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.
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