Sample: The World, Anyone?
In June 2002 at the tender age of 21, I went around the world to escape from my life. That sounds pretty melodramatic but with mounting student debts, no long-term career path and a passport photo of such epic hilarity it would have been a crime not to share it with the rest of world, I got on a plane and headed off into the unknown.
Being one of those people that love to learn interesting facts about the world, I went on a trip to discover more about it. Through various means I learnt that L.A. is too big, airport runways in the Cook Islands are too small and taking part in a Taiwanese swimming festival with no serious preparation is a sure-fire way to get yourself noticed. Of the nine countries I saw, Taiwan stood out as by far the most memorable. I spent just seven days there in the Southern city of Kaohsiung, but the culture I discovered was the one above all others that opened my eyes to how enchantingly diverse the world really is.
In my first year at university I was lucky enough to live with a girl from Taiwan and after becoming good friends, accepted an invitation to visit her when I went away.
Touching down in Kaohsiung International Airport I was relieved to find that the storm in Hong Kong had not disrupted my flight. Everyone else on board was either Chinese or Taiwanese and I listened in on the conversations around me. Finding strange enjoyment at not understanding a word of them, I decided that somehow it was nice to feel 100% passive as to what was going.
By 6.30pm I was in the queue for customs on Taiwanese soil. The rather stern-looking customs officer whose job it was to assess my suitability for a stay in his country reeled off just about the longest list of questions I’d ever heard in one sitting. His starched, pressed militaristic-style uniform was intimidating enough, but he was keen to know why I had come to Taiwan, who I was visiting, where I was staying and what I intended to do there. It was all rather unexpected, particularly on the back of three solid months of the word pleasure tripping off my tongue in response to the now ritual question business or ?
I explained that I had been travelling for some time - the stamps in my passport and probable odour from the compartment in my backpack I had just recently designated miscellaneous, dirty confirmed this - and that I was staying with a friend in Kaohsiung. He asked me to write down Cindy s address which, unfortunately, I didn’t know. He was getting frustrated, but I had suspicions of my own that he was about to knock-off work and was sure he wanted nothing better than just to get rid of me.
Telling me to write down as much of her address as I could, he threw in a wave of impatience to suggest that anything would do. This was lucky. All I knew was that her name was Cindy though in fact, it wasn’t. Cindy was just the English name she used in Britain and I couldn’t remember her real one. Having also neglected to learn her Chinese surname, I helpfully concluded with Kaohsiung, Taiwan and with an encouraging smile pushed the form back across the desk to him. He scanned the information in the same way he might if offered an item from my miscellaneous, dirty compartment, but stamped my passport and pointed me in the right direction. I thanked him and moved on, like a 19th century orphan child who s just been given an extra-large helping of gruel for his birthday.
Staying true to her word, Cindy had come to meet me in Arrivals. Awash with relief and delighted to see a friendly face, I strode towards her like a lost dog reunited with its owner.
“Oh, Oli!” she exclaimed, in her addictive Taiwanese accent. “You look so stupid!” She gave me a big hug and I laughed in surprise.
“Pardon?” I said with a smile, knowing full-well that the Chinese in her brain didn’t always correspond to the English coming out of her mouth; I prayed this was one of those times.
“Sorry, sorry,” she laughed, “but everyone is staring at you with your bag - you are the only white person here!” I looked around, but knew that already. In the background I noticed the moody customs official eyeing me from his booth. I felt like standing up on tiptoes, pointing down at Cindy and shouting This is Cindy! She s my friend! She lives in Kaohsiung in Taiwan!!
Driving in Cindy’s car along the streets of the city, I began to get a feel for my surroundings. Taiwan in general, but Kaohsiung in particular, is quintessentially Asian and at the street-level at least, boasts only minimal influence from the decadent west. Whereas cities like Hong Kong and Bangkok pride themselves on being everything to everyone no matter what their nationality, Kaohsiung is a city that serves the Taiwanese. The road signs are all in Chinese, as are most restaurant menus; television and radio is not for those wanting to find out the cricket scores and if you stop for directions on the street, you’d better know your yòu from your zu.
Entering the city itself, Cindy began pointing out scenes of interest. Despite the ornate Buddhist temples and impressive, high-rise skyscrapers, I was most immediately drawn to the enormous, neon-lit Chinese signs that lined the busy streets. As electrical calling-cards of the countless shops and restaurants, these literary beacons lit up Kaohsiung more brilliantly than the faded street-lights. And though wonderfully flamboyant, their literal translations were invariably less stimulating than their lavish appearance would suggest. Pointing to one I deemed of particular elegance, Cindy burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. Apparently, it read Tyres and Exhausts.
After dinner that evening at her house in the suburbs, Cindy suggested we take another trip into the city. A brief storm had freshened the humid air so we decided to take her scooter. Sceptical at first, I was relieved to find as she wheeled it out of the garage that it was considerably more sturdy-looking than the modified kitchen appliance I had ridden in the Cook Islands. Handing me a crash helmet, she hopped on board. I did the same, but found to my instant dismay that Taiwanese scooters are not designed with westerners in mind. I would’ t necessarily say that I was uncomfortable on Cindy s scooter, just rather nervous that my knees would interfere with her view of the road.
“It’s not that big Cindy,” I observed, shouting through the cloth face-mask she had given me to diffuse the pollution. Firing up the engine she offered some sobering advice.
“Hold on Oli!” she yelled, “sometimes I fall off!”
We made a slow, wobbly exit from her driveway and pulled out onto the road. Even after nightfall the roads of Kaohsiung remain busy - mostly clogged up with other scooters. Swarming around us like flies they made much the same noise and I was amazed to see that some had up to three or four people on board. In fact it seemed to me that entire families were on the move.
With two children behind her on the seat, the mother would balance another (usually, and quite perversely, the youngest) on the foot rest between her knees. Clinging on for dear life these courageous boys and girls would stand mortified on the bike with their arms wrapped tightly around her. Concerned at first for their safety, I quickly came to learn that on the roads of Taiwan, it s every man woman and child for themselves.
As far as I can determine, there aren’t any hard and fast rules to driving in Taiwan. If there is an official Highway Code, it has never been introduced to the drivers of Kaohsiung and the manic city streets are certainly not a place for the faint-hearted. Our 15 minute journey left me a nervous wreck, though I would gradually become more and more accustomed to a life where death is just a skipped red light away.
