Things That Aren't Classes

We had a movie night on Wednesday at our apartment. Joel and Gill and Dave came over and we watched The Sting, which I had never seen. It was fun to have people over - made me feel like we actually live somewhere. We had another movie night last night at the home of Georgia and Cat, two of Katy's co-workers. We watched The Princess Bride, because no one doesn't like that movie.

On Friday, I did some laundry (which I hung in my closets with the doors open - laundry dries in about 24 hours here, unless it's fabric like denim, in which case it takes more like 30 hours), got some groceries (tomatoes, scary individual cheese slices, and sprouts !sprouts!), made myself a sandwich, and decided I'd walk to meet Katy at her MRT station near Shilin.  The first thing I passed when I walked north of the Minquan/Linsen intersection where I usually turn for the MRT was a pretty building that looked like a temple.  For all I know it could have been a tchotchke shop.  There was a restaurant that had three bird cages outside, and one of them had birds the restaurant manager called "qise" birds, or seven color birds.  They were very pretty and not at all frightened.  The other cages had canaries and finches, but I'd passed them by the time I thought to take a picture.

I walked up to the Art Park, which has clearly seen better days.  Nevertheless, it was nice to be walking in a park.  It smelled like a park, which was nice.  It smelled like 4:00 in a park on a late summer day, and since it was 4:00 in a park on a late summer day, it was a very appropriate smell.  I forget how things are connected until something is familiar and it strikes me as odd.

There was something going on in the military complex next to the park - some kind of rehearsal or drill or something.  I took a few clandestine pictures (I wasn't the only one), listened to the music for a while, and watched them twirl their rifles like batons.  They were very good at it.

I passed the Art Museum itself, which was pretty cool, and the Taipei Story House.  I hung out in another park for a while, watching the airplanes fly overhead and watching some little boy throw his sister's shoes in the sand.  She didn't seem to mind.  After a while I headed north again to cross the river towards Shilin.  I took a bunch of pictures of the clouds (they were very pretty) and set my camera on a wall to take a picture of some leaves.  When I turned around, there was a gentleman in a shocking state of deshabille, casually doing his business there on the side of the road.  I made a hasty exit.  This was clearly not the place for young ladies of delicate temperament.

Every time I pass beneath a bridge here, I want very much for it to be an aqueduct.  It never is, but I can pretend.  This isn't Taiwan, it's ancient Greece.  Complete with huge letters graffitied on a hill in the Roman alphabet.  Just like Hollywood, but different...

As soon as I got to the Jiantan MRT station, where I was to meet Katy, it started to rain.  I had very thoughtfully neglected to bring my umbrella, so I sat under the overhang of the rails and waited for it to let up a little.  As soon as the rain got somewhat more like mist, I made a dash for the nearest café, where I sat down and ordered myself some tea (rose tea!) and toast.  There was some confusion about the toast.  The waitress asked me if I wanted one of two options on the menu, but I knew what neither of them were.  She went back to the woman who turned out to be her mother, and after a whispered conference, the waitress came back and said, quite clearly, "Butter. Or. Penus Creme."  I did my best to hold it together.  "Peanut butter?" I asked.  She shook her head.  "Penus Creme."  Her mother came over and repeated the same phrase four or five times, to make sure I'd heard correctly.  I had.  Then she gestured to indicate little nodules.  "Peanut butter," I said firmly, and made them repeat it.  "You know how you have this word for bird?" I said.  "And how sometimes it doesn't mean bird, but something different entirely?  That is what you are saying.  Peanut butter is the right way."  They laughed and nodded.  I hope that people will correct me when I'm saying terrifically laughable things in Chinese.

Baby's First Typhoon (also other things)

Our first typhoon hit Friday, Typhoon Sinlaku.  By "hit," I mean grazed.  Taipei is in a bit of a valley between mountains, and most of the wind and weather gets absorbed by them.  It's mostly just rained a lot.  All day, in fact.  Since Friday night, in fact.  So far it has rained for a solid 36 hours and counting.

But back to the beginning of your time without me (I know, it's been agonizing, hasn't it?):  That club that I mentioned last Saturday was full of a bunch of wàiguórén who all seemed pretty desperate to find mixed drinks, make outs, or both.  Neither The Wife nor I were particularly interested in seeking out either, so we avoided the bar area and went straight up to the dance floor.  Chris and Debby were at the club, nearly passing out from the jet lag.  We talked to them for a bit, then danced for a while until the press of people and music got to be a little too soaked in desperation, after which we came home.

On Wednesday Betty died, after having refused to eat anything at all since she arrived.  In taking her out to the garbage, I very smoothly forgot that our outer door locks automatically, and locked myself out.  Katy wasn't due back for another 4 hours, so I went down to the guard of the building and played the Stupid Foreigner card.  He kindly called a locksmith, who showed up in after about 10 minutes.  Perhaps it would be more accurate, actually, to say lockpick.  He was a charming old fellow as dextrous as a monkey, and got our door open distressingly quickly.  I want to learn.

On my way home from the Sanchong school the other day, I stopped in a bookstore/office supply shop to get a pencil case (ubiquitous items here), and I saw a copy of Blankets in Chinese.  Kudos to Craig Thompson for that.  Or his agent/publisher, I suppose.  It was a little jarring to see an American graphic novel authored and illustrated by a Midwesterner sitting on the shelf in the local office-supply/book store.  I guess it's not an industry entirely overrun with manga.

On Thursday, Katy and I brought our paperwork to the National Immigration Agency/Ministry of the Interior, the inside of which bore a striking resemblance to the DMV, and waited for a few hours to begin processing our ARCs (Alien Resident Certificates).  There was a very cute little girl in front of us who kept staring and making faces.  I tried to get her to take a picture with my camera, but she steadfastly refused.

Both of my schools had their Autumn Festival feasts this week.  This consisted of grilling various meats and vegetables (mostly bell peppers and mushrooms) and tofu on a portable grill, eating them with pig knuckles (for those inclined...I wasn't) and moon cakes, and drinking tea.  It was very informal, and a little bit like an indoor office picnic with a barbecue.  The one at Sanchong was on Tuesday, and School 8's was Friday.  While we were eating at School 8, Kojen announced that, due to the Typhoon, classes would be cancelled from 7:00 for the rest of the weekend.  There was much celebration.  One of the FTs promptly went and bought a bunch of beer.  I ducked out and got tea with Annie, one of the new CTs, who kindly showed me around the area and talked about religion and faith with me until I decided I should head home.

My route home from School 8 requires two transfers on the MRT, and at the first one I found myself walking behind a couple of wàiguó gentlemen who were chattering away in English.  I couldn't believe my luck.  One of them was Sebastian, who was in China with Chris and I back in 2005.  He took me along for cheese sandwiches with his friends (they were a pleasant bunch) and we caught up a bit.  He has promised to show us the way to telephonic communication later this week.  We may yet join the legions of the socially available.

We have spent the rainy weekend indoors, enjoying the Typhoon Days (like snow days, only with big, playful, tropical storms!) by watching all three of the Bourne movies, catching up on our respective writings and laundries, and being generally useless to society (which is also useless to us until the rain lets up a bit).  I went out this morning (and by morning I mean afternoon, even by our time) and Found A Grocery Store.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have discovered the shining beacon of sustenance, from whence all nourishment will hereafter issue.  It was really close.  Seriously, it was about two doors away.  I was thoroughly embarrassed after asking after it's whereabouts when the very helpful gentleman led me a whole 30 feet away.  I didn't even really need an umbrella.

But hey, now we have food.

Something Different, Something Familiar

The first rains came yesterday, hard and reminiscent of some pulp novel as penned by Raymond Chandler circa 1955.  There was a little thunder, but mostly it was just water dumping out of the sky.  I was stuck inside for most of it, without an umbrella or rain slicker (both in Katy's room), with the threat "Taiwan has acid rain - it will make your hair fall out" echoing through my thoughts.  I made myself some terribly unsatisfying noodles and waited for The Wife to get home from her first day.  My first day is tomorrow.  When she returned, we and Robin took the MRT (and also our feet. ...Mostly our feet) to the Reach to Teach gathering at Citizen Cain, a bar somewhere to the southeast of our temporary apartment.  I'm not sure how they felt, but for me it was almost more intimidating to walk into a bar full of waiguoren than it was to go to the Aboriginal Bar.  Richard, once approached, was very nice and good about introducing us to a few people.  We met two Andrews from Colorado, a Daniel from Missouri, a Dave and Jill from Nova Scotia, a Bash from Manchester, and Mitch - one of the Reach to Teach staff.  All of them were very charming people, and I am glad to know there are familiar faces in the area.

Speaking of familiarity... Unlike China or Ghana or Scotland or Ireland, Taipei does not feel foreign to me.  We bought handkerchiefs today, like in Ghana, and everything seems familiar, like traveling to another state rather than another country.  Traverse City was more foreign than this.