While I was talking to my mom the other day (with some of my few precious Skype-to-cell minutes I got as part of a hostel deal a while back), she brought up the concept that, as my time here begins to wind down, my brain has begun making subtle adjustments to help me emotionally prepare for the removal. I agree; that's definitely happening. But it's not just happening on a subconscious level; I have never in my life kept such careful track of time, or monitored my own thoughts and emotions on a subject so continuously.
If you look back over my blog, it's all there: the excitement in coming to a new country, the shock and joy of actually being here, the settling in to day-to-day life, and then, it begins: a nervous, self-conscious tic which ever prompts me to ask--am I ready? Would I be happy or sad if I went home tomorrow? What about next week? Next month? My answers were tempered, always, by the reality of how much time I had.
Are we five months in? Then yes, I miss home, but only aspects of it. Are we halfway? Then I begin missing people here in Taiwan preemptively, not yet ready to think about life Stateside. Are we just a few months away? Then I must go out of my way to mention that I will miss Taiwan--in the midst of a weeks-long ode to my homeland. If I'm honest, all of my posts are like this last one: I write what is true, but also what must be true in order to make life livable for however much time I have left here.
And now that it actually is next month--or, almost; a month and a half till school is out and two before I actually go home--I'm beginning to feel like I will be ready to be done soon. I've already mentioned the things I miss about home, and, honestly, lately I've noticed myself getting annoyed again at cultural things I've long-ago accepted as normal. My road rage is at an all-time high, for instance, even as I'm at my most adept at handling traffic situations. My psyche is preparing me, preparing me to be happy to be back in America; ready to displace my happy memories with things I won't miss, things like the traffic and the lack of Western food and the prohibitive humidity.
I know there will be reverse culture shock to deal with, no matter how much I prepare myself, consciously and subconsciously, for the change. Today Grace and I went to Smokey Joe's (perhaps the only Tex-Mex place in Kaohsiung) for a belated Cinco de Mayo lunch, and I found myself gasping at the 300-600NT (~$10-$20US) entrees, and positively fuming when they added a 10% gratuity to our bill without notice. Come July, some things about America will be hard to accept no matter what I do.
But that won't stop me from trying; continuing to pull out whatever tactics I can to smooth the transition. It will be hard to leave Taiwan; hard to return to America. But at least my brain knows this now, and is working hard on its coping mechanisms.
Showing posts with label culture shock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture shock. Show all posts
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Inside-Outside-In
Culture shock. I haven't written about it in a very, very long time--since January, unless you count my recent musings on perspective shift, which I don't. The reason why I've stopped is pretty obvious: I have ceased to be shocked by the culture.
Sure, I still notice little quirks like misspelled shirts and "Indian"-Spanish-Chinese singers at Taiwanese holiday celebrations. But I'm pretty sure I'd notice those no matter where I was. The huge in-your-face cultural differences are now pretty much invisible to me, something I had somewhat forgotten and have recently been reminded of, since Ingrid came to join our little Hanmin teaching family and I got to see her reactions to them.
In fact, I now believe I've been in Taiwanese culture enough to somewhat internalize it. How did I come to this conclusion? Well, apart from all the not-exactly-ironic peace sign posing I've been doing for months...
Today I realized (thanks to a Facebook post by one of my ETA colleagues in Yilan, Lauren) that I have also been incorporating the culture into my daily life on a more subtle level. Here's the link that prompted this realization.
Yes, it's a meme of Asians taking pictures of their food. It's pretty accurate; whenever I actually pay attention at restaurants (Rachel's especially good at noticing this), I see people everywhere with their cameras out and pointed alternately at themselves and at their food. Rachel told me she and Brittany saw one person in Taipei taking a picture of herself with...her fork. Pictures of food, and food-related objects and poses, are all over here.
And let's see...what have I been writing about lately? Constantly; almost obsessively, in fact? ALWAYS with pictures? Here I was thinking it was about my American culture, but as it turns out, it may just be a result of my sneaking internalization of the local culture. To say "hello" in Taiwanese, after all, you literally say "have you eaten"! Food is absolutely central to Taiwanese culture. So, really, why does this realization surprise me?
Maybe because it's such a perfect cohesion of American and Taiwanese cultures; I never saw it coming. I may do a whole series on how much I miss sandwiches, but the fact is I've taken food, something I never paid all that much attention to in the States, and elevated it to one of my most common subjects.
Fulbright talks ad nauseum about our role as cultural ambassadors and as "a bridge between cultures." And, well, I suppose you can't get much more bridge-like than by complexly intertwining American and Taiwanese cultures; combining external and internal elements and placing them, subconsciously, in your day-to-day life. Is it outside? Is it in? The answer is like that of Schroedinger's cat: yes.
Sure, I still notice little quirks like misspelled shirts and "Indian"-Spanish-Chinese singers at Taiwanese holiday celebrations. But I'm pretty sure I'd notice those no matter where I was. The huge in-your-face cultural differences are now pretty much invisible to me, something I had somewhat forgotten and have recently been reminded of, since Ingrid came to join our little Hanmin teaching family and I got to see her reactions to them.
In fact, I now believe I've been in Taiwanese culture enough to somewhat internalize it. How did I come to this conclusion? Well, apart from all the not-exactly-ironic peace sign posing I've been doing for months...
 |
| January... |
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| March... |
Yes, it's a meme of Asians taking pictures of their food. It's pretty accurate; whenever I actually pay attention at restaurants (Rachel's especially good at noticing this), I see people everywhere with their cameras out and pointed alternately at themselves and at their food. Rachel told me she and Brittany saw one person in Taipei taking a picture of herself with...her fork. Pictures of food, and food-related objects and poses, are all over here.
And let's see...what have I been writing about lately? Constantly; almost obsessively, in fact? ALWAYS with pictures? Here I was thinking it was about my American culture, but as it turns out, it may just be a result of my sneaking internalization of the local culture. To say "hello" in Taiwanese, after all, you literally say "have you eaten"! Food is absolutely central to Taiwanese culture. So, really, why does this realization surprise me?
Maybe because it's such a perfect cohesion of American and Taiwanese cultures; I never saw it coming. I may do a whole series on how much I miss sandwiches, but the fact is I've taken food, something I never paid all that much attention to in the States, and elevated it to one of my most common subjects.
Fulbright talks ad nauseum about our role as cultural ambassadors and as "a bridge between cultures." And, well, I suppose you can't get much more bridge-like than by complexly intertwining American and Taiwanese cultures; combining external and internal elements and placing them, subconsciously, in your day-to-day life. Is it outside? Is it in? The answer is like that of Schroedinger's cat: yes.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Farther up, further in!
For those who don't know, the title of this post is a reference to The Last Battle, the last book in C.S. Lewis's "Chronicles of Narnia" series. (If you haven't already, GO READ IT!) In the book, it's an admonishment not to stay on the edges of something, but to plunge into its center, full-force.
I'm kind of in love with the expression, actually.
It also happens to be the best thing I can think of to say about my time in Taiwan right now. I've long since gotten over the initial culture shock and established a daily routine; even my language skills have evolved to the point where I can at least get around okay. The challenge now comes in not staying at the edges of my world here, but to drive forward to experience it at greater depths.
The depths I plumbed today: the non-compatibility of US-made DVDs with Taiwan-made DVD players (I think I was as disappointed as the kids that we couldn't watch Up...); a scenic route home complete with the discovery of a cute shopping area behind the main one at Central Park (amazing what you can find in search of Burger King!); the impossibly long task of checking receipt numbers for their bimonthly lottery (no wins, after sorting my fat pile of receipts by month, then first digit, and then checking to see if all 8, or even just 7, or 6, or 5, or 4, or 3 numbers matched. They didn't.).
So, not exactly the sort of profundity Lewis usually inspires. Pretty mundane, really. But the little mundane things pile up on each other and build into life itself. So I say, farther up and further in!
I'm kind of in love with the expression, actually.
It also happens to be the best thing I can think of to say about my time in Taiwan right now. I've long since gotten over the initial culture shock and established a daily routine; even my language skills have evolved to the point where I can at least get around okay. The challenge now comes in not staying at the edges of my world here, but to drive forward to experience it at greater depths.
The depths I plumbed today: the non-compatibility of US-made DVDs with Taiwan-made DVD players (I think I was as disappointed as the kids that we couldn't watch Up...); a scenic route home complete with the discovery of a cute shopping area behind the main one at Central Park (amazing what you can find in search of Burger King!); the impossibly long task of checking receipt numbers for their bimonthly lottery (no wins, after sorting my fat pile of receipts by month, then first digit, and then checking to see if all 8, or even just 7, or 6, or 5, or 4, or 3 numbers matched. They didn't.).
So, not exactly the sort of profundity Lewis usually inspires. Pretty mundane, really. But the little mundane things pile up on each other and build into life itself. So I say, farther up and further in!
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Ingrained Acculturation
At school today, I came to an odd realization while drawing a window.
See, our lesson this week is about modes of transportation; the main question we ask is "How do you get to school?" Kids answer with the sentence form "I go to school by..."
This of course, naturally lends itself to the board game-like set-up I described yesterday, in which kids go from home to school by answering our questions. This, in turn, means that every class period I get to draw the game path on the blackboard, beginning at a drawing of home and leading towards one of school.
And today, while drawing the "home," I realized something: I can no longer draw houses--or, more specifically, windows--in the American way. Instead, I'm ruled by Chinese rules of stroke order. See, here's a rough approximation of the house I would draw:
See the window? It's a pretty standard Western-style window, one of those things which, for whatever reason, has bars on it (if I were a child psychologist perhaps I'd say something about feeling trapped or something?). Just a box with an up-and-down cross. Pretty simple. American five-year-olds draw it all the time.
But how?
See, today, I drew it like this:
I drew it like this without even thinking. It seemed natural. It seemed normal. It also happens to be exactly how you would draw a window if you were writing it as a Chinese character.
Which, I discovered, it is. And it is drawn this way. Seriously, go to that link. It's "田," pronounced "tian?" and it means farm or field, as Alison later told me.
And I cannot, for the life of me, think of how I used to draw these windows. Was it the box in one stroke, then add the middle? Where did it start? The bottom left? The top?
Seriously, if anyone reading this can tell me, please do. How did I use to draw this picture??? I know it wasn't in the Chinese style, but I absolutely can't think of another way.
In other news, a few days ago I was lost in an odd daydream about making a new recipe. And, at the end of the daydream, I ate my recipe--using chopsticks.
You know, it's odd how acculturation seeps into you unnoticed, subtly shifting your worldview and changing the parts of your consciousness that tell you how to draw simple shapes or how to properly eat a meal. I've only been here about 5 months, and I've already forgotten how to draw a window.
See, our lesson this week is about modes of transportation; the main question we ask is "How do you get to school?" Kids answer with the sentence form "I go to school by..."
This of course, naturally lends itself to the board game-like set-up I described yesterday, in which kids go from home to school by answering our questions. This, in turn, means that every class period I get to draw the game path on the blackboard, beginning at a drawing of home and leading towards one of school.
 |
| The board looks something like this... |
And today, while drawing the "home," I realized something: I can no longer draw houses--or, more specifically, windows--in the American way. Instead, I'm ruled by Chinese rules of stroke order. See, here's a rough approximation of the house I would draw:
 |
| Image apologetically stolen from Google and some 5-year-old somewhere |
See the window? It's a pretty standard Western-style window, one of those things which, for whatever reason, has bars on it (if I were a child psychologist perhaps I'd say something about feeling trapped or something?). Just a box with an up-and-down cross. Pretty simple. American five-year-olds draw it all the time.
But how?
See, today, I drew it like this:
 |
| Purple = the new strokes; all strokes start at the top/left and move down/right |
Which, I discovered, it is. And it is drawn this way. Seriously, go to that link. It's "田," pronounced "tian?" and it means farm or field, as Alison later told me.
And I cannot, for the life of me, think of how I used to draw these windows. Was it the box in one stroke, then add the middle? Where did it start? The bottom left? The top?
Seriously, if anyone reading this can tell me, please do. How did I use to draw this picture??? I know it wasn't in the Chinese style, but I absolutely can't think of another way.
In other news, a few days ago I was lost in an odd daydream about making a new recipe. And, at the end of the daydream, I ate my recipe--using chopsticks.
You know, it's odd how acculturation seeps into you unnoticed, subtly shifting your worldview and changing the parts of your consciousness that tell you how to draw simple shapes or how to properly eat a meal. I've only been here about 5 months, and I've already forgotten how to draw a window.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Clash and coherence
Living in Taiwan has been an interesting mixture of things that seem totally normal and things that seem totally insane.
This afternoon at Qing-Shan, I helped administer our students' oral midterm exams. It fell in the insane category.
When Patty and I talked about it last week, she gave me the general structure and plan: we would each take half of the class and, one by one, ask them questions from the "self introduction" worksheet they filled out earlier in the term. Things like "What's your name?" "How old are you?" "What's your favorite color?" in addition to harder ones like "When is your birthday?" and "What's your constellation?" We decided on a grading rubric and were, so far as I knew, set.
So today in the first class of the day, after calling roll (which does, incidentally, involve the students replying "My name is..." when I call their name, which I thought would make that question awfully easy), I settled into my chair in the corner with my notebook, pen and class list and waited for the students to come to me.
And they did. In droves. Patty had told them they could come in groups of three, but almost as soon as students number 2, 4, and 6 (I was doing the even numbers, Patty was doing the odd) dropped onto their stools, Jack began hovering behind them. I told him, politely but firmly, that he couldn't come until it was his turn (he's number 20, so he had a while to wait), but no sooner had he left than Michael and two or three other boys took his place. I drove them off, and Jack was back with a few friends. I was no longer feeling quite so patient now, having had to interrupt my interview with the poor girl whose turn it was several times already to drive off the gawkers, and yet even as Jack and co "left"--that is, took a good two or maybe three steps back--a flood of newcomers filled their places.
Add to this the fact that I had inadvertently positioned myself directly across from the microphone speaker, and the fact that nervous 6th grade kids are not exactly known for speaking loudly, any more than rowdy 6th grade kids are known for being quiet, and you have an extremely frustrated Teacher Bekah. By the end of class, I was practically yelling at the kids who kept coming back, no matter what I did.
"JACK. I HAVE TOLD YOU SIX TIMES NOW THAT YOU CAN'T BE HERE UNTIL IT'S YOUR TURN. GO WAIT SOMEWHERE ELSE." Turn back to the student I'm testing, and seconds later he's at her elbow again, making it impossible for me to hear whether or not she can actually say the sentence "I like to play table tennis."
That class period ended up running into, and then entirely through, the 10 minute inter-class break, and I was still finishing up with the last few students as the next class came pouring in, chorusing "May I come in?" at the door.
The second and third classes went a little better, after I asked Patty to announce that only two people at a time were allowed to come to where I was testing people and the kids, for the most part, followed this new rule. She told me that the kids wanted to hear what their classmates were saying, which I understand, and maybe it's just a 6th grade thing, but it seemed utterly bizarre to me that it would be normal to be allowed to sit in with--and sometimes, give massive help to--other students who are in the middle of a test. I do understand the cultural norm to see school achievement as a public feat--test scores posted, etc--but even so, this seemed like a wild stretch to me. Oh, the joys of assimilating American values with Taiwanese ones.
But this clash was nicely offset for me with what happened after school: I got my first non-American haircut. Evelyn recommended a salon to me, and Fonda was gracious enough to make me an appointment and come along with me so we could tell the hair dresser what I did--and, more importantly, what I didn't--want. Before I came here, my hairdresser in Seattle (who I absolutely love) warned me not to let them thin my hair too much--I have thin hair to begin with, and in the context of a nation of people whose hair tends to be the exact opposite, I could easily envision disaster happening.
This foreboding was not exactly assuaged when a fellow Marist alum who lives in Taipei noticed my Facebook status calling for haircut help and told me " [It] doesn't matter if your Chinese is superb or their English is spot on; i hate to be the messenger, but you are in for an interesting conclusion to hair. i've never asked for a "mo-hawk", yet I still receive. the secret is learning to cope and adapt..."
When Fonda and I arrived at the hair salon, however, I was instantly struck by how an up-class salon is an up-class salon no matter where you are.The prices, however, are pleasantly different. (Haircuts have been my favorite splurge for the past two years in Seattle.)
Just like at home, upon sitting down I was offered tea and coffee, then taken to another room where they washed my hair and massaged my head. And on this, they outperformed Seattle on every single level. The wash/massage must have lasted at least a half hour, and I never wanted it to stop. I'm actually considering seeing how much it costs just for this service alone...
Aherm. Anyway, the lady who washed my hair/gave me the best head massage of my life then took me back to my chair--and left. Turns out, here in Taiwan they don't multitask, they delegate. So the lady who greeted me and washed my hair did only that. Then the hair dresser--the guy with the actual scissors--came over, and as I handed over the hair photos I kept from my favorite haircut thus far, Fonda explained it and told him that my hair was thin and didn't need to be made more so. "I know," he said in English, sounding slightly offended at the implication, which actually did wonders for my confidence in his abilities.
Over the course of the haircut, I discovered that A Len (pronounced like the more ordinary "Allen" but spelled this way because...it's cool, I guess?) does actually speak some passable English, and he laughed at me for not wanting to change my hair style--just like I've had multiple hairdressers in the US do. Love the continuity of derision!
After the cut there was more delegation--another lady whose job it is to blow dry and style hair, and another who brings the bill--and then the hair dresser was back to finish up his clips, hand me his business card(s, in case I have friends who need haircuts :) ) and send me on my way.
All in all, a successful encounter, and all for the low price of $600 NT! So, you know, FANTASTIC salon experience for $20US. Take THAT, Super Cuts!
Whenever you spend an extensive period of time in a different culture,
you're bound to uncover things between them that don't quite add
up--that is, after all, why they call it a cultural exchange: each side
has something different to give! But the more exciting, and more prevalent, thing you discover are how similar all people are to all other people.
Today did an excellent job of summing up the experience of living in another culture: insanity and familiarity, clash and coherence.
This afternoon at Qing-Shan, I helped administer our students' oral midterm exams. It fell in the insane category.
When Patty and I talked about it last week, she gave me the general structure and plan: we would each take half of the class and, one by one, ask them questions from the "self introduction" worksheet they filled out earlier in the term. Things like "What's your name?" "How old are you?" "What's your favorite color?" in addition to harder ones like "When is your birthday?" and "What's your constellation?" We decided on a grading rubric and were, so far as I knew, set.
So today in the first class of the day, after calling roll (which does, incidentally, involve the students replying "My name is..." when I call their name, which I thought would make that question awfully easy), I settled into my chair in the corner with my notebook, pen and class list and waited for the students to come to me.
And they did. In droves. Patty had told them they could come in groups of three, but almost as soon as students number 2, 4, and 6 (I was doing the even numbers, Patty was doing the odd) dropped onto their stools, Jack began hovering behind them. I told him, politely but firmly, that he couldn't come until it was his turn (he's number 20, so he had a while to wait), but no sooner had he left than Michael and two or three other boys took his place. I drove them off, and Jack was back with a few friends. I was no longer feeling quite so patient now, having had to interrupt my interview with the poor girl whose turn it was several times already to drive off the gawkers, and yet even as Jack and co "left"--that is, took a good two or maybe three steps back--a flood of newcomers filled their places.
Add to this the fact that I had inadvertently positioned myself directly across from the microphone speaker, and the fact that nervous 6th grade kids are not exactly known for speaking loudly, any more than rowdy 6th grade kids are known for being quiet, and you have an extremely frustrated Teacher Bekah. By the end of class, I was practically yelling at the kids who kept coming back, no matter what I did.
"JACK. I HAVE TOLD YOU SIX TIMES NOW THAT YOU CAN'T BE HERE UNTIL IT'S YOUR TURN. GO WAIT SOMEWHERE ELSE." Turn back to the student I'm testing, and seconds later he's at her elbow again, making it impossible for me to hear whether or not she can actually say the sentence "I like to play table tennis."
That class period ended up running into, and then entirely through, the 10 minute inter-class break, and I was still finishing up with the last few students as the next class came pouring in, chorusing "May I come in?" at the door.
The second and third classes went a little better, after I asked Patty to announce that only two people at a time were allowed to come to where I was testing people and the kids, for the most part, followed this new rule. She told me that the kids wanted to hear what their classmates were saying, which I understand, and maybe it's just a 6th grade thing, but it seemed utterly bizarre to me that it would be normal to be allowed to sit in with--and sometimes, give massive help to--other students who are in the middle of a test. I do understand the cultural norm to see school achievement as a public feat--test scores posted, etc--but even so, this seemed like a wild stretch to me. Oh, the joys of assimilating American values with Taiwanese ones.
But this clash was nicely offset for me with what happened after school: I got my first non-American haircut. Evelyn recommended a salon to me, and Fonda was gracious enough to make me an appointment and come along with me so we could tell the hair dresser what I did--and, more importantly, what I didn't--want. Before I came here, my hairdresser in Seattle (who I absolutely love) warned me not to let them thin my hair too much--I have thin hair to begin with, and in the context of a nation of people whose hair tends to be the exact opposite, I could easily envision disaster happening.
This foreboding was not exactly assuaged when a fellow Marist alum who lives in Taipei noticed my Facebook status calling for haircut help and told me " [It] doesn't matter if your Chinese is superb or their English is spot on; i hate to be the messenger, but you are in for an interesting conclusion to hair. i've never asked for a "mo-hawk", yet I still receive. the secret is learning to cope and adapt..."
When Fonda and I arrived at the hair salon, however, I was instantly struck by how an up-class salon is an up-class salon no matter where you are.The prices, however, are pleasantly different. (Haircuts have been my favorite splurge for the past two years in Seattle.)
Just like at home, upon sitting down I was offered tea and coffee, then taken to another room where they washed my hair and massaged my head. And on this, they outperformed Seattle on every single level. The wash/massage must have lasted at least a half hour, and I never wanted it to stop. I'm actually considering seeing how much it costs just for this service alone...
Aherm. Anyway, the lady who washed my hair/gave me the best head massage of my life then took me back to my chair--and left. Turns out, here in Taiwan they don't multitask, they delegate. So the lady who greeted me and washed my hair did only that. Then the hair dresser--the guy with the actual scissors--came over, and as I handed over the hair photos I kept from my favorite haircut thus far, Fonda explained it and told him that my hair was thin and didn't need to be made more so. "I know," he said in English, sounding slightly offended at the implication, which actually did wonders for my confidence in his abilities.
 |
| And, in fashion, he fit the young-urban-male-hairdresser style seen everywhere. (Not pictured: his tight low cut tank top with a cardigan layered over it.) |
After the cut there was more delegation--another lady whose job it is to blow dry and style hair, and another who brings the bill--and then the hair dresser was back to finish up his clips, hand me his business card(s, in case I have friends who need haircuts :) ) and send me on my way.
All in all, a successful encounter, and all for the low price of $600 NT! So, you know, FANTASTIC salon experience for $20US. Take THAT, Super Cuts!
 |
| Final results--sorry for the crappy webcam/florescent lighting combo |
Today did an excellent job of summing up the experience of living in another culture: insanity and familiarity, clash and coherence.
Monday, October 10, 2011
The Little Things
Two meanings hidden in the title, there. The first one is quite prosaic: this blog will be a "little thing." The other is more contemplative, though cliche: it's the little things in life that make the difference.
Again, a double meaning: little details are often those that make any given day memorable and special, and little details are often those that cause, for me, a pang of homesickness.
To elaborate briefly on the latter. This weekend in Taipei has been full of little reminders of home, little things which remind me of different features of the Northwest, or of people there whom I love. The rain and clouds, and the cooler temperature: Oregon and Washington. Hiking in the rain: family camping trips with Mom. Hot springs: Belknap, and Dad's inability to overheat.
A pot of hot milk tea: an afternoon in Anna's cottage in Seattle with homemade Chai. A crazy bohemian shop full of tie-die: downtown Eugene with Erin and Sarah. Modern Toilet: Melanie made me promise to eat there while I was here. "Jar of Hearts" on Tom's phone: Elizabeth and Annika. Taken together, it's amazing how a vibrant, bustling Asian metropolis can consist of so many small reminders of life in the Pacific Northwest. I've noticed this phenomena in Kaohsiung, too, but this weekend has had more moments like this than normal. I haven't hit any real culture shock since I've been here, and I haven't hit any homesickness ruts, but I have had a constant smattering of these little moments that remind me of the people and places I've left behind for a while.
But the little things work for the positive, and for the here and now, as well. The smell of waffles haunting our stroll down by the river at 淡水 (Tamsui); Karina's notebook of quotes from the weekend; our awkward foreigners-in-two-piece moments at 新北投 (Xinbeitou Hot Springs); debating when (and where) the sun would set while riding the gondola up 貓空 (Maokong); eavesdropping on the ladies switching between Mandarin and Taiwanese at the table next to us at dinner as we admired the gorgeous night view of Taipei; finally getting our waffles at the tea house on top and almost missing the last gondola down; Tom almost getting caught in the closing MRT doors (his face made it funny, not horrific, I promise); Karina running into a descending metal gate as Rachel and I yelled that it was closing; realizing that, in a mere two days, we'd used up our $400NT EasyPasses by riding the MRT lines from end to end.
And that was my day, in a nutshell. Tomorrow is the National Day, and we have stuff early in the morning, so now it's off to bed for me--since yet another little thing that I treasure is sleep.
Again, a double meaning: little details are often those that make any given day memorable and special, and little details are often those that cause, for me, a pang of homesickness.
To elaborate briefly on the latter. This weekend in Taipei has been full of little reminders of home, little things which remind me of different features of the Northwest, or of people there whom I love. The rain and clouds, and the cooler temperature: Oregon and Washington. Hiking in the rain: family camping trips with Mom. Hot springs: Belknap, and Dad's inability to overheat.
A pot of hot milk tea: an afternoon in Anna's cottage in Seattle with homemade Chai. A crazy bohemian shop full of tie-die: downtown Eugene with Erin and Sarah. Modern Toilet: Melanie made me promise to eat there while I was here. "Jar of Hearts" on Tom's phone: Elizabeth and Annika. Taken together, it's amazing how a vibrant, bustling Asian metropolis can consist of so many small reminders of life in the Pacific Northwest. I've noticed this phenomena in Kaohsiung, too, but this weekend has had more moments like this than normal. I haven't hit any real culture shock since I've been here, and I haven't hit any homesickness ruts, but I have had a constant smattering of these little moments that remind me of the people and places I've left behind for a while.
But the little things work for the positive, and for the here and now, as well. The smell of waffles haunting our stroll down by the river at 淡水 (Tamsui); Karina's notebook of quotes from the weekend; our awkward foreigners-in-two-piece moments at 新北投 (Xinbeitou Hot Springs); debating when (and where) the sun would set while riding the gondola up 貓空 (Maokong); eavesdropping on the ladies switching between Mandarin and Taiwanese at the table next to us at dinner as we admired the gorgeous night view of Taipei; finally getting our waffles at the tea house on top and almost missing the last gondola down; Tom almost getting caught in the closing MRT doors (his face made it funny, not horrific, I promise); Karina running into a descending metal gate as Rachel and I yelled that it was closing; realizing that, in a mere two days, we'd used up our $400NT EasyPasses by riding the MRT lines from end to end.
And that was my day, in a nutshell. Tomorrow is the National Day, and we have stuff early in the morning, so now it's off to bed for me--since yet another little thing that I treasure is sleep.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Acclimatization
I've been here a month and a half now, and I'm surprised about how many things I've completely gotten used to, things that not too long ago I would have balked at which now seem perfectly normal.
So, here comes another of my lists--things I have changed my entire perspective on since I moved to Taiwan:
1.) Dish washing. There is the obvious aspect of this, of course, in that I have never before lived in a house without a dishwasher. But more than that, my perspective has shifted about what constitutes clean. Having spent a good three or four summer and winter breaks in the service industry, I've been trained that cleaning a dish requires four stages: spray down; wash (in as hot of water as my hands can stand); rinse (ditto to wash, but often hotter than I can stand); chemically sanitize. At home, of course, that last step was skipped, but the necessity of hot water was still upheld.
But here in Kaohsiung, our kitchen sink does not get hot water. At all, so far as we can tell--and it's not just here! Every restaurant we go to, no matter if it's a street cart or a walk-in restaurant, uses hose water in an outdoor sink to wash dishes. At my schools, the kids and teachers wash dishes after lunch--in cold or lukewarm water in outdoor sinks. We use soap, true, but no hot water anywhere. And it makes total sense--who wants to touch hot water in steaming hot weather? So what constitutes a clean dish? Something which as been passed under water, swished around (and scrubbed, if necessary) with soap, and rinsed. And that's it! Nothing could be more natural.
2.) Chopsticks. While we're on the subject of eating utensils, I can't help but remark on this one--every time I sit down to eat, I am amazed at how easily and how fast chopsticks became second nature for me. It was no earlier than June of this year when I was struggling for every bite, and reaching across the table for food at family-style meals in China was torture. My chopsticks would cross, or slip, or just prove generally unmanageable. I wondered how anyone could ever do it on a regular basis.
But now, I often find myself using chopsticks for things most Taiwanese people eat with a spoon, like rice. I mean, why not? Once you get the hang of it, chopsticks are quite easy and convenient. I even find myself now eating like a native, chopsticks in my right hand and spoon in my left, scooping when necessary and eating bites of whatever without a qualm.
3.) Driving. I could (and will, at some point,) devote an entire post sometime to my driving experiences here in Kaohsiung, but for now, allow me just to say that I used to think there were rules to driving. In Eugene and in Seattle, I followed rules like these: stay in your lane; go the right direction on every street; leave a big space between yourself and the next vehicle in any direction; stop for every red (or yellow) light; never drive on the sidewalk; yield the right of way to the other drivers, and especially--and always--to pedestrians.
But here, I've discovered, none of these apply. And, more than that, I've learned to accept this fact and live accordingly! Just to clarify, I still stop for lights, I still don't drive on the sidewalks, and I still go the right direction on the streets. BUT, when in Rome! And I'm not gonna lie--after four years of entitled Seattle pedestrians expecting nothing less but that you miss your light so they can meander through the crosswalk, it's refreshing and wonderful to be able to squeeze past them without a qualm. The only rule of driving here? Don't kill anyone--yourself included. And obviously, those are the only real rules you need!
So that's my list! For now. I seem to be fond of lists these days, though, so look for more as time goes on.
In other news, I started Morning English today at Han-Min, an 8 o'clock half hour 5-class session in which we taught a supermarket conversation. It was fun! Taught apple, banana, orange, kiwis, grapes, mangoes, lime, and yogurt. My character was making fruit salad. :) The kids seemed to enjoy it, especially toward the end, but we'll do more games next time. Beginning of a weekly event!
I started Chinese classes today, at long last! I'm in a beginning/basic (no one's quite sure) class with Andrew, Tiffiany and Analicia--when we started Esther was in our class too, but since she's had a good 2 years of classes, she decided to move up to the intermediate level. Which is good, I guess, since before we basically had 3 distinct skill levels, and Tiffiany is a true beginner.
So yeah, we'll see how that goes--we still have 2 levels jammed together and right now we're quickly reviewing basics like name, age, numbers, family, nationality, time, etc. Learned a lot today! I'm actually just hoping we can keep our review pace for the whole time--I want to learn, and now!
After all, I won't be truly acclimatized until I can speak Chinese.
So, here comes another of my lists--things I have changed my entire perspective on since I moved to Taiwan:
1.) Dish washing. There is the obvious aspect of this, of course, in that I have never before lived in a house without a dishwasher. But more than that, my perspective has shifted about what constitutes clean. Having spent a good three or four summer and winter breaks in the service industry, I've been trained that cleaning a dish requires four stages: spray down; wash (in as hot of water as my hands can stand); rinse (ditto to wash, but often hotter than I can stand); chemically sanitize. At home, of course, that last step was skipped, but the necessity of hot water was still upheld.
But here in Kaohsiung, our kitchen sink does not get hot water. At all, so far as we can tell--and it's not just here! Every restaurant we go to, no matter if it's a street cart or a walk-in restaurant, uses hose water in an outdoor sink to wash dishes. At my schools, the kids and teachers wash dishes after lunch--in cold or lukewarm water in outdoor sinks. We use soap, true, but no hot water anywhere. And it makes total sense--who wants to touch hot water in steaming hot weather? So what constitutes a clean dish? Something which as been passed under water, swished around (and scrubbed, if necessary) with soap, and rinsed. And that's it! Nothing could be more natural.
2.) Chopsticks. While we're on the subject of eating utensils, I can't help but remark on this one--every time I sit down to eat, I am amazed at how easily and how fast chopsticks became second nature for me. It was no earlier than June of this year when I was struggling for every bite, and reaching across the table for food at family-style meals in China was torture. My chopsticks would cross, or slip, or just prove generally unmanageable. I wondered how anyone could ever do it on a regular basis.
But now, I often find myself using chopsticks for things most Taiwanese people eat with a spoon, like rice. I mean, why not? Once you get the hang of it, chopsticks are quite easy and convenient. I even find myself now eating like a native, chopsticks in my right hand and spoon in my left, scooping when necessary and eating bites of whatever without a qualm.
3.) Driving. I could (and will, at some point,) devote an entire post sometime to my driving experiences here in Kaohsiung, but for now, allow me just to say that I used to think there were rules to driving. In Eugene and in Seattle, I followed rules like these: stay in your lane; go the right direction on every street; leave a big space between yourself and the next vehicle in any direction; stop for every red (or yellow) light; never drive on the sidewalk; yield the right of way to the other drivers, and especially--and always--to pedestrians.
But here, I've discovered, none of these apply. And, more than that, I've learned to accept this fact and live accordingly! Just to clarify, I still stop for lights, I still don't drive on the sidewalks, and I still go the right direction on the streets. BUT, when in Rome! And I'm not gonna lie--after four years of entitled Seattle pedestrians expecting nothing less but that you miss your light so they can meander through the crosswalk, it's refreshing and wonderful to be able to squeeze past them without a qualm. The only rule of driving here? Don't kill anyone--yourself included. And obviously, those are the only real rules you need!
So that's my list! For now. I seem to be fond of lists these days, though, so look for more as time goes on.
In other news, I started Morning English today at Han-Min, an 8 o'clock half hour 5-class session in which we taught a supermarket conversation. It was fun! Taught apple, banana, orange, kiwis, grapes, mangoes, lime, and yogurt. My character was making fruit salad. :) The kids seemed to enjoy it, especially toward the end, but we'll do more games next time. Beginning of a weekly event!
I started Chinese classes today, at long last! I'm in a beginning/basic (no one's quite sure) class with Andrew, Tiffiany and Analicia--when we started Esther was in our class too, but since she's had a good 2 years of classes, she decided to move up to the intermediate level. Which is good, I guess, since before we basically had 3 distinct skill levels, and Tiffiany is a true beginner.
So yeah, we'll see how that goes--we still have 2 levels jammed together and right now we're quickly reviewing basics like name, age, numbers, family, nationality, time, etc. Learned a lot today! I'm actually just hoping we can keep our review pace for the whole time--I want to learn, and now!
After all, I won't be truly acclimatized until I can speak Chinese.
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