Welcome to America, where you are treated like a moron.
Welcome to America, the land of litigation, where if you don’t treat everyone like they have an IQ of less than 50 (i.e., “Your coffee cup may contain hot liquid.Use with caution”), you are liable to be sued.
Welcome to America, where it takes an hour and a half to get through airport security.
Welcome to America, where people come in sizes ten times larger in all dimensions, but especially as far as waistlines are concerned.
Welcome to America, where all of a sudden I feel quite short and VERY skinny.
Welcome to America, where people alternately dress like crap and look totally fabulous.
Welcome to America, where you have to watch a twenty-minute video about proper customs procedures, because clearly you’re too much of an idiot to follow the signs and figure it out on your own (assuming literacy is obviously out of the question).
Welcome to America, where people destroy their skin trying to make it as dark as possible, whereas people everywhere else in the world destroy their skin trying to make it as white as possible.
Welcome to America, where the land stretches on forever and ever.
Welcome to America, where the bureaucratic red tape stretches farther than the land.
Welcome to America, where everyone speaks English (good lord, how weird is that?).
Welcome to America, land of cream cheese, ovens, avocados, and milk that actually tastes good.
Welcome to America, where you can find attractive women’s shoes larger than a size 8.
Welcome to America, land of such ineffable beauty that words fail me.
This is it. My last day in Taiwan. I think I’m in denial that tomorrow I’ll be leaving and I won’t be coming back. It just feels so strange. There should be a feeling of closure, of finality, and there isn’t. The only thing I can detect is that I have three more classes to teach and packing to finish.
It’s been a big year. I’ve had more to deal with all at the same time than I can ever remember having to deal with before. It’s been a year of gain and loss, of friendships forged, and of figuring out what was important to me and how I wanted to live my life. It’s been an introspective year. I’ve crossed off scores of potential careers on my list and perhaps found a direction to pursue.
I am thrilled beyond words at the prospect of going home, returning to the life I once deemed familiar. I have a feeling, though, that everything will be different. My old friends are scattered throughout the country, and they have new lives of their own. I’ll have to start over yet again, for the umpteenth time.
To Fonda and my fellow ETAs: I raise my glass to you. I could not have asked for a better group of people to spend a year in a foreign country with. I hope we stay in touch and continue the friendships we spent so much time building and nurturing this year.
To the friends I’ve made in Taiwan: You are the heart and soul of what ties me to this country. You will be missed.
It's that unique point in the year where time at once passes very slowly and very quickly.
On the one hand, though I know I’ll be home in two short weeks, it seems that time passes in its own irksome, leisurely fashion.The afternoons and evenings are practically interminable.Though the list of things I must accomplish in my remaining time here is miles long, I cannot seem to muster the motivation to deal with much of it.I have plenty of time, I tell myself, since time insists on meandering and lollygagging and finding every possible way of extending itself beyond reasonable measures.(For the record, though, I did buy myself a suitcase today.Good job, Rebekah.You’ve only been putting it off since August.)
On the other hand, though, I have just as much trouble believing I’ve been here so long already.I remember my arrival in this city in surprising detail.I remember walking outside of the airport that first morning and being hit with a wall of overwhelming heat and humidity, as unmoving and unwavering as though it were made of bricks.I remember the sun beating down relentlessly from a cloudless sky like it was yesterday.(It should be said, though, that almost every day is like that, so I suppose it’s not too hard to believe that I recall it so clearly.)
It’s also that obnoxiously reflective time of year, when you think about your successes, your failures, what you would do differently, and what you will miss.I have made friends here that I am exceptionally fond of.I think I am in denial of the fact that there will come a day, very soon now, when I will no longer get to see them whenever I want.I am fortunate in the fact that one of those lovely people will be moving to Columbus in the beginning of August, and so I will get to see her whenever I like.
At the same time, though, I am going back to so many wonderful things that I feel my cup runneth over.I have gained a newfound appreciation and respect (coupled with awe and admiration) for the country I grew up in.I realize I may have idealized America in my thoughts this year, but I simply cannot get over just how much space there is in that country.Good lord, it’s huge.And relative to its population, there is so much empty space.I can stretch my arms out wide and not run into anyone (in fact, it’s entirely possible that I won’t even be able to see anyone else outside with me).I can take a short drive and find myself in a place where I am totally, utterly alone.Peace and quiet are everyday occurrences.I can hear the birds singing when I open my window.I don’t smell exhaust every time I step outside my door.I see stars in the sky at night.There are beautiful, quiet parks minutes from my house.
The Chinese word for America is “美國(meiguo),” which, literally translated, means “beautiful country.”The name was chosen because it resembles the second syllable of the word “America,” not because of what it means.I couldn’t think of a more appropriate name, though.There is such beauty in that country.It is in the deciduous trees and the wide, open spaces.It’s in the national parks and the local parks around the corner from your house.It is in the crickets and the cicadas and the fireflies outside your door in the summertime.It’s in the changing of the seasons, the fiery reds and oranges of autumn, the bright green of early spring, the blazing white that is the world covered in snow in wintertime.It’s even in the highways, lined with trees and hills and forests and farmhouses.
It was Dorothy who said, “there’s no place like home,” and there’s a lot to be said for that.I am incredibly lucky that I can call America my home.There, unlike in many other places, I can say whatever I want and get away with it.It is not just great natural beauty and personal freedoms that await me, either.There are some very special people there that I would not exchange for the world, and I know they are waiting for me to come back.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I like Taiwan a lot.I know I’ve got a big change coming up, and those changes always announce themselves with their own kind of turbulence, as well as a great deal of hassle.I am grateful for this incredible experience that I have been given, but I cannot help thinking that every moment back in America will feel like a tremendous gift, ripe with opportunities for observing the great natural beauty that is the US.
Taiwan has the most marvelous signs. Truly. Now, let this be my disclaimer: this is not actually a post. I simply wanted to express my awe and appreciation for these miraculous signs that are posted all over Taiwan. They were very heavily concentrated at Green Island (off the Southeast coast of Taiwan), which is where I was this past weekend. I furnish them as evidence here for your entertainment.
So not actually a sign, but noteworthy all the same.
The fourth line of the warning is the one you want to read. In case you can't read it, here is what it says: "No Electrocuting, Poisoning or Bombing of Fish. No Vendors."
I did, at one point, almost run over a crab. My first thought was, "AAH! CRAB!" closely followed by, "Crab sign with the halo! Aah!"
The exclamation point is the best part. Also, you probably can't see it, but my scooter helmet is awesome. It says, "Iron Man." Upside-down.
I just couldn't get enough of these "Cliff!" signs.
Two weekends past, I traveled to Alishan with a rather large entourage. Fonda, four visitors from the States, and five ETAs definitely qualifies as a large group, if you ask me. Alishan, by the way, is a mountain in central Taiwan (elevation 2700 meters, or something like that). I recount highlights of the voyage here in adages that you may or may not be familiar with (especially since most of them are not adages in the strictest sense, as I made them up).
Silence is golden.
One of the myriad wonderful things about Americans is that they understand when a moment should be appreciated in silence. On Saturday morning, we awoke bright and early (or dark and in the middle of the night) to go on a hike and watch the sun rise. In other words, we all woke up at three in the morning.
What followed was an hour-and-a-half-long hike that lasted 40 minutes. When you’ve got a deadline to meet (like the rising of the sun, which compromises for no one), I suppose, you tend to hustle. We reached an outlook with a perfect view eastward. We were poised, ready, with a perfect spot to observe the blessed event. And then the Taiwanese tour group arrived.
In what was so ironically typical of Taiwan, I spent the next half-hour (the one centered around five in the morning, when rational people would be asleep) with a tour guide screaming into a megaphone right into my ear. And once he was done with the megaphone, he just shouted at everyone for another fifteen minutes. Suffice to say, I was ready to knock him off his podium and watch him roll down the mountain. Compound this with the minuscule Asian woman behind me who kept pushing up against me, and I was very cranky at five in the morning. In America, I am certain, the moment would have been accompanied by a respectable, awed hush.
In spite of the disturbances, the sunrise, at the very least, was still lovely. Alas, my camera fails at adequately capturing the moment. What a surprise.
Sunrise: Pre-, During, Post-, and me.
Let ‘em glow and let ‘em go.
We were promised thousands of lightning bugs putting on a show for us the evening following the cacophonous sunrise. Unfortunately, there were about four. (Regardless, there were umpteen Taiwanese tourists waiting with bated breath, cameras at the ready should one of the four fireflies grace us with a flash.) This platitude reflects my personal philosophy regarding lighting bugs, which was markedly at odds with that of some of the other people’s (which was more along the lines of “Come, see, squash”).
Happiness is crickets and an unpaved path.
Unpaved paths are highly undervalued, or at the very least, taken for granted in America. There is something so much more real and natural about a hike in which you are walking on uneven, unpaved earth. Asia either hasn’t caught on to this, or chooses to disagree. It is my opinion that Taiwanese people love nature, but only in theory and when kept at arm’s length. They want their paths paved in sturdy, solid asphalt, and they want pictures of nature, but they only want to spend five minutes surrounded by nature. Then they want to get back on their tour bus and go to the next scenic spot. Not hiker-friendly, that’s for sure.
In any case, the point of this is that there were a couple unpaved paths at Alishan, for which I was exceptionally grateful. There were also innumerable crickets serenading us on our hike, which was magnificent. Thus, happiness is crickets and an unpaved path.
(Happiness.)
To close, I leave you with a puzzling query to ponder, one which we were unable to resolve on our trip: Which situation involves less oxygen getting to your lungs – intense pollution, or high altitude?
Long, long ago, in a land quite far from you, there was a typhoon. It hit this faraway land, hereafter referred to as “Taiwan,” on August 8, 2009. You may recall that I mentioned it. Typhoon Morakot brought with it great devastation to this cozy little island just southeast of China. Kaohsiung, on the other hand, saw very little of that damage. In my estimation, the typhoon was no more than several days of non-stop torrential rain.
As comfortable a notion as it is to believe that typhoons don’t do much more than rain a whole lot, the reality is far more severe. Last weekend, Grace and I took a trip to Maolin, a forest area/nature reserve not terribly far from Kaohsiung. We had wanted to go much earlier in the year, but transportation was challenging and Fonda (our coordinator) had told us that most of Maolin was “gone – washed away with the typhoon.” Suffice to say, I thought this was spoken with a touch of hyperbole. And oh, how I was wrong. As a means of comparison, I will give before-and-after descriptions, with the “before” coming from my Lonely Planet guidebook.
Maolin Gorge Waterfall
Before: A 2-km trail that criss-crosses over the river via five bridges.
After: A 2-km trail with no bridges. We walked in the riverbed. We did, however, find evidence of bridges.
Meiyagu Waterfall
Before: A 15-minute walk to a scenic waterfall on a smooth stone path.
After: Check below for the smooth stone path we were promised. We never made it to the waterfall, so I can’t speak to whether it was scenic or not.
Maolin Valley
Before: I’m not entirely sure, to tell you the truth, but I think it was largely green and covered in various types of vegetation.
After: Make sure you look behind Grace so you can see where all the landslides occurred.
Dona Hot Springs
Before: Two long concrete pools in the rocks.
After: Nothing. It was just gone. Blown away with the typhoon.
Hongcheng Gorge Hot Springs
Before: A very scenic setting, where you can observe the lovely valley while sitting in the tubs.
After: Just gone. Like the Dona Hot Springs – there was nothing left.
Dragon Head Mountain
Before: An oddly-shaped hill in the midst of the river.
After: An oddly-shaped hill in the midst of thousands of tons of silt and buildings filled with trees and dirt.
On the bright side, I found myself a new man while I was in Maolin. He’s quite the looker, don’t you think?
We also found a traditional slate house that the local aboriginals used to live in. I imagine this is what life must be like in Asia for tall people.
Also, just so you think it's not unrecoverable, I am including two pictures that hint at the beauty of what this place must have looked like pre-Morakot.
Another bright spot: a shining example of Chinglish.
In the end, despite not seeing what I thought I was going to see, I was very glad to have gone. I was amazed at how far the Maolin community was from recovering from this typhoon that happened nine months ago. The pictures don’t do it justice.
In America, we have this day called “Random Acts of Kindness Day” (which you all know, since I’m pretty sure all my readers are American). On this day, you are supposed to do random, unasked-for nice things for strangers. I can’t imagine this holiday, if you can call it that, exists in Taiwan. “Why,” you may ask, “is there no ‘Random Acts of Kindness Day’ in Taiwan?” Let me explain. I doubt there is one specific “Random Acts of Kindness” day because every day is Random Acts of Kindness day.
Never in my life, in all the countries I’ve been to, all the places I’ve seen, have I ever met people that are as consistently kind and well-intentioned as I have in Taiwan. In America, there is a tendency to distrust the average Joe on the street. If someone offers to help you, you are disinclined to take them up on their offer because you think they might have ulterior motives. We are a nation that thrives on the distrust of other members of our society. In Taiwan, on the other hand, you can trust the Average Joe. Take the time, for example, when I had a flat tire on my scooter and some Taiwanese woman I’d never met helped me push it all the way down the street to the repair shop. Or the time when my mother and I were on a short hike outside of Taipei and another hiker gave us an orange and an ear of corn to eat, just because we happened to walk by them. (Think about it—in the States, you probably would have thought it was drugged, or something was wrong with it, or someone was playing a mean-spirited joke on you. Never take candy from strangers, right?)
Or consider the other day. At a total loss for something more interesting to do, I was wandering around looking at teapots. I found this one store with really lovely teapots, so I walked in and started checking them out (way outside my budget range, sadly). The owner of the store invited me to sit down with him and drink some tea, which happens a lot in tea shops. I told him I didn’t want to trouble him, but he’d already made tea, so I sat down with him anyway. He eventually called his daughter down, and what ensued was an hour-and-a-half long discussion, just because I happened to be there. Neither of them spoke any English, mind you, so we were doing this all in Chinese. They didn’t ask for any kind of payment. We just sat together and drank tea. They even gave me some tea bags before I left (also free of charge) so I could try some more kinds of tea.
Believe when I say there are some things I will miss terribly about this country.
Much to my surprise, Mother's Day is on Sunday (I'm a terrible child). Of course, I only realized this when one of my co-teachers told me this was the case and that she wanted me to teach a culture class about Mother's Day to our 5th graders. I showed them a video which I think all of you will find particularly pertinent and entertaining. I know they did. Here's the link, with English AND Chinese subtitles, to cover all the bases. Check it out, and enjoy! (Yes, mom, I know that you shared this with me a long time ago. Rest assured that your motherly influence has now extended to all the Taiwanese schoolchildren as well.)
Every other Wednesday, all the Fulbright ETAs and their co-teachers get together for a two-hour workshop. Today was supposed to be a co-teaching demonstration, but as neither of my co-teachers were available, I had to do it by myself. Instead of doing a normal demonstration (it makes no sense to demonstrate co-teaching by yourself), I wrote out my thoughts about what has worked thus far and what hasn't. I am including it below for all of you, my adoring fans (of which there may be no more than two, but no matter).
You may have noticed that I am standing up here alone.Unfortunately, neither of my co-teachers were able to make it to our workshop today.As such, this is not going to be a typical co-teaching demonstration, as having only one teacher entirely defeats the purpose.Instead, I am going to talk a little bit about what has worked and what hasn’t in my co-teaching experience and show some clips from my observations.
One of the things that has made co-teaching difficult for me is that I am working with two teachers with wildly different teaching styles, which is both a blessing and a curse.The advantage is that I’m being exposed to a lot in the way of how to effectively run a classroom.Where this becomes difficult is that upon my arrival, I was entirely untrained in teaching; I was forming my co-teaching style based on what I was seeing in my classrooms.One of my challenges has been creating my own unique teaching style while at the same time receiving vastly different types of sensory inputs, as it were.
Another challenge that I have had concerns classroom management.With at least one of my teachers, it was clear to me that my role was supposed to be as the “fun” teacher.I actually tried being stern in the beginning of the year so that I would have authority with the children, and was told point-blank that I shouldn’t.The children were all supposed to like me.I should be nice, we would play games, we’d have a good time.
However, there is a very important trade-off here, and that’s that the local teacher must take responsibility for all classroom management.It is too late in the year now for me to suddenly start being strict—I have lost that opportunity.The children know that I’m the “nice” teacher, that I don’t do much in the way of discipline.This means I really have no authority with them insofar as getting them to do what I want.Sometimes that’s okay, but what happens when my co-teacher leaves the classroom or does something else other than participate in the lesson with me?The students immediately get louder, stop listening to me, and talk to each other instead of paying attention.There are times when I feel like nothing much more than a babysitter, taking care of the kids while mom is off doing something more important.
It’s worth noting, though, that there are things that have worked out well.For instance, I have had the pleasure of getting to know some really fabulous people.I know infinitely more about teaching than I did when I arrived here in August, and I know that there is infinitely more left to learn.I have discovered many ways of running a classroom, I have watched how different teachers handle their classes, and I have found methods for keeping a class motivated and in line.I have learned so much about the Taiwanese educational system that I can actually speak about it and sound like I have some vague idea of what’s going on.
They say hindsight is always 20/20, and this is no exception.If I could do it all over again, I would do what I think is right and effective instead of conforming to my co-teachers’ expectations of me.Every once in a while, I would utter a word in Chinese, which would be especially useful when my co-teacher left the room for whatever reason and I needed to get the students’ attention and they weren’t listening because they couldn’t understand what I was saying.I would be strict and enforce discipline, because it is more important that the students pay attention and do what I ask in order to maximize their learning instead of liking me but not doing what I ask.In short, it is too late to correct some of the mistakes I made earlier in the year, but it is not too late to learn from the experience.After all, we’re here for the experience.I will be able to take what I have learned and apply it in the future.What else is it they always say?It’s the journey that counts, not arriving at your destination—or something along those lines.
Contrary to popular belief, I do not have a poor sense of direction. I cannot count the number of times when I have followed my instincts correctly and gotten to my intended destination while the “man” in the car (note the quotation marks, which were very deliberately inserted) insisted I should’ve turned the other direction some miles back.
It is true, however, that upon arriving at college, it took me several days to figure out which door I needed to exit my dorm from in order to reach the dining hall, and that once I discovered which door was the correct one, it took me several days more to figure out how to reliably arrive at the dining hall. Keep in mind that the dining hall was within five minute’s easy walking distance. It must be said, though, that this was not the fault of a poor sense of direction. I am merely unobservant. You see, if I am walking with someone who knows where they’re going, the spatial awareness capabilities in my brain shut off and my feet go on autopilot. (This is, incidentally, why I will never tolerate the presence of a GPS in my car.) Being a typical college freshman, I was desperate to make connections with people and going anywhere alone was personal proof that I would be lonely throughout all my college days. Thus, especially in the beginning, I never went to eat by myself and was, as a consequence, always following someone else’s feet in order to get to the dining hall.
Since then, I have gained an increasing fondness and appreciation for knowing where I am. In fact, when I was traveling throughout Southeast Asia a couple years ago, the girl I was traveling with was immensely grateful for my presence because I always knew where I was and she never did. Without me, she said, she would have been hopelessly lost. (I told her to call up my mother and tell her that. I don’t think she ever did, which is truly a shame.)
You may be asking yourself right about now, “What on earth does all this nonsensical prattling have to do with Taiwan?” Here’s what it has to do with Taiwan: here, I get lost all the time. This is not because I can only read half the street signs. This is not because I haven’t taken the time to acquaint myself with my surroundings. No. It is because every street in Asia looks EXACTLY THE SAME. Block after block consists entirely of restaurants and shops and stores utterly lacking in personality. As evidence, I provide the following.
These photos, as it happens, were not taken in Taiwan, but it makes no difference. Asian streets all look the same (though, admittedly, the streets tend to be narrower and there is less green bandying about the frame). In fact, they bore me so much that I struggled even to come up with those two pictures, as I seem to steadfastly avoid taking pictures of typical Asian streets.
What we have uncovered here is a fundamental difference between American and Asian cultures. American culture is all about individualism and being unique, and that is reflected in the numerous establishments in every American community. They strive to create their own special atmosphere and personality; they use their appearance to mirror the goals of the company, whatever they may be. The appearance of an establishment is, in essence, a reflection of the owner’s personality.
That’s not to say that Asians are devoid of personality, for they certainly aren’t. It’s just that when it comes to business, their focus is decidedly elsewhere (say, on turning over a profit). This is the heart of the observation that in American restaurants, customers pay for atmosphere, whereas in Asian restaurants, customers pay for food.
Unfortunately for me, this means that my landscape is entirely without landmarks. I have to rely solely on street names in order to get from point A to point B. Imagine, for example, someone telling you to meet them at a café, of which there are about a million every mile. “It’s right by that place that sells those good noodles,” your buddy might tell you. This is bad news for you, my friend. Because if there are a million cafés every mile, then there are a gazillion trillion places that sell noodles. And they all look identical.
I know I’ve been kind of a failure at documenting Taiwanese culture since I’ve been here, so I’m going to attempt to make up for it at least in part with an extraordinarily long post. One of the most distinctive aspects of Taiwanese culture (and Asian culture in general) is the food. Life revolves around food. Food is everywhere. Restaurants are omnipresent. In fact, there are so many even within a one-block radius of my apartment building that I’m fairly certain I could eat at a different one for every meal every day and still have restaurants to spare at the end of a month. Everything is noodles, rice, stir-fried, deep-fried, served in pools of oil. The Taiwanese will tell you it’s the best food in the world, but I have yet to figure out how they don’t all weigh 300 pounds, as they eat all the aforementioned types of food constantly and in vast quantities. (Speaking of which, the typical Taiwanese wedding celebration is an 11- or 12-course feast.)
In any case, at the very end of December, Alex came to visit me. I thought documenting what he ate might be an interesting walk through Taiwanese culinary culture. Let’s do the breakdown thus: Relatively Normal Things; Things That Aren’t Gross But You Probably Haven’t Heard of Them; Sea Creatures; and Animals That Walk the Earth.
Relatively-Normal-Things that Alex ate
Taiwan is a haven for tropical fruits. Among the many fruits the two of us ate while he was here were star fruit, pomegranates, wax apples, Asian pears, papayas, and kiwis. You’re probably familiar with all of those except for wax apples, which are bell-shaped, red, slightly spongy, and mildly sweet. They’re really quite nice.
As can be expected, Taiwan is also very well known for its tea. It’s most famous tea is called Oolong tea, so of course Alex had to try it while he was here. Personally I find Taiwanese Oolong tea a little too bitter for me, but it’s definitely worth a try. The other Taiwanese tea innovation known throughout the world now (and yes, it is originally from Taiwan) is called Pearl Milk Tea. Milk tea is either a black or a green tea mixed with milk—the proportion is typically half a cup of tea to half a cup of milk. It’s also extremely sweet (too sweet and milky for me, but you can at least specify how much sugar you want them to put in it for you). The pearls are large, black, chewy tapioca balls that get put in the drink and sit at the bottom. You get an extra-wide straw so you can suck up all the tapioca balls. Lots of foreigners really like the tapioca balls, but I do not number myself among them. They’re just kind of chewy and slimy and flavorless, if you ask me. However, being characteristically Taiwanese, this was another thing Alex tried.
Things-That-Aren’t-Gross-But-You-Probably-Haven’t-Heard-of that Alex ate
For example, hotpot. Hotpot is a meal that takes a long time to eat, so you’d better not be in a hurry. It’s a pot filled with a water-based broth served to you over a burner. You are given lots of different things to put inside and let cook, like meat, vegetables, and seafood. This is definitely one of the less-gross Taiwanese options.
Another interesting option is green-onion pancakes. They’re sort of pancake-shaped but made with white or whole-wheat flour, lots of green onions (a.k.a. scallions), and typically bits of chicken (at least in Taiwan). They’re rather salty and heavily fried. Still, not too bad, although I tend to forgo the chicken bits, as I don’t eat meat.
Slightly more out there were the oyster omelettes we tried when my host family took us to a local night market (night markets are another hallmark of Taiwanese culture, by the way). They must have been made with some kind of starch because they were semi-translucent and gelatinous, like jello. I’m pretty sure there was an egg in there somewhere, too, and some kind of green vegetable, and of course the oysters. Oh, and I’m pretty sure it was served with some manner of sweetened ketchup.
I also made sure Alex tried another Taiwanese staple while he was here—stinky tofu. True to its name, it smells awful. I think it tastes like goats. Not goat meat (I can’t say I’ve ever tried that), but it tastes the way petting-zoo goats smell. Not surprisingly, many westerners avoid stinky tofu.
Sea Creatures that Alex Ate
Taiwan being an island, there was a fair amount of seafood ingested during his trip. Lake fish, steamed fish, fried fish, steamed shrimp, and some really fabulous clams were run-of-the-mill.
The shrimp, however, come with a catch. Unlike in America where we are morally offended when our food stares back at us, Taiwanese people are not the least bit squeamish about the appearance of their food. The shrimp comes to your table much as though it were just plucked out of the ocean, dropped in a frying pan, and dumped on your plate. This is fairly accurate for the most part; when you go to seafood restaurants in Taiwan and ask to see their “menu,” they show you the large quantities of sea creatures sitting alive on ice, on display right outside.
The shrimp, then, are completely intact. They still have their shells. They still have their heads. If you ever wondered how long shrimp antennae are, I can now tell with assurance that they are at least as long as the entire length of their body. For fun, you get to behead your own shrimp. Many Taiwanese eat the brains and such, but that’s a little much for me. It’s enough that after I behead the shrimp, I can still see the greenish spinal fluid oozing from the other half.
Alex also ate some rather fabulous octopus (really, it was delicious), some sort of stir-fried shark, squid-on-a-stick (a local specialty, rather bland and rubbery, but worth trying once), and some exceptionally chewy snails. The snails were quite a challenge to eat, as they were still in their shells, and rather stubbornly at that. In fact, we hadn’t the remotest idea how to remove the darn things from their shells. We eventually resorted to spearing them with a single chopstick and prying them out. I later saw a real Taiwanese person using a toothpick, which seemed much more efficient.
Also of note is that Taiwanese people will eat anything that moves as well as everything that won’t, with the possible exception of rocks and dirt. In my sojourn here, I have tried all the normal kinds of seafood you can think of, plus, for example, sea cucumbers. I have also seen jellyfish served with panache.
Animals That Walk The Earth that Alex Ate
I saved this bit for last because as far as I’m concerned, it is the most outlandish. Admittedly, Americans are notorious the world over for being unadventurous eaters. We have these weird ideas about being grossed out by food, and there are many kinds of meat we simply won’t eat because they’re “disgusting.” As an interesting note, primary among these is horsemeat; never mind that the horse’s original purpose as far as mankind was concerned was as food.
Imagine, if you will, some hapless creature wandering around outside. Now take this creature, slaughter it, pluck it or skin it or whatever is required, chop it up into smaller (but still identifiable) bits, throw it in a wok, and put it on display for random passers-by to gawk at and ingest. Welcome to Taiwan.
One of Alex’s great mechanical feats here was figuring out just exactly how one eats duck tongue. It is a rather challenging endeavor, as it comes with very little meat and two bones attached. Never the less, he eventually succeeded. By the bye, every conceivable part of a duck is apparently edible. Consider that we walked past numerous duck heads cooked and ready to be eaten. Never mind that a duck head is almost entirely skull and beak (and what part of that is edible for a normal human being?).
Speaking of every part of an animal, something called “Pig’s blood cakes” are very popular here, so of course Alex tried that as well. These interesting cakes are made from congealed pig’s blood. They sort of look like blackish sticky rice in square-shaped patties. I was told they weren’t terribly exciting. Alex also ate snake soup while he was here, complete with bits of snake floating about in it. I was assured it tasted just like chicken. It gets better, though—another Taiwanese snake specialty is a liquor made from snake testicles. Mmm.
I’m ending this list with a familiar creature: the chicken. Before you relax too much, though, remember that the Taiwanese are not discerning at all when it comes to which parts of the animal they will and won’t eat. While Alex was here, he ate many chicken bits that are often neglected in the States: the heart, the gizzard, and yes, the testicles. The real kicker was that my 12-year-old host sister loves the taste of chicken testicles. While I was covering my mouth in horror, she was popping testicle after testicle into her mouth. Yes. Her mouth was full of testicles.
That's right. You are all suffering in your chilly climes, trees barren and desolate, snow and slush covering the ground. The sky is gray and cloudy, and the merest hint of a living leaf or something green or colorful is nowhere to be found. I, on the other hand, could smell the flowers blooming on the trees I ran past this morning. Big, purple blossoms, giving off the most delightful scent. The sky is blue and cloudless and it's a balmy 75 degrees. Jealous yet?
My first semester as an ETA in Taiwan will officially be over as of Friday. Before we get there, though, all the ETAs and other Fulbright scholars are meeting in Kenting for a Mid-Year Conference. Kenting, you may recall, is that lovely national park on the southern tip of Taiwan, where it's even sunnier and hotter than in Kaohsiung. Anyway, the whole point of bringing this up is so that I can subtly mention the mid-year report that we had to write. We weren't initially given any particular guidelines for the piece except to reflect on our experience in Taiwan thus far. Mine ended up being something I simply cannot give to Fulbright, but I am attaching it below for your potential enjoyment. I realize it's rather lengthy, so feel free to skip around a bit and just read what catches your eye. I hope you are as amused as I was when I wrote it!
This May Not Be What You Want to Hear.
Another Rousing Journey of Self-Exploration from one of the Umpteen Taiwan ETAs
I’m going to preface this by saying that I have learned an exceptional amount thus far into my tenure as a Fulbright ETA in Kaohsiung.That being said, though, I highly doubt much of it is what Fulbright wanted me to learn.The Fulbright program has admirable goals—improving cross-cultural understanding and communication, for example.I am, theoretically, an ambassador for my country.As far as I can tell, the Mid-Year Report is supposed to be devoted to what you’ve learned and what life has been like for you in the country you chose.In that vein, I am going to enumerate what I have learned—even if it’s not what you want to hear.
My main reason for applying to this program was because it was a means to an end.I am very interested in foreign languages and I wanted to be in a place where my Chinese could improve.There were other reasons—at the time, I was considering a potential career as a high school math teacher, but I wanted to get some experience in a classroom before I committed to that.I knew before I applied that my patience for young children was limited at best, and by the time I accepted my grant, I was already pretty sure I didn’t want to teach.I didn’t apply for the program because I was passionate about teaching English, in any case; like many other Fulbrighters, I was incredibly burnt out from working so hard at school for so many years that I couldn’t handle a research grant.I chose the ETA program simply because it was the least stressful way to immerse myself in a Chinese-speaking environment.
It comes as no surprise, then, that it took me very little time to confirm my suspicions that I didn’t want to be a teacher.I learned that the monotony of subject teaching was so mind-numbing that I couldn’t handle it.It took me even less time to realize that I did not want to spend a lot of time in an environment over-run by small children.I still have a great deal of respect for teachers; their work is admirable indeed.I just don’t want it to be my life.I have also discovered that I am a failure at faking enthusiasm, which seems to be a vital characteristic for an effective teacher.Moreover, being able to split one’s attention seems absolutely necessary, and something I am totally incapable of doing.There have been numerous occasions in which out-and-out fights have erupted in my classroom and I failed to notice because my focus was elsewhere.
Another thing I have learned is that I want math in my life.That may appear as a non sequitur, but when you are deprived of a thing, you realize how important it is to you.I entered college as a French major and it only took one semester of no math classes to realize how much I missed it.Now that I am done with college, I’ve had to consider some tough questions.What do I want to do with my life?What’s important to me?What are my actual aspirations?This year is like a gigantic pause button putting life on hold while I try to figure out some of those answers.One answer that I have found is that I want to be somehow involved with some kind of computational mathematics.I want to use mathematics to find solutions to real problems that have tangible effects once they are solved.I have discovered that I am not interested in theory, not because it’s too abstract, but because it doesn’t produce real-life solutions quickly enough.I don’t want to be in the position of developing new theory; rather, I want to use math already in existence to create change in whatever capacity that entails.
There have also been some challenging admissions I have had to make.For instance, it was very hard to admit to myself that I may never be fluent in Chinese, and it is even less likely that I will be literate.Despite five solid years of study prior to moving here in August, Chinese is so challenging that one solid year here is simply not enough to create competency.In order to become fluent in Chinese—a goal I was hoping to have made serious progress on by the time my grant ended—it would have to be a life decision.I would have to live in a Chinese-speaking area not for one year or even for two, but for several years in order to consider myself competent.It is undeniable that my language skills have improved, but I despair at ever reaching the point that I want to.That kind of commitment would entail depriving myself of the company of my family for years, which, I have learned, is not something I am willing to do.
What else have I learned?I have learned just how much I appreciate America.I appreciate the availability of ingredients I am interested in purchasing.I appreciate walking into a restaurant that serves food that I want to order.I appreciate the fact that not all food has to sit in oil to taste good.I appreciate wide-open spaces and beautiful living areas.I appreciate the time and effort that goes into making homes feel like home.I appreciate peace and quiet and the lack of constant scooter traffic and exhaust.I appreciate being able to see the stars in the sky at night and observing the changing of the seasons.I appreciate not being stared at and photographed like a zoo animal in a cage.
Before I get too carried away, though, I would like to mention that there have been several positive things I have learned about Taiwan in my time here so far.Of all the countries I have ever been to (and there have been many), Taiwanese people are the nicest, without a hint of competition.They consistently and sincerely offer help when there is the slightest suggestion that it could be desired.There was one instance, in fact, where I was pushing my scooter down the road (flat tires make it feel so much heavier than usual), and some woman I had never met came up to me and started helping me push my scooter to the repair shop.That blows me away!
Though Taiwanese culture is much more Western and less Chinese than I was expecting, I have still taken many opportunities to experience the culture.I have taken a semester of Chinese classes (with another semester coming up).I meet with a language exchange partner on a regular basis.Greatest of all, I have a wonderful host family that takes me places and does interesting things with me.With them, I have learned how to make Hakka tea, I’ve gone to a Taiwanese wedding feast (a twelve-course meal—stomach that if you’re able!), I’ve visited the local art museum and science and technology museum, as well as a host of other things.Their impact on my experience here is not to be underestimated.
At my core, I am a wanderer.I want to go everywhere and see everything.After this year, though, I think I may confine my wanderings to short-term outings instead of semester- or year-long programs.I love to wander, but I’m not willing to spend a substantial amount of time doing it until I have a little piece of family that I can take with me.In sum, then, I have answered many questions, formed new ones, and left numerous questions unanswered.Is that what you wanted to hear?
