Ron decided he wanted to have a house party, and Ben
grudgingly obliged. We bought booze and snack food and set to cleaning the
place. I swept the rooftop patio and bought a few small potted plants and
strung patio lanterns between the clothesline wires. The night of the party was
warm and sticky. But unlike back home, there were no mosquitoes.
I piled my hair up on top of my head and secured it with a
hair clip that looked like a pair of chopsticks. I pulled on a cotton tank top
that had a bra built in and thin satin straps. I had lost another ten pounds
and didn’t need to wear much in the way of foundation garments, which was a
good thing because it was too darned hot. My skirt wrapped around me once,
buttoned on the hip and hung straight and long to the floor. It was made of a
very thin, diaphanous fabric. Cool. Breezy. Ben was in the kitchen fussing over
some complicated appetizer and Ron was organizing the music so I offered to go
and meet our guests at the subway station. I swished along through the dark alleys,
past the hotel, through the night market and over the footbridge. The lights of
the city reflected on the water. A musky odour hung in the air. Fish, weeds,
garbage, heat.
This is the night I met Murray . The first thing I noticed about him –
the first thing anyone notices about Murray
– is his flashing eyes. Then his tilted smile, his hands, and the way he walks.
I enjoyed his South African accent. We spent most of the night talking. He
seemed genuinely interested in me and my life back home. He wanted to know more
about my girls. He told me he was trying to get into acting. There were quite a
few opportunities for Westerners to do TV commercials, series and even movies
in Asia . We decided I would go along with him
on some of the auditions, because they might need an older white chick. His
words.
The next morning I came downstairs to find Ben sweeping the
floor and picking up empty beer bottles. I picked up a mop to help him. My
inquiry as to Ron’s whereabouts was answered when he suddenly appeared, coming
out of the main floor bathroom. The one with the tub that we had used as a beer
cooler the night before.
I peeked past him into the bathroom and, sure enough, he had
taken his shower right over the beer. The tub was still half-full of bottles,
now covered in suds and hair. My stomach flipped over.
“Diana,” Ron said, looking serious as he towel-dried his
hair. “If you want to try my homemade yogurt, you should just say so. Because
it’s not very nice to just eat it without asking me first.” (When you read
this, you must hear “YOG-urt” because that is how he pronounced it.)
I tried not to make too much of a face as I promised I had
not touched his homemade yogurt, which he kept on top of the fridge where the heat
activated the bacteria. In fact, I told him, I didn’t have the slightest
interest in trying his yogurt. I realized that now, in my mid-30s, I was
learning the politics of dormitory living.
That same weekend I met Murray in Hsimenting and we went poster
shopping together. He wanted the big movie posters for his rooftop apartment.
Basically he lived in one tiny room, but showered and ate outside on the roof,
under an awning. I couldn’t imagine living like that. In one way I would feel
totally exposed, showering behind a half-wall to the open air. And on the other
hand I would be claustrophobic in that tiny room with no windows. But Murray was in Asia to
save money, and the rent was cheap. A lot of Westerners lived like that in Taiwan .
I didn’t spend a lot of time with Murray , but I loved him. He wasn’t, however, a
love interest, or the reason why I stayed in Taiwan two years past its expiry
date and my original plan. The Aussie would be the reason behind that.
I met him when Murray
took me to Carnegies one night. The Aussie was the quiet one; his British friend
was trying and failing to pick me up. He was laughing silently in the
background, watching his friend make a fool of himself. We talked for a few
hours as I waited for Murray
to reappear from wherever he had vanished to. The more he drank, the pushier he
got. He wasn’t making a good impression but I was having a difficult time
extricating myself from the conversation, with my escort missing from the
picture. Finally my South African friend showed up and I said my goodbyes,
leaving The Aussie with my phone number. I changed one of the digits, however,
because I didn’t have a good feeling about the whole thing.
The taxi ride home with Murray was a long, quiet one. He was
protective of me, and he didn’t like The Aussie. Over the next 2.5 years, my
relationship with the man from Melbourne
would end more than one of my friendships.
I walked in the front door of my house just in time to see
the feral cat disappearing back out the kitchen window. We decided to call him “YOG-urt.”
---------------------------------------
Special to the Advance
There Really Is No Place Like Home
August 2003
It has been said
that ‘a man travels the world over in search of what he needs, and returns home
to find it’. Well, the same goes for women. There really is no place like home.
During my six
months in Taiwan , I have met
people from England , Australia , Germany ,
South Africa , Canada and the United
States as well as many from Southeast
Asia .
It has been a
wonderfully enlightening experience, learning about not only the Chinese
culture but also the cultural differences between all of the foreigners that I
meet from day to day.
Canadians are
well received no matter where they go in the world, it seems, and this makes
assimilation into a foreign culture much easier. The natives are willing to
help and to teach and they actually seem grateful for our presence here in
their country. We are treated with respect and consideration, and any cultural
differences that may arise are always handled with the utmost tact and
diplomacy.
There are,
however, plenty of cultural differences; some good and some bad. For example, I
like the way families are so close here, and the elderly are held in such high
regard. In dealing with strangers, respect is paid until the person proves they
don’t deserve it, not the other way around.
Some of the more
difficult cultural differences include the jostling and butting in line at the
subway, the cashier line and the bank teller. I guess it comes from having so
many people in one place; they have learned that if they don’t seize the
opportunity and move up, they may never get served.
I appreciate the
Taiwanese ability to organize and coordinate large scale events. I spent the
Canada Day weekend with a bunch of ex-pats at the Chin-Chin Ranch (no, they
don’t raise pandas there, much to my disappointment). I actually felt my eyes
well up with tears when I heard Stompin’ Tom Connors’ song ‘Bud the Spud’
coming out of the loudspeakers. It was
all Canadian music all night, and the burgers on the grill were just like Mom
makes at home. Of course, the waist deep, bath temperature pool (Taiwanese
don’t like to swim) and raw seafood were pure Taiwan, just in case you were
momentarily unsure of your whereabouts. The door prizes were massive bottles of
Crown Royal and Niagara Ice Wine, Ford Canada tee shirts and wristwatches (I’m
the proud owner of one of those).
We ate our
Canadian birthday cake with chopsticks.
MTV hosted a
weekend rock festival on Fulong Beach recently, and I was impressed with the
way the event went off without a hitch. When the music ended at 10pm, the lead
singer said into the mic, “Hsieh, hsieh (thank you) – GO AWAY,” repeatedly. My
group thought we might like to go for a swim at this lovely beach party, but
entering the surf was strictly forbidden and moving up onto the grass and off
the beach was strictly enforced at the end of the concert. A group of about 60
police officers formed a line and did a sweep of the beach, moving from the
shore inwards, and everyone had to pack up their beach blanket and head for the
tent village or the train back into the city.
A group of
volunteers followed with sticks and garbage bags, and within an hour the beach
was cleared so that you never would have guessed that several thousand people
had been partying there on the sand just minutes earlier.
I kept thinking,
imagine if they could clear the Corel Centre or Lansdowne Park
just as quickly? It was quite an efficient, if slightly militaristic system.
I must confess,
however, that my group of Canadians and one token Aussie were unable to go the
whole night without indulging in a little wave hopping. It was thirty degrees
in the dark, after all. Our tents were unbearable. We were all lying about in
our swimsuits, miserable and grouchy.
At midnight, with
several uniformed security guards running after us with flashlights, we took
off for the water.
We discovered
that they quickly stop chasing you if you doff your swimsuits and head into the
water naked as the day you were born, under the light of the silvery moon, so
to speak.
And just in case
there was any doubt which country we bold tourists were from, one of our fellow
skinny dippers had a bright red maple leaf tattoo on his behind.
I will be home
for the last two weeks in August, and I look forward to hearing from friends
and spending quality time with my family, whom I have missed as one might miss
their right leg.
I will be heading
for Tim Hortons before I even leave the airport at 8am Friday August 15, and
stocking up on tins of English toffee cappuccino. My shopping list of things to
bring back to Taiwan include: authentic Levis jeans built for Canadian figures,
100% cotton clothing (it’s all polyester here; try that in 45 humid degrees…);
shoes that fit bigger than Asian feet; and all the bathroom supplies and
vitamins that cost up to 75% more here on La Isla Formosa.
My itinerary of
vacation activities includes soaking up the affection of family and friends
first of all, who become even more precious as the miles and months separate
us. I look forward to lying in the sun on the St. Lawrence on Dad’s boat,
camping out with my daughters, seeing the stars in the clear Ottawa Valley
night sky and eating my mother’s home cooking.
I want to ride in
a pickup truck and sing a country song…loudly. These are the things I miss most
of all. And it’s only been six months!
Thinking about
how much I miss Canada is making me choke up so I think I will sign out now,
and look forward to seeing all of you when I’m in town, the last two weeks of
August. Take care of yourselves, and take pride in being a true Canadian. We
really do live in the best country in the world, you know.
-30-
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