Rainy Taipei night with Venus

The eating continues on apace.  Every night there’s some new restaurant or savory delight to explore.  Most of our plans here tend to revolve around eating.  I have already impressed my cohorts with my immense appetite, and the strange vocalizations that occur when I eat something particularly satisfying.  (What can I say, I’m a hummer!  Love me as I am.)  The community here is fantastic.  Everyone at the TPR office makes me feel completely welcome, and the random people I meet have been warm and open as well.  Take, for example, the Muddy Basin Ramblers concert I attended last week at the Taipei Artist Village Cafe.  Aside from enjoying a great performance by a band that brings to mind both the Tiger Lillies and Squirell Nut Zippers, I also met a lovely woman from Brazil who gave me the lowdown on the best places for art and music in the city; members of the Taipei Swing Dancing Club which meets every Saturday for free; the guitar player for the gypsy jazz band I stumbled upon in Shida who delcared, "we must together play Edith Piaf music". 

In other words, I fear I am acclimating at a break neck pace.  Why do I "fear" this, you ask?  Because I can see already how easy it would be to stay, to devote myself to this adventure full-time, to enjoy a constant stream of tasty street snacks and $200 a month rent.  Of course, this is most likely a honeymoon period, the warm glow of infatuation, which will swiftly vanish at the first sign of reality.  But let's just say I can understand how people come here for one summer and stay for 12 years.

If there's one thing that gives me pause when I contemplate relocation it is most certainly the weather.  It is hot here.  And humid.  And sticky.  And moist.  In general there is an overabundance of moisture that is heated to a steamy level of gross wafting through the air.  And until recently there was no relief to be found in the sudden thunderstorm.  Instead it would just be a new kind of temporary wet, with quick return to tropical ass.  And then, finally, it truly rained.  Monday was a typical Taipei day - a morning of teaching, an afternoon of sweaty sightseeing, and a proper gorging for dinner.  One of the peculiarities of the city is that there seems to be a dearth of dive bars.  There are fancy bars a plenty, and more restaurants than any one island could possibly need, but I had not found a cheap, easy-going local.  Monday night this all changed.  After excellent Thai food with coworkers we walked off the food coma and crammed ourselves into a tiny, orange bar on one of those alleys-off-the-lane-off-the-road-off-the-highway-down-the-wormhole (yes, I will in fact never be able to find this place again on my own).  We were greeted by a beer-happy Taiwanese man who apparently frequents the place so regularly he sometimes pours the drinks.  The bar was a thick plank of wood.  Original artwork and newspaper clippings adorned the walls and ceiling.  The miniscule open kitchen somehow managed to turn out hotdogs and sausages that rival night market meat candy.  And the music?  Fado. 

While at the bar enjoying the discovery of chilled red wine, it began to rain.  None of us really took notice.  And then it poured.  It was like a medieval bloodletting.  It was as if all the the tension, illness, and pain of the city was suddenly scoured and washed away.  We quickly realized that there would be no cabs available, so we settled in for the late night.  Bottles of wine were opened.  Fried, spicy street snacks were shared.  And, as happens on all good drunken, foreign nights, a Taiwanese photograher declared my friend to be Venus and asked if he could capture her essence. 

We eventually made it home, and spent most of the following day holed up in the apartment. It rained so much, the city closed down. But we, of course, did not. There were noodles and dumplings and wine to be had, so we hunkered down in the magical Da an hostel apartment and made the most of the day. Mind you, we are living like college students, so I found myself drinking wine out of a bowl.  It doesn't matter.  This summer will be one long improvisation.  With any luck, wine bowls will only be the beginning. 

A few of my coworkers.  We're a responsible bunch.  When monsoon-like rains come down we go to high flooding areas, but at least we do inversions after that.  Because, you know, we care about our health.  Hence the red wine.  (Okay, full disclosure - they contemplated rainy adventures.  I took a nap.  I'm old!)

I do not understand why white wine is in such short supply here, but if the Taiwanese people will chill the red I'll sure as hell drink it.  Also, these people have mastered the art of deep-frying.  I'm serious, Scotland.  You're out of the running. Take your mars bars and go home. 

The Chaing Kai-shek Memorial Hall.  An imposing structure that houses many impressive artifacts from the man's life, as well as informative signs.  For example, I now know all about his personal style of dress, the ways in which artists immortalized him in ivory etchings, and that the communist revolution either never happened, or just wasn't really important enough to mention.  Also, there's a creepy, smiling wax figure of him in his "office".  Yeah, I'll totally be back.

I've got two amazing meals and some excellent musical experiences to discuss.  I've also got a hell of a work week ahead. But I'll try not to fall behind.  In the meantime, stay spicy!