Foreigners in Taiwan

 

Foreigners in Taiwan

On the way to see my best friend from Vancouver, I am lost in Taiwan’s web of underground train stations and tunnels. Someone asks if I need a map, and then, if I need it in another language. I accept his help, a stranger in my birthplace. Deep within Shilin Night Market, Clark urges me to push on. I’m exactly average height in Canada, but the crowds in Taipei – the capital of Taiwan – rush upon us in waves that seem to go over my head.

This is the first time I’ve seen Clark outside of BC, and Outside-Clark shows no mercy. It’s an hour before he finally pulls me to shore, to catch my breath. We stand on the steps of a large temple glowing red in the night as it looms over dark, featureless buildings and vendor carts. At the heart of the maze of narrow streets, we find snow. So it’s the subtropics – snow comes from machines, too (remember the 2010 Olympics?). The snowy mountain in my dish has a peak of sweet condensed milk and colourful baubles of yam, sweet beans, and taro at its base. “This is why I wanted to bring you here,” Clark says. I’m shivering, but my eyes sting with warmth. I left Taiwan as a child and, until this trip, had only visited in elementary school. Globalisation has brought most of the things I miss to Canada – including shaved ice – but not the family and friends who remain or move there. Some things I miss are gone: the dewy rice paddies where my family took morning strolls, the narrow lanes full of stray dogs and night-blooming flowers, the children my cousins used to be.

Yet, wedged between grey apartment blocks and glassy highrises, I still see startling blooms of lush greenery that coexist with the city. I still smell rain in the air. And I can still hold my grandparents’ hands, when they’re not busy cutting starfruit or folding paper cranes for their forgotten grandchild. My youngest cousin, now an outgoing woman rather than a sullen baby, takes me to Chiufen, a village preserved up in jagged hills. The red lanterns that inspired Miyazaki’s Spirited Away still hang above the winding lanes, but the other tourists and I admire the dizzying slopes more.

We stop here and there for beehive-shaped malt sugar lollipops that cling to every surface in the mouth, for Taiwanese sausages with crisp, sweet skin that burst between our teeth, and for more sweets made from taro and yam, this time cooked in a steaming syrup. November is winter there, so I’m the only person in Chiufen in a strappy dress and sandals. We head down a trail, the wrong one, where motorists play Tetris with their scooters. I clutch skewers of tofu and meat in a small plastic bag. A large golden retriever trails behind me as I trail behind the others. Stray dogs aren’t common anymore, but golden retrievers are the second-most recent breed to become a fad; toy poodles that look like caramel candy floss are now “in”. The dog looks at me and smiles a sad doggy smile. I pull meat off a skewer and toss the pieces towards him. He accepts the gift, and I feel accepted, too.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

Gratitude Travel Writing Contest

We hope you enjoyed this entry in the We Said Go Travel Gratitude Writing Contest. Please visit this page to learn more and participate. Thank you for reading the article and please leave a comment below.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

We Said Go Travel