Driving in the rain

Let me just preface this by saying that I love the rain. My roommates here think I'm crazy; for her college experience, Rachel chose sunny Florida. But not me. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, and I voluntarily went to college in the city known worldwide for two things: coffee and rain. One of my favorite things in the world is the sound of the rain tickling the window or massaging the roof. So just bear that in mind when I say...

I hate the rain in Taiwan.

Okay, so maybe that's a little harsh. I still love the sounds of the rain, its fresh scent, the damp, clean-washed look of the bricks in my apartment courtyard after it's rained. And perhaps, if those were the only, or even the primary, ways in which I encountered rain here, I'd still love the rain. After all, as friends can attest, it's always raining in Taipei, and I'm always smiling out from under my umbrella.

But, instead, I typically encounter the rain here in what is perhaps the worst way possible apart from being strapped to a waterboard under a drainpipe during a typhoon: driving a scooter.

Now, most of you do not drive a scooter. Most of you, as Google Analytics and my own keen understanding of where most of my friends live tell me, live in the Pacific Northwest, and many of you drive cars. Which means you drive in the rain, and often.

"Come on, Bekah," you say. "It's just rain! You've been driving in it since you were 15, what's the big deal?"

To you, I say this: think back to the last time you were driving in the rain--probably yesterday--and picture this. You're on the freeway, your windshield wipers straining to keep up with the currents streaming down your windshield, which, despite the best efforts of your defrosting unit, is completely fogged over. You clutch the steering wheel and hunch forward to try and see. Ever wary of inevitable hydroplaning, you slow down, and a semi passes you, sending barrels of brown water airborne and painting the side of your car in filth. A van creeps up beside you, attempting to pass at a rate 1mph faster than the speed you're going, and finally settles just in front of you, creating an eternal fountain of brown sludge which coats your windshield and renders your windshield wipers completely useless.

Now picture that you're on a scooter. Your helmet is your windshield, and there are no windshield wipers or defrosting unit; the semis and vans are still semis and vans, but you have no windows or doors or roof and now their spray is heading directly for you, and you alone. Hydroplaning may not be much of a problem, but now you have two wheels, not a stable four, and every surface, including your tires, the road, and, especially, every parking garage's floor, is like ice, so good luck going around corners or down slopes or, as is the case with the parking garage, both at once.

Welcome to my morning commute when it rains. It's me, my helmet, and my 7-11 poncho against the whole wet world, and if I make it to school without my pants soaked to the knee in mud, I count it a good day. So, yes, I hate the rain in Taiwan. You would too. But perhaps it's a necessary prelude, giving me a reason to curse this Taiwanese "winter" and pray again for the harsh and unrelenting sun.