Days 5 & 6: Observations on a culture

33,279 steps around central, eastern and northern Taipei over the last two days have given me an opportunity to formulate some thoughts on this curious city and its people. So rather than giving you a rundown on every step I took, here are some general observations gleaned from my traipsing.

1. Taipei hates itself.

For all the effort it puts in to creating little glimmers of beauty here and there (see Days 3 & 4 photos), Taipei hates its own appearance and is deeply insecure about its cultural identity. Angela wanted to get out of Taipei because she thought there was nothing beautiful here. Winston refuses to call himself Taiwanese because he accepts the idea that he and everyone else (aside from the indigenous population who live mostly to the south of Taipei) is fundamentally Chinese, having migrated here from the mainland only one or two generations ago. 

And if one considers the work of a country’s artists as a reliable barometer of its self-perception, a visit today to the Taipei Fine Art Museum revealed a depth of self-loathing so palpable it left me quite depressed. Though I struggled to actually find any section of the gallery other than the ‘Art Experience’ zone (featuring mostly installation-style pieces), I saw enough to tell me that Taipei’s (and, indeed, Taiwan’s) attempts to reconcile its own identity are a long way from full realisation.

One particularly haunting series of paintings by Hua Chien-chiang was called ‘Weightless Generation,’ in reference to the current generation of young people (around the age of what we might label Gen Y) raised as the ‘masters of tomorrow’ but relegated to invisibility by a crippling lack of employment opportunities. The paintings depict this generation as mere outlines, floating uncertainly in a golden ether, distinguishable mainly by their clothes and, most prominently, their sneakers, but not by their physical being.

Another installation featured a version of the Taiwanese flag made out of bubble wrap, and came with notes from the artist explaining how no one has reverence for the flag anymore, that it is just a symbol of the country, not of its spirit, as used to be the case. One painting overlaid a dull brown traditional, folk-style painting of a village with brightly painted signage of prominent brand names in Taiwan, such as Starbucks, Mercedes-Benz, Coca-Cola and 7-Eleven. As works of art, of course, they lack subtlety, but they offer unmistakable evidence of Taipei’s discomfort with its position between worlds: the old and messy but self-assured Taipei, and the new and shiny but soulless Taipei.

2. Eating Taiwanese food is like learning a new language.

There is such diversity and unpredictability to the way food is served in Taipei. It’s easy and extremely cheap to have very tasty meals, such as this fried chicken on rice with pickled vegetables (not that different to the dish from Yu’s Teahouse in Hawthorn that spurred me to come to Taipei in the first place). But one is never quite sure what to expect from the flavour of the dishes and when one finds out, it’s often difficult to describe them, as they are so foreign to a Western tongue. In this chicken, for example, there is a distant echo of cinnamon along with the salt and pepper. And the orange fluid in the cup: somewhere between cough syrup and Cottee’s fruit cup cordial. (I think it might be some sort of cumquat juice variant.)

Winston took me to the ShiDa night market and introduced me to genuine Chinese-style hotpot. In his typically frustrating way, he refused to tell me how to eat it then laughed at me when I did anything he thought was incorrect and lambasted me for copying his method. And he took great delight in not telling me what I was eating, pretending he didn’t know the English names for things until I had taken my first bite. Thankfully nothing was as exotic as it first appeared. The intestinal-looking things are just tofu skins and the brainy-looking things just taro and seafood dumpling. Once I got into the rhythm of this completely alien way of eating, it became most enjoyable and quite delicious. The ‘snowy’ (streaky) sirloin steak strips were particularly tasty.

3. Ratso Rizzo wouldn’t last a day in Taipei.

So what if you’re walking here? Taipei’s drivers couldn’t care less. Right of way goes to whoever gets there first, and when you’re up against an army of motor scooters and angry taxi drivers, you don’t stand a chance if you’re riding Shank's pony. They will not hesitate to honk if you’re in the way, and will often honk as a way of saying ‘look out, I’m coming through.’

Not only has this Merc managed to block a lane of traffic, it has also skilfully obstructed TWO pedestrian crossings. (An additional statement about Taipei’s attitude towards wealth?)

A walker’s woes are amplified by the fact that the only available walking space is often that that extends from stores onto the street, the height of which can differ from store to store, so one has constantly to keep one’s eyes on the ground to avoid tripping up an incline or stumbling down one.

4. A Taiwanese bride looks best perched in a tree. Apparently.

A symptom of Taipei’s newfound shininess is the wedding store, which not only offers newlyweds clothing for the big day, but will also arrange the photography, functions and any other specific requests. Some stores place folio-sized sample books at the doors to entice young couples wanting to use the big day as an expression of both their love and their unique personalities. This may involve climbing a tree or lounging about on a baby grand on the beach (which I could understand if you were marrying Lang Lang but, really, who is?)