What a funny thing memory is, I find myself thinking back to the journals Mom made my brother and I write in Germany. Some days I'd be paying lip service to the whole affair with maybe three terse sentences, rivaling the literary genius of Hop on Pop. Other days would see me put pen to paper with zeal, eager to record all the wonderful things I'd seen. I now see the wisdom behind all this, not only for posterity's sake, but also to cultivate in me an early appreciation of the difficulty of writing, and the rewards that come with it. Things have changed since then, but the end results are the same. Then, I wrote because I was made to. Now I write, because I must. My mind is constantly brimming with observations, thoughts and ideas, all threatening to spill over; I must remain vigilant with some means of catching and housing them, lest they seep through the cracks of time and be forever lost. Maybe even more so than those childish journals in Germany, the intellectual and spiritual rewards of writing can be so uplifting.
Brian, by now, has spent his first full day in Thailand, and this thought alone makes the events of the vacation seem remote. I can only pin down these events so long before they take flight and scatter, insubstantial as a mist.
Let's get cracking then.
The morning of our last day in Kenting, we know we have plenty of time before Maoxin comes and picks us up. Though the beaches here remain overrated, we figure it's our last chance to enjoy them, and we decide to make for Nanwan. Everything here is so chaotic that if a lifeguard blows his whistle we can easily ignore him without causing a scene. To our surprise, especially since it's a Friday, the beach is hardly crowded at all, and the waves crashing in have some height to them. It seems Kenting is keen on making up for past misconceptions, and wants to send us off in style. The waves do more than that, picking us up and hurtling us back towards shore, cartwheeling, barrel-rolling, completely at the mercy of Poseidon's wrath. It is, needless to say, A GREAT CORE WORKOUT (#8?)! Not a few times, we're sent hurtling into the shallow sand, cuts opening up on our arms and knees, limbs wrenched apart. Ok, so maybe you didn't appreciate us saying your beaches suck Kenting. Well, suck it. You're going to have to do a lot better than that. Poseidon answers handily, sending wave after wave at us. Every time I bring up my head it seems I immediately have to go ducking back in to avoid the next one.
Alright, shit, I get the point.
Getting out, I ask someone the time and realize we've been here for well over two hours. Running up to my scooter, I arrive just in time to hear my phone ringing. Maoxin's on the other line, saying he's finished up and he'll be over shortly. Hah, I must live a charmed life. We head back towards the hostel, and it's not long before we're shaking hands with the smiling Pingtong native and squeezing into the front of his delivery truck. It's another enjoyable ride, though there's not much for me to write about, except for the fact that Maoxin offers to take us straightaway to Kaohsiung, skipping Fangliao and the train we have to take. We tell him we can't impose, but he insists, as he's got nothing to do anyway. Sweet! We stop at Maoxin's company before he takes us to his house. While he's changing, I snap a few photos. He had said that he doesn't make much money, and indeed his monthly wages are lower than mine, but stepping into his house feels like stepping into a palace. Spacious, with care taken to the decor...what am I doing living in Taipei? I should just move down here and see what my money can buy.
We're chatting with his wife while he gets his car ready. She's about to mention how noisy it is when a sonic-boom rips through the neighborhood and briefly causes my eardrums to recede behind my eyes. Muscle car ready, we roar on towards Kaohsiung. Back in Hualien, Toby arranged for us to meet the guy he couchsurfed with, and Brian is texting him as we fight through rush hour. I get an appreciation for how spread out Kaohsiung is, my eyes constantly roaming around for new sights. Tuntex Sky Tower, Kaohsiung's tallest building, sticks out prominently like a miniature Taipei 101 (I bet it hears that comparison all the time). I point out a Ferris wheel to Brian:
Brian: "There's no Ferris wheel there."
Me: "Yes there is."
Brian: "Who's going to build a Ferris wheel out on the middle of some stupid hill."
Me: "Y'know what? I trust my eyes more than your common sense."
I ask Maoxin, and nod condescendingly to Brian when he backs me up. Brian ignores me. As we get closer to our meeting place with Boris, the guy hosting us, I feel regret that we won't be seeing Maoxin again. He's done so much for us, and all we can do our make promises that if he ever comes to the US, we'll treat him like a king. These promises are well-intentioned, though we all know we'll likely never make good on them. Out in front of a corner McDonalds, we take one last shot with Maoxin, and then bid him fond farewell.
Boris picks right up where Maoxin leaves, speaking a curiously British-accented English, despite having never been there. We cram into a taxi, the other passenger, Peter (from Hungary?), filling us in on all the places in Asia he's been. He talks in a slow, methodical manner, and his speech alone sounds more interesting than the words he's speaking.
(the rest of the post is not PG-rated, proceed at your own risk)
We eventually get to the place we'll be staying at and I realize how exhausted I am from getting slammed by the waves all morning. Boris's friend Danny comes over, and we shoot the shit before going to dinner. Dinner is a challenging affair; I feel like pillowing my head under my arms right there in the restaurant, and the beer doesn't help. Boris asks us multiple times what we would like to eat, ignoring our repeated claims of indifference. I know he means well, but this politeness is a tad stifling. Brian finally chooses something and we sit down. Danny and Boris both speak excellent English, and they make good use of it. Through the two, we learn more about how they met and became friends:
Brian: "So you guys met at a club?"
Boris: "Yeah, we met and then we started hanging out more. Why, is that weird?"
Brian: "No, well, you just don't see that in the states. Usually people just go to a club looking to fuck or have a good time. Nobody really makes friends at a club, it's awesome that you two did."
I second this. We pass through the dishes one by one, ending things with Boris's favorite: fish entrails. Not wanting to offend, I pick up a blackened piece of intestines and chew on it thoughtfully. It tastes like liver and dog shit had a child and miscarried along the way. Remembering that food is overrated, I swallow without flinching and reach for another piece. It's not like Taiwan has impressed me in the culinary field anyway. It definitely tastes like there's shit in here...somewhere. In my imagination, partially digested globs of algae cling with a tenacity the water faucet cannot overcome, lining the walls of freshly stir-fried fish intestines. After a few more bites I'm forced to surrender to this epicurean abortion, but I take heart in my defeat: I TASTE! I LIVE!
We head back to our apartment and rest up before heading out to the clubs. After Boris and Danny leave I turn to Brian:
Me: "Did they come off as gay to you?"
Brian: "No, not really."
*pause*
Brian: "What if they thought the same thing about us?"
Me: "HAHAHAHAHA"
While Brian takes a shower, I start doing push-ups randomly because I'm tired of having gotten no exercise this whole vacation. Which itself is an absurd thought. After my own shower, I spray on the deodorant I bought in Hualien (forgot to pack mine), put on my muscle shirt, and am ready for the clubs. Brian says I smell like the Mexicans back home. I am extremely offended by this comment. Just kidding, I laugh like the racist half-Korean I am. He insists that I help him drink the Suntory he bought and I remind him of how much I hate whiskey.
"You've changed man. I thought I knew you."
This line has me buckled over laughing, and cursing under my breath I grab the vial of amber liquid from his hands. Chasing with Apple Sidra helps take away some of the bite, and I have a medium buzz going by the time we leave the apartment.
We meet up in front of a club called Brickyard. I'm getting good vibes from this place. Especially when one of the bouncers introduces himself as Arcadius. Bad-ass. I want to drink here.
Instead, Boris takes us off to some fucking douchy club called Dreams. I am not pleased. I wish to learn more about Arcadius and the multiple dragons he has slain. Boris really sells Dreams by telling us it's not the greatest place to hang out at. Awesome, thanks. He tries to spin the same bullshit about Brickyard, but I'm having none of it. No common den of iniquity would hire a hero like Arcadius.
Getting into Dreams is cheap and easy, and the bottomless drinks that come with the cover mollifies me greatly. An Italian at the entrance curses leaving his passport behind, and without hesitation Brian slips him his expired driver's license. The Italian thanks him, and upon seeing him inside, high-fives are exchanged with much rejoicing. Immediately, I spot a circle of five Hong Kong girls and start talking them up. I mention my ethnicity, and that coupled with my Chinese skills and good looks...draws only their most practiced skepticism. What? I'm suddenly beset upon by all sides by taunts that I'm a player. They ask me how many girlfriends I have right now, and other questions carefully selected to show how they won't fall for my 'wiles'. I start laughing because it's all so ridiculous, and proceed to tell them the truth: that I'm a teacher in Taiwan here on vacation, and have 0 girlfriends . Several of the girls roll their eyes as they nod condescendingly. Hahaha, fuck you bitches, I'm outta here.
Brian is taking his whiskey with water and getting fucked up like a champ. At one point I see him playing Duck, Duck, Goose with random patrons, patting them on the head and giggling as they ignore him. Choking on my screwdriver, I have a sudden thought: Brian's like Redbull; he makes drinking more fun.
I start talking to a chick in a neon-yellow tank-top, and we have a good thing going. I can actually talk to her without having to defend myself. After a bit, she pulls me in close for a deep kiss, and I think Dreams lives up to its namesake.
That's when everything goes to shit. Pulling a 180 on me, neon tank-top girl starts talking about fate and destiny, and how at her age she's looking for a steady partner. Wha-where is this going? Then she lets the big guns out:
Neon bitch: "I know you're a Chinese major and all, but not every Taiwanese girl is 'soft'."
Me (thinking): "No, goddamit, don't you do this."
WHAT THE FUCK?! Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you the one who started making out with me? We were having a good time and now you want to shit all over everything with this?! She makes one last gesture towards the rest of the crowd, "If you're looking for a one-night stand, there's all these other girls, otherwise...?" and ends things with an exaggerated shrug. I feel myself visibly deflate, and, knowing there's nothing else to be said, take my leave.
Back at the bar trying to shrug off my rejection, I see Brian and tell him about my luck. He waves it off and leads a pair of girls over. I engage one, but find myself blindly grasping for the thread of conversation, forcing laughter when it should come naturally. Ugh, this night is fucked. Might as well just cut my losses. The girl makes for dull company, obviously interested in talking, but wanting me to put in all the work. Before long Brian comes over, asking me to translate for some guy who barely reaches my shoulders. He asks me in aggrieved tones if my friend was the one going around touching people's heads.
Goddamit. Some people just can't handle their Redbull.
I look past him at a pouting girl impossibly shorter than he is. She has the look of a spoiled gangster's daughter, used to getting what she wants and able to back it up. Wow, really? You're starting this shit because someone touched your head? I tell the guy I don't know if my friend touched her head or not, and begin to turn away. This isn't good enough because the guy grabs me and repeats his question. You better watch who you're grabbing pencil-dick, I could floss my teeth with you. I shrug offhandedly and tell him even if he did, it's all in good fun. This has the intended effect, as the guy's face twists and he starts forward. Boris, happens to be around and he intercedes on our behalf, going up greatly in my esteem. I don't see what he says, because I'm done with this small-fry and his ward, though they're not quite done with us.
About a half-hour later Small-fry is back, accompanied by a handful of goons, only one of which looks to have any real muscle about him. The others are tall and skinny, but have the swagger of someone who's never been in a real fight before. Someday, someone's going to show you exactly how invincible you're not, but it won't be tonight, and it won't be me. I know they're going to keep bugging us all night if we ignore them, and they seem intent on finishing this shit like men. I motion for Brian to walk outside and as we follow them I size up the group, hoping my battle-plan is purely academic. The big guy's going to be a problem for sure if it comes to a fight. If I can get in close and ruin his knee with a well-placed stomp it should demoralize his friends enough to give us the upper hand. Brian's a wild-card in all of this: he's drunk enough that he could easily trip over himself, or fly into a berserker rage.
Thankfully, it turns out there spokesperson, a girl with a perpetually jaded expression, is just as intent as we are on avoiding some shit. Other people in the group want Brian to kow-tow to her, but she cuts them off with a imperious wave and says that he need only apologize to the mafia princess. I translate, all while a dorky guy in glasses is talking smack, buzzing around in my ear. I finally snap and bark in his face, asking him if he's going to let me translate. He pauses a beat and returns in kind, asking me what the hell I'm doing shouting his face. We stare at each other. Actually I change my mind. Let me show you how invincible you're not.
The girl gets between us and I finish translating for Brian. He shakes his head and apologizes to the girl, and we go back inside. I make to wave apologetically at the girl but she bats away my hand in disgust. Fine, I'll give you that one. The bouncer spouts some platitudes of us needing to be careful since we don't know the area. Yeah, a lot of fucking good you were.
I find myself in the bar with little desire to do anything but leave. Spotting the bigger guy at the bar I look at him before sighing and patting him on the shoulder:
Me: "I'm sorry about my friend, for all this shit."
Big Guy: "No, it's all cool. It's not a big deal. Sometimes you just have to back up your friends."
Me: "Yeah, I hear you."
Guy turns out to be really cool about it. Glad we didn't start shit. And as a bonus, I don't have to worry about getting jumped anymore! After this bright point, my mood quickly sours though, and I realize just why I hate clubs so goddamn much: most of the people in them suck.
There is no happy ending to this story. Dreams fails to live up to its name, and as I sit on the steps, waiting for Brian to putter out with another stuck-up tart, my eyes follow the drunkards staggering into taxis. Pretty soon it will be our turn. At least I didn't do anything I regretted- oh wait, yes I did, I came to this fucking club.
The next morning dawns bright and early through sheer curtains. I try to ignore the sunlight streaming in, but at last I heave out of bed with a groan and make for the bathroom. As I'm washing the grit from my eyes in the shower, I catch sight of this delightful surprise:
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| Yeah, I posted it Brian. |
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| Fezzik: You don't look so good. You don't smell so good either. Inigo: Perhaps no, but I feel fine. |
And that's it. That's my vacation through Taiwan. No pithy, meaningful ending BECAUSE NOW I HAVE MY MORNINGS BACK. Honestly, it's probably going to be a while until I get to go on the next one. Until then, I'll just have to post tutorials about how to eat tropical fruit. Was that a joke, or am I serious? Stay tuned...
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