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.
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