Lotuses 连 bloom along the Liangma River 亮马河
In my last post you may recall I spilled too many words bemoaning my fragile but comfortable life as an expat. One of the things that chapped my hide in particular was the sense of entitlement enjoyed by some of the more vocal Americans living here (though I'm sure other nationalities have their fair share of Karens and whatever moniker we apply to men living amongst them). I recently was alerted to this gem of a question posed in one of the work-related WeChat groups:
"Does anyone know if people housed at (an internationally famous 5-star hotel chain) get access to the hotel breakfast?"
For clarification, the person posing this query is living in a serviced apartment operated by said hotel (and, in fact, located in the same building), with the U.S. government paying all costs associated with rent and utilities. I don't know the answer to this question (I assume it depends on the hotel), nor did I see any replies (I clear my WeChat feed of irrelevant messages every evening before going to bed). But it wouldn't come as a surprise if, should the answer be "no", the follow-up question would ask if the USG could lobby with the hotel to include breakfast access. I've read similar chains in the past.
Chaoyang Park 朝阳公园
But at least queries like the above aren't confined solely to diplomatic circles. Case in point is the following post I recently read in a Facebook group dedicated to hiking in Taiwan:
"Need advice on how to avoid student group crowds when hiking near Taipei. Is there a fixed time when they do their trips?
Last year in October, I went to Caoling Historic Trail 草嶺古道. It was gorgeous, but to my surprise, it was extremely busy at the bottom, there were dozens of large student groups, high-school or middle-school students I think. It was a regular weekday, not a weekend or holiday or day next to a holiday, which I always check for and avoid. Fortunately, it wasn’t busy at the top, it seems the student groups were just finishing their hike when I started (around 11 am). Still, I‘m wondering what that was, is there like a collective local class excursion day or sth? Need to understand this so that I don’t run into those crowds again next time I go."
I can completely sympathize with these kinds of First World problems. What are Taiwanese students doing outdoors in the first place, learning about their country and its environment, when they should be in their classrooms cramming for the next all-important exam? The trails are the purview of the resident wàiguóréns 外國人, at least outside of public holidays and weekends.
Our aspiring baker (of apple pies, not cats)
There was a similar query a couple of months ago, actually, in a Japan-related FB group. In that case, the OP was complaining about the groups of Japanese students visiting Nijō Castle 二条城 in Kyōto 京都 on the same day as the poster, and also wondering if there was a way to find out the itineraries of such student groups in order to avoid them in the future. The main difference was in the replies. In the Taiwan-related example above, almost all respondents sympathized with the OP. However, with our inconvenienced gaijin 外人 visitor, most of the replies ridiculed the question (and the person posting it), pointing out that with Japan's recent struggles with over tourism, they should consider themselves fortunate they only had to deal with students. Others rightfully criticized the OP for feeling put upon by the sight of Japanese students learning about Japanese culture and history.
Can the conclusion be drawn that waiguoren in Taiwan feel more entitled than their gaijin counterparts in Japan? See further down this post...
We now take you to the real world, where I was recently largely homebound for the better part of ten days while dealing with the latest encounter with COVID-19 (my third time, for those scoring at home). The long-awaited negative test coincided with the American Independence Day, which I celebrated by donning my Belgian Red Devils soccer jersey for an evening out with the child at Goose Island Brewery:
The first Sunday in July was a hot 'n' humid one, with the temperature getting up to 33°C/91°F. Nonetheless, we hopped on a couple of shared bikes and rode out to Sanlitun 三里屯, Beijing's hub for haute couture and fine dining (old China hands tell me the area used to have a fairly wild nightlife, but those days are long since gone). The building housing Dior was covered in a street map of Paris:
Our next-door neighbor has a cat, Meow-Meow, who likes to visit our place, much to Timi's delight:
On one Saturday it was rainy in the morning but the temperature was relatively cool at 27°C/81°F. I had to pick up a prescription from the hospital so once the rain ceased, the two of us rode bikes over there. Afterward, we had lunch at Great Leap Brewing 大约啤酒. I'm not normally a brunch guy - I'm usually famished upon waking up, and the thought of having to shower, get dressed, travel, order and finally wait for the food to come to the table before eating is almost beyond comprehension. However, I do like to order off brunch menus when they're available, which is what I did on this occasion. I also went with the suggested brew, a Grapefruit Hazy IPA, to pair with the artery-clogging English breakfast I ordered:
That's an answer best left to the academics. I was struck by the fact that the majority of customers perusing the racks were mainly young Asian-looking people speaking American-accented English:
The museum also had for sale DPRK souvenirs such as stamps, books by the Kims (some in English), original art prints and so on. I wanted to buy some, but seeing as the proceeds probably go directly to the DPRK government I thought better. The fact I was also wearing a State Department T-shirt played a role in the decision-making process. I probably shouldn't have even paid the 40 CNY ($5.50) admission for the two of us, but what's done was done.
Standing outside with a replica of Pyongyang's Chollima Statue. Solidarity with and power to the working class:
One weekday afternoon I went to the Aijiangshan Korean restaurant 爱江山韩国料理 for lunch with some work colleagues. Some of the side dishes that came with our food:
Speaking of which, Amber has been joining me for lunch at the embassy cafeteria on most weekdays. Here she is admiring the lotuses on the way back home:
Dinner one evening at a local izakaya 居酒屋. Is the name 天晴 "Tianqing" (Mandarin) or "Appare" (Japanese)? The oshibori おしぼり wet hand towel wrapper would suggest the latter:
While we were at the izakaya Amber shared some photos she took at the Shengang Daming Temple 神岡大明宮 when we was in Taiwan last month. She was surprised to see some soldiers out front, presumably on some sort of exercise. One of them came to the rescue with his cigarette lighter when my daughter, wife and mother-in-law had difficulty lighting their ghost money:
Not ours, in case you were wondering:
We managed to make it home before the onset of one of Beijing's many summer downpours:
..I have a few more things to get off my chest. Like this jewel, courtesy of another Taiwan-focused Facebook group:
"It's no secret Taiwanese people love foreigners in general. Taiwan is one of the most foreigner-friendly countries on earth (especially to westerners), and it has constantly been named one of the best places in the world for expats."
I've blogged on this ad nauseum in the past, but I'll write about it again: there are two bubbles that many Western expats in Taiwan often find themselves sucked into. The first is the Taipei 台北 one, where the Western resident assumes that the relative cosmopolitanism of Taiwan's capital that they encounter seemingly every day must naturally be replicated elsewhere around the island.
Spoiler alert: it's not.
"Day My Chill City Walk In"?
The other involves that aforementioned "friendliness". To a Caucasian waiguoren hailing from Australia, Europe or North America the Taiwanese people generally can seem like a welcoming bunch (when they're not at the controls of a motorized vehicle). But there is a large (and largely invisible) population of foreigners from other (mostly Southeast Asian) lands toiling away on the Beautiful Isle who might beg to differ. Ask an Indonesian caregiver, Thai factory worker or Vietnamese spouse their experiences with this supposed "foreigner friendliness", and the answers may differ. "Maria from the Philippines" (meaning a housekeeper working for affluent families) was an object of ridicule among the adult students I used to teach in Fengyuan 豐原, and not a hardworking immigrant worthy of admiration or respect who came to Taiwan to make a better life not only for herself, but but for her family back home.
But if you're a white guy living in Taipei, you wouldn't want to read about this, right?
Then there was a gem I came across in yet another Facebook group (yes, I do spend a lot of time online), this one devoted to Japanese gardens abroad. I didn't copy the quote, but the poster was specifically criticizing group members in England for the "gaudiness" of the "Japanese gardens" they had made for themselves in their English backyards. As much as I wanted to reply, I've been trying to avoid getting drawn into pointless online "debates", so I bit my virtual lip and held my virtual tongue. But I've noticed a tendency in this group for certain Westerners to take it upon themselves the burden of determining what is and isn't "Japanese" about their private gardens members share on FB. As far as I can tell, none of them are professional gardeners or landscapers with first-hand experience working in 日本庭園, nor are they academics who have extensively studied the cultural and historical aspects of traditional gardens. But that doesn't stop them from chastising others for using too many browns and reds in their designs.
Sorry, ladies, but this handsome devil has been fixed
For a brief time I was part of a Facebook group dedicated to the study of Shintō 神道. Or at least that's what I thought it was. However, it soon became clear the majority of the members consisted of Westerners determined to remake Japan's indigenous religion into an eco-friendly "green" New Age faith. The group's admins actively discouraged the sharing of any articles from Mimusubi, a blog run by one David Chart, an English-born author who works for Jinja Honchō 神社本庁 and has written extensively (and objectively) on the subject of Shinto. As the group continued to get itself bogged down in the self-righteous mire of cultural appropriation, I thought it best to move on (and without any announcements or parting shots).
I'd like to embrace the philosophy of Timiism, which is centered around food, sleep and the worship of the sun:
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