Coping with Covid / Frolicking in Formosa*

The new and the old meet on the streets of Beijing

*Not me, but it is(was) the girls who are (were) enjoying themselves in Taiwan, while I remain stuck here in Beijing 北京 where, when I'm not working, I'm incarcerated in our house dealing with the effects of our old friend COVID-19. Again. 

Yes, up until the last day of June my wife and daughter have been in Taichung 台中, spending time with family there (and in Xiluo 西螺) before Amber heads off to university this fall. What follows are some photos sent to me via the miracle of WeChat 微信:

Eating Páigǔ 排骨 (pork cutlet) for lunch after landing at Taoyuan International Airport 臺灣桃園國際機場, proving they were now back on the island of their births:

It's the story of my life: every time I leave somewhere after having lived there a number of years, the living environment at the old address greatly improves on extremely superficial levels, such as a MOS Burger モスバーガー outlet opening inside the Izumi-Tamagawa Station 和泉多摩川駅 building (at least according to Google Maps), naturally after I had moved away from the neighborhood. Or this case in point: we left Taiwan (or, to be more specific, Fengyuan 豐原) in 2012 when the U.S. government made an egregious mistake by offering me a job. During the time we were living there, Taiwan was a desert when it came to good beer (unless for some bizarre reason you enjoy the taste of Taiwan Beer 台灣啤酒 or Heineken, in which case you would think you were in paradise). Of course, now that I'm gone even Fengyuan has a brew pub. And to really rub salt into the wounds, offerings from Mister Donut (a guilty, sugary pleasure) can be readily found now at 7-Elevens, a fact my daughter gleefully teased me about on WeChat:

Having a look inside a pet shop in Fengyuan:

I asked the wife if she could make space in her suitcase for the snake and turtle, but for some inexplicable reason she doesn't want to get in involved in illicit wildlife smuggling:

At a teahouse in central Taichung:

This is Happy. He was one of two cats we had in Fengyuan; his name is derived from Hēipí 黑皮, meaning "black skin" in Mandarin, and indicative of the lack of imagination Shu-E showed when it came to naming animals. I had wanted to get a Siamese; She Who Must be Obeyed, however, insisted any new feline had to be black. Hilariously Ironically,  Happy would have nothing to do with my wife (or daughter), preferring my company instead. A man's cat, in other words.

Unfortunately, not knowing that pets can be shipped virtually anywhere around the world at American taxpayers' expense, we gave away our cats before moving to the U.S. Momo, the other resident feline, was given to one of Shu-E's nieces, with whom he still lives. Happy was gifted to one of my sisters-in-law in Xiluo, where he remains to this day. And does so on his own terms. My wife's sister feeds him and cleans his litter box; he returns the kindness by hiding from both the family and anyone who visits the multistory house. Amber managed to get this photo of Happy lounging on a stair. It's the first time I've seen evidence of him in more than a dozen years, despite visiting the in-laws on numerous occasions during that time:

On another occasion the girls stopped in Lukang 鹿港 and Baishatun 白沙屯, the latter a coastal town I have never visited. Baishatun is home to Baishatun Gongtian Temple 白沙屯供天宫, ground zero for the Baishatun Mazu Pilgrimage 白沙屯媽祖進香, an annual act of worship with which my wife has become oddly obsessed in recent years. Is this only a normal stage in a typical Taiwanese woman's life as she enters middle age, or should I be afraid? Am I, in turn, going to start watching televangelists and donating my accumulated savings after I retire? Where's my MAGA hat?! You know I need my MAGA hat before I can sit down to watch Fox News! 

Lukang:

Baishatun:

Amber with her uncle (aka my brother-in-law):

At one of the temples the girls visited, they purchased some amulets. The green one on the left was for me:

And here it is, pretentiously posed atop a book so as to draw your attention to what I'm currently reading. The amulet is for the continuance of good health, something that has been elusive in recent years. I'll bring it with me this weekend when I go back to the hospital for an EMG:

On another day in Formosa, the spouse and offspring made a day trip to Nantou 南投 and Gukeng 古坑, the latter another town I've never visited. Apparently they lunched at a seafood restaurant that had its own aquarium:

(At this point I should probably clarify that even though this blog post makes several references to "Fengyuan", we actually lived in the adjoining township of Shengang 神岡 [both now districts of a supersized Taichung city]. However, our apartment building was close enough to the Fengyuan city limits that I could a lob a stone into it from our roof [provided a typhoon or strong gust of wind helped to carry the rock aloft]. Also, my mother- and brother-in-law live in Fengyuan, and most of my various workspaces were located there, so for all intents and purposes we were also residents. "Fengyuanites"?) 

Now that that has been established, our neighbors living below us in Shengang Fengyuan had a daughter the same age as ours named Jiayu. For a time our daughters even attended the same kindergarten in Fengyuan (not Shengang). Though we moved away when Amber was six, the girls occasionally get together whenever our daughter is back in Taiwan. Jiayu's father is very active in community affairs, so Amber joined Jiayu in volunteering at an elementary school event in the nearby district of Dongshi 東勢:

Afterward the girls were taken to the seaside for a bit of wading and a chance to take in the sunset:

At the start of this post I wrote that the girls had been enjoying themselves in Taiwan up until Sunday. Shu-E is still there, but a couple of days ago Amber made her first solo flight, traveling from Taoyuan back to Beijing. She lucked out with seat assignments, landing a window seat in an exit row:

Due to an unfortunate development (see below) I was unable to greet her at Beijing Capital Airport. I did meet her at Liangmaqiao Station 亮马桥站:

Timi welcomed her back in his own inimitable fashion:

And now this article pivots to the narrator. While the girls were spending time in the "breakaway province" I was wiling away the hours at the office and, after arriving home in the late afternoons, attempting to bond (not always successfully) with the resident feline. What follows is a short roundup of some of the activities with which I tried to occupy the free time...

Juneteenth is a U.S. government holiday, so while most people in China went to school or work as usual, I had the day to myself. Literally, as there was no one else at home with whom to share the holiday. The day was a scorcher - 36°C/97°F, dimming memories of this past winter when Beijing somehow set a record for consecutive hours with temperatures below freezing. The good old days, in other words. With nothing better to do, I dusted off the Trek and went for a bike ride along another portion of the Chaoyang Greenway 朝阳绿道, heat be damned:

I didn't get very far as the northern part of the cycling path ends where the fetid Bahe River flows under the Airport Expressway 机场高速公路 and China National Highway 101 京密路:

I did snap a pic of the Beijing Capital Airport Express Train (the same line my daughter used to get home on Sunday) heading into the central part of the city from the airport:

Babaoshan Funeral Home, Beijing's largest, which I visited on official business, one of the more unpleasant aspects of my line of employment:

The weekend before last I took the subway to Tsutaya 蔦屋. Tsutaya is not the name of a district or subway station,  but that of a large Japanese bookstore chain, though I had never been to a branch in China. The selection of tomes was for the most part limited (see below), with a few titles in Japanese and even fewer in English, but the store did have a good selection of Japanese baubles, novelties and trinkets, as well as stationary supplies. Included among the curios were these Daruma dolls だるま. I had long assumed the figures were almost always in red, but according to Amber (who learned this herself on her recent trip to Japan) they come in a symbolic assortment of colors: 

For some reason, the admittedly few bookstores I've stepped into in Beijing all seem to boast impressive selections of titles related to architecture and art, and Tsutaya was no exception:

Men's FUDGE magazine, with a featured article introducing its readers to Seoul. Shu-E and I are planning on traveling there this autumn, so we should pack some...never mind:

It took a lot of will power to resist spending RMB1657 ($230) on Hiroshige 歌川広重 and Keisai Eisen's 渓斎英泉 The Sixty-nine Stations of the Kiso Kaidō 木曽街道六十九次 woodblock print series:

Unsurprisingly Tsutaya had a good range of Japanese magazines:

After leaving the bookshop I decided to have a look around the area. Upon emerging from a shopping mall where everyone else inside was seemingly young enough to be my grandchild (not that I have any that I'm aware of), I emerged from the building to come across this memorial archway, standing across a busy road from Dongyue Temple 东岳庙:

And so, with nothing but time on my minds on this Saturday afternoon, I crossed the street to have a look at the Taoist temple dedicated (according to Lonely Planet) to the Eastern Peak of China's five Taoist mountains. A temple has stood in this location for more than 700 years since the Yuan dynasty 元朝. Or you can read the sign for yourself:

I was somewhat disturbed to find out that I am now old enough to be granted free admission to places like Dongyue Temple. At least the attendant was kind enough not to take my word for it, and asked to see my ID. I saved myself RMB10 ($1.40) thanks to the inevitability of the aging process:

According to Google Translate the lower line should read "Inheriting Chinese civilization":

Red tablets left by students beseeching Wenchang Wang 文昌王 for success in their studies:

The temple also had several rooms exhibiting various items from days gone by, unfortunately without any English explanations:

The most entertaining aspect of Dongyue Temple is the 72 displays depicting what awaits us in the next world, depending on how we comported ourselves in this one. These rooms did have bilingual explanations; unfortunately most of them have become unreadable over time, so I had no idea what role the ovine-like creature was playing in this diorama:

The temple was a pleasant break from the urban noise that surrounds it. The following day's weather was also a relatively pleasant break from the otherwise unrelenting heat wave, with the temperature that Sunday only reaching 29°C/84°F. This time I got back out on my bike and set off again on the Chaoyang Greenway, going south. The path went through a series of small parks that paralleled the East 4th Ring Road. There wasn't much of note, but kudos to the city authorities for providing their residents with these green spaces.  

I ventured off the cycling path at one point to follow what I thought might be an interesting small road. I ended up at the locked/blocked off rear entrance to an affluent-looking residential community. The guardhouse was abandoned, but the presence of a security camera prodded me to not to linger long:

No matter where you go in this world, public art is often in poor taste:

I've been ordering a lot of meals on the Meituan 美团 app while the girls are away. One evening I was in the mood for some Taiwanese dishes and so perused the online menu of Lao Zhang Beef Noodles 老張牛肉麵. However, not being in the mood for noodles, I ended up crafting a meal out of a series of side dishes. Temporary bachelor ingenuity:

And now for why this callous father coldheartedly forced his young daughter to travel by herself from the airport to her home in a foreign land. Early last week I took a sick day after developing a runny nose and a sore throat the previous evening. Cabin fever soon set in, however, and so I went outside for a walk even thought the temperature was 35°C/95°F. I was hoping to drive the virus out of my body in a torrent of sweat, but that strategy didn't seem to have worked:

The symptoms, in fact, continued to worsen, and an at-home Covid test would later confirm the worst. The third time has most certainly not been a charm, and I have been absent from work (to the consternation of my supervisor) for a week now. Symptoms have included fever, sore throat, runny nose, congestion and body aches. I've tested myself four times now, only to strike out each time. I'm hoping to return to work on Friday (though I did, in fact, go into an empty office on Sunday afternoon to try to alleviate some of the burdens caused by my extensive absence on my overworked colleagues, and plan to do so again on the morning of Independence Day), but it all depends on the last of my symptoms disappearing, along with a negative test.

As noted, this is the third time to come down with COVID-19, and each successive time feels worse than the preceding one. However, even at its worst, for me this has only felt like a rather bad case of the flu. No visits to the emergency room, no ventilators required in order to breathe. All things considered, I can't complain too much about the coronavirus. What I can whinge about, however, is the following rant which I had written a little while ago but shelved, and have now dusted off for your "enjoyment":

Four years, plus change. That's how much time lies ahead before I face mandatory retirement from the Foreign Service ("aging out"). I'm not hoping that day arrives quickly - at my age, the last thing I would wish is for the end of life to appear sooner rather than later. But at the same time I'm looking forward to no longer working. Or to be more specific, engaging in this particular line of employment. Call it burnout, ennui, exhaustion, fatigue or weariness, but I'm ready to leave the world of labor.

So if it's not already apparent, someone has arrived at the crossroads of a later-in-life existential dilemma, dumped there due to the following:

1. A sense of not belonging. Although I've been in the State Department for more than a dozen years, I've never felt that I've fit the profile of an FSO. Sure, I'm a bald, middle-aged white guy, and from a visual perspective resemble the ideal diplomat in this diversity-challenged corner of the federal government. But in many other respects I'm the proverbial square peg. I grew up in an ordinary middle-class family. I've worked in so many minimum-wage jobs I can't recall them all. I graduated from a public university at the ripe old age of 27, and only then after first attending a community college for a couple of years. I don't have a Master's, and have never spent time in the Peace Corps, studied abroad at a university affiliated with an American college, did a State Department internship or worked for an international organization. When I tell colleagues or their family members I used to teach English in Japan and Taiwan, more often than not the assumption is that I worked at an international school, like the one their kids (and mine) attend (for the record I worked primarily at 英会話学校 and 補習班). 

2. COVID-19 and my heart. Being ordered to "voluntarily" depart from Ethiopia during the pandemic, and then spending six months in an apartment in Alexandria, Virginia with virtually nothing to do, leaves a lot of time to think. As in "what the hell am I doing here?" It certainly didn't help when upon returning to Addis Ababa, I found myself at the airport chasing after distraught American citizens who had just been evacuated from a war zone in order to their signatures on promissory notes pledging to reimburse the federal government for the cost of the flight. Getting medevacked to Pretoria in the spring of 2021 for cardiac-related issues didn't do much either to positively encourage "career development". 

3. The constricted bubble. Overseas we live in semi-exclusive expatriate circles, partly for security reasons, but mainly because our socio-economic status vis a vis the host nations tends to place us in these environments. I'm not complaining (much) - our lodging is provided rent-free in housing stock a cut above that most locals live in, and there are numerous perks, such as having our children attend international schools with tuition paid by the State Department. But while many of my colleagues and their family members feel genuinely grateful to be afforded such benefits while overseas, there is a small but vocal minority who believe they are entitled to even more. And unfortunately my current job description often means having to deal with those who can't (or, more likely, won't) understand why local customs and laws have to be followed, why they have to put up with mismatched furniture, why the U.S. government can't provide mattresses that are more comfortable, or why god forbid they have to spend money of their own purchasing certain items on the local market (often at a fraction of the cost said items would go for back in the States). 

Having first arrived in Japan without a job or a visa, and then having to secure largely on my own employment, housing and legal permission to stay, all the while using my own funds, I would get angry listening to expats on generous company packages complain about the difficulties they were having living in Hiroo 広尾, Nishi-Azabu 西麻布 or some other gaijin ghetto. Having lived with my wife in an ugly row house in Shengang, (residing above my Taiwanese brother-in-law's label-making factory), I would feel resentment toward those Wàiguórén blathering about how wonderful it was living in Taiwan when they actually meant Taipei 台北, the country's relatively cosmopolitan capital/Potemkin Village. For them the provinces (meaning "counties" in the case of Taiwan) were places they would occasionally visit (and pat themselves on the back for doing so), while I had to live there full-time, dealing with the conservatism, ignorance, and gangster elements. 

So there you have it - a cringeworthy rant from an underserving, privileged pissant. 

Hope I feel better soon...

Strolling past the Iranian embassy