St. Patrick’s Day in Taichung, Taiwan
I went to Taichung, Taiwan in 1990 with the hope of teaching English. At that time, private language schools called booshi bans were illegal. I, like most booshi ban foreign teachers, enrolled in Chinese language classes to be able to hold a student visa. That is no longer necessary and booshi bans are legal and as busy as ever.
I sit in Taichung on this St. Patrick’s Day listening to Irish music on the one English radio station. I’m settling into sort of a routine, but there’s always the unpredictable. I got lost on the bus yesterday because the same bus number didn’t work in reverse. I’ve begun teaching and love it. These students have the same quiet, respectful behavior with teachers as I found in China. Some have given themselves English names. One in my class today named himself Handsome. Chinese like their names to have meaning!
I’ve started studying Chinese six hours a week. It’s clear already that I won’t be a star student, but I do have a Chinese name given me by my teacher. Chinese words are actually written as characters and each character can have four different tones. So, even saying my own name is somewhat tricky. My name is Su Hua Lan. Su is just a surname. Hua with a rising tone is in the Chinese word for “China” and also means “brilliant” or “splendid.” Lan, also with a rising tone, means “orchid.” So, now I too have a name with a meaning. Splendid Chinese Orchid — that’s me.
This place sometimes lulls me into thinking it’s western, but then I am shocked to see and hear small trucks carrying large gongs and strangely dressed people. I was told it’s a kind of funeral. And there are so many motor scooters on the roads carrying entire families — dad driving, mom on the back carrying a baby on her back, with perhaps two kids squashed in between them plus one standing in front of the dad.
I still have no answer as to why many people on motor scooters and motorcycles wear their jackets backward. Is it some kind of unwritten dress code something like the boys in China who ride a bike with one hand in their pocket? In a small park, I saw old men having an amateur singing contest complete with electric organ accompaniment and microphones. It wasn’t very melodic, but seemed much healthier than American retirees discussing their ailments and money. When I see these things, I know I’m not in the west.
There are many things I do not understand about the lifestyle in the house I’m living in. Mama Chen seems to like me although all she can say to me is, “Ah, yes,” without understanding a word. However, when I told her I wanted to begin paying money for staying there, she emphatically and clearly said, “No, no, no money.”
So, I try to do little helpful things around the house. I’m giving little Theresa English lessons. She’s an incredibly spoiled six-year-old child whose mother chases her around the house feeding her with chopsticks because she won’t sit and eat. So I was quite surprised to find that she can sit and concentrate on English with me for a whole hour.
In trying to be helpful around the house, I sometimes wash the dishes in the sink. The other day I cleaned the wok used for most of the cooking and stir-frying. But, some fish had stuck to it and I cleaned it too well. These pans are seasoned through layers of oil and years of cooking. In the morning, I saw the wok lying on its side on the floor with rust on it where I had overzealously scrubbed. I washed off the rust and rubbed oil on it. It looked okay to me, but the next day I noticed that the offending wok had been carried off and banished to I know not where. A smaller, newer wok has appeared on the stove. No word was ever mentioned. Perhaps Mama Chen has forgiven me as a stupid foreigner.
Cleaning house is erratic. One night, however, at 11:30 at night, Mama Chen stripped to her panties and bra and started a frenzy of cleaning which lasted until after 1 a.m. Some cleaning was maintenance, but she included re-arranging the furniture.
Another puzzling aspect to me is the special code of shoes on and off, where which slippers can be worn, especially different slippers for the kitchen and bathroom, with only bare feet allowed on rugs. On a very rainy day, I wore my flip-flops out in the rain. When I later used the same dry flip-flops in the house, Mama Chen looked down at my feet and uttered “Dirty.”
Emily’s English is better than her mother’s, but I think she often doesn’t understand me. However, like most Chinese, she pretends she does. Usually, as soon as Emily and I begin to talk, her daughter starts yelling in one ear, and her mother starts yelling in her other ear. So, my words get lost in the middle. We managed one good conversation when she came to my room at midnight, and we talked until 2 a.m.
Tags: Taichung, Taiwan; booshi bans in Taiwan; Taiwanese culture, Travel
