I never enjoy arriving into a new city late at night, fatigue skews your senses, you lose sight of the sights around you and can only manage to take in the occasional billboard advertising ‘coca-cola’ or the neon glow of a downtown motel. Your excitement must wait till the following day to be quenched and thus the sleep is usually a parched affair. I had to endure this on top of the floundering butterflies frantically fluttering in my bowels as I prepared to meet Emma the following day.
Hostelworld.com’s 4-star lodgings weren’t fit for Saddam and a swarm of cockroaches, I’m certain the ‘roaches checked out of the International Scholars House long ago on grounds of unsanitary practices at the House. The pee stained paper was peeling from the walls, the bed looked like the birthplace of AID’s and the shower was probably tapped into the shit tank. My first peek of Taipei by day was of scores of scooters weaving in and out of each other amongst thick, smoggy air. First impressions certainly weren’t favourable and I hoped this wasn’t a sign of things to come.
Having checked out of the toilet hostel I set my bags down at Taipei Main Station and decided to scupper the idea of a day hike I’d thought about taking. I’d left Ninohe in such a hurry that I’d managed to completely forget all the maps and itineraries that had been meticulously researched during the previous couple of weeks, so I was blind in a city not used to foreign eyes. I strolled down one of the main thoroughfares and sought refuge in a side-street café to gauge my bearings. The scents and aromas wafting from the plethora of vendors tingled the senses. The hooded promenades kept the scents at ground level and fused them together so potently that it would send an anorexic down the road to gluttony. In a romantic sense I would say that you could have closed your eyes and let your nasal glands guide you through the streets but you’d either be pummelled by 15 scooters or trip over a heap of piled rubbish, it seriously is a dirty, soiled, grimy city.
Armed with the local tourist map I headed for the National museum. A collection of local pebbles, taxidermed squirrels, and spliced tree trunks did nothing to evoke a sense of Taiwan whatsoever. It was the park, Peace Park, at the rear of the museum that first presented a taste of the Taiwan to me. Ten’s of national flags sauntered in the air as I caught a glimpse of the tropical roots of this island. Palm trees gave rest to tooting birds and a tranquil mood swept over the park. A solitary woman engaged in tai-chi amid a clearing surrounded by lazy branches. Falun-gong was open to all without fear of Chinese police apprehending them for their indulgence in this tabooed practice, in China that is. The young and the aged sat docile and pensive exuding serenity, and calm, as the city bustled by beyond the parks’ perimeter. The park-goers, in general, had no peripherals i.e. books, magazines, mobile phones etc to distract them from their being. I wondered what the park goers were thinking of. Were they thinking of anything? Were they drawing energy from their surroundings, one man was as he held his hand inches away from an elderly gentleman relieving him of his ails. The harmony of the place led me to the conclusion that these people weren’t killing time; they were living alongside it, allowing it take effect without seeking a physical outcome. I sat there for a couple of hours, with time by my side, and only left after sensation had vacated my ass from prolonged exposure to hard wood (no, not some homeless guys’ shlong up my ass…).
Wandering aimlessly among the endless markets I occasionally passed a building of note, an unkempt shrine or some festering litter sack gnawed away by the swarming rats. The rewards of the economic boom in Taiwan weren’t plain to see as most of the stores and stalls were manned by forlorn types generally sipping tea, smoking a cigarette and glued to the daily digest of soaps without the hope of putting some pennies into the coffers. Most buildings were dilapidated with laundry basking in the smog filled balconies and grannies eyeing the distance looking at nothing in particular. I happened across the docks somehow and came face-to-face with a pristine Junk boat, homage to the islands naval history. Hundreds of trawlers, and smaller vessels, dotted the piers as far as the bright red suspension bridge in the distance. A short walk through the adjacent park that boasted the uncanny ability of this city to ably set aside calm from the chaos of the city was again refreshing. A sharp right out of the park and I was back among the scooters racing for pole position at the next set of traffic lights. Now I was in the most downtrodden area of the city, gasping for economic injection the residents stood around tables of mah-jong players gambling insignificant sums of money on the outcomes of equally insignificant games. They were startled by my inquisitive presence, my digital camera, my i-pod and the wad of cash I had wrapped around my waist. I left post haste.
My next port of call was a port, funnily enough, (Danshui) at the end of the metro line. I arrived as the sun was setting and the crowds were swelling with every minute that passed. A harpist plucked away beneath a glowing Chinese lantern with each note quelling the furious pace of the market. The distance blinked with the lights of the city preparing itself for another night. There was a fairground atmosphere with the usual dart and hoop games being enjoyed by couples and young families alike. I opted for a head and shoulder massage from the all blind masseuses, luckily for me they couldn’t see as the amount of dandruff that drizzled from my flaky scalp was a little too embarrassing to have handled had they been fully sighted. I bought a Corona and wrote some postcards as I watched the tide retreat and reveal a sand bank blemished by bottles, bags and the remains of a day enjoyed by a host of day-trippers.
The moment of truth was upon me and I had a serious case of sweaty palms coupled with nervous puke bubbling up my oesophagus. The fact that Emma and Niamh had given me some seriously dodgy directions, “we’ll meet you at the yellow building by the train station”, had resulted in me waiting around for over 30minutes left with only my mind to start playing at me. Amongst other things I wondered how much she’d rely on her safety blanket, Niamh, during my visit. My heart was beating dangerously close to cardiac arrest but was brought down to speed by a comforting hug from Emma. We were both visibly nervous and skirted around with the lets-get-the-how-have-you-beens out of the way.
As soon as we landed at the restaurant I felt totally at ease and we were entertained by the jazz stylings’ of a Taiwanese trio in one of Taipei’s top restaurants. Dinner was being taken care of by Niamh’s uncle, a visiting politician from Ireland doing some research into avian flu I think (nice to now Irish taxes are being appropriated correctly). A couple of incriminating photos of Paudge, the politician, whilst under the influence of numerous bottles of wine and we were off to the local foreigner bar. God I hate these places, no sooner had I hit the dance floor there was some Taiwanese skank sniffing around my ass asking my name, eh no thank you. We had an hour long taxi drive back to Emma’s place while Niamh’s brother, who’s also living out there, puked out the window the whole way home, not that the Taiwanese would notice any additional waste on their grubby streets.
A rude awakening from a boozy kip and I found myself on the back of Emma’s scooter, complete with boner, bound for the Ladybug School of English. The kids all had surprisingly good English, better than most of my senior high school students so communication wasn’t a problem. They exuded the warmth that kids their age across the world come equipped with. Eager to meet and poke at someone new I fooled around with them while Emma tried to conduct her class. We sang songs, danced and practised writing (I learned so much) while my fatigue was negated by the abundance of energy nestled in the classroom. By the time lunch time came I was feeling the burn and it was time to say goodbye to the snappers, it’s going to be a lot tougher for Emma when she says goodbye to them for good in February.
The sun blazed away as we set off for a porcelain factory near Emma’s town. We browsed in amongst the assortment of different boutiques purveying the same wares. We decided to make each other candles in heart-shaped jars, slightly weird but I went with it. Emma’s design was of a post-apocalyptic seabed, dark and cluttered, she was proud of it though. Mine was a vision of where Sirens could see themselves retiring filled with evocative colours, plucky inhabitants and a homely hue to the rosy water. Obviously when asked which she preferred Emma’s symbiotic amigo chose the nihilistic underwater ghetto. Over the past year the two have become visibly closer and developed a tight bond, that in truth, I was kind of envious of.
Dinner was scheduled for a rustic Chinese restaurant that breathed authenticity from each and every haggard rafter. Sepia wedding photos alongside old cigarette posters added extra flavour to the spread of peppered chicken and other fare. Joined by a chain-smoking tee-shirt designing South African friend initially, then a Canadian Jodie Foster look-a-like with a semi-frozen face (from a motorcycle accident) we were all having a hip time of it. Times were smooth and banter was effortless as we switched venues to the local night market. Hundreds of people perusing through endless tack and cheap-knock offs provided an ideal atmosphere for browsing. I followed my DVD purchases up with some horrendous pornography for Aengus’s Christmas present. Just as we were leaving the market I saw one of the most disturbing things I will ever lay my eyes on. A one-armed man, no legs and a stump on his other shoulder bare backed and wearing only shorts, dragging his portly stomach through the grubby market floor. A bucket filled with worthless coins and pity was nudged ahead of him as most people couldn’t bear to look at this vision of ultimate destitution. Life had obviously cost this unfortunate soul an arm and a leg (well two legs actually).
Booze and bin-lan towed away the remains of the day. Bin-lan, by the way, is a Chinese concoction of nut+leaf+powder wrapped by a scantily clad hussy sitting in an implausibly bright neon booth 24hours a day. Not an illegal substance by any means, the only danger being stains to the pavements from the crimson saliva spat out by its patrons. I double dropped on my first effort and claimed shenanigans after its initial foul taste and impotency. Moments later I was racing through the cosmos stuffing stars in my pockets and juggling the planets on an inter-galactic spree. I crashed back to Earth with a thud after ten seconds. Intense. The 50% Jodie Foster look-a-like 50% cryogenically frozen Canadian was acting as barman and whisking out cocktails out like there was no tomorrow. I was blitzed, lost the faculty of speech, mesmerised by Lisa’s rescued cur and obsessed with the intricacies of the panelling on the ceiling, of which I took way too many photos of.
The next day, after buying some Nazi paraphernalia for Der Fuhrer, we were on the culture wagon destined for the worlds’ tallest building. Taipei 101 doesn’t loom in the distance, it’s constantly in the fore dominating the skyline from every angle of Taipei. 101 stories with 8 stacks of 8 stories, a Chinese good luck number, stacked on top of 37 lower floors. We arrived there as daylight flicked off like a scenery change in a play. Act four took place atop the tower with a mock marriage proposal to Emma followed by her instant, a little too instant, rejection. My world crumbled as she walked off and I would’ve jumped had I been able to scale the enclosing fence. Knowing my luck though I would’ve probably landed on Taipei’s most obese resident gotten up, a little dizzy…I did just fall from 1600ft, and walked off carrying the weight of total loss on my shoulders for eternity. Ahem. End scene. Exiting stage right we were left in front of the massive CKS memorial building, a marble mausoleum housing a sepulchre to one of Taiwan’s most dominant figures, Chiang Kai-Shek. I have no idea who he is except that if his coffin is that big he must have had a lot of bathrooms in his house. Yet again calm sauntered through the open courtyard while groups of people of all ages practiced dance routines ranging from hip-hop to Ceili dancing, made no sense to me. I was suddenly becoming nervous as emotions that had simmered were coming to the boil again. Emma and I were comfortably at ease posing for photos arms around each other and enjoying the time together. I realised why I loved her so much and the disappointment of all the mistakes we made when together, but determined not to mar this brief rendezvous I kept it in.
Some cheap wine and local beers accompanied us back to our double bed in the love hotel we’d checked into for a night out on Taipei’s filthy tiles. Top 5’s came up including Top 5 worst places to get a hard-on. I don’t know how I managed to keep it in but the back of your ex-girlfriends scooter while she’s driving and your ex-girlfriends bed as she sleeps in the adjacent room etc were a couple of my Top 5 that I kept to myself. Asia’s biggest night club, the Ministry of Sound, was where we ended up via that putrid foreigner bar. Yet again we’d enlisted the company of Paudge and Niamh’s brother who’d caught yellow fever and had a local tart in tow. Niamh ordered a tray of test-tubes which went down well on top of my Corona’s. The club was less than half-full and lacked atmosphere, therefore affording my tormented mind the opportunity to think of Emma again. Still I kept it under wraps. Niamh had upped the ante with some double vodkas and Smirnoff Ices for us and accompanied it with a ‘you’ve both changed so much’ chat that was inevitable I suppose. I decided to further raise the stakes by blitzing the bar and walking the road to hyper-inebriation to see what my, now renowned, belligerent mode would get up to. It took about 5 minutes to peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth as I woke up having no recollection of what happened after the tête-à-tête with a copious amount of vodka. Turning over I noticed Emma was in the bed with me, in a love hotel in Taipei, with Niamh nowhere to be seen. Had carnal relations been indulged? Not to my knowledge that was for sure. Niamh was floor kipping and nothing had happened with Emma. I’d done it, I’d faced those demons and come up smelling of roses, well puke on my shirt but it was all good.
Our walk to the bus station was quiet as another goodbye was afoot. Although she holds no attraction toward me anymore I don’t think she could help being melancholic as we prepared to part ways, that was comforting in itself. We were side by side, and arms around one another as we walked toward our final embrace at the gate. Warm and tender, it brought with it the keys to the tear ducts. Her eyes reddened as I reminded her of my feelings and offered a kiss to her cheek. True Lies was playing on the coach as the Taiwanese man beside me wondered had he missed the point of the movie as I sobbed away, head leaning against the window. I’d gotten all I came for and managed to erase a lot of bad memories during the course of my trip.
The Tokyo airport limousine was two-thirds empty as we drove to the city centre. Two strangers in front of me discovered a common business link and exchanged cards and sales figures. I tuned out with the i-pod playing DJ Shadow’s ‘The Private Press’ track 12, a personal anthem to both melancholy and euphoria. The opening line: ‘and now eternity’ followed by a quivering church organ resonating long after the final note was struck. The same deep chord repeated from the gloomy end of the piano…duuuun-duuuun duuuun-duuuun duuun-duuuun, over that the narrator questioning whether I’d betrayed my ideals or if they’ve betrayed me. Across the bay a train slivered over a bridge with little zest, the carriage lights casting a long lemony reflection in the water. In the sky a fireworks display plumed like a school of fluorescent jellyfish pulsing through the air, it ought to have had David Attenborough narrating over it. It was strange seeing fireworks without hearing the claps and the bangs as each explosion was muffled out by the melody creating a potent sense of serenity. The piano was now accompanied by an up-beat synthesizer playing the same piano note higher and faster, a xylophone tinkled alongside it too. The distance held a glowing Ferris wheel turning too slowly to see it turn, but it moved with the city all the same. Attenborough’s husky voice narrated over my thoughts as I thought of Emma and what was not to be, he softly whispered ‘as time heals all wounds it’s the scars you bear that testify to the life you’ve lived’. Note to self: he needn’t have whispered as she couldn’t have heard it.
