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ORZ in Taiwan

(Part 4 of 4)

 

 

            I would like to start this fourth entry by discussing a Chinese delicacy known as "Stinky Tofu."  This dish, known by locals as tsoh doh-foo, is considered a favorite among the Taiwanese people.  Generally served in a brine with various greens, bamboo shoots and spices, the fermented tofu, like the name suggest, has a rather strong odor, which I consider to be similar to a garbage dumpster found in a dark alley on the lower east side of Manhattan.

            In an effort to be polite (and perhaps out of some strange masochistic curiosity), we each took turns placing cubes of this rotten cake into our mouths, each one of us, in turn, contorting his face into a look of horror.

            "This tastes like ass!" Taylor exclaimed. "Oh my god!"

            Olivier laughed through his nose.

            "Is it really that bad?" Timothy asked.

            "You gotta just try it," I said, keeping my voice calm, not wanting to discourage him.

            Timothy put a piece into his mouth, and within seconds, his eyes grew large with disgust.

            Joshua had a theory about the stinky tofu, which he explained to me the following morning.  "I actually woke up thinking about it,” he said.  “I was wondering how they actually get it to be so rank.  I started imagining pieces of tofu being carefully placed between the ass cheeks of sumo wrestlers." In a fake Chinese accent he continued, "The stinky tofu must be carried between the ass cheeks of sumo wrestler for one month!  Only then is dish ready to be served!"

 

            Two days earlier, on our final night of the Spring Scream Festival, a couple of girls had approached me with compliments on our performance.  These girls were intelligent and sober—an unusual combination for a Saturday night on the festival grounds.  Turns out one of the girls, a blond from Missouri named Melissa, had a master’s degree from Carnegie Mellon University.  She had been living in Taipei for several years, working as a program coordinator for a Taiwanese music ensemble called the Ju Percussion Group.

            "Jew Percussion Group?" I asked, imagining a bunch of guys who looked like me (dark hair, thick glasses, etc.) all wearing yarmulkes and playing drums.

            "No, Ju Percussion Group—J. U.," she said.  "It's mostly traditional music.  We basically go around educating others about percussion."

            Melissa’s friend Lily was a native Taiwanese, but had spent a major portion of her life in both the UK and America.  For all practical purposes, she seemed totally American to me, with the exception that she spoke fluent Mandarin.  She worked as an anchor for a Buddhist television news program in Taiwan.

            The rest of the band noticed that I was talking to these two attractive women, and one by one, came over to introduce themselves.  As soon as we discovered that Melissa was a percussionist, we wasted no time in trying to convince her to come play the Taiko video game with us.   Within minutes we were all walking to the basement parlor of the main building.  Unfortunately, the room had been completely shut down for the night.  No worries.  Joshua and I walked around, randomly flipping switches, until eventually the room came to life with flashing colors and blipping sounds.

            "Got it!" Josh said.

            "We're gonna get so busted," I said.

We gathered around the Taiko game and dropped multiple 10 TWDs into the coin slot.  Never mind sex, drugs, and rock and roll, we had a Taiko video game!

 

            On the following day, during our eight-hour bus ride to Taipei, I began to receive numerous text messages from Lily and Melissa with suggestions on things we should do while in town—seventeen text messages in all!  The ideas ranged from "check out Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall,” to "Visit Snake Alley and drink fresh snake blood."

            The following morning, after a relatively quiet night of sleep in our Taipei hotel, we ventured out to one of Lily’s suggested points—Longshan Temple.

            By the time we got to the temple, it had begun to rain, once again.  Why must it rain everyday?  This temple, however, was so amazing that we hardly even noticed the rain.  I had seen places like this in photographs and television shows, but never in person.  So spectacular!  So ornate!  Wooden paths lined with bamboo.  Waterfalls falling on moss-covered rocks.  Hand-carved murals of all the deities.  A giant Buddha shrine with burning incense.

Men and women carried plates of fruits and vegetables to the shrine, holding them up as offerings.  They would bow, and then, as a ritual, toss several small chips of wood to the ground.  Olivier and I noticed a box of Oreo cookies that had been set out as an offering to the Buddha.  No wonder he’s so fat.

            After the temple, we went to Snake Alley.  Unfortunately, it was not quite as exciting as we had hoped.  After all, it was a “night market,” and we were there in the middle of the afternoon!  Where were the snakes?  Guess that’s also a night thing?  We walked along the narrow street for several blocks, stopping to take pictures far too often—mostly of things like squid on a stick.  All of us had our cameras ready.  All of us took pictures of the same stuff.  Totally ridiculous.  Like a contagious yawn, as soon as one person un-velcroed his camera bag, everyone else followed suit.

            After a slight mishap in which Olivier and Taylor didn’t notice Joshua, Timothy, and myself walk into a restaurant, and after the three of us had already placed our orders at the restaurant, and after I felt a massive wave of guilt and jogged three blocks down Snake Alley looking for Olivier and Taylor, and after all five us were finally together again at a large round table, and after we were done blaming each other for the miscommunication about lunch, we ate a fabulous meal, which included various seafood dishes, steamed vegetables, noodle soup, and beer.

            Now it was time for a foot massage.  Practically every other shop on Snake Alley was a foot-massage parlor.  The Taiwanese love their reflexology.  Timothy, Olivier, Joshua, and I sat side by side in plush leather chairs with our feet soaking in steaming hot water.  Taylor sat next to the front door, unwilling to let anybody fondle his feet.  Like synchronized dancers, four women sat on stools in front of us and began to rub our feet.  We passed a laminated guide between the four of us that explained the various parts of the foot and how they correlate to certain parts of the body.  I got the massage therapist’s attention and pointed to my kidneys.  I tried to somehow explain that I’ve had chronic kidney stones.  She nodded her head with understanding, and began to force her knuckles into the lower fleshy part of the bottom of my foot—exactly the spot that the laminated display said was associated with the kidneys.  As the woman continued, yelps of pain crept out from each of our mouths.  The ladies would giggle and then continue with even more pressure.  I turned to Olivier, who sat next to me.  His forehead had broken out with sweat.  He gritted his teeth and squinted his eyes.  Although his feet were being pressured into submission, his shoulders were now up against each ear.   I then realized my shoulders were also rather tense.  I took a deep breath and tried to relax.

            That night we had our first show in Taipei at a venue called The Wall.  I had been told that it was just a handful of blocks away from our hotel.  Regardless, we decided to take a couple of taxis because of all of our equipment.  I had printed out the address from a website.  Olivier showed the address to both taxi drivers.  Half an hour later we pulled up to a building five miles away from our hotel.  Olivier jumped out of his taxi and walked back to mine.

“It’s the wrong address!  Where did you get this address?” he asked.

            “From the internet,” I said.

            “Well, we’re not at the right place!”

            Several cell phone calls were made (mostly by the taxi drivers) and then we suddenly made U-turns and headed back.  An hour late for soundcheck, we made it to the Wall, which turned out to be just a few blocks away from our hotel.  Later that evening, Lily explained to me that she had almost made the same mistake.  Apparently there are two music clubs in Taipei called The Wall.

One good thing about the taxi ride, however, was that the driver had tuned the radio to an English-speaking station.  Taylor and I heard an important announcement.  On the following day, at precisely 2pm, there would be a city-wide air-raid siren.  At this moment, all cars were to pull over, and all pedestrians were to enter the closest building.  The drill would last a half hour.

“Man, good thing we heard this announcement!” Taylor said.

“No shit.  I would have totally freaked out,” I said.

            Our show at The Wall went well.   There was a fairly full house.  The audience was very appreciative.  They didn’t even seem to mind that Joshua and I almost got in a fist fight on stage.  Joshua had become completely fed up with my banter—mostly condescending comments that I made toward him.  He even threatened to kick my ass at one point…saying it into the microphone for everyone to hear.  Regardless, CD sales were good, and after the show, people asked for autographs, which allowed us to feel like stars for a couple minutes.  Then everyone was gone and we were left with the staff—several beautiful women who brought us alcohol and dinner.  Stinky tofu!

            The next day, Timothy, Joshua, and Taylor met up with Melissa.  They took a journey just outside of town to one of Taiwan’s many famous hot springs.  Olivier and I were exhausted and decided to stay behind.  Besides, I really wanted to do laundry, and Olivier had a couple meetings he needed to attend.  I went across the street, bought some detergent, and put my nasty clothes in the hotel’s washing machine.  An hour later I went back to the laundry room and switched everything to the dryer.  Just then, at exactly 2pm, the air-raid sirens went off.  I had totally forgotten.  I ran back to my room and grabbed my camera.  By the time I was on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, the sirens had stopped.  All the cars and scooters were pulled over, and all pedestrians were waiting inside various shops.  Police guarded the streets and blew into whistles.  Although there was absolutely nothing to take a picture of, I was still fascinated by the entire process.   New York should really do this, I thought.  But could New York really pull this sort of thing off?  Doubt it.  I went back inside to check my email.  Half an hour later, a single low siren blasted.  I looked out the window and watched the cars and scooters fill the streets.  Later that day, the other guys told me that they had also forgotten about the drill.  They had been stuck at a subway stop and weren’t allowed to leave.  Joshua had used his camera to record the sound.

            After finishing my laundry, I walked through the rain to the Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial.  Damn this rain!  Much like the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., the Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial is a giant stone building surrounded by countless marble steps.  Inside the open front of the building is an enormous statue of Chiang Kai-Shek, who sits on a chair and looks out at the city.  Across from the monument, on either side, are two buildings, built in classic Chinese architectural style.  One building is the National Concert Hall, and the other is the National Theater.  I took lots of pictures—proof that I had had a great time despite not going to the hot springs.   A stray dog walked up to me and we quickly became friends.  The two of us walked around in the rain and took more pictures.

            Our second performance, and our final night in Taipei was at a place called The Underground.  Tsai Hai-En had helped set this one up.  This was the cool venue of Taipei.  Everyone had told us so.  Down a flight of steps in the dark basement that was The Underworld, I suddenly felt like I was back in New York City.  Indi-rock music played from the speakers as the first act set up.  A puppet show!  We were going to be opened by a puppet show!  A puppet show that involved giant penises (peni?).  A story that somehow involved circumcision.  I decided to walk around outside and come back later.  Venturing through the nearby night market (this time it was actually night), I bought random food items like pork buns and wax apples.

            A strange thing happened during our performance.  About half an hour into our set, the sound man came running up to the stage and told us we had to stop playing.  What?  The audience was silent.  We felt stupid.  Lily came up to the stage and explained further.  We had to stop playing because the police were there!  What??  I looked up and saw a police officer walking around with an obnoxious sense of authority.  He held a flash light in one hand, which he shined around the room.  The audience began to get up from their chairs.  They nervously walked toward the front door.

            “What the hell’s going on?” I asked Lilly.

            She explained that the club was actually an illegal music venue.  Every once in a while the cops would just come and give the place a shakedown.  She told us that if we stop playing for a few minutes, the police will leave, and then we can continue with our show. 

            Ten minutes later, the cops left and we began playing again... to a slightly smaller house.  We played for fifteen minutes and then said good night.  Our final show in Taiwan.

            Our flight the next day wasn’t until six p.m.  There was still adventure to be had.  With Lily and her friend Holly as our host, we decided to all get full-body massages.  Afterward, we would meet up with Melissa for “the best” dumplings in Taipei.  Perfect!

            At the massage parlor once again, we all lined up side by side.  First there was feet soaking.  Then there was a shoulder rub.  Next we were taken upstairs where our feet and legs were worked over one more time.  After a half an hour, we were led to another room where all six of us laid face down on small padded tables.

            After the massage, in a state of bliss, we walked to the front desk.  Before any of us could remove our slippers and grab our wallets, Lily snuck up to the desk and paid for everyone.  Taiwanese hospitality!  We tried to offer her money, but it was refused.

           

            We stood outside of the massage parlor and hailed a couple of taxis.  I noticed Holly putting on a helmet.

            “You have a scooter?” I asked.

            “Yep.”

            “You have an extra helmet?”

            “You wanna ride?”
            “Hell yeah!”

            It was something I had wanted to do since we had first arrived in Taipei.  Thousands and thousands of scooters had buzzed by us over the course of the past couple days.  There were more scooters than people, we had been told.  Aside from the thousands of scooters that steamed along the busy streets, there were a million more parked along the side of the road, making a barrier between the sidewalk and the street.  As the lights turned green, herds of bikes would buzz past us, practically touching each other as the engines revved.  Often, you would see three and four people on one scooter.  Small children were placed on the floorboards.  Old ladies were placed on the luggage rack.  I knew that if I truly wanted to experience Taiwanese culture, I would have to ride a scooter.  Now was my chance.

            I put on the helmet and hopped on the back of Holly’s scooter.  Seconds later we were among the people.  The polluted air blew into our faces.  Fifty other scooters teamed within several feet of us.  At one intersection, I looked over and noticed a UPS scooter.  It was a brown bike (of course) and the rider wore the official uniform.  On the back of his seat was a large brown box out for delivery.  As we cruised further down the street, I looked to the opposite side and saw a middle-aged women riding with one hand on the scooter, and the other holding a newborn baby to her shoulder.

            Sitting at an intersection, just before the light turned green, Holly spoke through her helmet and told me that scooters weren’t really supposed to turn left at lights with two-way traffic, but if everyone did it, she would do it, too. Well, everyone did it, and so did we.  Just as we turned onto the street, two police officers on the right side of the road flagged us over.  You’ve got to be kidding?

            “Just play dumb,” Holly said, as if I had another option.

            The police officer spoke in Chinese, most likely asking for Holly’s license.  Holly looked confused?

            “You American?” he asked.

            “Yes,” Holly said.

            Minutes later we were back on our way with no ticket.

            Everyone else was already at the dumpling house.  We sat down at a long table and told them our story of getting pulled over.  Steamed dumplings came out by the dozens.  We dipped them in ginger-soy sauce and then placed them in our mouths.  We were happy.

As we finished lunch, I pretended to go to the bathroom, but instead, went to the counter and paid the bill.  Melissa and Lily were mad at me.  Oh well.

It was time to go to the airport.  We quickly took several pictures of the entire group.  We gave the girls lots of hugs.  We exchanged email addresses and phone numbers.  We piled into two separate taxis.  Joshua, Taylor, Timothy, Olivier, and I headed for Chiang Kai-Shek airport.  We checked our luggage and boarded the airplane.  And then we immediately fell asleep.