Rebirth

December 11, 2009. It was an ending unlike other endings, with a series of unexpected events. There was so much happiness and general candidness. Dinner at Dozo with the PM team and endearingly the MIS boys. The early bomb of the night though, little P whom I thought was the baby of the MIS team was soon to be an accidental daddy and hence, married. Congratulations were in order. Before long, I was ushered to drinks and dancing at Ziga Zaga. Completely unbeknownst to us were the surprising presence of her majesty H and J at the door - they had dropped R off from their dinner. H and J were the last people any of us had expected to see. The fact that I had a minute's audience with H after lunch was already a minute too long. Poor W, caught alone at the entrance as they awaited my arrival. Some necessary chit chat eventually ended and we were finally dismissed. Inside, the group gathered strength and everyone seemed to be having a roaring good time. Some where in the middle we said goodbye to V and walked her out. As she left on the back of her boyfriend's motorbike a group entered the hotel. There were some camera flashes, some fans with pens and CD covers and bodyguards - three members of Guns N' Roses had arrived. T with drunken fervour asked for autographs. I soberly asked for hugs. With fairy dust dappled on us we headed back to the club. The night continued in great form. Drinks arrived on the house. Dancing dancing dancing. We were exuberant and having fun. Absolute darlings. Eventually the group diminished till there was only four, plus me. Lights were turned on. T was in no condition to go home less we were prepared to pay some massive cleaning fee to the cab driver so we decided to crash at the hotel instead. Drinks and cards till we couldn't keep awake any longer. It was finally dark and quiet and a few hours later, it was time to check out. We pretended lunch was a hang-over cure but it wasn't. Cab ride home at 2pm. I am at the front of my apartment building, ruined make-up, in last night's party clothes, holding a gigantic bunch of roses (a gift from the team). The finale* of a "lifetime" in Taiwan. The countdown begins again.

Outcry

I wish I had the strength for an outcry. The past couple of months have depleted me. I have nothing left. December 11th. Mark that momentous day in your calendar. My last day at work.

A Sea Change

Been lying very very low these days as I've found myself facing an abyss. An abyss that I'm not sure how to get out of and hence, is reducing me to consider slinking away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

A Trip to the Hairdressers

I am so busy that I work overtime late into the night. I work so hard that I am even in on Saturdays and Sundays. I have spiralled into a life of monotony, and the only social outlet I have is when I take a smoke break with a colleague during the day.

About three months ago I went to a new hair stylist for the first time, under the recommendation of a colleague's wife. It was one of those trendy places that I'd normally not go to for I am too busy to care about looks these days. I was a bit nervous when I saw the establishment, all austere in black and white, its sleek waif-like staff in their stylish charcoal greys and hair of asymmetric coolness, standing around with not much too do except appraise each customer as they walk in, then according to their wealth vs hip scale treat you with as little respect as they can spare. I think I wore an granny smith green cardigan that day (oh but I thankfully wore BLACK jeans that day, phew).

They gave me a form to fill out.

I think they give forms out to the plebs while the celebs breeze straight up to the mezzanine level for that VIP treatment. High above the plebs.

For the life of me I couldn't help but feel a sense of hopelessness as I filled that form out. Why was I bothering to get a haircut in a place like this? Was I hoping a new hair do would hide all my other physical faults? Perhaps if they gave me a Rapunzel do. Then I could use all that hair to wrap myself up like it were a hijab. So I get a trendy haircut, it wasn't going to hide that fact that I'm a fashion disaster. I sat there and sweated away my self confidence to the point of fretting over getting the answers wrong on that stupid form. Which asked for my name, contact number and address. An imbicile in disguise, that's what I am and they'll soon they'll all discover it. Somehow the last reserves of my liquidfying mind tells me to play it cool... Bah I say to your forms! I shan't fill it in, I defy your authority!

So there.

I hand back their piece of paper with childish scrawls in Chinese, a language I can barely speak let alone script nicely. Was there a slight disapproving look as they take a glance at my form? Ha! Probably beyond their faux dyed hair folicles why anyone didn't want to comply to their standards of conformity. I was then lead to the mezzanine level.

The hair washing was nice I must admit. It was a well executed routine with a very good neck and head massage included. I've been to lesser hairdressers and hate it when they get water in your ear or press too hard on your scalp or just can't get the water temperature right the second time they turn the water on when they ask at the beginning what your preference is. This was a good treatment.

I am lead back to my perch on the mezzanine level. They offer me tea and coffee and lay a thick slab of CURRENT magazines on the bench for me to read. I pick one up and non chalantly flip through the pages of couture and dead eyed models in their canary yellow mowharks, indigo eyes and glamourous lifestyles. I stop at the serious articles on the meaning of post modernism architecture and why terrorism is on the rise. I am studious and worldly and unaffected by material luxury such as this haircut I'm getting. Though I am a little annoyed that I've had to pretend to read these articles whilst waiting for my stylist to show. Time is money people!

He arrives and in my head I forgive his tardiness. There's nothing to say really about what caught my eye. There was nothing overt, and nothing hinted. There was just something about him I found attractive. A casual sense of dress, a quiet spoken voice, an attempt at being funny that didn't really pull off. Perhaps within all the artificiality and pretense of coolness was a man who was simply himself, cool. Upon realising this fact I turn into ice maiden. Two can play that game right? At the end of the session he tells me my new short do probably won't last for more than 2 months and that I'll need to get a refresher sooner. That was three months ago and I finally went back for that refresher today.

The waif staff were there still, but somehow less scary today. Just young. The imposing black, white and charcoal intereior seemed dull too. There was no form to fill in today, just straight to a seat on the first floor near the front door. The tea was consistent and so was the massage. He showed up moments later and remembered me from our previous cut. I still find him attractive, but I do not turn into an ice maiden. The cut was great, spunky like me. I decide to go back for my next refresher within two months.

No Smoking (but only if you don't want to)

When the ban on smoking in public indoor areas became effective on January 11, 2009 in Taiwan, little notice was made of it. People at work continued to smoke in the fire stairs for at least three weeks. Every pub or bar I've been to since the ban still allows its patrons to smoke. Once early in the ban I'd forgotten and asked the barman for an ashtray. The barman apologetically reminded me that smoking indoors is now illegal while handing me a cup filled with a small amount of water as an improvised ashtray. Other patrons were less mindful, ashing directly into the candle holders. I've never heard of a non-smoking patron complain at any one of these establishments.

It is now 5 months after the ban and indoor smoking has not yet diminished. It's been disregarded by the smoking community and entertainment establishments without much consequence. I am not advocating for a reversal on the law, but I do believe in enforcing the law. Especially when this law was established to protect the health of the community.

What could be even more disturbing is whether this kind of disregard for the rules is indication of greater disrespect for the law. If, adherence to the simplest of rules is ignored, where then does the it end? I don't want sound hysterical, but there are some things that should be monitored and a society taught to be responsible.

Fundamentals

The alarms sounds at 7:55am. I turn it off, knowing a second will ring in 10 mins. My eyes fly open when that happens, disturbed by its frequency having already fallen back to sleep. I switch that off and fall back to sleep but this time, only semi-consciously. The alarm calls for the third and final time and I am awake. The light is faint in my room and I can tell it's grey outside. Another grey and cool morning. My bed is warm and comforting, and I toy with the idea of playing hooky. It's the most deviant and exciting thing I will consider doing for the rest of the day as a force stronger than me pulls me out of bed. I sigh at the burden of having a sense of responsibility. I decide to take my time getting ready, believing it's time I've earned for working till 11pm the night before and probably will again tonight as I've done often enough these days.

Home is a small apartment. The upper floor is the "budoir", consisting of a double bed, wardrobe, shelves, portable charlie horse*, dressing table, night stand and a reading lamp. I go downstairs to the tiny living room/dining room/games room/study with kitchenette, taking care on the narrow steps. Only about two weeks ago I took a tumble, on route to the bathroom in the middle of a dark night, in a drunken daze, bringing down my forearm directly onto the blunt edge of a step. It resulted in an over-turned pot plant, spilt soil and a cricket ball sized bruise, deliciously swollen black and purple. I was brave and did not cry, just gritted the pain that shot through my arm and into the pit of my stomach.

Getting ready in the mornings is a bore. It's simply routine. I think I am literally do it in my sleep. Wash and dress and I'm out of the door of my 6th floor apartment. My lift is an all mirrored affair. Useful reminder that the dark circles under my eyes will not go away. Out onto the street I walk briskly. Down to the main intersection where my bus stop is. There are two breakfast vendors that are unfailingly stationed at the two ends of the block. One is a middle-aged lady selling noodles and "oil rice" from a push cart, the other further down is a husband and wife team serving fresh shallot pancakes and soy milk from the back of their small truck. Whilst I am tempted most days, I am usually more deficient in caffeine and breeze past both options to catch the next bus that booms down. My day in the real world begins.

Rock Star

The vice president of the country is visiting our company right now. He's in the screening room viewing some of our works and all staff had to don company t-shirts (yay team... that was sarcasm in case anyone missed it) to welcome him when he entered the foyer. Our boss lady was drooling.

Lots of national security men are standing around our office space. I feel sorry for these guys, especially ones posted at areas of lesser security risk. It's a lot of standing around, being bored but not allowed to show it. But it makes me feel uncomfortable as well. I'm obviously not doing work but updating my blog and the guy standing behind me is well aware of this fact.

I wonder if I should offer him some Kangaroo jerky I brought back from Sydney last week.

But they do look a lot better than the guys that were guarding prime minister who visited earlier this summer. Those guys wore what I assumed to be regulation issued short sleeve business shirts designed to make anyone look like they are wearing a moo-moo. With a collar. So they looked like scrawny guys in over-sized shirts. The prevalence of glasses wearing among the men also took away from the hard body guard image.

I guess the vice president is about to leave, there are lots of cheering and clapping in the foyer. Though mostly led by one person. And Elvis has left the building.

I Got It!

Was at The Wall tonight. Finally! Yo La Tengo ("I got it" in espanola) created a night of eclecticism, writhing in softly tingling tones, bursting to massive guitar rifts, percussion upon percussion to individual piano keys. The venue was great, small but perfectly suited to the seductiveness of the sound emanating from the stage, drawing circles in the air then rocking the dust out of it.

The Wall
台北市羅斯福路四段200號B1
近捷運公館站1號出口
Tel: 02-2930-0162
B1, No. 200, Roosevelt Road, Taipei City
Near Exit 1, Gongguang MRT

Aftermath

Nursing a horrific hangover. Feeling like I'm out at sea. The stench of stale alcohol and cigarettes linger in the apartment. Why do all good nights have to end this way?

It was indeed a fun night. An impromptu night as it was Ben's colleague's leaving party and Ben only texted me about it in the afternoon. I wasn't entirely up for a night out with a bunch of people I'd never met before, to say farewell to a guy I didn't know, and even Ben himself is a new recruit at his office so overall it was going to to be a very green experience. What tipped the scale was a colleague of mine calling to ask if I could suggest a place for us to all go out to. It was too easy. And only an hour before meeting up, another colleague called to chat and soon I had four people coming. Another two colleagues were already on their way to a salsa night but once that wrapped up they made their way to join our ever growing gathering.

The location was Sappho, a lounge bar with an emphasis on live music. A small, low key venue in the basement level, Sappho was a comfortable place to be. Our group sat together on cushioned lounges, a low table in the middle to keep drinks within easy reach. Our group dynamic is fantastic. I don't think I've seen a newly formed group of friends that seem to connect as quickly as us and with every person in the group just as contributive as the next.

As Brian the lead guitar/singer/soon-to-be-departee rocked the room our happy family was ransacking the bar. Rounds and rounds were consumed. We outlasted Ben's colleagues who all departed by my guess around midnight. We converted the event into our own affair and found the energy and rhythm to sway, jump, twirl, swing and dance to the music.

Eventually our own group began to dwindle and what was left were treated to a free shot of vodka by a barmaid named Bambi. We jumped into a cab and with each passenger we dropped off I felt increasingly happy. Not because I was finally ridding them of the night, but because each one seemed to be going home happy and that made me happy...

Until I woke up with a horrific hangover. I'm sure it wasn't the vodka shot. I'd been on vodka all night, now that I am old and wise and know not to mix my drinks. Vodka has always been good to me so why the heck... oh... I now remember in the middle of the festivities being treated to a free shot of tequila by a barmaid named Mini. That was it. Tequila and I are sworn enemies for eternity and I'd vowed never to let it touch my lips again. It bided its time and found a moment of weakness in me, too complacent as it were and I downed the vile brown liquid.

A barmaid named Bambi and another named Mini? The irony, as we are making an animated film with a director who's worked at Disney for a number of years. It's also somewhat traumatising for me to know that I was served hard liquor by two cartoon characters.



The screwed up faces of Tina Chen... We got there eventually.

Say What? Nevermind!

I feel like Dorothy out of the Wizard of Oz. This fantastic whirly-wind tornado thingy-mi-jiggy swept me up in its aerodynamic force and dumped me in the middle of something that I'm kind of grasping, but not quite. Perhaps it's the Panadol Extra Cold & Flu is doing its thang.

But flu-y or not, I am pretty certain I've not been here before. Yep, that's right, I've never worked in a country where English is not the first language. And for the life of me I never thought I would be working for the Taiwanese version of Pixar. My head is now stuffed full of, viscous mucus and new lingo in both English and Mandarin.

What a "cut" refers to in live-action, is referred to as a "scene" in animation. But rememeber we are speaking in Mandarin so it's actually referred to as a "ka", the bad English pronounciation of the word "cut" where the ending is carelessly dropped as is the tendency of Asian speakers with poor English abilities. It took me a whole day to work out that they weren't talking about a "card", which was what I thought they were calling a "frame", or "shot", or "panel" of a storyboard. Almost too much for me what in the first week of work and struck down with a really nasty head cold.

They must've thought I had rather weak and nervous bowels those first few days, for I kept running to the toilet. It really wasn't what they thought. I had to keep going back for tissues to blow my nose. That was all. Plus I didn't want to blow the house down with the effort I was putting into draining my blocked nasal passages. Nor wake the dead.

But somehow the first week had passed and nothing more can be done. Nothing more needed to be done.

I was glad I met some colleagues from my old work for dinner and drinks the Friday night. I was really glad to see them and catch up on all the old office gossip. It felt natural and nice, and all night I was speaking in Mandarin! I felt great, possibly floated by something alcohol related. Or perhaps it was the Panadol Extra Cold & Flu doing its thang.

It is Sunday night and another surreal week is about to start, so, I'd better go get a good night's rest, take another Panadol and let it do its good thang.

Kicking Up A Stink

One thing I can't get used to the idea of is how garbage from your house is collected in Taiwan.

In Australia, UK and Canada, one places garbage in one's garbage bin, leave said garbage bin outside one's residence on the designated day of the week and fabulously, it gets collected while you are conveniently at work. A wonderful system one happily gives credit, thanks and taxes to one's local council.

Not so in Taiwan. If you are not fortunate enough to live in a "maintained" apartment/condo then garbage, my friend, becomes quite literally a dirty word.

Instead of the delighted ease of "taking the garbage out the night before", denizums of Taiwan must prepare to dash, garbage bags full 'o goodies, out onto the streets at the sound of an approaching garbage truck in the evening to dispose their household refuse directly into the stinky rear end of the trucks themselves.

It can become quite an irksome ritual as you can imagine. Street corner neighbourhood watch meetings could take place impromtu as one can usually count on a representative of each household to gather at said street corner at said time at said day of week. Or perhaps housewives would look forward to a time out of home to meet and chat with fellow wives for their weekly gossips. Too bad though if you have to work late one night o' poor bachelor or bachelorette. You miss the boat and your garbage piles up for another seven days. And to endure the tut-tut-tutting of beady-eyed housewives for not keeping a clean enough house the following week.

So how does one know for certain a garbage truck is on its wafty way to your street? Cleverly an on-board sound system emitting a half melody on repeative loop alert you of its approaching presence. And the tune? Why, Greensleeves of course. Played in digital ring-tone like quality. For me, it took strips off my happy childhood. To hear Greensleeves in the warm distance, generating excitement, grabbing a handful of pocket change in my hot little hands to run down the street to discover it was just a fucking garbage truck.

No Standing Please

I love walking, I have nothing against it and find it a great invigorating activity, especially if you live close to everything.

So many people despise it like it's a show of poor evolution. Humans are suppose to have evolved so much that we only can only move from one locale to another with the aid of technology. Be it car, bus, train, truck, tractor, bicycle, tram, ferry, subway... In Taiwan, two forms of people moving technology are worth noting:

The Scooter and The Bullet Train

I haven't researched this, but I'll bet you scooters outnumber people on this island. Or that they cover every inch of this land like ants. Motorised ants. It scares me a bit to be on the back of one of those things, zooming down a main street with a billion other motorised ants carrying FAMILIES on their two-wheeled backs. The most I've seen on one was a mum, a dad and three little ones wedged here and there. As if that wasn't flying in the face of danger, the kids didn't have safety helmets either. There's a running joke that if you see a family on a scooter and figure there's still room for more, then you've been in Taiwan too long.

I've been here six months and I've witnessed five accidents. Not fatal ones, not even broken bones were involved. Somehow people here know how to ride their scooters to avoid major injuries. It's a skill. Or the miracle of Mazu, the Goddess Protector of Taiwan. What's even more amazing is that I've seen an almost head-on crash between two scooters where one guy swung out of the way at the last minute, crashing his scooter sideways while his body fell and slid a few metres the opposite direction. His counterpart stopped and watched him stand up, walk over to his scooter, pick up the scooter and then ride off without a word or even a look at his potential face-plant mate. It was as if near crashes are so commonplace that no expression of incredulousness is needed at the other driver's inept motoring ability. It was simply an accepted fact of Taiwanese road culture. Accidents, much like shit, happens. What are you going to do about it?

Now for a small small island like Taiwan, the size of half a Tasmania, from tip to toe about the distance from London to Manchester, where about only half of its surface is actually commutable (much of it is very mountainous terrain), we have a modern, expedient Bullet Train/High Speed Rail system.

How many countries out there have high speed capabilities? France (think Eurostar), Japan (think Shinkansen), Germany (practically their entire train network - they're Germans), China, Russia and others. It seems practical that high speed rail exists there. But in little teeny tiny Taiwan? High speed rail is classed at speeds of 200km/hr and more. The Taiwanese one shuttles folks back and forth at around 300km/hr. You'll have to be careful not to speed off the end of the island a minute after take off. Just kidding.

It is a marvel of human ingenuity to be fair. The procarious balancing of different sized family members on the smallest motor vehicle that is. And yes too, being able to hurtle along at break-neck speeds, a privilege known only to a handful of first world countries in this world. Hoorah for Taiwan.

Misletoes

This year was the first year where Christmas didn't exist.

Though my family never celebrated Christmas (us being Asian and all), Christmas was always an unescapable fact of life. In Australia, in England, in Canada. Christmas arelways seemed to creep earlier and earlier into our consciousness each year, when we'd walk into a mall and hear the familiar tingles of Christmas songs ad nauseum and sigh Oh is it that time of the year already?

Red, green, gold and silver twinkle high and low. Ornamented trees and reindeers in David Jones (Sydneysiders will know this is a big chain of department stores), or that fucking huge nativity scene with the garish coloured lights and plastic camels on Pennent Hills Road or thereabouts. But it was definitely in the Bible Belt of Sydney.

There would always be reports on the News at Six on Ten (at six o'clock, on Channel Ten) about consumer spending and customer confidence and how much we're all putting on credit cards like it's a scandal. And how the smart ones are waiting to purchase that big ticket white good till after Boxing Day when the sales start.

And for the past three Christmases it was the biting and soul-awakening cold. The kind of Christmas image seen and experienced in most of the world but a wonder to me but somehow made all the sense. Santa looked right here, against the white snow in his fur-lined coat. And so did the turkey. The Germans know how to put on Christmas. Sucking back a mug of gluhwein and munching on cinnamon biscuits at the Christmas market in the cold, among twinkling lights, watching steam rise and disappate with each increasingly alcoholic breath. Nose and cheeks red from cold and heat but never given a second thought. Just tug that hat down a little more securely over the ears and do a little jig on the spot.

Christmas didn't exist this year. I went into the office and did my nine hours. I went in again today. It's Boxing Day, elsewhere in the world. I will go into the office again tomorrow and the day after. What are these street posters that I see? Christmas Hip Hop Party. Buffet dinner, only NT$1500 per person. What baffoonery. A piss-weak attempt at a foreign concept and it's irritating. Like scratching nails on a blackboard.

Every year, Norway presents a huge Christmas tree to Britain to thank the Brits for saving their arse in WWII. The tree is erected in Trafalgar Square along with a plaque stating this very fact.

History. Tradition. Christmas.

Small Things

I buy breakfast in Taipei. One rice ball (stuffed with pickled white radish, pork floss and fried dough stick - trust me, it's good) costs NTD$30. I buy the same rice ball, plus soy milk, in Taichung and it's also NT$30.

A very small yet affective way of demonstrating the difference in cost of living between major and minor cities.

QED

...Ok, so it's a very slow morning at work today. Actually everyday is a slow day at work for me. I feel like I'm getting away with being paid for doing not very much at all. I suppose it's not much different to my last job in Canada, I didn't do much there at all either, but I didn't have a manager sitting right behind me like I do here now, so any chance I have to sneak a line or two onto this blog is considered subversive behaviour. Hence the gratification. Ah the gratification.

On My Way to Taipei

I could see the end coming.

It was all of a sudden upon me. Being unemployed in resort-like surroundings for three months was good going. To pack up and move for a job within two days of getting notice that you're hired was just too fast for my liking.

That was only two weeks ago but feels like an eternity.

It was barely morning when we started on the road. Hence the happy face below:


Plus it was turning out to be a Bad Hair Day.

Dud

I met a guy today. An online friend I'd exchanged two or three emails in the last two months with.

First impressions. Slightly greasy unkept hair. The kind that some guys think is cool, but not. Bleary eyed. Like he'd been partying way too much the night before. Non descript clothes. Didn't look too close cause I'd seen enough. Why is it that foreign men in Taiwan feel they can discard all fashion sense once they spend more than a month here? It's because they're white and can get girls no matter how ugly, poor, uneducated and unkept they are. And this guy knew it.

We sat down in a bar. And without taking even a sip of his drink while I had two, he droned about his work. He says he's an "artist". No sir, you are an engineer with the stupid idea of wanting to make what is essentially a mobile phone into a piece of wearable jewellery. Twat.

He is gay. I don't mean that in a degrogatory way. I mean he IS gay. My gaydar had already peaked from his emails but confirmed by the way he carried on about how he likes girls, really likes girls. Then the freudian slip of repeating a question I hadn't asked. Do you mean if I had a boyfriend, I mean girlfriend? No you schmuck. I said family. FAMILY.

Two hours went by and he had to go. Said he's going out and asked people to go out with him but everybody declined. But he's still going cause it's Wednesday, ladies night.

Go. Be my guest. GO.

Dance

I went to Taipei's answer to Coyote Ugly the other night.

Sadly no Tyra Banks to be found but thankfully no Leanne Rimes either. Just people, like me. I was reminded of my glorious youth when I was a crazy, happy, little dance nymph living with an anything-goes attitude exemplified by my dance motto: "If there is a stage, I'm on it".

Encouraged by free champange for ladies before 12, I felt inclined to make use of the bar top and purpose-built railings. But after only a minute and a half of shimmying to the overplayed but much loved Groove Amada classic Super Stylin I found myself already out of breath. My god, I thought as realization hit, it really was a lifetime ago. Women my age wear these damn heels because we cannot dance anymore, excusing ourselves from exertion beyond the walk to the loo and back!

Was it fortunate that at least in the grand scheme of things, I was not the only person on that bar top? I guess so. But it was unfortunate that a few moments later a salaciously dressed woman chose her piece of bar top real estate right next to me. Gold strappy heels, denim hot pants, bikini top. She hid her identity behind large bling sunglasses. Bless.

The men in the bar of course gaped at her like frozen apes, looking like a succession of eggs were about to pop out of their oral orifices.

I'm not jealous. Hell no. There was nothing in her appearance or moves that made me wish I had her aura of cheap stripper nasty. The point is, have I become an embittered old woman, cursing the rightful place nubile babes have in the dance pecking order?

Nah.

I've always loved to dance and glad to find I still do. And this experience has also racked up my Countries of Bar and/or Table Top Dancing count to 8: Australia, Singapore, UK, France, Germany, Bosnia, Canada, Taiwan.

I've seen Greek mothers and grandmothers getting up on table tops to dance at hen's nights and weddings. I feel a kinship towards them right now.

Opa!

Tourist in My Own Country

I visited the National Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Park and the Dr Sun Yat Sen Memorial Park in Taipei. These two memorial parks are named and in honour of two men of controversial importance in the complex and entwined history of the Republic of China and of modern China itself.

Within the mammoth grounds of the National Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Park stands the National Theatre and the National Concert Hall and at the far end, a white building with blue octagonal roof is the Memorial Hall. Within the hall is a large sculpture of a seated Chiang Kai Shek, though it was closed for renovations during my visit.

Chiang Kai Shek played a large part in Taiwan's history. Towards the end of the Chinese Civil War against the Mao-led Communists, Chiang and his Nationalist Party, Kuomingtang (KMT) retreats to Taiwan in 1949. His retreat meant a temporal move of the goverment of the Republic of China (ROC) which was first established in 1912 by his mentor Dr Sun Yat Sen. Here he claims his government to be the rightful sovereign over all of China and Taipei its provisional capital. In 1949 Mao establishes the People's Republic of China, in China. Chiang and the ROC has effectively been ousted.

Chiang was elected as the President of the ROC in 1948 and remained in the position until his death in 1975. Taiwan under the Chiang and the KMT was a single-party state. In fact, Taiwan is placed under martial law until 1987 and this entire period is known as 'White Terror', suppression of all political dissent against the KMT. Actual or even perceived dissention was punishable by imprisonment or execution. Even something as trivial as the local Taiwanese dialect is banned and Mandarin, favoured by mainlanders and KMT is enforced. I clearly recall my childhood as a first grader, in 1984, discussing with my friends in know-all tones that speaking in Taiwanese is not allowed.

The Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall was officially opened in 1980. It is an impressive building, its blue and white colours and traditional shape stands proudly in the large open square. Under Chiang's rule, Taiwan under goes massive developments and throughout the 60s and into the 70s grows an economy of envy, earning a place as one of the "Four Asian Tigers".

With the Cold War in place during this time, Chiang is regarded by the West as a legitimate and respected leader of China (which included the island of Taiwan) even though the ROC had no actual control whatsoever with anything that occurred on the mainland. One has to remember that Chiang led China into WWII as an Allied force and was the one of the four most powerful nations at that time along with the USA, UK and France, collectively known as the "Four Policemen". At the end of the second world war, Chiang was the head of a country that became a founding member of the United Nations and also a permanent member of the UN Security Council.

With the lift of martial law in 1987, criticism of Chiang from the people of Taiwan is finally bubbling forth. Many monuments, statues, streets named after or in honour of Chiang are being gradually removed or replaced. In fact in 2007, President Chen Shui Bian of the Democratic Progressive Party announced that the National Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall to be renamed the National Taiwan Democracy Memorial Hall. However supporters of the original name (predominately KMT members) objected to the change and now due to political scuffling and legal tug-o-war the old name is still technically the correct name but none from either side of the political fence likes to refer to it as such. Kinda like Taiwan's own political/legal status. I mean ROC.

Technically Taiwan does not exist as a county. Doesn't that just blow your mind?


L: Impressive gates to the Memorial Park; R: CKS Memorial Hall, large and looming in the distance. High school kids in the foreground.

L: Troops in prep for the "Double 10 Day" parade (or Independence Day, held on the 10th of October), in front of the National Concert Hall; R: The National Concert Hall, under renovations for the celebrations.

L: Front view of the National Concert Hall with troops parading ant-like in front; R: Sweaty soldiers guarding rifles during a break in their practice.

I mentioned earlier that Dr Sun Yat Sen was a mentor to Chiang Kai Shek. He is considered by both the People's Republic of China and the Republic of China as the "Father of the Fatherland". Dr Sun's influence culminated in the overthrow of the Qing Dynasty in 1911, the last dynastic family that will ever rule China.

Inside the memorial hall which is topped by a wonderful golden roof, is a large statue of Dr Sun, guarded by two military personnel at all times. There is a sign in front of the statue asking visitors to bow to the statue as a sign of respect. I did not, as one is under no obligation. But I did see a Taiwanese man and his wife bowing deeply upon entering.

The memorial hall sits in a less austere sounds and its verandah on the shady side that day sat many old men playing Chinese chess with other old men onlookers.


L: Old and new - SYS Memorial Hall and Taipei 101; R: Side view of SYS Memorial Hall.

L: The front of SYS Memorial Hall; R: Mosaic on the foot path.

L: Sign declaring new name for CKS Memorial Hall, technically not correct due to legal and political game play; R: The verandah of SYS Memorial Hall.

L: A Chinese chess game in session, one of many on the day; R: Sign in front of Dr Sun's statue requesting visitors to salute. Bowing is acceptable.

Bling-a-licious

Saw these tacky custom mobile phone covers the other day. They are regular phones with stick-on sparkly things on them. Turn your phone bling-a-licious in an instant. You can take them to special customising stores for these professional finishes.



So I decided to do the same with mine. ButI thought, why spend all that money when you can D.I.Y.? A small pack costs only NT$50. I think for complete coverage you need 3 to 4 packs depending on the size of your phone. I used 2 packs.

My phone has been with me since May 2006, but as you can see it's waaaaay old from a lifetime ago. It was a hand-me-down as I had at the time lost my (actually it was my company's) nice new one with colour screen and camera. The hand-me-down was pretty scratched up so this was the perfect opportunity to do something about it.




Ok, so it's a little mutton dressed as lamb...

But hey, when in Rome!

Food Fest

Today is Middle Autumn Festival day proper and the last day of the long weekend. A late start, I woke to a small lunch at 12:30pm consisting of seaweed and onion soup with chopped minced fish cakes. Then my brother announced we were to take the MRT to Xi Men Ding, a popular area in the city for the hip and happening kids of Taipei. It's a shopping district, full of cinemas, restaurants, food stands, knick knacks, tattoo shops, hair salons and such.

We arrive around 2:30pm to sample the first attraction of the day - intestine rice noodles. It's a bowl of thick-souped rice noodles, with bits of chopped pork intestines, topped with coriander. Add some chilli sauce and it makes for a warming and delicious meal. A small bowl costs NT$40. We washed it down with a cold kumquat lemon juice drink with dried plum.




Next my brother spots a little cart selling a kind of sweets literally translated as chilled rounds. They are clear glutinous bite-size balls with flavoured centres. They come filled with red bean, mellon and peach. You get nine for NT$30.


As we ate we wondered for a bit and did a little shopping. Time for a food break, so we had deep fried minced fish cakes. It's topped with a special sauce and is a delicious snack. One portion costs NT$40. My brother Mike and his girlfriend Jeri also shared a thick soup with floured pork. This is the best I can describe it! We walked round the corner and had strawberry and condensed milk shaved ice.



After walking around some more browsing at this and that, we rested our feet at a tea house and I had iced apple red tea, which is just apple flavoured black tea. I also ordered a double flavoured toast which is a thickly sliced piece of toast cut in half, with peanut butter on one half and chocolate on the other. Jeri had an iced passionfruit green tea and my bro had a coffee (just a regular coffee not worth bolding).

Xi Men Ding kept us occupied for hours but someone mentioned smelly tofu and I wanted to have some as it is one of my favourite snacks. My brother knew the best place for it but we needed to take the MRT to another location.

15 mins later we arrive at the smelly tofu shop only to find it was closed for Middle Autumn Festival! So onwards we went to nearby Tong Hwa Street Night Market.

Taiwan is famous for night markets. You'll find streets lined on both sides with a myriad of stores selling the latest and greatest stuff, as well as food stands, stalls and carts. A whole mix of licenced and legal, and unlicenced and illegal vendors are crammed into the street, all for your shopping and eating pleasure. But I suggest you buy whatever you like at that moment, for if your vendor happens to be of the illegal kind, the vendor and cart will in a blink of an eye disappear at the approach or even smell of a police officer so you'll have no chance to go back should you eventually decide two steps later it was a bargin afterall. They are that fast and instinctive. Like rare short-haired bandicoots.

At Tong Hwa we found a stall selling bite-size smelly tofu for NT$55 for a large portion.



My brother also had sweet tofu dessert from another stall, but it was weirdly flavoured with chocolate and other unknowns which is such a sacrilege. The only way to have it in my books is traditional with peanuts.

Next my brother and I spy a food cart selling blood rice cakes and we get a stick, a childhood favourite of his and mine. Pork blood is mixed with rice then steamed. It's then cut up into rectangular portions and skewered, so you get a stick per portion. It is kept in boiled water until you order one. The vendor will then dip it in a special sauce, paint on chilli sauce if you ask for it, then coat it in crushed peanuts on both sides and finish it off with coriander. Only NT$25 per stick.

Jeri on the other hand spies a cart selling chicken bums. It's the very tip of the chicken's rear end which is quite fatty. You get five per skewer. Grilled to perfection they are crisy and moist and beautifully edible and nicely bite-sized!

I get thirsty and murder a freshly squeezed sugar cane juice. It is very sweet and incredily thirst quenching in my opinion.

Almost immediately we find ourselves next sitting at a food stall sharing a bowl of bitter melon and rib soup as well as a medicinal soup with pork knuckle.

Most items are quite cheap at these night markets so it was hard to resist a little more browsing and shopping. It wasn't the end of the night however as we came to the end of the night markets. Around the corner were a number of pet stores where small crowds gathered at the windows to look at the impossibly cute puppies and kittens. Mike and Jeri took the opportunity to buy Du a "birthday" present, seeing today was the fourth anniversary of Du's adoption from the animal shelter to their home. A new collar was added to two items that were already purchased earlier at Xi Men Ding: a New York Yankees top and a demin skirt!

It was 9:30pm as we started towards the MRT but something was missing. I felt I had room for more. So near the station we stepped into a small restaurant that had three tables and a take-out window, and had sticky rice and pork ball soup. A filling end to seven-hour outing!

We come home tired but content. Then we start to torment poor Du by subjecting her to her birthday presents (she does NOT like wearing clothese). But such is the life of a pet. It was such a laugh.

As I started to compose this entry my brother serves up sliced white peaches and passionfruit halves. Always nice to finish a meal with some refreshing fruit.

Did I also mention that Middle Autumn Festival is always around the time of the full moon? I promise you the photo on the left is the moon and not a spot light!