantau has a nude beach, and it has 15 times as many people.
Amy and I wore bathing suits at the beginning of our boat trip, but Sofia, as the official nudist, shed her clothes as soon as we were clear of the shipping lanes from Stanley. We parked the boat at a little cove on the southern end of Lamma Island. Our goal was to go swimming and maybe explore the island a little. In the clean water between the island and the boat, Amy and I realized that our bathing suits were unnecessary. Though a few thousand people live on Lamma, they all live on the northern half of the island. While Amy, Sofia, and I floated and Hu Jian manned the boat, we pretty much abandoned the idea of exploring inland. The choice between air drying on the boat deck and putting all of our clothes back on to hike toward civilization and overpriced tourist trinkets in the oppressive humidity was an easy one. Lamma Island is a bit of a haven for artists, expats, and alternative types, but even on the most hippie island in Hong Kong, wearing clothes would have been required. Sofia had the right idea, so we carried on to the Soko Islands.
His girlfriend is a card-carrying member of the American Association for Nude Recreation. She literally has a membership card. She is from Canada, where I would not expect a great deal of recreational outdoor nudity most of the year, but she lives in Hong Kong, where there is even less.
They wanted to rent a boat and find a secluded island for their own naked day. They also wanted some people to join them because renting a decent boat is far from cheap. Lily, Kevin, and I were in. Hong Kong has some beautiful islands, and it always intrigues me how you can live in the city for years and never see most of them. Lily and I recruited Amy, the best massage therapist in all of China, as far as I know. We have all known each other for years.
Lily and Kevin met each other in Canada, long before any of us and long before I ever thought about living in Hong Kong. I met Lily and then Kevin more than ten years ago. I met Amy when she started giving me leg massages nine years ago. We started out professionally, but quickly became friends. I met Sofia about six years ago, immediately after which Sofia and Hu Jian met each other on their own. And since it is a small world after all, and Hong Kong is even smaller, Amy and Hu Jian discovered that their brothers went to school together, though they never crossed paths at the time. Their full biographies are not particularly important. What matters is that we have all been friends long enough that the initial idea of a naked boat day did not repel me. Though I always knew there was a 50/50 chance that it would turn into a regular, clothed boat day.
Lily and Kevin dropped out before anyone paid for the boat. They offered to pay their share anyway since it was a last minute cancellation, but that was completely unnecessary. Though we are all on our summer vacations, Kevin also had work to do. And I think he and Lily were looking forward to their own naked day at the big house, as long as I was out to sea.
That left four people on a boat designed to hold six to eight. I think more space is always a good idea whenever people are on a boat, especially if everyone is naked. We were never going to spend the night, so we never needed to adapt to close quarters. I was in it for the wide open islands anyway.
Hu Jian took care of all the boat logistics. He was the boat person in our group and this trip was his idea. Amy and I met at her house and went down to Kwun Tong together, where Sofia, Hu Jian, and the boat were waiting. The boat was moored in the middle of the water with a bunch of other boats, so we took a smaller boat taxi out to our boat. Hong Kong does not have nearly enough spaces to park all the boats, forcing most of them to park in the water without any kind of dock. That is the main reason Hong Kong has so many typhoon shelters.
From Kwun Tong, we sailed out of Kowloon Bay, into the South China Sea, around Hong Kong Island, and headed west. On a map, it makes more sense to go west through Victoria Harbour and then southwest between Hong Kong Island and Lantau, but that area holds something like 90% of all the boat traffic in Hong Kong. The way we went was faster, required less paperwork, and was more scenic. I suppose if you have never been to Hong Kong, sailing from Kowloon Bay through Victoria Harbour would be the bees knees, but anyone who has lived in Hong Kong for more than a month has seen Victoria Harbour from every angle. The islands south of Hong Kong Island are less frequently explored by pretty much everyone.
Our destination was the Soko Islands, less than 35km southwest of Kowloon Bay. I have no idea how many nautical miles that is. It took us about two hours, but we made a few stops and were in no hurry to get there.
Hu Jian chose the Soko Islands for a few reasons. The islands are easy to get to from Kowloon or Hong Kong Island, and even easier from Lantau, assuming you have your own boat. There are no ferries because they are completely uninhabited. North of Lantau is a rather large airport, freeways, and a lot of commercial and private boats going all over the place. South of Lantau is pretty much nothing but wild islands that most people never visit. One of the islands also has Sofia's favorite beach in Hong Kong. It is not especially large, but the sand is soft and white, and the beach is probably always deserted. There is a tiny pier on the island where we could have parked the boat, but getting to the beach from the pier requires a bit of a hike, and there are no trails. It was much easier to park the boat in the cove and swim to the beach.
Hu Jian was the only one wearing clothes by the time we arrived at the Soko Islands. He claimed to be busy driving the boat, but he was clearly the shy one in our group. At Kowloon Bay, we were all fully clothed. Technically, it is illegal to be nude in any public space in Hong Kong. Inside the cabin of a boat is considered private, while out on the deck is public, even on a large body of water with no other people visible to the naked eye. Go nude on the deck of a boat in the middle of Kowloon Bay and you might get a visit from men in uniforms. Go nude south of Lamma Island and no one will ever know or care. Supposedly, Lamma Island has an unofficial nude beach, but I would think it is too populated. Then again, I know Lantau has a nude beach, and it has 15 times as many people.
Amy and I wore bathing suits at the beginning of our boat trip, but Sofia, as the official nudist, shed her clothes as soon as we were clear of the shipping lanes from Stanley. We parked the boat at a little cove on the southern end of Lamma Island. Our goal was to go swimming and maybe explore the island a little. In the clean water between the island and the boat, Amy and I realized that our bathing suits were unnecessary. Though a few thousand people live on Lamma, they all live on the northern half of the island. While Amy, Sofia, and I floated and Hu Jian manned the boat, we pretty much abandoned the idea of exploring inland. The choice between air drying on the boat deck and putting all of our clothes back on to hike toward civilization and overpriced tourist trinkets in the oppressive humidity was an easy one. Lamma Island is a bit of a haven for artists, expats, and alternative types, but even on the most hippie island in Hong Kong, wearing clothes would have been required. Sofia had the right idea, so we carried on to the Soko Islands.
Friday, August 6, 2021
Naked Day 2021 part 1
The Swimming
Have you ever walked around an abandoned Chinese fishing village naked? I suppose I can add that to the list of thing I never even thought about doing until it actually happened.
I have what is probably a not at all unique relationship with nudity. I am comfortable naked. I love being naked outdoors; the more natural the environment, the better. But I do not like to be naked around other people, unless I know them exceptionally well. I am perfectly comfortable with my body. As a dancer, I know it very well. We have been good friends for a long time. I am 30 years old, but could easily pass for 29. I run or bicycle every morning. I go to the gym most nights. Now that I do more choreography than performing, I dance less at work than I used to, and not at all during dress rehearsals and performances, but my typical work day involves far more physical activity than the typical office job. I like to think I am in decent shape. But I do not particularly like being watched.
I have been on stage since childhood, in one capacity or another. But never naked. I feel completely comfortable in front of an audience, and love getting applause. It is addictive. I have absolutely no problem being watched while performing. Performing without an audience is like potatoes without salt. At the same time, I feel nothing but uncomfortable being stared at off the clock.
I grew up around lakes. I come from the Land of 10,000 Lakes. It was not nearly as rural as Little House On the Prairie, but we used to go swimming in one lake or another every summer. Clothing was not always required, when we were too young to know what an abomination our sinful bodies were. Outside of lakes, there were rivers and swimming pools. My family never had a pool in the backyard, but I always knew someone who did. As a child, my best friends had the best pools in the neighborhood. I like to hope that was a coincidence. I spent a healthy percent of my childhood under water. One of my goals in life was always to own a house with a swimming pool. I now own a third of three apartments, all of which have pools on the estate. I don't live in any of them.
Finding a clean swimming pool in Hong Kong is difficult. There are plenty of public pools. None of them are free, as far as I know. All of them have the potential to be toilets. Literally. Seeing what the general public does in Chinese public pools has left me scarred for life. Maybe I am being too hard on them, and it most likely does not happen every day, but more than once is too much.
The big house at Clear Water Bay has a swimming pool. It is professionally cleaned on a regular basis. Most importantly, it is private. At most, I have to share it with two other people, both of whom I know exceptionally well. To me, the best reason to stay at that house is to use the swimming pool. Also to me, swimming with clothes on is ridiculous. If I have access to a clean pool, I am swimming. If it is private, I am swimming naked.
This summer was our tenth anniversary of staying at the Clear Water Bay house. It is also the tenth anniversary of my first visit to a nude beach, though that was in December. Despite living in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, I never went to any nude beaches there. My first nude beach was in Hong Kong, Land of 10,000 Islands. It was a nice little beach on the southern end of Lantau. Like most beaches in Hong Kong, it is almost always deserted. Especially in December.
I like to have at least one naked day whenever I stay at the big house. When we all lived in Hong Kong, it was pretty easy to have a day to myself at the house. We all have different schedules, and never spend every waking minute together, in Hong Kong or Taiwan.
I cannot rationally explain why I always want a naked day at the big house. Obviously, swimming naked is the way to go, and the sun and relatively fresh air on the pool deck feel good against bare skin. A light rain can be nice, too. But inside the house, there really is no difference between clothed and nude. The entire house is climate controlled, there is nothing dangerous about it in that secluded neighborhood, and since I am alone, there are no adult-rated shenanigans afoot. At this point, it might just be more traditional than anything else.
Except this year's naked day at the big house did not happen at the house, or anywhere near Clear Water Bay.
I have what is probably a not at all unique relationship with nudity. I am comfortable naked. I love being naked outdoors; the more natural the environment, the better. But I do not like to be naked around other people, unless I know them exceptionally well. I am perfectly comfortable with my body. As a dancer, I know it very well. We have been good friends for a long time. I am 30 years old, but could easily pass for 29. I run or bicycle every morning. I go to the gym most nights. Now that I do more choreography than performing, I dance less at work than I used to, and not at all during dress rehearsals and performances, but my typical work day involves far more physical activity than the typical office job. I like to think I am in decent shape. But I do not particularly like being watched.
I have been on stage since childhood, in one capacity or another. But never naked. I feel completely comfortable in front of an audience, and love getting applause. It is addictive. I have absolutely no problem being watched while performing. Performing without an audience is like potatoes without salt. At the same time, I feel nothing but uncomfortable being stared at off the clock.
I grew up around lakes. I come from the Land of 10,000 Lakes. It was not nearly as rural as Little House On the Prairie, but we used to go swimming in one lake or another every summer. Clothing was not always required, when we were too young to know what an abomination our sinful bodies were. Outside of lakes, there were rivers and swimming pools. My family never had a pool in the backyard, but I always knew someone who did. As a child, my best friends had the best pools in the neighborhood. I like to hope that was a coincidence. I spent a healthy percent of my childhood under water. One of my goals in life was always to own a house with a swimming pool. I now own a third of three apartments, all of which have pools on the estate. I don't live in any of them.
Finding a clean swimming pool in Hong Kong is difficult. There are plenty of public pools. None of them are free, as far as I know. All of them have the potential to be toilets. Literally. Seeing what the general public does in Chinese public pools has left me scarred for life. Maybe I am being too hard on them, and it most likely does not happen every day, but more than once is too much.
The big house at Clear Water Bay has a swimming pool. It is professionally cleaned on a regular basis. Most importantly, it is private. At most, I have to share it with two other people, both of whom I know exceptionally well. To me, the best reason to stay at that house is to use the swimming pool. Also to me, swimming with clothes on is ridiculous. If I have access to a clean pool, I am swimming. If it is private, I am swimming naked.
This summer was our tenth anniversary of staying at the Clear Water Bay house. It is also the tenth anniversary of my first visit to a nude beach, though that was in December. Despite living in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, I never went to any nude beaches there. My first nude beach was in Hong Kong, Land of 10,000 Islands. It was a nice little beach on the southern end of Lantau. Like most beaches in Hong Kong, it is almost always deserted. Especially in December.
I like to have at least one naked day whenever I stay at the big house. When we all lived in Hong Kong, it was pretty easy to have a day to myself at the house. We all have different schedules, and never spend every waking minute together, in Hong Kong or Taiwan.
I cannot rationally explain why I always want a naked day at the big house. Obviously, swimming naked is the way to go, and the sun and relatively fresh air on the pool deck feel good against bare skin. A light rain can be nice, too. But inside the house, there really is no difference between clothed and nude. The entire house is climate controlled, there is nothing dangerous about it in that secluded neighborhood, and since I am alone, there are no adult-rated shenanigans afoot. At this point, it might just be more traditional than anything else.
Except this year's naked day at the big house did not happen at the house, or anywhere near Clear Water Bay.
Friday, July 30, 2021
The Wettest Drought in 50 Years
Way back in May, before the rainy season started, Taiwan was struggling with its most severe drought in 50 years. The government was thinking out loud about ways to ration water. It looked like we might have to live without indoor plumbing one day each week. That would have been inconvenient. When the drought kept droughting, they started talking about two days a week without water. That sounded entirely unacceptable. Having no water does not mean no water in the bathroom only. It would have also meant no doing laundry or washing dishes. I suppose we could have used bottled water, but that would get expensive pretty fast. Outside of the home, they were going to close all the car washes. Bathing your car is not as important as bathing your body, but my car is new. The idea of not washing it felt wrong. Maybe in ten years we can let ourselves go, but we are still newlyweds.
Then the rainy season started. The drought was washed away, almost overnight. It rained enough to fill the lakes and reservoirs. And it kept raining. It rained enough to flood the lower level streets. Why there is not a better drainage system in a hilly city with annual tropical rain, I have no idea. We are on the coast. Piping rain water into the ocean should be easy. I am lucky enough to live by the river. When it rains for a month or two, all that water flows into the river. Some people live at the bottom of hills. Water tends not to go uphill.
We moved to Taiwan just before the start of the rainy season last year. It looks like it might be raining more this year, but that might only be because of the drought. There could be the same amount of rain as last year, or less, for all I know. The biggest difference for me is that I drive to work. Last year, I took the MRT to work at the beginning of the rainy season. I like rain, and recognize the good it does, especially after a drought. But taking the MRT to work during a monsoon is not ideal. I had to walk in the rain to the station, walk down the wet steps to get into the station, walk up the wet steps to get out of a different station, and walk to my building. I don't know what it is or why, but pretty much every stairway in Taiwan is wrong. They are either too narrow, too crooked, too small or too loose. Getting them wet is not an improvement. The only good thing about all the defective stairs in Taiwan is that I have ample experience with all the defective stairs in China. This is all probably a first world complaint, but falling down stairs, wet or dry, could be hazardous to my career.
Driving to work in the rain is much easier. I get into my car in my apartment building's underground parking and get out in my work's underground parking. My shoes never have to touch wet ground. In fact, I can wear whatever shoes I want, rather than my weatherproof Timberland boots. Driving in heavy rain is more dangerous than walking to the MRT station, but driving in Taiwan is inherently dangerous, regardless of weather conditions.
During the drought, my swimming pool with a gym opened a new gym with a swimming pool. But the pool was closed because of the drought. Once the drought ended, they opened the pool. But it is an outdoor pool, so they immediately closed it due to heavy rain. In July, the sun started to come out. And I say it's all right. It is still the rainy season. Blue skies can turn gray faster than the south seceded. White clouds can turn black faster than Al Jolson. But we have had a few hours here and there without rain.
My problems quickly turned from meteorological to logistical. My preference is to swim at the gym in the morning and exercise later at night. When the swimming pool was closed for the drought, I mostly rode a bicycle or ran in the morning, on the rare mornings it was not raining too heavily. When it rains, I can always ride a fake bike and run on a treadmill at the gym. But I still could not swim. When it stopped raining as much, I thought that would solve everything. But when they opened the swimming pool after the drought, they decided it should only be open from 09:00 to 18:00. That does not work for me at all. My morning ride/run/swim is usually around 05:00. I think the pool should be open whenever the gym is. They disagree. Somehow, I went from a swimming pool with a tiny gym that I never used to a gym with a pool I will rarely use.
It is supposed to rain tomorrow, so I doubt I will do anything outdoors. But at least the worst drought was one of the shortest.
Then the rainy season started. The drought was washed away, almost overnight. It rained enough to fill the lakes and reservoirs. And it kept raining. It rained enough to flood the lower level streets. Why there is not a better drainage system in a hilly city with annual tropical rain, I have no idea. We are on the coast. Piping rain water into the ocean should be easy. I am lucky enough to live by the river. When it rains for a month or two, all that water flows into the river. Some people live at the bottom of hills. Water tends not to go uphill.
We moved to Taiwan just before the start of the rainy season last year. It looks like it might be raining more this year, but that might only be because of the drought. There could be the same amount of rain as last year, or less, for all I know. The biggest difference for me is that I drive to work. Last year, I took the MRT to work at the beginning of the rainy season. I like rain, and recognize the good it does, especially after a drought. But taking the MRT to work during a monsoon is not ideal. I had to walk in the rain to the station, walk down the wet steps to get into the station, walk up the wet steps to get out of a different station, and walk to my building. I don't know what it is or why, but pretty much every stairway in Taiwan is wrong. They are either too narrow, too crooked, too small or too loose. Getting them wet is not an improvement. The only good thing about all the defective stairs in Taiwan is that I have ample experience with all the defective stairs in China. This is all probably a first world complaint, but falling down stairs, wet or dry, could be hazardous to my career.
Driving to work in the rain is much easier. I get into my car in my apartment building's underground parking and get out in my work's underground parking. My shoes never have to touch wet ground. In fact, I can wear whatever shoes I want, rather than my weatherproof Timberland boots. Driving in heavy rain is more dangerous than walking to the MRT station, but driving in Taiwan is inherently dangerous, regardless of weather conditions.
During the drought, my swimming pool with a gym opened a new gym with a swimming pool. But the pool was closed because of the drought. Once the drought ended, they opened the pool. But it is an outdoor pool, so they immediately closed it due to heavy rain. In July, the sun started to come out. And I say it's all right. It is still the rainy season. Blue skies can turn gray faster than the south seceded. White clouds can turn black faster than Al Jolson. But we have had a few hours here and there without rain.
My problems quickly turned from meteorological to logistical. My preference is to swim at the gym in the morning and exercise later at night. When the swimming pool was closed for the drought, I mostly rode a bicycle or ran in the morning, on the rare mornings it was not raining too heavily. When it rains, I can always ride a fake bike and run on a treadmill at the gym. But I still could not swim. When it stopped raining as much, I thought that would solve everything. But when they opened the swimming pool after the drought, they decided it should only be open from 09:00 to 18:00. That does not work for me at all. My morning ride/run/swim is usually around 05:00. I think the pool should be open whenever the gym is. They disagree. Somehow, I went from a swimming pool with a tiny gym that I never used to a gym with a pool I will rarely use.
It is supposed to rain tomorrow, so I doubt I will do anything outdoors. But at least the worst drought was one of the shortest.
Sunday, July 18, 2021
Clear Water Bay 2021
I just got back from Hong Kong. Kevin's boss owns a beautiful house at Clear Water Bay. Every summer or autumn he takes his annual vacation, and almost every summer or autumn, Kevin, Lily, and I stay at the big house. We started going there in July 2011, so this is our tenth anniversary. Though I missed two years. It made a lot more sense to stay at the big house when we lived in Hong Kong, but we seem to still be doing it anyway. It also made sense for boss man to want someone to watch his house while he was away, but now that he lives in Taiwan, who watches the house full time? I have no idea, but it was ours again this summer. Sometimes he goes away in September or October, which is often inconvenient and we cannot all go at the same time. This year, it was late June/early July. That worked out for all of our schedules.
It also made more sense to stay there when we were living in tiny box apartments. The big house is huge, by Hong Kong standards, with 4 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, an American sized kitchen with a real oven, and an outdoor pool deck with a nice swimming pool and hot tub big enough for six. Only the boss and his wife live there, but it is easily large enough to house eight comfortably.
Our current Kaohsiung apartment is larger than all of our previous tiny box apartments combined. We are three people in a space that could easily hold four. The kitchen has no oven, but it is a real, separate room kitchen; a luxury in Taiwan. Something the Clear Water Bay house has head, shoulders, and torso above our apartment is that pool deck.
I have always liked the swimming pool and hot tub more than the house itself. The big house has a better kitchen, but what we have at home is good enough. I can cook almost anywhere. Swimming requires a pool. My new gym has a swimming pool, but it is only open during the hours I am least likely to go to the gym. Plus, it was closed during the drought and mostly closed for the rainy season. All of my efforts to go swimming in Taiwan are thwarted at every turn, but the Clear Water Bay house is always there.
This is the rainy season in Hong Kong, just like Kaohsiung, but the rain behaves differently. Hong Kong and most of Taiwan are in a humid subtropical climate. Kaohsiung is tropical, though it looks nothing like Tahiti.
Almost 80% of Hong Kong's rain arrives during the summer, but it can and probably will rain at any time on any day of the year. Showers can arrive out of nowhere, last a few minutes, and disappear just as quickly. With a little experience, you can generally tell if the day might see rain or definitely will. In any event, bring an umbrella.
Almost 90% of Kaohsiung's rain arrives during the summer. During the rainy season, it will probably rain every day, though not necessarily all day. There is often a pattern of sunny mornings, gray afternoons, and rainy nights. Or sunny mornings, rainy afternoons, and gray nights. If it is raining in the morning, it will most likely rain all day. During the “dry” season, the sky is far more predictable. The clouds let you know if you can safely leave the house without an umbrella.
There was some rain during our Hong Kong trip, but not enough to keep me out of that pool. We have friends in Hong Kong who also enjoy a clean swimming pool. Most of them are just as undeterred by cloudy skies as I am. When we were younger, we threw a party or two at the big house. When you throw parties at someone else's nicer house in your twenties, they tend to get out of hand. You invite your friends and people you casually know. They invite their friends and people you have never met. Pretty soon, half the party is full of strangers. When you throw parties at someone else's nicer house in your thirties, you invite a few people over and everyone remains clothed and sober.
My personal rule in my advanced old age is to keep my clothes on as much as possible at parties, soirées, and general get-togethers. Under water, however, I have always believed that clothing is an abomination. One of the great benefits of having a private swimming pool on your own private pool deck is that you can wear whatever you want in the pool. But when friends come over, I am courteous enough to respect their customs. Chinese culture is big on modesty and not rocking the boat. Ironically, I have seen more public nudity in one year in Taiwan than ten years in Hong Kong. Political agendas aside, Taiwan is far more Chinese than Hong Kong.
Fortunately, the United States nuked the shit out of one of the Marshall Islands, which inspired a Frenchman to design swimwear that is both legally accepted in much of the world and does not have too much fabric to feel too restricting in the water. And it does not hurt that they go on sale every summer. Most of our guests at the swimming pool were Chinese, so there were more one-piece bathing suits than two-piece bikinis. And the men, for whatever reason, wore giant trunks that were longer than most shorts. Fashion has always been a strange thing to me, and I still find it odd that men's swimwear has enough fabric for a dozen bikinis, while women are legally required to shroud more of their bodies. Even more fortunately, we had no guests at the big house for most of the time we were there. That left me free to swim in the pool as naked as Salacia intended.
This trip was mostly a vacation, but the timing was pretty good. We bought a few apartments in Hong Kong a few months ago. One of them was in the final stage of construction. Kevin and I saw it before we signed anything, but it was unfinished. By the time we arrived in Hong Kong this time, it was ready for inspection, and Lily could finally see it. One of the other apartments was always ready, and the property management company found tenants while we were in Taiwan. We thought about going to see them, but collectively agreed that the family living there could probably do without a visit from the foreigners who own their home. I think never having to personally deal with us is one of the great advantages to having us as landlords.
There is a bit of a plague going around right now, which makes Hong Kong a good, though unadventurous, vacation spot. Hong Kong did exceptionally well in the beginning, especially considering the proximity of the epicenter and the ease with which people from Guangzhou could and did travel into Hong Kong, before they locked Hubei under the dome. There was a spike in July 2020, right after we moved to Taiwan. They had a few calm months before a smaller spike in December/January. The numbers have been pretty low since then. To date, around 200 people have died in Hong Kong. That is not so great for the families of those 200, but nothing compared to crime-ridden, politically corrupt third world countries like India, Brazil, and the United States.
Interestingly enough, Macau has zero deaths from this thing. They must have closed the casinos, which must have trashed the economy. I can go to Macau just as easily as Hong Kong, but without casinos, what would be the point.
It also made more sense to stay there when we were living in tiny box apartments. The big house is huge, by Hong Kong standards, with 4 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, an American sized kitchen with a real oven, and an outdoor pool deck with a nice swimming pool and hot tub big enough for six. Only the boss and his wife live there, but it is easily large enough to house eight comfortably.
Our current Kaohsiung apartment is larger than all of our previous tiny box apartments combined. We are three people in a space that could easily hold four. The kitchen has no oven, but it is a real, separate room kitchen; a luxury in Taiwan. Something the Clear Water Bay house has head, shoulders, and torso above our apartment is that pool deck.
I have always liked the swimming pool and hot tub more than the house itself. The big house has a better kitchen, but what we have at home is good enough. I can cook almost anywhere. Swimming requires a pool. My new gym has a swimming pool, but it is only open during the hours I am least likely to go to the gym. Plus, it was closed during the drought and mostly closed for the rainy season. All of my efforts to go swimming in Taiwan are thwarted at every turn, but the Clear Water Bay house is always there.
This is the rainy season in Hong Kong, just like Kaohsiung, but the rain behaves differently. Hong Kong and most of Taiwan are in a humid subtropical climate. Kaohsiung is tropical, though it looks nothing like Tahiti.
Almost 80% of Hong Kong's rain arrives during the summer, but it can and probably will rain at any time on any day of the year. Showers can arrive out of nowhere, last a few minutes, and disappear just as quickly. With a little experience, you can generally tell if the day might see rain or definitely will. In any event, bring an umbrella.
Almost 90% of Kaohsiung's rain arrives during the summer. During the rainy season, it will probably rain every day, though not necessarily all day. There is often a pattern of sunny mornings, gray afternoons, and rainy nights. Or sunny mornings, rainy afternoons, and gray nights. If it is raining in the morning, it will most likely rain all day. During the “dry” season, the sky is far more predictable. The clouds let you know if you can safely leave the house without an umbrella.
There was some rain during our Hong Kong trip, but not enough to keep me out of that pool. We have friends in Hong Kong who also enjoy a clean swimming pool. Most of them are just as undeterred by cloudy skies as I am. When we were younger, we threw a party or two at the big house. When you throw parties at someone else's nicer house in your twenties, they tend to get out of hand. You invite your friends and people you casually know. They invite their friends and people you have never met. Pretty soon, half the party is full of strangers. When you throw parties at someone else's nicer house in your thirties, you invite a few people over and everyone remains clothed and sober.
My personal rule in my advanced old age is to keep my clothes on as much as possible at parties, soirées, and general get-togethers. Under water, however, I have always believed that clothing is an abomination. One of the great benefits of having a private swimming pool on your own private pool deck is that you can wear whatever you want in the pool. But when friends come over, I am courteous enough to respect their customs. Chinese culture is big on modesty and not rocking the boat. Ironically, I have seen more public nudity in one year in Taiwan than ten years in Hong Kong. Political agendas aside, Taiwan is far more Chinese than Hong Kong.
Fortunately, the United States nuked the shit out of one of the Marshall Islands, which inspired a Frenchman to design swimwear that is both legally accepted in much of the world and does not have too much fabric to feel too restricting in the water. And it does not hurt that they go on sale every summer. Most of our guests at the swimming pool were Chinese, so there were more one-piece bathing suits than two-piece bikinis. And the men, for whatever reason, wore giant trunks that were longer than most shorts. Fashion has always been a strange thing to me, and I still find it odd that men's swimwear has enough fabric for a dozen bikinis, while women are legally required to shroud more of their bodies. Even more fortunately, we had no guests at the big house for most of the time we were there. That left me free to swim in the pool as naked as Salacia intended.
This trip was mostly a vacation, but the timing was pretty good. We bought a few apartments in Hong Kong a few months ago. One of them was in the final stage of construction. Kevin and I saw it before we signed anything, but it was unfinished. By the time we arrived in Hong Kong this time, it was ready for inspection, and Lily could finally see it. One of the other apartments was always ready, and the property management company found tenants while we were in Taiwan. We thought about going to see them, but collectively agreed that the family living there could probably do without a visit from the foreigners who own their home. I think never having to personally deal with us is one of the great advantages to having us as landlords.
There is a bit of a plague going around right now, which makes Hong Kong a good, though unadventurous, vacation spot. Hong Kong did exceptionally well in the beginning, especially considering the proximity of the epicenter and the ease with which people from Guangzhou could and did travel into Hong Kong, before they locked Hubei under the dome. There was a spike in July 2020, right after we moved to Taiwan. They had a few calm months before a smaller spike in December/January. The numbers have been pretty low since then. To date, around 200 people have died in Hong Kong. That is not so great for the families of those 200, but nothing compared to crime-ridden, politically corrupt third world countries like India, Brazil, and the United States.
Interestingly enough, Macau has zero deaths from this thing. They must have closed the casinos, which must have trashed the economy. I can go to Macau just as easily as Hong Kong, but without casinos, what would be the point.
Sunday, June 6, 2021
Professor Hailey
I taught a university class last week. Obviously, as a visiting lecturer in a single class, I can't call myself professor. I can't even call myself a lecturer. You get no title for one day's work. If anything, I am that lady who came in that one time. Some of the students called me laoshi, but that was more about being polite than anything on my CV.
Am I qualified to teach a university class? Not in the least. And yet, I did so in Hong Kong two or three times. That was because the actual professor of that class wanted someone to come in and explain to her students how screwed up the educational system is in the United States. I was the only American who could communicate with her students that she could find on relatively short notice. Rather than teach the class, I simply talked about my experience with American public education and answered, or tried to answer, about a million questions. I was nothing more than a guest speaker.
On another occasion, I spoke to a different class at the same school about American politics. This was at a time when American politics were considered the most divisive they had been since the Civil War, and yet, compared to today, seem like a quaint and innocent distant past. While I have no interest in discussing American politics with Americans, it can be an interesting subject in a classroom full of Chinese students. Absolutely none of them regurgitated a single talking point from any of their favorite “news” shows. They only used their own words and were open to actually discussing the subject. I don't remember exactly how much I was paid, but I remember thinking that an American teacher would love to get that much money for so little work.
My tenure as a professor in Kaohsiung was something different. An actual professor at my sister's school had to go out of town for a family situation. Rather than cancel her dialectology class that day, she asked me if I could be her substitute. Reasonably, I pointed out that I am neither a professor nor lecturer, have no teaching license or certifications, and have not taken a dialectology class since 2015. I assumed that the university had some form of substitute teacher system in place. Surely, they must do something other than cancel a class whenever the professor is unavailable. But looking at my own time as a student, I cannot remember ever having a substitute teacher after high school. When the professor was out, class was canceled that day.
As a substitute “professor”, all I really had to do was follow the real professor's lesson plan. The book does most of the work if you read the unit, and most of the students came to class prepared. But the lesson plan was written by and for their professor. As someone new and different, the class had a number of questions for me. Fortunately, no one asked if I was at all qualified to teach the class. They probably assumed that since I was standing at the front of a class at their university, I must have the right to be there.
Dialectology is the study of dialects, obviously, and a fascinating subject. I don't know the first thing about most of the languages on this planet, but the one or two languages I know have a wide variety of dialects. Chinese dialects are so varied that some people consider them separate languages. If English has anything in common with Chinese it is the vast number of mutually intelligible, and sometimes unintelligible, dialects around the world. Just as someone from Alabama might have difficulty understanding someone from Scotland, someone from Xinjiang might have difficulty understanding someone from Fujian. The dialects can be wildly different, but the languages are the same, more or less. The people from Xinjiang and Fujian can read the same words, as can the people from Scotland and any literate people from Alabama.
My students for the day were well aware of the differences in Chinese dialects. While they all learned Chinese in Taiwan, many of them had traveled to various parts of China, where almost no one speaks Taiwanese Chinese. Even the few who have never set foot out of their home country have seen movies and TV shows filmed in a hundred different dialects. With so many Chinese people on the planet speaking a language that has existed for thousands of years, the variety of dialects is completely natural.
What the students all seemed surprised to learn was that English has almost as many different dialects as Chinese. They know that it is spoken everywhere the British subjugated the native people, but they also know that it is a new language. When watching English-language movies and TV, they mostly see American shows with actors who learned how to speak in the most generic of General American accents. Even the British and Australian actors on American TV are trained to use a General American accent. Someone with a good ear for accents and dialects can tell you where most of the top Chinese celebrities come from. Despite the hundreds of Australian actors in American movies and TV shows, Americans point to Crocodile Dundee as an example of an Australian accent because everyone else had to master General American. When I was in junior high school, I took a theater class on the Mid-Atlantic accent. I think that one is pretty noticeable, but no one uses it anymore.
Since I am from Minnesota, I speak with a slight Upper Midwestern accent and occasionally use words and phrases like boughten, spendy, skol, you know. This means that when I say dot and daughter, the vowels sound the same, as do bot and bought, stock and stalk. To people in other parts of the United States, those vowels have different sounds. Pin and pen sound completely different to me. Mary, marry, merry all sound the same. Roof has a shorter vowel sound than boot, casserole is hotdish, couch is sofa, cola is pop. To most Americans, Minnesota means the characters from Fargo, but that was obviously an exaggeration of how they speak up north. Most Minnesotans sound like Dakotans. And those of us with theater training can use General American if necessary.
To my Chinese students, everyone who speaks English sounds the same. Just as the students all sound the same to English speakers. To me, they sound Taiwanese, which is a world away from Hongkonger. I'm starting to hear a difference between northern and southern Taiwan, but that could be my imagination. Too many people in Taiwan grow up in one part of the country and go to school in another part. After school, they might go back or stay. All the movement around the country makes it much harder to pinpoint accents and dialects. China is much easier. When you meet someone from Shanghai in Xiamen, you know they are from Shanghai right away.
But the biggest surprise in teaching the class, hands down, was the use of cell phones. Back in my day, phone use was strictly forbidden in most classes. Today, it is their most useful tool. Almost none of the students bought a physical copy of the textbook. They all had it on their phones. It took me a while to get used to everyone staring at their phones when I asked them questions or read bits from the book. As an American, my first thought was that there is no way to know if they are looking at the book or just screwing around on their phones. But I got over that pretty quickly. This was a university class. Every one of them had to earn their right to be there. Though not exactly the most prestigious university in the country, it is competitive enough that coasting through is not an option. This was not a general education class. To most of the students, it was required for their major. Paying attention was in their best interest. Of course, that is true with most classes, but these were not American students. Announcing your laziness and stupidity are not considered cool in Chinese culture.
A few days later, the actual professor told me that the students liked having me as their substitute teacher. Of course, that could simply be a case of something new and different to break up the routine. She asked me if I would be willing to substitute again, if needed. There is no way I could ever make a career of this, especially since I already have a career that takes up a good deal of my time. But I can see myself in front of another class again someday.
Am I qualified to teach a university class? Not in the least. And yet, I did so in Hong Kong two or three times. That was because the actual professor of that class wanted someone to come in and explain to her students how screwed up the educational system is in the United States. I was the only American who could communicate with her students that she could find on relatively short notice. Rather than teach the class, I simply talked about my experience with American public education and answered, or tried to answer, about a million questions. I was nothing more than a guest speaker.
On another occasion, I spoke to a different class at the same school about American politics. This was at a time when American politics were considered the most divisive they had been since the Civil War, and yet, compared to today, seem like a quaint and innocent distant past. While I have no interest in discussing American politics with Americans, it can be an interesting subject in a classroom full of Chinese students. Absolutely none of them regurgitated a single talking point from any of their favorite “news” shows. They only used their own words and were open to actually discussing the subject. I don't remember exactly how much I was paid, but I remember thinking that an American teacher would love to get that much money for so little work.
My tenure as a professor in Kaohsiung was something different. An actual professor at my sister's school had to go out of town for a family situation. Rather than cancel her dialectology class that day, she asked me if I could be her substitute. Reasonably, I pointed out that I am neither a professor nor lecturer, have no teaching license or certifications, and have not taken a dialectology class since 2015. I assumed that the university had some form of substitute teacher system in place. Surely, they must do something other than cancel a class whenever the professor is unavailable. But looking at my own time as a student, I cannot remember ever having a substitute teacher after high school. When the professor was out, class was canceled that day.
As a substitute “professor”, all I really had to do was follow the real professor's lesson plan. The book does most of the work if you read the unit, and most of the students came to class prepared. But the lesson plan was written by and for their professor. As someone new and different, the class had a number of questions for me. Fortunately, no one asked if I was at all qualified to teach the class. They probably assumed that since I was standing at the front of a class at their university, I must have the right to be there.
Dialectology is the study of dialects, obviously, and a fascinating subject. I don't know the first thing about most of the languages on this planet, but the one or two languages I know have a wide variety of dialects. Chinese dialects are so varied that some people consider them separate languages. If English has anything in common with Chinese it is the vast number of mutually intelligible, and sometimes unintelligible, dialects around the world. Just as someone from Alabama might have difficulty understanding someone from Scotland, someone from Xinjiang might have difficulty understanding someone from Fujian. The dialects can be wildly different, but the languages are the same, more or less. The people from Xinjiang and Fujian can read the same words, as can the people from Scotland and any literate people from Alabama.
My students for the day were well aware of the differences in Chinese dialects. While they all learned Chinese in Taiwan, many of them had traveled to various parts of China, where almost no one speaks Taiwanese Chinese. Even the few who have never set foot out of their home country have seen movies and TV shows filmed in a hundred different dialects. With so many Chinese people on the planet speaking a language that has existed for thousands of years, the variety of dialects is completely natural.
What the students all seemed surprised to learn was that English has almost as many different dialects as Chinese. They know that it is spoken everywhere the British subjugated the native people, but they also know that it is a new language. When watching English-language movies and TV, they mostly see American shows with actors who learned how to speak in the most generic of General American accents. Even the British and Australian actors on American TV are trained to use a General American accent. Someone with a good ear for accents and dialects can tell you where most of the top Chinese celebrities come from. Despite the hundreds of Australian actors in American movies and TV shows, Americans point to Crocodile Dundee as an example of an Australian accent because everyone else had to master General American. When I was in junior high school, I took a theater class on the Mid-Atlantic accent. I think that one is pretty noticeable, but no one uses it anymore.
Since I am from Minnesota, I speak with a slight Upper Midwestern accent and occasionally use words and phrases like boughten, spendy, skol, you know. This means that when I say dot and daughter, the vowels sound the same, as do bot and bought, stock and stalk. To people in other parts of the United States, those vowels have different sounds. Pin and pen sound completely different to me. Mary, marry, merry all sound the same. Roof has a shorter vowel sound than boot, casserole is hotdish, couch is sofa, cola is pop. To most Americans, Minnesota means the characters from Fargo, but that was obviously an exaggeration of how they speak up north. Most Minnesotans sound like Dakotans. And those of us with theater training can use General American if necessary.
To my Chinese students, everyone who speaks English sounds the same. Just as the students all sound the same to English speakers. To me, they sound Taiwanese, which is a world away from Hongkonger. I'm starting to hear a difference between northern and southern Taiwan, but that could be my imagination. Too many people in Taiwan grow up in one part of the country and go to school in another part. After school, they might go back or stay. All the movement around the country makes it much harder to pinpoint accents and dialects. China is much easier. When you meet someone from Shanghai in Xiamen, you know they are from Shanghai right away.
But the biggest surprise in teaching the class, hands down, was the use of cell phones. Back in my day, phone use was strictly forbidden in most classes. Today, it is their most useful tool. Almost none of the students bought a physical copy of the textbook. They all had it on their phones. It took me a while to get used to everyone staring at their phones when I asked them questions or read bits from the book. As an American, my first thought was that there is no way to know if they are looking at the book or just screwing around on their phones. But I got over that pretty quickly. This was a university class. Every one of them had to earn their right to be there. Though not exactly the most prestigious university in the country, it is competitive enough that coasting through is not an option. This was not a general education class. To most of the students, it was required for their major. Paying attention was in their best interest. Of course, that is true with most classes, but these were not American students. Announcing your laziness and stupidity are not considered cool in Chinese culture.
A few days later, the actual professor told me that the students liked having me as their substitute teacher. Of course, that could simply be a case of something new and different to break up the routine. She asked me if I would be willing to substitute again, if needed. There is no way I could ever make a career of this, especially since I already have a career that takes up a good deal of my time. But I can see myself in front of another class again someday.
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