3:30 AM
Taiwan Time, 8/26/02 Arrival
& Registering for School
Am
officially jetlagged. Much worse
than I was in Singapore and Japan, but I guess I just didn’t try hard enough
today—I konked out at 7PM.
We
had a stop in Seattle. I couldn’t
really understand the words on the loudspeaker (her accent was so thick, it was
almost harder to understand her English than her Chinese), but I just followed
the mob to the next leg. This
time, I had a little old wrinkly brown woman in the middle seat, all bundled up
in a fur coat and wool ski hat like Nanook of the North—wore it the whole
flight, I no kid.
Still
doped up on Bonine, I slept most of the trip, only making efforts to stay awake
during the movies, all of which were mediocre—Life or Something Like It
(Angelina Jolie in a big blond wig), Clockstoppers (Jesse Bradford from Bring
It On), and John Q (Denzel Washington, Anne Heche and lots of HMO- and rich
doctor-bashing). Clockstoppers was
by far the most entertaining. John
Q was sort of a tearjerker but I rolled my eyes through most of it. Really, “Let’s have free health care
for all”?? There is no end to the
grossly one-sided misconceptions Hollywood feeds the public. Why doesn’t the movie show all the
hospitals operating so far in the red that a small as possible negative profit
for the year is considered great, because of all the people they treat for free
and can’t turn away. And can they
make a movie that shows all the toil a med student or resident has to go
through for years during his training, and finally when he’s done, tell him
he’s expected to work for free? In fact, as long as we’re going to
start rich-people bashing: How about the entertainment industry
pay our healthcare bills then?
Anyway. When very ambitious I also tried studying
my Chinese illustrated dictionary (mostly because I’d carried it and it
comprised about 1/3 of my bag’s weight) but only got to the Puo’s (2nd
“letter” in the Zhu Ying FuHao pronunciation alphabet). Nanook kept nudging me. For a small woman, she took up lots of
space—both arms on the armrests at all times, and at one point I was
half-covered by her fur coat when she once did take it off. Also, when I was sleeping I kept waking
from her either elbowing me or playing footsie with me. Seriously, several times I caught her
running her foot over mine, even though my feet were firmly planted under my
own seat. It gave me the heebie
jeebies.
The
landing was the smoothest ever and for once on such a long flight I didn’t feel
any motion sickness at all. We had
hardly any turbulence either. The
view was beautiful too, all green and golden from the trees and dips in the
land, like a carving, glowing and tinted pink and misty from the sunrise--a
scene I wished Amy could paint.
I was one
of the last out, and it took a while to arrange my two huge suitcases on the
cart, balancing them precariously and knowing if I hit a bump and they fell
over I’d never get them up again.
By the time I then exchanged money, I was the last one out from my
flight. I saw a small sign “Grace
Wang” stuck in the shrubbery and sitting nearby, a 50-ish year old man who’d
obviously gotten tired of standing there holding it. I pointed to the sign and myself and he helped me with the
bags. He wasn’t sure how good my
Chinese was so he slowly enunciated for me to wait here while he got the
van. I was a little worried
because he didn’t look that strong/young and didn’t want the bags to kill him.
The
van was very nice—a luxury type with curtains on the tinted windows, lacy
linings on the plush seats and vacuumed spotless. He gave me a bottled water, I gave him a chocolate, and we
chatted some. He didn’t know a word of English, had never been
outside of Taiwan in his life. I
realized I should’ve learned how to say “research” and “Fulbright” in Chinese
before I came. Excited, I watched
the landscape. The road from the
airport is pretty. The road is lined
with tall pink flowers, huge flags—the Taiwan flag and another I didn’t know
(looked like the French flag with an emblem), and white long objects radiating
outward that resembled rifles. We
hit some rush hour traffic and once right in the middle of the busy highway,
was a three-car fender bender. The
drivers just got out right there, looked at the cars, shrugged and went back in
as we all swerved around them. It
was all so nonchalant. In the U.S.
they would’ve pulled over, spent a long time cursing at each other while people
passing rubbernecked, the cops would block off the whole area and two lanes for
200 feet and the 1010WINS traffic cam would report 1 ½ hour delays, and I would
be sitting there cursing once again about how hundreds of people are being held
up in traffic just because of a few people out there who can’t drive.
We
passed the Fulbright Foundation (Foundation for Scholarly Exchange or FSE) but it was closed (at 9:15AM?). So we went on to the hostel, Yu Yuan
Villa that FSE was putting me up in for 6 nights. We turned into a narrow lane, he could barely squeeze the
van through the car and mopeds parked on either side, and two bystanders helped
guide him through—literally we grazed the paint. Inside, three women helped me up to my room, exclaiming at
all my baggage and asking why there was so much for one person? I tried to explain I was here for 10
months, but mistakenly said 10 weeks, so then they thought I would be here at
the hotel for 10 weeks, and exclaimed again. I dropped it.
The
room was fantastic. This
really is a hotel, I don’t know why FSE called it a hostel. It’s a big room with queen bed, carpeting,
marble countertops, two armchairs and table of polished wood, huge bathroom
with pentagonal tub and handheld shower.
The bathroom is set off from the room by a large glass door and curved
wall of frosted glass. 20” color
cable TV. TV and lights can be
controlled by a panel of buttons next to the bed. Closet, safe, fridge, hot and cold water tap. Soap, 2 toothbrushes, razor, shampoo
and conditioner, hairbrush, towels, shower cap, and condom in ashtray next to
bed. Very suspect is the huge, 6’
x 5’ mirror set in the wall in front of the bed. Feng Shui says not to have a mirror in front of the bed, but
I guess they felt its other, um, advantages outweigh this.
First
item of business—get a phone card.
The receptionist pointed me to the 7-11 across the street where I bought
one for international and one for local calls (to call Gary, my friend from
college who’s in Taiwan for a few weeks).
Neither worked. I literally
went in and out of the 7-11 about six times. The cashier brought out the manager, who came out to try it
at the sidewalk phone himself, and even called the phonecard company from his
inside office. After about 45
minutes he gave me a code that worked for the international one, but said Gary’s
cellphone number doesn’t exist. I
called Dave first since it was about 10:30 PM and I didn’t want to wake his
roommate. He’d just gotten back
from spending all day in NY with Pete and his friends. Like a gut reaction I wondered who he
was with, particularly girls, and didn’t he just say the day before that he had
so much work to do? But I just
said “That’s great,” and tried to be glad he was having fun. I knew right away how hard this was
going to be. He didn’t say
anything about the letter, but I guess I didn’t really expect him to, and I was
on a busy sidewalk on a payphone in broad daylight and wasn’t exactly in a
romantic mind frame anyway.
Next,
called M&D who were happy I was OK and instructed me to call my cousin
JuLing, who’s been responsible for finding my apartment and “getting things
ready” for me. I tried her number
but it didn’t work. Went wandering
to look for an internet café to email Gary but couldn’t find one—I was looking
for the English word “Internet” so maybe there was one in Chinese and I just
missed it. Hungry, I passed lots
of food places but finally decided my first meal here was going to be,
yes: Mickey D’s. Something just compelled me, like how
it was my first meal in Italy too.
Gary’s
right about the prices here. A
vanilla cone is about 35cents US and I got the spicy chicken sandwich meal for
about $3.60 US. Back at my room,
it pigged out. It wasn’t so good,
but not much worse than any McD’s.
The chicken glistened with more grease than usual. Took a much needed shower. I was expecting low water pressure
because of the drought, but it was powerful—it massaged my neck which was sore
and kinked from the plane. I changed into a skirt and top,
put up my hair and was ready to find ShiDa University to register at CCLC
(Center for Chinese Language and Culture, aka Mandarin Training Center,
MTC). The receptionist told me to
take Bus 235 to ShiDa. The driver
told me when we arrived—it was only 4 stops away. I gulped—it was a large building with a big gate in
front. How would I find registration? All the signs were in Chinese. I went in the front door. It was totally empty. Finally a woman pointed me across the
street to another building completely.
It was on the sixth floor and didn’t open for afternoon hours until 2,
so I had half an hour to wait.
Other students were there, including three boys from Jordan speaking
Hebrew or something. When they
opened, it went slowly. They took
us one by one to fill out lots of forms and direct us to different
stations. A woman introduced me to
her daughter, JiaLan who looked about my age and was from London, had just
gotten her masters at London School of Economics and would be here for three
months.
Finally at
3:30 I’d paid and got a student ID and had to go to another room for the
“placement test”. In it were 30
other students waiting their turn.
I added my name to the list.
Bored, I snuck into the computer room next door. I put my new student ID in the box and
took off my shoes, mimicking everyone else, sat at a PC waiting for the guy in front
to look up and interrogate me, but he never stopped Quaking or Dooming or Tomb
Raiding whatever he was doing. I
was happy to see normal, English keyboards with the keys all in the right
place, unlike in Europe, and Internet Explorer ready to go, no password
needed. I emailed Gary, Dave and
my family my hotel number and room number so they could call.
At
5PM the guy emerged from his virtual realm and started shutting down the PCs,
so I went back to the waiting room where the “placement interviews” were still
going strong. They were supposed
to close at 4:30. Finally at 5:30
it was my turn. She asked me how
much I could read, maybe 100 words?
I said I thought so, but then couldn’t read much of what she showed me,
so she said, [“Ah, I know”] and flipped way to the front of the book to a
pitifully simple passage comprised of about ten words said over and over in
different variations of sentences ([“Do you like to watch TV? Yes, I like to watch TV. Do you like to watch movies? Yes, I like to watch movies. Does father like watching TV and
movies? Father likes to watch TV
but does not like to watch movies.”]
which I read haltingly, still with her help. She said I’d get the beginner’s book. The whole thing took under 3
minutes. I was humiliated.
JiaLan was having a much longer interview, so I left. We’d exchanged numbers and emails anyway. On the bus back, I again asked the driver to tell me when we got to my stop, NanChang Road. We went for awhile and I started thinking this was much longer than before. Finally I asked him if we were there yet, he paused and shrugged, and said we passed it but he forgot to tell me. He kept driving. Great. What was I supposed to do? Everyone around me was silent and I didn’t know what to say in my broken Chinese. Finally he stopped and told me to get off and cross the street to another stop and go back, giving me a ticket to show the driver so I wouldn’t have to pay. It was getting dark and I crossed but saw no bus stop signs anywhere. Now I was really worried, and I’d lost the hotel business card that had its name and address on Chinese, and all I had was it written in English in my Palm. I asked a cop who’d never heard of NanChang Road and wasn’t very helpful, so finally desperate, I got in a cab, asked if he could read English and showed him the Palm. He studied it for a long time as my heart sank, but started driving. I asked, [“Is it far?”] He replied, “Hmm, [not bad].” So I knew it was. I expected at US$10 fare at least. He stopped on NanChang and I wasn’t sure I recognized it—all I recognize are 7-11, McD’s, and Yoshinoya, but those are terrible landmarks because they’re everywhere. But the fare was only about $3US. “Reverse sticker shock” is great here. I found the hotel lane right away. Whew! Exhausted now, I went in where the girl looked at me a bit annoyed, gave me a message from JuLing and said next time to leave the keys at the desk because they didn’t know when I’d be coming back. As if I knew I’d be gone this long!
I
tried JuLing’s number but there was no answer. Fatigue won over mild hunger and I konked. Around 8 she called, but I was so
disoriented that I don’t remember the conversation and I hope she doesn’t think
I was rude. At 9:30 Dave
called. When I heard the ring I
thought it was JuLing or GuMa or M&D and answered it slightly annoyed,
never expecting Dave to call in the US morning. But he said he’d gotten up and just got my email and wanted
to try the phone number using his BigZoo account. I was impressed.
Went back
to sleep and woke freezing at 3AM and can’t sleep now. I found out I can control the A/C from
the panel next to the bed too, duh.
So I’m now eating Avani’s chocolates and watching Duck Tales in Chinese
and now a funny movie with subtitles about a guy being haunted by a ghost girl
who makes him look like he’s cheating on his girlfriend. There’s also a show that looks like
“Real World” with lots of unattractive people but in Chinese and much more
graphic, total nudity and sex, but the people are so skanky you’d really prefer
they be clothed.
Jetlag
insomnia is also quite conducive to
journal-writing, as you can see.