Memorable Accomodations

I have a fond memory of my brother, tipsy on bowling alley beer and being awake in the wee hours in between night and morning, breaking in half a piece of bacon, discarding the end with the long, black hair spiraling all the way around it, and happily crunched the other end. We were sitting in a Denny's- a 24-hour Florida diner chain whose commercials at the time boasted meals for $3.99. He shrugged and said, "If you're going to eat at Denny's at 2:30, you have to be ready to make some concessions. We split- and thoroughly enjoyed- the free English muffin that came as a conciliatory offering.

Traveling in hostels and budget hotels, I often remember these sage words and usually can take the inevitable concessions in stride.  

Today's concession: the door on my sea view bungalow on a small Vietnam island, which appears to have been built as a prop for a set rather than an actual, functioning security measure.

It's no so much the gap between the frame and the door, which highlights the pitiful, primitive lock, that surprises me. It's the fact that the door quite easily pops out of the sliding track, which is just two raised bars of wood. 

It's the small things that make travels vivid.

Can I have my greens and eat them, too?

It was in Brooklyn, not too long ago that I became enamored with organic, whole, and whenever possible, local foods. Hitting the farmer's markets became a weekly ritual and my bike was used more for trips to the coop than leisure or exercise. This food culture, or conglomerate of food subcultures was also easy to find in cute restaurants around the city. And, likely quite annoyingly, I even became preachy about it to my family.

While this obsession with certain types of foods is still pretty new, it was deeply entrenched when I made my way to Asia, and posed challenges to my usual open, I-have-to-try-everything-once-

in-the-name-of-authentic-cultural-experience approach to eating while traveling. I have thrown back fried insects, various indiscernible (and texturally diverse) animal parts, and mystery foods from every group, and even things i wasn't supposed to actually eat, with only the fear of not eating it in the correct way. Chicken's feet are a delicacy in Chinese cuisine? No problem! But the chickens are probably raised in a cramped commercial farm and pumped with antibiotics? Yikes! Ok, no problem, in this Buddhist-dominant part of the world it's easy to go vegetarian (and without simply making fake meats). But then, many vegetarian menus feature a lot of soy, which is so frequently genetically modified. Vegetables abound here, but Taiwan is on the short-list of worst offenders for pesticide use. And not speaking Chinese further complicates my quest for the kinds of foods I like.

Before coming over to Taiwan I found a handful of organic restaurants reviewed online. One review was for a chain of small groceries that often have prepared foods, if not small restaurants within. And I was delighted to find that there are a variety of such markets, both chains and seemingly independently run. I fact, I've gotten pretty good at spotting the ground nut powders, grain crackers and dried fruits and nuts in window displays that these places usually feature. I don't even mind that the stuff is a bit pricey. I do, however, mind that a lot of the products come from the US. Certainly it is not always the case, but I so often I have to choose: avoid pesticides and antibiotics in my food, but require a ridiculous amount of petrol to get it to me, or go with the locals, but eat it without really knowing where it came from or what's in it. Even the local non-organic fruit shops, while much cheaper, feature items proudly bearing USA or Chile stickers.

So the search continues for foods that are indigenous and grown without chemicals.

Saying hi to the other white guys

I stand out as a minority here. Especially in my first few weeks, I was always surprised when I saw another white person. I found myself torn between wanting to acknowledge them- Hey, look, I'm white, too!- and wanting to avert my eyes and dissociate completely- You don't exist. I'm the white person here.

Now it's just a quick note in my head, such as this morning while jogging: Is that a white dude up ahead? Yup, white. Don't stare. Only just as I was turning off the path to head to the pull-up bar, he swerved in the same direction and we came to a stop in front of the bars right at the same time. I cracked up at the thought of how it might have even looked like a synchronized white exercise routine from the outside. Then I exchanged my first knowing smile, nod, and "Hey" with a fellow Caucasian and tried not to feel too self-conscious as we did our respective work, side-by-side on the bars. 

If the goal was to improve circulation, I think this masseuse overshot.
The post I was mentally composing, extolling the delights of cheap Thai massage, just lost some steam.
Apologies for the graphic picture.

Farm to Table...Sometimes, Maybe.

The Taipei Artists' Village is a cute network of interconnected staircases, with studios,  small galleries, cafes, and even a small hostel smacked in among apartments along DaoNan river.

Expecting just art spaces, I was thrilled to see the title "Farm to Table" printed [not ostentatiously] on top of the printed menu hanging on the door. It was late at night and they were closing down, so it was added to my list of things to do and talked about frequently...until today.

I would love to write about the farm to table offering I enjoyed when I returned to the Treasure Trading Cafe, as it is properly called. But I can't because they didn't have any today. They couldn't tell us when they would have any. You need call ahead and reserve maybe, but they couldn't tell us when to call either. Noted, I am relying on a college-age cafe employee to communicate details to me in my language. But there was no expression of, "Sorry, I don't know how to explain it to you, I just don't have the words." He really didn't know. I guess it should be exciting that the meals come from a nearby farm, and thus are reliant on what's available each week, but that excitement is mitigated if you never know how to try it.

On the bright side, it is a very cute location if you'd like to sit and have some tea.

Dress Code

I was just informed that my cropped pants do not meet the school's dress code. Pants are allowed now for the winter dress code period, but they must be full length pants.

This from the institution that puts young boys in shorts with knee socks.

I shake my fist and proclaim, "Injustice!"


The offending pants:


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Compensating for Illiteracy

No vocabulary for office supplies and an inability to write the characters if I did know the word.
Nobody around in the office where you get supplies from to pantomime to.

...but I did have a pencil. Sorted.

Apartment Mysteries

With the school year having begun my roommate (who's lived here in the apartment for the last year) has finally returned. I've seen him about 4 times in the last two weeks. I think pretty soon we'll have enough of a rapport to where I can finally get some answers about this place.

First, if we keep our mop outside on the dirty ground, how will it get our floors clean?

Why are we keeping this suitcase? Is it an art project? A science experiment? Part of some Taiwanese superstition that you've decided to honor?

And, what I am most curious about, why do we need so many jars of the same jam?

Coolest Street Vendor...Ever.

I discovered this weekend that a 13-hour epic staff trip is not really for me, but one awesome thing came out of it.

Surprisingly I am not referring to the liters of sweat that poured out during either of the two hikes. (Their nature trails are paved, but nothing makes up for the pre-typhoon humidity.) Nor am I talking about the discovery of scores of new foods at the banquet that never stopped; being a visitor to the country, I was given some of everything to eat, no matter how full I got. It wasn't even the karaoke sessions on the bus.

It was the three minutes I spent with the coolest street vendor ever. I stood still for 3 minutes and he attacked a piece of paper with scissors while staring at my profile. No tracing first!
And this is what I got (for less than $2):

First Day

Despite the fact that I am no longer a first-year teacher, and am now teaching at a fancy private school, the thought of my first day makes me a bit nervous.

The first week of school is so important for establishing class culture and laying down your rules and structure that will set the tone for the entire year. Since I'll be teaching young children in a foreign language, some of these concepts may be hard to convey. And in general the unfamiliar is always a bit frightening.

So what could possibly make this experience better? What could put me at ease, and help me dive into this new experience with confidence? To be told, at 9pm, that my first lesson will be videotaped by the local news.

Thank you, Taiwan, for the warm, gentle welcome.

Does This Mean It's Organic?

Each week I get a bag of vegetables grown by teenagers in a small town about an hour outside of Taipei. The middle and high school students who grow, harvest and sell them are part of a program aimed at helping at-risk teens to learn a trade, feel good about themselves and stay out of trouble. It's like a CSA with extra karma points.

My friend who got me signed up for the deal believes that all the crops are pesticide free. I found this little guy in my last batch. I decided I can take that as proof that the veggies are indeed grown without chemicals. I named him Morgenstern and set him up outside to begin his life in the city.

School Trips in Taiwan

To say that I have been chaperoning school field trips is not exactly accurate. I do not speak, read, or understand more than a handful of the most basic words in Mandarin, and am with children too young to understand scolding or direction in English. So I go along on the ride, observe, and take part in the activities. Here is how these trips generally go.

First, the children will be gathered and ushered onto the waiting buses half an hour to an hour after I am told we will be leaving. The school will most likely have rented a few double-decker buses, which must be brightly painted and have ornate window curtains. I mean, fit for a doll house ornate- ruffles, tassels, pompoms, or all of the above.

Once you get where you are going the students will be herded toward the bathrooms and water fountains, to form noisy little swarms while waiting for the tour to start.

Eventually, once the kids have had a chance to really get wound up, a tour guide with a microphone will guide the students through exhibits that are not specifically geared toward children, highlighting certain pieces and generally talking a lot. The students, being obedient asians will pay attention...for about 3 seconds. Because no matter what their ethnicity, they are under the age of 8 and there are at least 40 of them.

Then you will get to the DIY portion. (Side note: this term has seriously taken off here. It is seen frequently, even if the rest of the sign or pamphlet, or whatever you're reading, is in traditional characters.) This is- rightfully- the main purpose of coming on the trip. The demonstrator (always a different person) will also have a microphone. After the 10 minutes it takes for all the teachers to pull and steer the kids into seats (and me, too, because what else am I going to do?),  the demonstrator will have the kids put their hands behind their backs. They all look so cute doing this together- and they do all do it. But again, they are young children, so this lasts about 3 seconds. The demonstrator will then go through the process from start to finish- even if this far outlasts an adult's short-term memory capacity.

Then the kids will be told to go ahead, and the few that haven't already started poking and playing with whatever the materials are will dig in. And the kids will do an awesome job following...whatever it is their creative little brains tell them to do after the first couple of steps they remember. Some of them will look around and ask the teachers for help. Actually they might be saying something else entirely, but I don't speak Mandarin, so I just try to help them follow the model. Really, I think it's far more interesting to see what they come up with on their own, anyway. Isn't a child's unadulterated imagine one of the most inspiring things in the world? Yeah, try and sell me on that when a boy's imagination tells him to scoop up cocoa powder and sprinkle it all over everything and everyone nearby. (One trip was to a traditional dessert factory, which was as awesome as it sounds, despite getting covered in the food products.)

After the students have had some time to make their craft, the teachers will frantically circulate, trying to get each project boxed up and write the child's name on it. I just sit and watch this part as if I was hired as a cultural anthropologist instead of a teacher.

Before too long, there will be snack time. It is now evident why the students need their backpacks. Bags of chips, crackers, cookies, and candies spill out onto the tables. Lots of kids have entire family packs of individually portioned snacks, or family-sized chip bags (not American family-sized, but clearly for more than one person.) Everyone is required to have at least 3 kinds of snacks. A few of the kids will have some fruit. You see the occasional packaged version of traditional snacks- like dried seaweed or fish-flavored foamy strips (I am pretty sure that's an actual translation)- but most kids have the American imports. Teachers and  kids alike wander around, sharing their snacks. I am brought offerings of individual chips, crackers, oreos with purple filling, and dried fruit. (I choose to think of them as offerings because they don't just hold out the bag to me in case I'd like to take one, they hand me individual items, usually with the statement, "Teacher Leia!") 
If it's a full day trip there will be both snack time and lunch time, which will include a packed lunch provided by the school and more packaged snacks.

At some point in time (more than once if possible) there will be group photos. Here is one activity where everyone has confidence in my abilities. I will be asked to step into each group photo even if the kids have not interacted with me at all. The peace or V sign with one or both hands is standard for all pictures here in Taiwan. I have thus far chosen not to participate in this, because I want to be sure I'm distinguishable in the photos.

And there you have it. Sadly my co-teacher tells me that field trips happen mostly during summer camp.

Safe!

I've been here just over two weeks and already feel pretty settled. I'd like to credit my maturity and travel experience for this easy transition, but really I think I've just managed to find a ridiculously sweet deal.

The school gives me a place to live. I have to share with two roommates, also English teachers at the school, but our penthouse digs are swanky contrast to most of my recent NYC places. It's within walking distance or a short bus ride from the school. After just four days a colleague offered to loan me a bike she's not using. And if riding amidst traffic doesn't ever become less daunting, I'm just a block away from an extensive biking and jogging path along the river.

A good friend of mine is teaching in Japan this year. She was gracious enough to come visit me and help me get settled.  After only four light days of work I had a week off, so Lindsay and I really got to explore the city. Let me tell you, it's so much easier to be illiterate when you have company!

Thanks to awesome friends back home I came over here with some great connections, and have made some more thanks to an old college friend who's been studying here.

I think I'm in for a pretty fantastic year.