See my full photo set on flickr here. Or, see the abbreviated version, below.
I spent Sept. 18-21 in Taipei, Taiwan, with my friend Anna. Here’s a brief recap:
We met cool people
We ate great food
It was hot.
We even saw a wooly mammoth
This concludes my photo montage from Taipei. For more, go here. It’ll be worth your while.
I now know enough about Dr. Sun Yat Sen’s history as it relates to Taiwan to sound knowledgeable should the topic come up at a cocktail party or during a game of Diplomacy (or a real-life diplomatic meeting, for that matter). This is thanks to a friendly English-speaking tour guide in Sun Yat-Sin Memorial Hall in Taipei. That Grace was such a sweetheart. After my traveling-partner Anna and I watched the changing of the guard, dear Grace approached us and offered her assistance. She was a splendid guide and presented us with gifts after we completed surveys. And Grace was not the only local to offer to help make our trip a memorable one (in a good way).
Themes of a weekend spent in Taiwan: Hospitality, gifts, fun, funny.
The hotel gave us beers and “fairy tale” face masks. After we visited the National Palace Museum, our cabbie took us to his friend’s tea house before dropping us off at the famous Din Tai Fung dumpling joint. The detour, free-of-charge, was both unexpected and wonderful. I sampled the best tea I’ve had in my 26.5 years on Earth. Anna and I learned the following, thanks to Lin the cabbie:
“Taiwan tea, No. 1
Taiwan Beer, No. 2
Taiwan dumpling, No. 3.”
Mainland tea - “not too good, not too bad, so-so.” Or, in Mandarin, “mamahuhu.” I don’t know how correct that is, but Lin sure got a hoot out of us repeating him. He also had some fun things to say in his comparison of Americans and Japanese. I’m glad to be the former, at least for the purposes of that cab ride.
Yes, eventually we wound up at Din Tai Fung and I ate the best dumplings in the world. I don’t need to eat another dumpling to prove it. There simply is no way a ball of filling and soup steamed in a perfectly shapen noodle can taste any better than it did the two times we were there.
Other highlights of the trip: break dancers in Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall; pork pepper buns at the Shilin Night Market; watching the cat-and-mouse game between cops and night-market vendors; lovely lattes at the SPOT Film House; never making it to another tea house (it wasn’t in our destiny); signs that made me LOL (pictures tk); damper babies in Taipei 101; Monster Ice; a highly interactive Wooly Mammoth Exhibition; pigs in the street…
I was going to title this post “In case the world ends today,” but that doesn’t really make sense. If we’re all dead, no one will read this. At least not unless the Internet archive is preserved in the black hole and some extra-terrestrial being discovers it and learns that Emily, of the Eating Healthy With Emily blog, loves her family and friends and wishes them well in whatever’s up next.
Oh, and I’d like to pass along my favorite joke to said extra-terrestrial being:
Where does a king keep his armies?
(See comments section for answer. If comments section was dessimated in black hole created by Large Hadron Collider, sorry. Figure it out for yourself.)
Yesterday, that’s Tuesday, I conducted a test of the Hong Kong medical-care system. Outpatient only. I’ll tell you now, in two words, it passed. Now I’ll tell you, in more words, why. Then I’ll leave it up to you to compare with the medical-care system wherever you may be. This is a survey based on only one hospital and one ear, nose and throat specialist. First, the hospital.
Adventist Hospital, No. 40 Stubbs Road, is easily accessible via taxi from Central pier. It’s situated on a mountain near the building that Bruce Stanley described to me as looking like a wafer. Its wafer-like qualities are obvious: A thin building that looks like it could snap when presented with a strong wind or chance Godzilla encounter. The hospital, meanwhile, is more sturdy. If I’d looked closer, I might’ve seen that it is nestled into the mountain. But I didn’t look closely. I just walked in. So maybe it’s a wafer too. The ladies behind the information desk helpfully pointed me to the outpatient clinic, for which I saw the signs upon entering the lobby but doubted a trip to the outpatient clinic could be so easy. Note, also, that I made an appointment at this outpatient clinic, with a Dr. Maria Wong, about an hour prior to hopping in the taxi that would take me up the mountain.
“Second window on the left, past the cashier.” Thank you.
I produce my insurance card and Hong Kong ID, agree to fill out one page of registration information and then wait in Area 1. There isn’t anyone else waiting in my area, or in Areas 2-4, which reside in a curved hallway past the water dispenser that doesn’t have hot water, “for the safety of the children.”
I was 20 minutes early for my 3 p.m. appointment, so I figured I had at least 30 minutes to kill. So I dial my pal Dan in Singapore to reschedule our 2:30 conversation. How kind of him to agree. My calling from a hospital seems to stir in him a tinge of worry. I’m fine. My throat is swollen. It’s a nice hospital, I say. Next call, to a colleague to obtain directions to the ENT specialist he recommended. Sounds easy enough. I know exactly where Pedder Street meets Queens Road Central. I’ll take a taxi.
Ah, nurse Tina is ready for me. She’s the nicest lady. Sympathetic, encouraging. She even ordered me to take one week’s holiday. Why isn’t she a doctor? She compliments me on my blood pressure. I guess my temperature was ok. She didn’t say otherwise. A few minutes later, I’m talking to Dr. Maria Wong. I have to keep reminding people that my throat is just swollen, not sore. This is about the sixth occurrence in three years. Antibiotics. Get more rest. I warn Dr. Maria Wong that my throat really doesn’t look so great. It took her less than a second’s examination to agree. She then proceeded to fill out the reference sheet required by my insurance. I have tonsillitis. “Go to bed before midnight.”
I smile and nod. I leave work at 1:45 a.m.
A stop at the cashier on the way out (remember, I passed it on the way in?) was so easy that I doubted they’d really processed my visit. My insurance had been billed. Thank you, byebye.
The ENT visit wasn’t as fun as the hospital, but it was still “good-plus.” Again, it took the doctor (Dr. Lap Ching Wong, specialist in Otorhinolarynology) less than a second to agree with me that there is something wrong with my throat. Tonsillitis. Got it. If it happens again, we both agree, we’ll turn those puppies into medical waste.
Not much to say from today. I met for the first time with my Chinese-English language exchange partner, Prudence. We seemed to hit it off well.
Ok, so it was a bit of an emo day. You know what, that happens. Sometimes I feel like I’m an open book. But not a normal book — more like Tom Riddle’s diary. Just not in an evil, murderous, sacrificing Jenny Weasley way. Right.
The Boilers are playing football right now, and I’m missing it. But I didn’t forget to recite the pre-game reading: “I am an American”
I am an American. That’s the way most of us put it, just matter of factly. They are plain words, those four: you could write them on your thumbnail, or sweep them across this bright autumn sky. But remember too, that they are more than just words. They are a way of life. So whenever you speak them, speak them firmly, speak them proudly, speak them gratefully. I am an American.
This weekend started off somewhat like the last, with me going out after lockup* and catching the sunrise ferry. At home, I took the elevator to the roof of my building to see what I could see. And what I saw shook me. It shook me. The scene was so beautiful that it was all I could do to call a dear friend and attempt to share so that I did not feel … what? Alone with the enormous majesty? Selfish for attempting to devour every detail?
I counted 11 islands before the call. Then right after I counted 13. They kept appearing, surprising, standing against the sky slowly changing. I took them in one by one. We traded good mornings and in the water and the birds I could hear Hong Kong whisper. Before that I’d never held it as a possibility that a city so busy, so harried and unabashed in its quest to expand outward and upward could possibly do something so gentle and meek. It shook me. The surprise, it was almost sneaky the way Hong Kong seemed to, for that eternal moment, envelop me and yet catapult me to the top of … what? The moment? I guess that’s all it could be. It was just me. Look…
Down: Big rocks meet sand and give way to the bay, calm with only the smallest fishing boats out so early, and they don’t change the roll of the tide the way the ferries and barges and typhoons do. There are sunrise birds here too, and they make a happy sound. They would soon be silent, giving way to the water’s song. Maybe they’re listening too.
Left: For the first time I looked left from my building and didn’t see Disneyland. It was still there, sure, but I saw past it. I saw the bay where the ferry comes in, the mountains beyond it. I slowly recognized the island, from the mountains farthest from me to the plaza just out of view.
Straight: Hong Kong Island and Kowloon. The sun is rising behind the city of 7 million. The sky is pink, light blue, a bit of soft peach, and white with tall clouds. I can’t exactly make out buildings, but the shapes of the buildings. I wonder what I look like to them. I wonder if anyone else is seeing this, hearing this, feeling how I’m feeling. You wouldn’t think all this could happen every day, but of course it does. I laugh at entertaining the thought that today is special because the sun is rising. But I suppose, as with many things (moments, stories, lives), the fact that there’s someone present to savor it is what makes this sunrise special.
Right: The south, as my friend Shan who lives five floors above me says, is the best view. I think it has something to do with the way the wind blows. To the south is where I see the most islands. They’re all fairly small, so I can pretty easily tell which mountains are too far apart to be on the same island. The world goes on so far from the farthest mountaintop I see.
Thanks for reading.
*lockup: Newspapers have deadlines, aka lockup. For us, it’s the time when the last page has to be received by the printing press in order to start the press run on time. Minutes cost money.