Return from Taiwan

March 3, 2023

After 14 days in Taiwan, I’m both impressed and acclimated, and simultaneously ready to go home. It’s a strange and persistent feeling of belonging, of wanting to belong, enough to begin looking at real estate options in Taipei; while at the same time, feeling irrevocably foreign, illiterate, out of my element, and missing the wide open spaces and mask-freeness of home in Wenatchee.

One thing that strikes me is how safe I feel in Taiwan. On one of our first nights in Taipei, we were standing at an intersection when suddenly a large crowd of people started running in the same direction. As an American, my first instinct was to run and duck, listening for gunshots or the roar of a car engine. Turns out, it was just traffic cops hurrying a crowd of pedestrians across an intersection while the light was still green. I guess I hadn’t realized how vigilant I’d become, living in a place where violence is our normal. Here in Taipei, I don’t get as anxious in crowds, and while jerks and assholes are everywhere, I’m less wary of humanity in general.

It’s not just the physical safety, it’s also psychological. As with popular tourist destinations and fancy restaurants everywhere, people jockey for desirable seats. It’s a nice change to be consistently offered the corner sofa at the chic speakeasy bar, the terrace seat with an unobstructed view, the intimate table at the fine dining establishment. The sad truth is that, back home, prime seats are saved for people who look like they belong. Time and again, Won and I are led to the table next to the restroom, or the bar seating area despite having reservations for the dining room. The other day in Jiufen, I watched as a woman had a meltdown because there were no terrace tables available, because those had all been offered to patrons, Asian or white, young or old, dressed in designer clothes or in Kirkland sweatshirts and flip flops, who had arrived before her. It seems she was accustomed to a different order of the world, and this more egalitarian one didn’t sit so well with her. I hadn’t realized how cynical and wary I had become, nor how vigilant I had become in trying to maintain my place in this world.

It’s this physical and psychological sense of belonging that I am awakening to. Not to say Taiwan is a utopian society. It’s got its own oddities (squat toilets, I’m looking at you) and inconsistencies (universal adherence to mask wearing, with universal absence of bicycle helmets). But this is one reason I love to travel: perspective and humility. It turns out that few human behaviors are logical. Most things are done out of habit, and customs are arbitrary. It’s easy to see other people’s behavior as strange; it’s humbling to see that our own is also.

I have committed many faux pas: I owe an apology to the hair stylist I awkwardly offended by offering to tip. I also owe an apology to that street vendor for accidentally ordering pig liver and then running away without touching the dish (yes I first paid the bill, yes it is still embarrassing).

The most important reason I love to travel: it reminds me that, despite our oddities and differences, we share our humanity. We all get 80 years, give or take, to make something of the improbable sentience we are each gifted. None of us had much say in how we came to be, which culture and which era we were born, what opportunities and capabilities we would have. All of us will end our time in the same way we came, ashes to ashes and dust to dust. In between, turns out we are much the same. I appreciate Taiwan and her people, for sharing with me their high mountain peaks and marble cliffs, the vibrancy and energy of everything from the languages and to the street markets, the deliciousness of their food, and the warmth and generosity of their culture. For teaching me to live more in the moment. Hope to be back very soon!

March 11, 2023