台风: Typhoon Running and House Warming

My apologies on having to cancel our housewarming party at the last minute, but Typhoon Saola was most insistent that we reschedule.  And to think that all those tea-leaf eggs went to waste…  But I digress.  For the non-Mandarin speakers out there, you may have noticed that I’ve included characters in the title of each entry.  I’ve included explanations of each so that you too can enjoy the beauty and mystery of the Chinese  language family.  Today’s word is 台风 (tai feng), which is pronounced tie/fung, and means ‘typhoon.’  And how appropriate, given the over-zealous welcome that Typhoon Saola greeted us with on Wednesday morning. 

Yes, nature is a fickle companion on the travelers’ road.  An unwary soul may be caught off-guard.  And one of nature’s most pernicious affinities is its penchant for combining unlike things in, shall we say, unnatural ways.  Things that should not be brought together.  Things that are better left unassociated.  When such unholy unions arise, the results can be most dire. 

Take, for example, the mild-mannered saola, an elusive bovine said to frequent remote stretches of Laos and Vietnam.  A creature whose understated sensibilities and mythic rarity have inspired such names as ‘the Asian unicorn’ and ‘the polite animal' (for its dainty forest footfalls).  A noble beast.  And yet.

When combined with the indefatigable ferocity of a tropical typhoon, it is alarming how rapidly the saola will relinquish its mantle of docility.  I myself lack the capacity to put into words the nature of the deviant spawn resulting from this trans-phenomenological-breeding.  Luckily for our intellectual indulgence, the blogger Kazeko does not share my communicative deficiency, a fact for which the world is both a bit more demystified and slightly more alarming.       

What does one get by combining an idyllic woodland creature
and an insatiable force of nature?

In all seriousness, though, Typhoon Saola did cause a considerable amount of damage and suffering over the past several days, claiming at least 26 lives in the Philippines and another 5 in Taiwan.  We were very fortunate in Kaohsiung to be shielded from the worst of it, and our fellow ETAs in Yilan and Jinmen also came through the storm safely.  Please keep those who were not as fortunate in your thoughts and prayers during the days and weeks ahead.  For more in-depth coverage of Typhoon Saola, please consider the following links: BBC News Video, Washington Times Article.

In light of the storm, our original plan of using Thursday to set up bank accounts, get cell phones, and take care of other logistical details fell through.  Fonda emailed us in the morning to tell us that we instead would be staying put and enjoying our first typhoon holiday.  This turned out to be a blessing, as it gave us an opportunity to settle in and get our apartment cleaned up. 

Without a multitude of errands to run, the morning began at a far more leisurely pace than anticipated.  We watched out the windows of our flat as masses of grey clouds gathered over the cityscape, streaking past more rapidly than they had any right to.  Rain fell for much of the morning, usually at a moderate rate, but sometimes more heavily.  And the wind rushed convincingly through the palm trees as though on its way to a Wall Street power-broking session.  The Weather Channel forecast seemed a bit ominous with its talk of a category-two typhoon and 20-30 mph winds, but to be honest everything seemed to hold up fairly well.  It all seemed more interesting than threatening from our vantage point, at least. 

But before long the idea of remaining continually inside, a mere day removed from countless hours spent cooped up in airplane seats, became increasingly unagreeable.  I soon succumbed to a case of ‘pagoda fever’, an East Asian variant of the ‘cabin’ variety commonly observed in Canada.  (Disclaimer: no, I don’t have any reason to believe that this is a real thing).  So I checked the weather forecast again, checked to make sure I hadn’t misplaced my health insurance card, and laced up my New Balances for a bit of typhoon running.

I thought it would feel pretty bad-ass, but the environment wasn’t overly accommodating to my aspirational machismo.  Unsurprisingly, the streets were fairly deserted, so I really had the roads to myself aside from the occasional poncho-donning scooter persons.  Problem is that the morning’s constant rain had made the sidewalks slick as bowling lanes and the pavement was nearly as bad.  I didn’t fall, although I half-expected to, and no one was around to see one way or the other anyway.  So away I went, vaulting gingerly over fallen branches and debris on the pathways around the Kaohsiung Cultural Center, praying that I wouldn’t end up flat on my back. 

Before long, I began making my way through the neighborhood side-streets around our apartment, in my vain search for more sure footing.  But the sidewalks were wet no matter where I went, and dodging dozens of parked scooters didn’t showcase my gracefulness any more than the branches had.  But I kept going.  I saw some stray cats slinking between dank alleyways and unattended food stands.  I saw a fruit stand where I decided to stop on my way back to buy a banana.  And I ran along a nearby side street that sported a host of intriguing dining options, including a small Thai-Burmese restaurant and an Indian-Pakistani place with signs out front offering baked Mexican bread.  The Thai spot especially caught my eye, because of the clever word play in its name.  In Mandarin, it’s called thai haochi, which means ‘Thai Delicious’ but is also a homonym for ‘too delicious’.  I’m sure we’ll try them both before long.

I finished my run walking through a gentle drizzle, trying to find the corner fruit stand I had passed thirty minutes earlier.  Never did find it, so I settled for an egg and tomato sandwich from one of the few shops that wasn’t closed.  On my way back up to our apartment, I came across our neighbors across the hall, an elderly Taiwanese couple in their 60s or 70s.  They greeted me pleasantly, and we exchanged a few words, only some of which I understood.  They asked about our plans in Kaohsiung and I told them about how we would be teaching.  They asked more about my roommates, and I don’t think my clumsy explanations addressed their inquiry as to why I was living together with three women in their 20s.  Still, the couple was kind and welcoming, and we amicably parted ways in polite confusion.  

The first roommate picture
From left: Brey, Ryan, Melissa, Amanda

For the rest of the afternoon, my roommates and I sorted through the mounds of sheets, dishes, and discarded toiletry items left behind by previous Fulbright grantees from the last several years.  Our landlord Michael sifted through piles with us, lamenting the cost of some heavy purple rugs that a previous grantee had requested, but we no longer needed.  But he seems to be a well-meaning, affable man with helpful hands and a quick wit.  He told us a bit about his life as a DINK (double-income-no-kids) and his midlife 'halftime break', which he currently spends watching basketball and helping tired Americans go through old things they don’t want to keep. 

With our landlord, Michael

Fulbright Kaohsiung ETA Apartment A: Before

When the humidity and rummaging began to take its toll, Michael took us on a short tour of the neighborhood.  He gently encouraged us to abandon our attachment to the next-door 7-11’s convenience, and brought us to a nearby grocery store which offers better selection on many goods, which are about 20% cheaper.  He even helped us apply for a discount card.  He told us which restaurants in the area were worth frequenting and which weren’t.  He told us that we were free to use the bicycles that he had placed outside our front door, providing that we came to him with any mechanical problems rather than trying to find a repair shop on our own.

And on the way back, he lead us by the corner fruit stand I had discovered briefly during my morning run.  He held the mangoes up to our noses, and told us how to tell by smell whether they were ripe.  He recommended a new fruit that none of us had tried before—a small, grape-sized one that comes in bunches and has a smooth, brown skin: the Chinese call them dragon eyes.  As we ambled our way home, loaded down with paper towel, shampoo, and dragon eyes, the happenings of the past few days mulled around in my head.  I thought of Michigan, with all its familiar sights and scents, and smiled in a way that made me feel a little sad.  Should it be so very easy for a place so different to so quickly feel like home?

After