Taiwan lifestyle: We are not so weird anymore

The theme of how times have changed has many different angles. One of the them is how life here has become a quite a bit less 'them' and 'us' – For any new arrival who is suffering from being called foreigner every five minutes that is hard to belief but believe me it has got better. Or worse, depending on your standpoint – Again believe me there are lots of people who revel in their status as 'white monkey' and have moved further and further south as the locals stopped staring at them. But that is a different story...


Lets put things in perspective - In the old days we like to say 5% of girls really wanted a foreigner, 20% would think about it, and the rest just weren't interested. Now, we kind of think it is still 5% for the really want category, while the middle, who would think about it, has risen to maybe 60 or 70 and the not interested now a mere 20 or so.

It was Saturday afternoon and I was sat on ChongHsiao with Eric, Pierre and John, having a beer, and looking at the street life.

Suddenly a white dude comes along with a girl and we started to stare for no other reason than we have been in Taiwan too long. He was displaying various signs of the opposite: he was trying to impress the hot girly he was with by actually putting on an ironed shirt and a comb through his hair when it was a hot sweaty afternoon; he was politely saying hello to every foreigner he met on the street, and doing so in that way you could tell it was planned; he was still displaying space parameter manners: giving way to Chinese people on the pavement, and apologizing for bumping into them - As if it mattered, as if he expected them to do the same back. And, most importantly, he was reacting to stares as if he viewed himself as something more than a goldfish in a bowl.

"You know his girlfriend?” I said to everyone.

“No!”

“No, nor do I. The guy has only been here for 6 months and I never seen his girlfriend before,” said Pierre.

The implication and inside joke from us was thus: in the old days, new arrivals picked from a small pool of foreigner groupie girls so you always knew everyone’s girlfriend. It was only after a few years that you were able to break out of this and slowly get into the rest of society.

You dated the same girls out of necessity - Girls before either wanted a foreigner devil or didn’t. It was a big deal for them because their parents surely didn't approve. You went to bars to get girls, but there weren't may bars. Not many Chinese went to the bars, especially girls, because they were dens of sin. In the old days the number one place was 45. There were other bars but they were filled with Taiwanese drinking tea or playing Kerr Plunk or the game where you pull the bricks out – Bars had to provide these games because Taiwanese didn't know what to do in a bar. Going to a bar for them was like going to Paris, something you had to try and get a photo.

Also, and importantly, of course you didn't speak Chinese when you arrived, and nobody wanted to speak to you in Chinese because you were here for a purpose – especially the girls, if you were going to get ostracized by your family the least that you could do was learn English. Now with Chinese all the rage in the West guys are arriving with a passing ability in the language and speaking reasonably well in a short time. And, while most foreigners are still English teachers there is a vague segment of other opportunities – You could get a job in a computer company doing marketing with access to the average office girls. In short, there was no need to date your ex-room mate's girlfriend anymore when he left.

“Times are changing,” I said. “We are not so weird as we used to be.”

“No, fucking way, man,” said Eric. “How many times have you been called a foreigner today? Stared at? Talked about to your face?”

“Just the once or twice,” I replied. “But I suppose I did get up at 1 pm.”

“Shut up, American,” said Pierre. “Don't start.”

“But he does have a point,” said John. “It is pretty fucking far from the day when I am not viewed by my stereotypes. Where people start to look at me first rather than my big hooter...Thank goodness, I must add. I am going to have to move down south then.”

“So if it isn't any form of enlightenment, why?”I said.

“It is the divorced granny effect,” said Eric.

For once Eric had a reasonable point: when we arrived divorce was a taboo subject, nobody admitted to living with anyone, women had hymen replacement operations, and when you went to the beach girls wore a dress. They were still up to naughty stuff but, like in all crumbling dictatorships, it was all being done behind closed. Now was a different story: we had Next magazine and Apple, celebrities got divorced just to get a spot on a talk show, TV shows every night competed to dance as close to the censors as possible with bikini fashion shows, everyone lived together, and the prized possession was a girl who hadn't had an abortion (Along with last weeks statistic about having the lowest birthrate in the world, Taiwan also has one of the highest rates of abortion). It was not that they had particularly bothered to address the subject of breaking down foreign stereotypes, simply there own society going to pieces had narrowed the gap. We were still weird foreigners but not a social stigma anymore.

“I prefer the old days,” said John. “I could go to the bar and guarantee the girls all spoke English. Now I keep going up to girls and they ask me if I speak Chinese. I go on dates and the girls want to eat in Chinese restaurants...Are not impressed with my lectures about how cool England is.”

“Yeah,” said Pierre. “I could go to Eslite and I was the only one. Girls were impressed I could speak great Chinese. Now, I have to move quickly.”

(Eslite was a huge 24 hour bookshop that Pierre thought of as his favorite pickup joint. He had decided that if girls were wandering around alone on a Friday or Saturday night or Sunday afternoon then they didn’t have a boyfriend, and desperately wanted one.)

“What are you thinking about Dan?” said John.

“I am thinking about all those girls who did such a sterling service for the foreign community. I hope they have husbands now.”

“Amen,” he replied.

Taiwan Expat Culture: John’s Break from Reality I

I have already touched on the theme of how we lose touch with reality when we are here. All pretty obvious as we do the same in our own country when we go to university and we should know better.

Anyway, one of the ways we do so is in blatant character misjudgment. Gangsters behaving like stereotypes of gangsters in Asian films don't seem that scary. Similarly, psychos, train-wrecks, spoilt bitches and bastards, selfish controlling freaks – and, I guess, on the positive side, just plain old nice people, are redefined under the pressure of alienation. Your instinct probably told you to run a mile or marry them at the first opportunity, but in the interests of cultural understanding you decided to over analyze, rationalize the irrational and put yourself in a world of hurt.

As I have mentioned before John was trying his best to lead a quiet respectable life after a hell-raising past. He had done so successfully for several years. On this occasion he had decided to treat himself. I guess he regrets it, but I doubt it.

He had introduced us to his new girlfriend, Hsiao Lo, with a smug look on his face. She had sat down at the table and for the last two hours ran the show: made us buy jugs of beer and drink out of half pint glasses, filled our glasses with beer as soon as they were empty, made us cheers and down in one; made us play drinking games which we lost apart from Pierre who from his previous career had plenty of experience. It wasn't just her ability to drink or her looks that had us guessing pretty early on what her job was: the slight heavy makeup to cover a lack of sleep, the Louis Vitton bags and the Prada this and that; the two mobiles that kept ringing and the receptionist way she answered them as if she was in an office not answering her personal phone. For me it wasn't any of those things that had bothered me most, it was the way she had reacted when Pierre started beating her at paper, scissors, stone. The tension had got unbearable and you could tell inside her there was a volcano trying to erupt.

At this point she went off for a particularly long call.

“Where did you meet her?” I asked. “Doesn't seem the type who's off to do an MBA next year.”

“Usual place,” he replied. “Yeah, it has been an odd few weeks – I am missing the usual teashops and conversation about how university in the west is going to free her trapped independent spirit.”

“I think her spirit needs a bit of traditional Chinese crushing,” said Pierre whose hands were still stinging from the slapping and pulling.

“And she has never set foot in the west,” answered John. “So, so much for that bullshit argument.”

Eric broke out of his drunken haze as his favorite topic reared itself. “Obviously, she is an exception, but in the general case the education system in the west produces people who are more -”

“Shut up,” we all shouted.

“Anyway, Rosbif, I know you are not stupid. You know what she does for a living...”

At this point she arrived back and we all sheepishly pretended not to be talking about her.

“Of course, what do you do me dear?” said John.

“Oh, I work in a KTV. Don’t tell anyone,” she said with a conspiratorial nudge and wink. Even though we had guessed so it still an effect to have it confirmed. This was the first time Eric, Josh and I had met a girl who worked in a KTV; mystery surrounded it, like with soldiers, executioners, gangsters, thieves and prostitutes it was one of those professions for which we, middle-class boys, were eternally curious how they dealt with the responsibilities of their trade - They had to cry themselves to slept every night or be secret alcoholics.

“Don’t worry it is a high-class one. I only talk to customers,” she continued.

We believed her and knew the only downside was having to drink with lots of guys she didn’t know, but still we were dubious.

“So how long have you done this?” asked Josh.

“Three years. I started during university, and sort of couldn’t stop because of the money. I lived out of home for many years, kept bad company, I drink and I smoke, but I am not a bad girl,” she said without pausing for confirmation. Like everyone we are drawn to the excitement of the illegal and so we listened intently for signs to convince ourselves it was possible to do this and still be a happy, normal person. It was the good gangster with the heart of gold, who goes out and kills during the day but looks after his family, that the movies tended to enforce - I’m not all bad therefore I am not bad.

“I have to go,” she said and then filled our glasses again. “Everyone down in one.”

She obviously hadn't forgotten losing the games with Pierre and was preparing to make a point. She got a fresh bottle of Heineken and put a straw in it. “Look. How can you guys possibly lose?”

As we chugged our beer we guessed we were in for a surprise so we kept one eye on her. Before we had got half way she had sucked the bottle empty and placed it on the table triumphantly. A bottle of fizzy Heineken through a straw in a couple of seconds. It remains one of the most amazing feats of drinking I have ever seen.

A few minutes later she had gone and we were sat questioning our manhood.

John was the first to speak. “Boys don’t listen to that about her not being a bad girl, of course she is, but let the tart say what she wants.”

Eric, never one to let his engrained PC sensibilities give him the open mind they were supposed to, was the first to speak. “Maybe she doesn't get her clothes off, but she works in a KTV. It is illegal, man. It is going to be trouble.”

“John replied, “Yes, she is trouble but that isn't entirely to do with her KTV work. I mean maybe it is illegal...I am not sure actually, but that doesn't make it bad? She ain't a gangster. She doesn't steal things. She works for her money and is paid. It is just a frowned upon profession.”

Josh interrupted, “I agree, dude. But working in such a transaction based environment it is bound to have an effect. She sees herself as a price for guys.”

“What do you think Pierre?” asked John. “As you know first hand.”

“Of course you middle class liberals...Uh, what is the term? - Oh, yes, bleeding-heart are wrong again. Most of the girls love money, but are proud they are earning it. Most still want love and a boyfriend and do the opposite and actually pay for the boyfriend. They get money off some rich guy to support the guy they like...And, as John has cheap ass loser English teacher with no prospects stamped on his forehead, I doubt she fancied she had found the needle in the haystack – the one white guy with some cash in Taipei. Am I right?”

“Uh, half I guess. I haven't had to up my spending. In fact, she has paid for most things.”

“Ok,” I asked. “So why is she trouble?”

“Isn't it fucking obvious?” said John. “You saw her when she started losing the drinking game. In the three weeks I have known her she has jumped off the back of my motorbike twice because she didn't like something I said – on a busy street. She - like tonight - drinks on her night off – which obviously makes her a borderline alcoholic. She earns about five times what I do, but she has spent it all by mid-month. Her brother is in jail. She is late for work every day when she starts at 9pm. She is compulsive, addictive, psycho who would be rejected by Jerry Springer for being too hard to handle. I ought to run a mile but as you bleeding hearters would say she should be given a chance – I might just be misinterpreting the situation because of my cultural ignorance...”

He of course said the last part with a nod and a wink and we sat thinking how to get our own back.

He continued, “This you will like if you want me to be truthful – I have spent years driving past betel nut stands and looking longingly at the girls entering the KTVs. Last week, I dropped her off at work and the pseudo gangster guys at the door in their black suits give me that look and I give them a smug one back and a mental middle finger. I have been dying to do that for years.”

“Wonderful,” said Pierre. “I am glad the age of the neanderthal is not dead.”

“Hey, don't knock it – Remember why your left hand doesn't function too well? You didn't mind the help of the neanderthal then.”

At the time we dropped the subject because John seemed to know what he was doing. However, it soon occurred to me that awareness you are having a break from reality is just that wrapped up in another form.

Still, he was better equipped to handle it than most of us. I suppose in the end he did handle it better we would have....

Taiwan Culture Shock: As long as you been introduced…

This little story actually covers a couple of things.

Firstly, you know everything is ok in Taiwan if you have been introduced – Remember when you first started teaching and it was hard, then one family would like you and they would introduce you to all their relatives. You were still crap but it didn’t matter anymore because you had been introduced. Or, families will leave their kids with a serial killer as long as he is a family friend…

Secondly, is the title thing. Everyone is a ‘lao shih’ or ‘Ge ge’ or ‘step-mother’ or ‘professor’ or ‘Mr. Manager’. And as long as you have the title you are fit to carry out the job qualified or not.

Anyway, John told me an interesting story based on the above. He was sat at home with his wife, Hsu-Chi, getting drunk. She had finished a bottle or so of wine quickly and he could tell was building for a confession of sorts.

“Can I reveal a secret? - What my fantasy is?” she said.

“Of course,” he replied.

“Really. You won’t be upset?” She continued.

She looked nervous; really nervous, hesitant like she was going to be a marriage shaking confession. This in turn started to worry him because, after all the stories of the French boys and their tag team action, he guessed she was going to ask for Pierre to make a visit.

“Please,” he replied bracing himself.

“I want a three-some - another woman.”

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“If that is what you want, then, of course, no problem,” he replied trying to sound ambivalent. “But you have to be sure. My marriage is the most important thing to me, and I don’t want you going weird on me because you’ve seen my dick in another bird.”

The truth was he was genuinely ambivalent because he was scared – He had been faithful to his wife for the three years they had been together, which he likened to the pain a recovering alcoholic must go through. And, like a recovering alcoholic it was best not to touch one more drop ever for fear of falling off the wagon permanently.

“No problem,” she said. “I have already thought about it. You know me, I never regret anything.”

That was true so he allowed himself to get excited. “So you want me to hire a prozzy? Or, i’ll call up Pierre. He usually has something appropriate for all occasions.”

“What?” she shouted. “Hooker? You think i am a dirty girl.”

“Uh –"

“No! No!” she said. “Besides, I don’t want to do it with someone I don’t know. That will feel strange. No feeling!”

“I kind of thought that was the idea,” he replied. “Anonymous. Discreet. No emotional ties. Unless of course you are thinking of moving her in and making it a permanent arrangement.”

“Stupid. Never. That is what my father do to my mother. If you do that i cut off your –.”

“Ok…Ok. Just so we can move on. It is going to be once. It is going to happen in an innocent, healthy and mutually uplifting way. Hello Kitty would be proud of you.

“So how is it going to happen?”

“I have invited Chloe for dinner tomorrow night. She is a naughty one. We get her drunk…Uh, she likes you don’t worry. She won’t mind.”

“Wonderful. Perfect. Done like this, i think we could make a show to rival Little House on the Praire.”

“What little house?” she said. “When i am talking you should listen and take me seriously. What is wrong with my fantasy? You don’t want to do it?”

“Uh? Forget the house…Yes, i am stupid, sorry…It is a wonderful fantasy…Finally, if you don’t do it now i am going to hire the prozzy – Two in fact. Are we finished?”

“Sure,” she replied. “What do you want me to wear?” She got up and went to the bedroom.

“Preferably nothing…Yes, I know what you mean…I will be there in 10 minutes so prepare some choices.”

“Ok. Great,” she replied.

One painfully long day later. A lot of alcohol had been drunk and everything was going to plan, but for one little sticking point.

“Lao Gong (husband),” said Hsu Chi’s friend Chloe as rubbed the top of John’s left thigh looking up at him. “You remember what I am called? I am wife number two.”

Hsu chi was rubbing the top of the left leg, winking at him, urging him to give an answer. “Husband, you know she is wife number two. You know what to call her,” she said starting to get a little impatient.

He knew he was slowing things up. He knew he should say it but it when things got seriously it was hard to stop being a westerner: personal terms and labels meant something.

“Er po! (Wife number two),” he finally shouted. At that point, as he disappeared into the mouth of wife two, the sense of it all, why she had been calling herself this for so long, became clear. What is in a name? – Brazen harlot who fucks her friend’s husband? Nah, wife number two is a much better title to have on the name card. No need for guilt now she was merely performing her certain matrimonial duties.

Religion: Best way to remove the devil

I was down south once at some relative of the wife.

It was the usual situation: a living room full of Taiwanese shouting at each other to get out of the way of the truck that was about to hit them. I was doing by best to zone out and avoid eye contact with any of the women who were vigilantly poised ready to offer me guava or water melon seeds at the slightest veneer of an opportunity.

I hadn’t initially noticed a guy come in in a loud flowery shirt, but now he was drawing my attention because he was waving incense sticks and reciting incantations over the remarkably calm head of the wife’s brother’s six-year old boy.

“What is this guy up to?” I asked.

“He have a ghost.”

“He has been possessed? How do you know?” I replied.

“Lately, he is very naughty. Long story,” she said.

“Nice,” I replied. “I wish I had been young in Taiwan - My father often thought I had the devil in me and it could be removed by more earth-like measures.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Taiwan Culture Shock: Best to blame the wall after all

Taiwanese and westerners differing ideas of family inevitability are the source of endless debate. On this occasion i was watching Shine with the wife.

You remember Shine? The story of the brilliant Australian pianist who has a nervous breakdown, seemingly caused by his overbearing father who pushed him too hard.

We were at the crucial part of the movie where he sees his father again after many years and everyone hopes he won’t be bullied again.

“Why do you always blame your parents for everything?” said the wife.

“Not everything,” I replied. “But the old guy is a bastard. Even now he is not sorry and trying to tell him he is an idiot and needs his father.”

She didn’t seem convinced and so i took the bait.

“I guess we face reality and admit our parents aren’t gods.””

She shrugged. “He just wants the best for his son.”

If the truth be told i had foreseen this topic arising and a possible argument; picked the DVD up, put it down, but wasn’t able to leave it alone.

“I know compared to the average Taiwanese parent he is a hippy who doesn’t care if his children weave baskets while smoking pot for all eternity.”

I could see her getting into explode mode so i changed tact. “Anyway, when you are facing ten years for drug smuggling, and banging your head against a wall with self-loathing at your own stupidity, you need someone to blame for your actions, to make yourself feel better,” I replied.

“We take responsibility ourselves,” she replied smugly. “You westerners should try and learn that is only your fault in the end. No excuses.”

“No you don’t,” I said. “You blame luck or the moon. And you still do the murder or robbery. Just deny why.”

“You talk too much,” she said. “My sister is naughty and i am not. Both have the same parent.”

She had a point.

“I don’t know,” I replied trying to be sociological. “Perhaps we believe that by identifying the root of the problem, and facing it we can get closure and hopefully improve, be happier as a person. Improve our society.”

“Does it work?” she asked.

“Of course not. I would say almost never. We firmly identity our parents as the problem. Wallow in self-pity. Restrict ourselves. Talk about it all the time. Make it the center of our lives, but still die alone and bitter having been unable to do anything about it….In that case, you are right – We might as well blame the wall or the 3rd letter of our names.”

Seems I won something in the Taiwan blog awards

I just found out that i was joint winner in the general category of the Taiwan blog awards (peer-judged):http://www.taiwanderful.net/blog/2009-taiwan-best-blog-awards-final-results

So to the judges who voted for me a very big thanks.

In particular Fili: http://www.filination.com/blog/2009/12/26/top-bloggers-2009-best-taiwan-blogs/

Taiwan Culture Shock: The definition of dangerous

The people who have kids will understand this one better.

I have an ongoing dispute with the mother-in-law about the definition of dangerous.

Her take appears to be straightforward: the bodies of young children have an inability to regulate temperature, but are resistant to drinking bleach.

When she is in my house, or looking after the children, she runs two paces behind them continually ready to take the place of their natural temperature gauge. In the summer, she is blasting aircon at them and nagging me every two minutes to take them back from the park because it is too hot. In the winter she has them wearing enough clothes for the arctic. The autumn and spring are the worse times of the year because the weather is changeable and the disputes increase. You arrange to meet the wife and mother-in-law in the park and, when you get there, of course, to combat the mild breeze they are wearing 3 layers of clothing.

“They are too hot,” you say.

“He is right,” would say the mother-in-law. “The sun is strong. Let’s go back to the apartment and turn on the aircon.”

“No. There is nothing wrong with the sun. Take off a couple of layers of clothing.”

I will of course then try and remove two layers and i will get terrible stares from the wife and mother-in-law.

“They will get a cold,” they say in unison.

I will insist, and the battle will then really begin as the mother-in-law follows them continually with that 2nd layer, taking every time the sun pops behind a cloud or the breeze vaguely picks up, to try and force a jumper over their heads.

I indulge this battle of wills for a while, but inevitably give up and go back to the apartment.

Once there, it starts again as she blasts on the aircon and adds layers and i turn off the aircon and remove.

“Wife. Take off the sweater. Feel his forehead.”

“It is cold.”

“So turn off the aircon.”

“Then it is too hot.”

And so on, and so on…

Meanwhile, during all of this it will be:

“Wife. Please ask your mother not to leave huge meat cleaver on the edge of the worktop. Better still, when she walks away to take a phone call, shut the damn kitchen door because she is actually cooking something on the stove.”

The wife will actually look at me, shocked that i could actually think her mother was careless.

So there it is: it seems children are impervious to meat cleavers, household cleaners left hanging around, and hitting windscreens because no seat belt, but if they are not wearing two jumpers they will collapse in an instant.