TWENTY-THREE: The Betel-nut Beauty

Beetlejuice, beetlejuice, beetlejuice!

September 2004

By Diana Leeson

That popular phrase from the Michael Keaton movie of the same name runs through my head every time I see a fresh blob of blood-colored betel nut spit on the sidewalk in Taipei.

Yuck.

Betel nuts, as they are commonly known, are really areca nuts (the seed of an Indian palm tree) stuffed with lime paste and wrapped in betel leaves. This combination is a potent and highly addictive stimulant that is very popular among the trades people and working classes of Asia. The bundle is tucked into the cheek and chewed or sucked for hours on end, in the fashion of chewing tobacco.

Most users describe it as a caffeine-type effect, causing increased alertness. This makes it extremely popular with taxi and truck drivers who want to be able to work longer shifts without getting tired. Betel nuts are easily acquired at over 100,000 roadside stands throughout both urban and rural Taiwan.

Perhaps the reason why it never quite caught on with the middle to upper class members of Asian society (who prefer to get their caffeine kick from Starbucks and local green tea) is that it also increases salivation. The flow from the salivary glands while sucking on betel nuts is quite dramatic and uncontrollable. Users must keep a spittoon at the ready at all times or, if they are outside, they just let the spit fall where it may. It also stains the mouth and teeth bright red. Very attractive.

Taiwan society is divided on the subject of betel-nut use. Users say it makes you stronger, more virile, more of a man. (Very few women have been known to take up the habit). Indeed, the physical effects of the drug include an expansion of the chest and lungs, a feeling of increased strength and energy.

Some fans of the stimulant say that it is less addictive than caffeine, without the jittery nervous feeling. This, unfortunately, has also made it a popular choice among students who are looking for ways to stay awake during all-night study sessions while cramming for exams. Campaigns are currently underway to discourage betel-nut use among teens as it can lead to long-term addiction or the temptation to move into harder drug use.

In addition, studies have shown that the process of leeching this strong plant essence through the mucous membranes of the mouth over a long period of time can lead to mouth cancer.

Then there’s the case of the so-called ‘Betel Nut Beauty’. Due to the demands of increased competition, someone figured out that, if the betel-nut consumer is predominantly the working class male, then what better way to attract him than with a scantily clad female? In the last decade, an increasing number of young women, in their late teens to mid-twenties, started popping up in the roadside betel-nut stands. They are usually dressed in short skirts, platform heels and bra tops. In the country areas, some of them wear completely transparent clothing, thong panties, or just sit there topless. You can imagine the hazardous effect this sight has on the passing motorist. More than a few traffic accidents have been caused by this visual distraction.

Although betel nuts are used throughout Asia, the Betel Nut Beauty is unique to Taiwan. She has been documented in travel guides and the media and has found a firm place in modern culture as a tourist attraction. She is also a bit of an embarrassment to many upstanding members of the Taiwanese community who would prefer to see much less of her.

In September of 2002, the Deputy Magistrate of Taoyuan County (just outside Taipei) introduced his “three no’s” policy: no longer could breasts, bellies or buttocks be exposed by betel-nut girls on the job. Later he relaxed this ruling to allow midriff-baring outfits.

But the ever-resourceful Taiwanese betel-nut vendors found a way to get their man without nudity. They added more fluorescent lighting, bright colors and brand names like ‘Armani’ to their plexi-glass stalls. Then they dressed their girls in eye-catching costumes to capture every passing man’s imagination. Now when you see a Betel Nut Beauty perched high on her stool watching traffic with a bored expression on her face, she may be dressed as a cat-woman, a sexy nurse, or in a schoolgirl’s uniform.

I suspect the traffic accidents will continue.

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TWENTY-TWO: The Truth About Taiwan

 Special to the Kemptville Advance

August 2004

Most Canadians come to Taiwan to make money. That is a fact. A few have come to experience the Chinese culture and to study the language, but most are here to take advantage of the opportunity to make a good income.

Many come to Taiwan immediately after completing university, as a means of paying off their student loans. Others have come because they had difficulty finding work in Canada for one reason or another.

Still others are here with the hopes of saving up a nest egg for their retirement years.  They work as English teachers, editors, translators, engineers, in private business and the entertainment industry. They make considerably more money than they do at home. Some will learn the language, assimilate comfortably into the culture, and never leave. Some will fall in love with an Asian native, put down roots and start a family.

I have learned, however, that it is next to impossible to make the amount of money that Teach and Travel promoters claim you can earn. The TESOL (Teacher of English to Speakers of Other Languages) course that I took in preparation for this journey claimed that I could make $2,300 Canadian per month, teaching 30 hours per week, with an additional private tutoring opportunity of about $3,000 Canadian per month. You do the math. That is a heck of a lot of money considering the cost of living is quoted at $500 Canadian per person per month for accommodations and food.

Let me tell you right now that the only way this magic trick can be accomplished is with an extraordinary amount of overtime, self sacrifice, and a certain amount of illegal activity.

You can live on $500 Canadian per month in Taiwan if you eat nothing but local food every day (I’m talking about over-cooked veggies soaked in oil, undercooked meat, noodles and rice - period) and rent an overcrowded, under-serviced apartment that you share with several other people.

You must risk your life on the streets of Taipei in a scooter or become a victim of the overcrowded, disorganized public transit system. Essentially, you will give up your social life except for the occasional pizza (on cheap night) and beers from the local 7-11. Going out for a night on the town will be pretty pricey with cover charges of $12 to $40 dollars per person and drinks at about $7 to $12 each.

Western-style restaurants are very expensive and cooking at home can break the budget also.

I have known people during my time here who have managed to save an impressive amount of money but they practically killed themselves doing it. Many say they would never do it again, and they would not recommend this experience to their friends, despite the earning opportunity.

I have not saved any money during my time in Taiwan. Work schedules have been difficult to maintain during the SARS era and the hand-and-mouth virus scare.

Any extra money that I had went to trips home. But let me find the silver lining in this experience. I have gained many things that one cannot put a price on.

For months I have been writing in a negative vein about my time here in Taiwan. I should point out that there is always something of value to be learned through immersing yourself in another culture, particularly one that is so completely different from your own. You learn about all the astonishingly different ways that people can live and think and behave. And you learn the ways in which we are all the same.

Children are the same the world over with their yet-to-be-molded personalities and characters. Working with them always brings a smile to my face and allows me the freedom to be a bit of a child myself. It is a mental challenge of an altogether different kind, to teach a roomful of children of another culture.

Being several light years away from one’s home has an amazing way of putting things into perspective.

You begin to realize that the things you thought were important don’t amount to a hill o’ beans and those things you took for granted become incredibly precious. I have learned that some memories have smells.

Like the time I woke up dreaming of the smell of my daughter’s freshly washed hair. And the time, last spring, that I realized I missed the smell of tulips pushing their heads through damp earth. Green has a smell.

Meeting expats in Taiwan from many other countries has also taught me a thing or two. For example, it is true that Canadians are received as some of the friendliest and most polite people in the world when we are traveling overseas. But, like the Americans, we tend to think that the world somehow revolves around us. Just because the Taiwanese embrace and celebrate Western culture and all things North American - from food to music to fashion - doesn’t mean that they know who Sarah McLachlan is in Australia. Their loss.

 And I have discovered that it is possible to have perfectly content children with no mention of Christmas or Halloween, the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy. I am humbled and hushed. All falls into perspective from this distance.

I don’t know how much longer I will choose to stay in this foreign country. But it hasn’t been all bad. As a result of some of these eye-opening incidents, I have met some real-life angels. And I am forever changed in both big and small ways through the experience.

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TWENTY-ONE: Traffic tribulations in Taipei

Special to the Advance 

July 2004

Based on what I was told in my TESOL preparation course, I assumed that my main mode of transportation in Taipei would be a motorized scooter. I was actually looking forward to learning how to ride one.

My first job and apartment were in the suburbs outside the city and I thought I could handle navigation through the moderate traffic on my way to school. I even visited the expats’ favorite scooter dealer and arranged the lease of a nice emerald green model that was going to cost me about three dollars Canadian per week for fuel and a dollar a day to lease. I was pretty excited.

Then my friend Brooke drove her scooter straight into the back of a taxi. Unhurt save a sprained arm, she was nonetheless sufficiently shaken to guarantee she would never pilot her own motorcycle ever again.

Another English teacher from South Africa broke her leg in three places and had to take a month off of teaching, with no unemployment insurance to cushion her budget. I see her from time to time in the gym, her leg in a brace, attempting to scale three flights of stairs with crutches.

As the weather warmed up and people started wearing short sleeves and pants, I began to notice nasty scars on a number of them, all over their arms and legs. One of my adult students didn’t show up for class two weeks in a row and when she did, she proudly showed off her wound, a multi-colored bruise covering half of her thigh. She pointed out the raised bumps where gravel had imbedded in her skin. “The doctor says he can’t get those out without surgery,” she shrugged. I tried to hide my shock.

It’s actually quite rare to meet a scooter driver who hasn’t had an accident in Taipei. This is because basic traffic rules do not apply here; it is every man for himself. Yellow lights mean speed it up and red lights are just a suggestion. Rear view mirrors are used for spying on the passengers in your back seat (if you are a taxi driver) or they are removed altogether from scooters as they increase the amount of space required to squeeze between two vehicles.

As a result, you may have guessed, I decided not to lease my very own shiny emerald green scooter with matching helmet, and my mother in Canada breathed a sigh of relief.

Standing room only on the Taipei subway system leaves a lot to be desired but at least the only real danger to my health down there under the ground is the air-borne flu virus circulating in the stale train air.

When the traffic isn’t moving frighteningly fast, it is gridlocked. During rush hour, drivers nose their vehicles inch by inch into intersections, turning three lanes of traffic into five. In some Asian cities, vehicles become so tightly packed at intersections that it is a regular occurrence to have tow trucks or a crane summoned to pull them back out of the mess they have created.

Traffic cops armed with flashing batons are necessary at most busy intersections during rush hour, as traffic lights just aren’t enough. They blow whistles loud enough to wake the dead and wave their batons frantically in no particular direction, like an avid sports fan in the stands.

Many times while sitting in the back of a taxi that has just cut off another driver I have thought to myself, this is no place for road rage. I know people who wouldn’t do very well in this scenario.

White knuckle taxi rides took on a whole new meaning for one of The Aussie’s colleagues when, in the wee hours of the morning, a motorcycle drove straight into the driver’s window of the cab he was riding in, killing both the cyclist and taxi driver instantly. It took him a while to get used to being a taxi passenger again but in Taipei you don’t have many choices.

Crossing guards have quite a job on their hands, wandering into traffic that never stops, to usher their young charges safely to the other side. With batons upheld and dramatic expressions on their faces they perform their duties with such conviction, spread eagled like a move from the Village People’s YMCA. They urge the schoolchildren to trot across the busy intersections rather than walk. They aren’t taking any chances.

The workforce of Taipei that chooses to travel by city bus has another challenge. Just because the sign posted states that a bus will be stopping there at a given time doesn’t mean that it will. If the bus driver sees the opportunity to get through an intersection up ahead rather than stopping for one or two potential passengers, he will take it. Your only hope is that the light will change to red and you will have the chance to climb aboard. Every morning on my way to work I see the masses huddled on the curb at the bus stop, waving anxiously at their bus, or running frantically after it. The Aussie has been waiting for his commuter bus more than once at the end of a twelve hour Friday only to have it speed by him. The next one will be due in twenty minutes but you can bet it won’t show up for forty. Nice way to begin a weekend.

The masses seem to have found a way around the lack of parking spaces in Taipei. For temporary stops, just leave your car idling outside the cleaners or the 7-11, run in and hope it doesn’t get side-swiped by a bus while you are running your errands. For longer stops, when you have blocked someone in, just leave your cell number on the windshield so they can call you and ask you to move when necessary. Oh, and don’t worry if your car is parked in the turning lane at an intersection, this is Taipei and that is normal.

Traffic culture shock to the new expat in Taipei is just part of life to the local. I had my breath taken away last week by the sight of a young man with one hand on the baby loosely strapped to his chest, a toddler standing on the running board between his knees, and his other hand on the handlebar of his scooter. It is a common sight to see families of four and five people loaded onto one scooter, all with matching “Hello Kitty” helmets. The most common way for students to arrive at my school in the morning is standing in front of their mother on her scooter. She is obviously dressed for work, in stiletto heels and short skirted business suit.

The busy Taipei streets are much too dangerous for anyone on a regular non-motorized bicycle. Pedal power just isn’t enough to get them out of the pinch between two city buses when they start to merge. So they ride on the sidewalk, along with the occasional scooter looking for a parking space.

This makes taking a leisurely walk almost impossible. Then, if you learn to look both ways before stepping out onto the sidewalk, and to jump out of the way when you hear a bicycle bell ringing behind you, there is always pedestrian traffic to consider.

‘The Asian Stroll’ phenomena refers to the manner in which most of the locals travel on foot, taking up the middle third of the sidewalk, or the entire sidewalk if they are walking with a friend, at a frustratingly slow pace. Whether you are trying to overtake them from behind, or encountering them head on, you are in for a challenge of physical maneuvering. Like ants marching on a predestined course, they feel compelled to veer towards you and bump shoulders. I think they get points for this. It’s the only way I can rationalize it.

TWENTY - Workin' up a sweat in Taipei

Special to Accent magazine

December 2005

With four million people crammed into a city that is roughly one-seventeenth the size of Ottawa, getting out for some exercise is a bit more difficult than one might imagine.

You can’t take a brisk walk down a city sidewalk, because you will be constantly swerving around street vendors and food stalls, dodging errant scooters jockeying for a parking space, or trapped behind the slow-moving local out for a stroll. North Americans tend to walk at a pace that is much faster than the average Asian, even when we aren’t late for work. The locals must think we are always in a rush to get somewhere. They just meander along, down the middle of the sidewalk, stopping abruptly in front of every window that interests them.

If you are in a hurry, you will constantly find yourself tapping the locals on the shoulder and saying “jeh gwo” which literally means “please give me some light” or, loosely translated, “please move over”. In most cases, you are better off walking along the side of the street, dodging swerving scooters and taxis coasting to the curb. Forget walking for exercise.

Running tracks exist in most districts of the city, but unless you have time to do your exercise mid-morning or mid-afternoon, you may have trouble finding your own space in a lane. The Taiwanese like to take their daily exercise in the park, so the track will be full before and after working hours, and during lunch. In addition, if you are sensitive to poor air quality, or have any breathing problems at all, you do not want to be exercising out-of-doors in Taipei, even on a ‘clear’ day. The clearest air in Taipei is right after a big rain, but on those days, the running tracks are packed with people, all day long.

The other obstacle to the park running track is the dog on the loose. Leashes are extremely rare in Taiwan, as dogs are trained with a switch of bamboo. From puppyhood, the master takes the dog for frequent unleashed walks. If it strays or gets into mischief, it is whacked with the training switch. This is difficult for many foreigners to bear, but I am told that it is the preferred method of training dogs. They learn the ways of the city and, if accidentally let out of the house without a leash, they are less likely to go running crazily into the street. The problem with this method, however, is that an unleashed dog is still a dog, and if it encounters other canines, it will most likely act on instinct and run over to confront/greet them. As the center of the running oval is the most popular place to let dogs loose for a run, you can imagine the scene. Dogs are frolicking in the grassy center of the oval, chasing balls and catching Frisbees. People are running and walking around the track. As newcomers approach the oval and prepare to cross the track into the center, their unleashed dogs spot the other dogs and go barreling across the lanes toward their comrades. Anyone running in those lanes must possess great leaping and ducking skills, to avoid being floored by a four-legged sprinter. In light of these considerations, running in the park isn’t my favourite thing either.

There are numerous fitness centers and gyms in Taipei. California Fitness, a huge American-style chain with glossy black tiles and spotlights, has several locations. However, if you have an aversion to any of the following – ear-splitting dance music, lineups at weights machines, overcrowded aerobics studios and cramped change rooms – this scene isn’t for you.

Your first hint of what is to come is the six or seven uniformed staff members waiting to greet you when you approach the entrance to the gym. With their club music spilling out on to the street, they approach – no, confront – passersby with free weekly trial coupons, in an effort to drum up more memberships. They are already full to capacity, of course, so if you buy a membership now, you will be restricted to exercising between the hours of 10 to 12, 2 to 4, and 10 to midnight. If you opt to splurge on an annual membership, a personal trainer will practically be forced upon you, at the cost of $1,000NT ($35 CDN) per hour. These minimally-trained fitness staff do little more than supervise the client while he or she attempts to use the various complicated machines, don’t necessarily advise the client against doing exercises that are dangerous, and they aren’t necessarily confident about just how to use each machine. Basically, they just double the number of bodies in the gym. But it doesn’t really matter, anyway. Most of the members of the gym are not there to exercise but to meet people, it seems. The fact that they do their hair and makeup before exercising (males included) is a dead giveaway.

Recently, a friend stumbled upon an activity that we thought just might be the answer to getting some exercise and stress relief from life in the busy city. Mountain and riverside cycling paths are abundant in Taipei, and bike shops are on every corner. So, kitted out from head to toe, we wedged our bikes in the elevator and out into the cacophony of noise that is our city. At first I thought I would have a heart attack, as taxis and buses kept cutting me off while I rode hugging the curb. But I got used to it. When it was really gridlocked, I dodged pedestrians on the sidewalk.

When we finally turned off the main street about ten minutes later, it was like entering another world. The corrugated iron buildings lining the narrow alley shut out all the noise from the thoroughfare we had left behind, and the silence closed in around us. As we began our uphill climb, the exhaust fumes from the traffic seemed to clear, and we filled our lungs with cool, if not altogether fresh air.

The narrow street thinned to a tractor path winding up and around the mountain through Taipei’s biggest hillside graveyard. Spindly palms were the only vegetation among the colourful tombs covering every square metre of the slope. At one bend in the road, ghostly music wafted from speakers above an altar that was cut into the hillside. The climb up the hill was hard work, but it was worth it. From the crest, we could see most of the city, and look Taipei 101 straight in the eye.

After a few minutes’ rest and a drink of water, we started to head downhill. What happened next just may prove to be the main obstacle to my becoming a regular cyclist in the Taipei hills. As we rounded a corner and hit the brakes in order to avoid careening off into the graveyard (there are no guardrails, save a few rusty mattresses on the sharpest turns), we heard a strange grumbling.

Standing on the bluff above us were three of the blackest, most menacing looking feral dogs I have ever seen. All I could think was “The Hounds of the Baskervilles”. But, as they hunt at night and sleep all day, we still had a few hours’ grace. The curs just watched us balefully as we picked up speed and pedaled away.

We thought we were in the clear when a scooter with two dogs riding the running board approached us from behind. As the driver slowed for the curve, the dogs spotted my friend and me cycling up ahead. What dog can resist the urge to take a bite of a spinning tire? Especially when there is a fleshy calf beside it? The next thing I knew, I had a dog on either side of me, teeth bared. Spurred to action by the intriguing ruckus, the graveyard dogs also joined the pack at my legs. I kicked at them, still cycling, and tried to sound aggressive: “Go! Get away!” Thankfully, the owner caught up to us and ordered his dogs back into obedience. The feral mutts stood posturing in the middle of the lane, too lazy to keep up the chase. Adrenaline coursing through my legs, I continued wobbily down the hill and home.

We discussed the day’s events over Vietnamese spring rolls later that evening, and considered our remaining options for exercise. Winter is the best season for wind sports in Taiwan. Kite surfing, anyone?

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Many Taiwanese like to start their morning in the park with Tai Chi at sunrise. Ballroom dancing lessons are held on  the pavement under highway overpasses as public spaces are at a premium.

NINETEEN - No thanks; I'm not that hungry.

Special to Accent Magazine

June 2004

I was once asked by North Grenville Mayor Bill Gooch if I had ‘tried the fried chicken feet yet?’  I am happy to report that, almost a year and a half after arriving in Taiwan, the answer is still ‘no’. I don’t exactly live off of McDonald’s food in Taipei, but I steer clear of most of the local fare, and there are several important reasons for that.

One day last week I was sweeping the floor when one of my students mumbled to me, ‘Teacher, can I have some more?’  I turned around and looked at the little guy, ready to scold him for speaking with his mouth full.  There was four year old Charles, with a huge octopus tentacle hanging out of the side of his mouth.  All I could think was: that’s something you wouldn’t see in a kindergarten in Canada.The next day we had chunks of pork fat as the main meat dish in the school cafeteria.  I was understandably horrified, but tried to keep my reaction to myself and just said I wasn’t very hungry, filling up on soup instead. 

“What do you call this in English?” asked my Chinese co-teacher.  “I like to eat fat,” she said, when I explained that we normally threw that stuff out in Canada.  This 25-year old woman is about the size of my twelve year old.  She says she is slim because she drinks green tea all day.  I think it is probably more of a testament to heredity than a side effect of green tea. Regardless, she has me drinking the mossy liquid on a regular basis now.  It’s full of antioxidants as well.

I went to Taiwan’s version of Kentucky Fried Chicken a while ago and ordered a chicken salad.  There was no sign of chicken meat in the meal, just strips of skin and fat.  Yummy.  I picked it all out and ate the greens.

A large amount of oil is used in the cooking here, and many Asians have major health problems after middle age as a result.  Monosodium glutamate is used as a flavor enhancer in just about everything and even if the can looks like Campbell’s soup from back home, a quick glance at the label will verify that extra salt and MSG has been added before it hit the shelves in Asia.

Medical research has revealed that prolonged consumption of MSG can lead to hair loss in both sexes.  Unfortunately, someone (probably a spokesperson for a company that produces MSG) spread the rumor that hair loss is caused by acid rain falling on your head and so these people continue to eat large quantities of the harmful chemical but get quite anxious if they are caught out in one of Taiwan’s characteristic downpours without an umbrella.

Chicken testicles are a regular menu offering in local restaurants, as my friend discovered when a dinner was hosted in his honor by some of his Taiwanese colleagues.  I stuck to fried rice, but he gallantly tried a taste, announcing that it was truly as horrid as he imagined.

In preparation for living and working in Asia, many foreigners are taught that being invited to dinner at the home of a local is a great honor and should not be refused if at all possible. I would be worried, quite frankly, about what rare delicacies would be offered to me at such a gathering.

If you do an Internet search of ‘Asian food delicacies’ you may be shocked by what you discover.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

There are some people in Asia holding fast to the ancient beliefs that certain body parts of animals will increase the virility of the man who consumes them.  It is illegal to kill these animals or to sell the meat for the purpose of consumption.  However, the blood of a live snake mixed into rice wine is available regularly on Snake Alley here in Taipei.  The snake is tormented until adrenalin is coursing through its veins before it is bled.  This is said to increase the ‘power’ in the dose.

The practice of torturing the animal before it is slaughtered is believed to create a more tender meat.  Domesticated ‘companion’ animals such as dogs and cats are a delicacy in parts of Asia and they have reportedly been slaughtered using methods that would stupefy many a foreigner. Animal rights activists are working tirelessly to increase the enforcement of laws that have been in place for just a few years now.  The problem is that until the consumer changes his way of thinking, the animals will continue to suffer this way.

Various aboriginal cultures in other parts of the world hold to beliefs that the consumption of the human afterbirth or placenta will promote health and so tribal ceremonies have been celebrated around this practice for generations.  In parts of Asia this notion has been taken one step further, and some people are actually admitting to eating human fetuses.  Most of this activity is taking place in mainland China, with the explanation that the practice adheres to ancient Chinese tradition.

In the age of the Internet, stories spread very quickly. It has been rumored that this type of modern-day cannibalism was taking place in Taiwan but the Taipei Economic and Cultural Office was quick to issue a response to the allegations.

“The GIO (Government Information Office) wishes to emphasize that no event of this kind has ever taken place in Taiwan, and that the serving or eating of such a dish would break an ROC (Republic of China) law against the defiling of human corpses.”

If I’ve ruined your appetite, I do apologize.  Needless to say, I do a lot of cooking at home for myself.  I have developed a love for Indian curry, as many of my friends here in Taipei are from the UK, where it is the dining-out food of choice. I like to take advantage of the low prices on chicken breasts because most of the imported meat and vegetables can get pretty expensive. The lean, white chicken meat is cheap, however, because the Taiwanese would prefer to throw that tasteless, healthy stuff away.

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Fermented tofu is the main delicacy in Taiwan. Its sale from street vendor carts is restricted to one neighbourhood of each city or town so that its odour – reminiscent of chicken poo and vomit – does not permeate the entire district. I never tried it. I couldn’t get past the smell. Also in the “smells bad, tastes great” category is the Asian fruit that looks like a prickly watermelon: durian. Some upscale apartment buildings forbid durian being opened indoors, as the stench travels through the ventilation to other homes. Again, never tried it. I was just never curious enough.

Perhaps my favourite thing to eat in Asia was Thai Beef Salad. I ordered it regularly from the pub on the way home from the gym. The first time I ordered it, the barmaid brought me an unsolicited glass of milk. I found out why, soon enough. Milk seems to be the only thing that will calm the flaming tastebuds and wash away the resin left behind by the spicy chili seeds.

I tried making that salad at my apartment once. I remembered the heat was in the chili pepper seeds, so I smartly scraped them out with my fingernail. Moments later, as my eyes teared up and my nose began to run, I grabbed a Kleenex. Big mistake. The resin on my fingers travelled through the tissue and up my nose. My sinuses were on fire with every breath.

When my roommates walked in a few minutes later, they were greeted with the sight of me bent over a bowl of milk, attempting to flush out my nose. If they thought it was a strange vision, they said nothing. 

EIGHTEEN - A rousing requiem ritual

 Special to the Kemptville Advance 

November 2005

In order to avoid the noon-hour traffic, we were walking the back alleys to our favourite Indian restaurant. Meredith rounded the corner up ahead of me and quickly jumped to the side. “Watch out for the mourners,” she muttered over her shoulder. Following her around the bend I met a man on horseback, draped in a white paper robe and a peaked white hood. The horse was white too. A small group of similarly dressed people followed him, shuffling along, singing a mournful Chinese song under their breath. I smiled at them and stepped to the side to watch for a moment, humming along respectfully. Meredith’s head whipped around to see what had happened to me: “Don’t look at the ones in white!” she hissed.

I averted my eyes to the ground, scolded, and continued toward the curry café, dodging horse droppings along the way.

In Chinese culture, red is for weddings, white is for funerals. The flowers are white, the cars are white, the grieving families dress in black with white robes and hoods over top. To the uninitiated, the entire spectacle bears a frightening resemblance to a Ku Klux Klan parade. Most people, no matter where they spend their last days, like to think that their funeral would be well-attended. In Taiwan, they aren’t taking any chances. Families of the deceased pay complete strangers to come to their loved one’s funeral, so that the soul will have a proper farewell. These professional mourners often ride on parade floats decorated with colourful figures of folklore, bands of Chinese drummers and horn players, and singers in scant costumes. Funerals are not quiet in this part of the world: they are loud, raucous events, designed to scare off evil spirits. Many families are too numb from shock or weary from the effort of setting up the elaborate funeral to cry real tears. One of the hired mourners will fill the void for them, getting up on stage at the funeral hall, singing songs that honour the deceased, and taking on the role of a loved one left behind, wailing and crying, dropping to her knees and pounding the stage floor with her fists. Often, this is all the real family needs to get actual tears flowing. The family is willing to pay up to $8,000 Canadian for the ceremony with all the trimmings. This expense makes the funeral with professional entourage quite a status symbol, and the family doesn’t want to ‘lose face’ in the eyes of their peers by hosting a cheap event.

Part of the Taiwanese funeral ritual involves the creation and burning of paper symbols in the shape of luxury cars, expensive appliances, clothing and houses. These are representations of what the family believes their loved one will enjoy in the afterlife. Paper ‘ghost money’ is also burned, for their dead relative to spend in heaven. At some funerals, you will see towers of beer cans or whiskey bottles (indicative of what the deceased was fond of while still on Earth) decorated with flowers, colourful ribbons and bows.

One interesting feature of more than one third of all funerals in Taiwan is a performance by an exotic dancer. Perhaps this tradition arose from the scantily clad singers taking their performance one step further. In any case, it isn’t unusual to honour the dead with the entertainment of a woman (or a man, in some cases), shedding clothing and dancing nude. There are even reports of soft-porn videos being shown at these events, perhaps as a means of celebrating life and reminding mourners that it must go on.

According to Malcolm McLean, Lecturer of Religious Studies at the University of Otago in New Zealand, this type of funeral ritual with erotic overtones is typical of both mainland China and rural areas of Taiwan. Researchers in religious study from universities in Canada, the U.S., U.K and Sweden debate the possible reasons for bringing sex into Asian funeral rites. 

The Asian approach to death is very different from the Western approach, and it varies from one religion to another. In Japan, there are temples for those who have suffered a sudden death of one kind or another.

There is also a Buddhist ceremony specifically for the purpose of recognizing the soul of the aborted or miscarried child. The common theme is most Asians believe that their dead relatives will go on to another plane of existence and need to be honoured, even after their lives end. 

SEVENTEEN: Living in the shadow of The World's Tallest, Taipei 101.

Special to The Kemptville Advance

December 2003

When I enter the Taipei subway system every weekday morning on my way to work, I stand in the shadow of what has just been named the tallest building in the world. By its completion in the fall of 2004, the giant known as Taipei 101 will have reached 1667 feet at the tip of its 197 foot spire. Thirty-four double decker elevators will lift people at a rate of 37 miles per hour, or approximately two floors per second.

101 stories will house 12,000 office workers, along with the Taiwan Stock Exchange.

Mayor Ma Ying-jeou says that he has no doubt “the tower will bring Taipei to the world and the world to Taipei”.

But in the aftermath of the World Trade Center terrorist attacks, in which over 2800 souls were lost, many people the world over are scratching their heads.

Do we really need another skyscraper?

Ying-jeou answered this query with the explanation that Taipei was not likely to be the target of a terrorist attack. Indeed, the biggest danger to a structure of this size on the island of Taiwan is terror of another kind.

Earthquakes and typhoons are fairly common in this country, as it sits on a stretch of high seismic activity in the Pacific basin. In September 1999, 2,400 people died and 50,000 buildings were damaged or destroyed in a horrific earthquake that registered 7.6 on the Richter scale.

Taipei 101 has been built to withstand a quake of that magnitude and even higher, designers report. Its reinforced concrete strength at 10,000 lbs per square inch and is 67% higher than the standard 6,000 lbs per square inch.

A 900-ton damper in the shape of a massive sphere will be suspended at the top of the building, on the 87^th floor - this will serve to reduce the lateral movements brought about during earthquakes and high winds. Visitors will be able to see this impressive ball from the restaurant or the observation deck for a nominal fee.

In addition to state-of-the-art fire extinguishing equipment and non-flammable construction materials, architects included a fire-safe room on each floor and a refuge balcony on every eighth floor. In terms of safety, designers claim that Taipei 101 exceeds all standards.

The construction of this modern-day Tower of Babel hasn’t gone without incident, however. In March of 2003, an earthquake measuring 6.8 on the Richter scale caused a crane to fall from the 58^th floor, killing five construction workers. Several fires occurred during the construction process as well.

On November 21, just one week after the grand opening of the shopping mall at the base of the tower, high winds caused a swing crane to drop a load of steel plates from the 90^th floor onto unsuspecting pedestrians below. Four people were injured and two taxis were damaged but it could have been far worse: more than 60 of the steel plates fell into a vacant primary school play yard, located 300 metres away.

The builder was fined for using a crane on high rise construction during winds that exceeded 10 metres per second. At the time of the accident, the wind was measured at 22 metres per second.

Construction crews were back at work just three days later, and a throng of visitors crowded around the building’s entrance, waiting their turn to be allowed in to view Asia’s newest global landmark. Much to the dismay of the retailers, however, most of the people admitted to the shopping complex were just there to look, and not to do their Christmas shopping.

Taipei 101 may only hold the title of World’s Biggest for a short time, as the World Financial Center in Shanghai, scheduled for completion in 2008, is expected to top it.

"Taipei 101 Tuned Mass Damper 2010" by Armand du Plessis - Own work. 

SIXTEEN - The art of communicating, sometimes without words

Some of my most interesting and memorable moments in Taipei happened in the rather Western setting of Starbucks. They play the most awesome music in there and one day I was at the self-serve station, doctoring up my Americano and swinging my hips lightly to a latin tune. A young Asian man approached with his coffee and I moved over to make room for him. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a smile spreading across his face. He started to la la la as he stirred cream into his cup. Next thing I know, he’s offering me his hand and leading me out into the center of the room. With perfect steps, he pulled me into a merengue, or maybe it was a bachata – we were just freestylin’ all over the floor, hips a swingin’ and arms a flingin’. It was awesome. The other customers moved their chairs a bit to make room for us and then continued with their conversations, not even watching us. It was like the most normal, ordinary thing to be doing, dancing ballroom in the middle of an American coffee house in Asia. When the song was over, my dance partner took a deep bow to thank me. No words required. I had a huge grin on my face and walked out of there a little lighter on my feet than when I walked in.

On the subject of cross-cultural relations, I did have one date with a lovely long-haired and stocky Asian man before I met The Aussie. He took me out for a very nice dinner but I don’t remember much of the evening. When we said goodnight I think I pulled him in for a kiss and felt him shivering. Then I realized he was shaking. I think I scared the crap out of the guy. More than once in Taiwan I was reminded that Western women are often perceived as bold, aggressive, obstinate and uncontrollable. I was fired from a contract in Taipei once, along with another Canadian editor, because we laughed out loud at work. I was also told I asked too many questions. That, I think, was a sign that I was challenging my boss’ English abilities and engaging him in conversation that might cause him to lose face. This is a big no-no. The laughing, along with the way we eat, is also deemed unattractive because we show the inside of our mouths with each guffaw or big bite. I don’t know – I’d rather see someone take a big bite of a burger than stuff their face full of rice, their cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk. I did learn the tricks quickly, however, and still catch myself holding my hand up in front of my mouth while I bite and chew. As for the romance thing, it could never work as in most cases I was just bigger than the average Asian man, and I found them bordering on androgynous. Not my type.

I first noticed the long gangly German sitting on the MRT during my morning commute. I was standing, having boarded after all the seats were full; he was struggling with his shirt cuffs, his fingers too big for the delicate buttons. I spent a few minutes guessing his nationality, until I noticed he was reading a German book. Then I decided he looked German, with his Heidi Klum cheekbones.

The next day, he was in the same seat, struggling with his cuffs again as if he had been there all night. I walked over, reach down and buttoned them for him. He smiled and patted the seat beside him. We attempted a few words but quickly realized we couldn’t communicate with each other. He just smiled, patted my thigh with his big mitt and laughed.

One night when I was coming home from a freelance ESL lesson, my German friend was on the train again, this time in a soccer jersey, with a small group of similarly outfitted friends. They had probably just come from the pub, where foreigners had gathered to watch European football. This time he came over and handed me his phone. He wanted my number.

When the text came in the next day asking me to meet him, I had just finished cleaning my apartment and I was ready to get out of the house. I texted back an address of a tea bar along the water in my neighbourhood. I wore a loose-fitting cotton blouse and a knee-length skirt. It was still 30 degrees, late afternoon.

I got a big smile when he spotted me. We ordered our tea – blooming tea balls and fragrant leaves chosen to match our astrology signs – in beautiful glass teapots. Mine bloomed red and purple; his yellow and blue melding to green. Our seat under the canopy by the river was quite breezy and cool, with the perfect vantage point for watching the sunset over the muddy brown Tamsui River.

Later we sat on the walled edge of the river, dangling our feet while we shared his earphones and a bag of popcorn. The tune was “Cecelia” by Simon and Garfunkel. Every time I hear it now, I think of the nice German engineer working in Taipei with Siemens on the High Speed Rail project. I can’t for the life of me remember his name.

As I made my way down the hill at the foot of the mountain, through the alleys emerging onto the street market and across the footbridge over the muddy river, I thought I might enjoy my insular existence just a bit longer. I liked not knowing many people, and having no one to answer to.

The vendors stopped talking to each other, to turn and look at the tall, thin white woman each morning. After a few weeks, some of them began waving at me. The chicken lady saved her morning beheading ritual for my passing. I heard a loud “thwack” as I passed, making sure I was as far away as possible to avoid blood and feather splatters. Once, when I looked back, the headless chicken was dancing and the woman was smiling at me, one gold tooth glinting among the brown fragments in her mouth.

My new favourite thing to eat in the morning was a fried onion pancake. I had to blot the oil out on a paper towel before I could eat it, but it was delicious.

I was once told that all Asians are bisexual. How’s that for a broad, sweeping statement? I was at Carnegie’s one night - a sort of Hard Rock Cafe night club for the over thirty set - when one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen approached me. I found out later she was Indonesian. Or maybe it was Malaysian. I can’t remember which but she was stunning. She danced beside me a bit, then said in halting English, “I have bathtub.” I smiled, nodded, and thought, That’s great. Good for you. A bathtub is a huge luxury in a city where most apartments are tiny bachelor pads. I thought back to my first apartment in Taipei with The Norseman, and our spatially economic all-in-one bathroom. She batted her perfect eyelashes at me and held my arm at the wrist.

“I have bathtub. It’s ok. You can use.” She smiled, and stroked my forearm. Up, and down. Up, and down. Ah, I see, said the blind man.

“That’s ok. I have a bathtub too!” I smiled back, my biggest goofy grin. She laughed, pushed me away gently, and danced off, her hips sashaying into the crowd.

FIFTEEN - On being female in Taiwan

Some of the subway stations along the Taipei MRT were scarier than others for the claustrophobic, crowd-shunning type or introverted-extrovert, like me. The journey-to-the-centre-of-the-earth station near the tourist district was a particular problem for me, as you had to climb a steep set of stairs down into it, like entering a well. I had to use it, however, as a taxi could not be found and I needed to buy Chinese silk qipau dresses for my daughters before my trip home.

I was happy to see I was one of just a handful of people moving through the station on my way up and out of the cavernous tunnel. There’s nothing worse than being underground AND stifled by a crowd at the same time.

Within seconds of stepping onto the escalator, I felt a presence directly behind me. I moved to the side so he could pass but he didn’t. Then I felt my skirt swish. I quickly turned, just in time to see the young Taiwanese man put his cell phone into his jacket pocket.

I took half a dozen steps up the escalator and continued the long, slow ride up. I looked back again, processing what had just happened. He was smiling wide at me, having just taken a picture up my skirt with his phone camera. By the time we reached the top of the stairs, I was absolutely burning with rage.

I whirled around, blocking his exit from the escalator. This is easily done when you are a foot taller and wider than your subject. I tried to communicate in English, too angry to retrieve the few necessary Mandarin words I needed to ask him what the FUCK he thought he was doing up my skirt.

Just then a big black guy swaggered over. Now, black people in Taiwan are an oddity to begin with, because they aren’t readily accepted into a traditional Asian culture. The main city of Taipei, however, is quite Westernized and people from all over the world live and work here. At this particular moment I was quite happy to see my dark angel.

“Oh man,” he drawled. “Girlfriend is mad...at...you.”  He had taken in the entire ridiculous exchange, noticed my red face and clenched fists and stepped up to my rescue.

“Give me the phone,” he said to the boy, who still had a stupid grin on his stupid face. The kid handed it over and the man easily swept through the photos still on the screen, deleting each one. He turned the phone so I could see it.

“You were going to be on upskirt dot com!” He smiled, then shook his head. Then he did a few things I didn’t expect,1) he spoke very sternly and animatedly in perfect Mandarin to the boy, 2) he pocketed the expensive cell phone, despite dramatic pleading from its owner, and 3)he tapped his imaginary cap at me, flashed a smile and turned away. Immediately he was swallowed up in the crowd. When I turned around the Asian kid was also gone.

Women in Taiwan

Before coming to Taiwan, I was warned about sexual discrimination. I shrugged it off, thinking: that is mainland China they are talking about, I’m going to Taipei - the capital of the breakaway province, where the society is westernized and modern! I have since received several rude awakenings.

In the first school that hired me, I noted a strange phenomenon. When snacks were being handed out, the male teachers were always given two or three servings. Sometimes the female teachers didn’t even get one!

Male teachers were never expected to do bathroom duty or floor puddle cleanup. I guess the attitude among management is that females are much more adept at this sort of thing.

If I climbed into a taxi ahead of a male counterpart, my directions were ignored by the driver until the man spoke. Ironically, in many cases, I’m the only one who knows where we’re going!

As I walked down the street the other day, I met a group of Asian businessmen head-on. They were walking side by side, comfortably taking up the entire sidewalk. I had to step into a doorway to avoid a collision. As I turned around in disbelief, I saw them part like the Red Sea to allow a male pedestrian through their previously impenetrable human wall. I felt like The Invisible Woman.

On a city bus or on the subway, signs are posted to reserve seats for the elderly, pregnant and disabled. However, on more than one occasion I have seen a shaky old woman or an uncomfortably pregnant one lurching down the aisle, only to be ignored by the man sitting in the seat designated just for her.

In the kindergartens, male students exhibiting extraordinarily bad behaviour are labeled ‘naughty’. They seem to feel they need to live up to that expectation each day. One of my students (admittedly one of my favourites, despite myself), Thomas, found a way to get around the ‘get finished first and win a gold star’ challenge. All the children rushed through their lunch and formed a line at the door. When everyone was in line I took them to the washroom, where they relieved themselves, washed their hands and brushed their teeth. A boy named Albert decided to cut his time in half by brushing his teeth in the water that erupted from the top of the urinal while he was peeing. Thomas took note of Albert’s trick and turned to pee all over his classmate’s shoes, thus taking Albert out of the competition, at least for that day. I grabbed hold of Thomas’ ear and marched him to the principal’s office for a scolding. To my surprise and horror, Thomas was praised for his quick action and the school director told me he might be President of Taiwan someday with initiative like that. Mind boggling. The boys take their discipline in stride, with big grins on their faces. Girls rarely act up in class, as it is considered boyish behaviour.

Most kindergartens in Taiwan prefer to hire female teachers, for their mothering instinct, I am told. Elementary level programs prefer to employ male teachers because the students at that age are often disrespectful to their female teachers. I managed to talk my way into a part-time job at an elementary school, despite being obviously female. At first I was shocked when I asked a ten-year-old boy to take his turn at the front of the class and he responded with a firm “NO”.

It didn’t take me long to discover that not only will the male students not comply with basic classroom protocol, but they will speak derogatively about the teacher in Chinese during class, and start wrestling matches with their friends in the middle of the classroom floor whenever the mood strikes them. When I was facing the board, my back to the class, I could hear pile-drivers and body slams being delivered behind me. To solve the problem, the school director will send a male teacher to come in and regain control of the classroom. This, of course, is perceived by the male students as a declaration of the male teacher’s authority and a reduction of the female teacher’s influence over her class. 

The schools are raising yet another generation of young men who don’t respect women. And so the problem is perpetuated. Many Taiwanese parents will pay their life savings to have their daughters educated overseas, in North America. The problem is, of course, that many of them return to their native Taiwan to discover that their education doesn’t help them very much. It is quite common to meet a woman working as a secretary or clerk who actually holds a degree from a respected American university. In most cases, her education will go to waste as she will never be given the opportunity to work at a high earning level.

The gender wage gap in Taiwan is largely unexplainable - females are educated as well as males, if not more. According to the Women’s Labor Rights Association of Taiwan, traditional stereotypes are the root of the problem.

To the rest of the world, it would appear that Taiwan is ahead of most of Asia in its professional opportunities for women. In the last thirty years, the percentage of female doctors, lawyers and engineers has increased significantly. Unfortunately, their wage does not come close to that of their male counterparts.

On the Taiwan High Speed Rail Project, a Taiwanese woman with a Master’s Degree from the University of Southern California holds the position of engineer. However, she is paid considerably less than what the men with the same credentials and experience are paid. Her comments are ignored at meetings and she is treated in a condescending manner.

Unfortunately, rather than graciously welcoming the expertise of these Taiwanese nationals who have returned home to work after being educated abroad, this society refuses to give them the respect and compensation they deserve. According to representatives of The Women Awakening Organization of Taiwan, if there isn’t a change of heart in the near future, it could cause a mass exodus of professional women from Taiwan.

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