Pretty Square

(Shameless display of my knowledge of Russian) The Red Square (Krasnaya Ploschad) was actually named the Pretty Square; Krasnaya only relatively recently took on the meaning "red".

Ok, anyway...

I've been here before, but three years ago I was so helplessly clueless about everything. It's tough to imagine the Politiburo standing atop the Kremlin wall, returning the salute of hundreds of units of Soviet military might parading on Pretty Square.



We went inside the ultra-mega-super-mall G.U.M. (complete with three floors of three sunlit, arched corridors and price tags that would shake any average Russian in their fur-lined boots).

But the best part by far was when I found the balls to ask some Russian cadets visiting the Red Square to be in pictures with us. In Russian. Yeah. They were ecstatic, even left addresses for us to send them the pictures. This is how international relations are really kept.

The Second Time is So Much Better

I rode the Metro home today by myself. It’s strange how the signs make sense to me this time around. It’s my first day of three months in Moscow, and I’m not a bit scared. “Just look like you know where you’re going and you’re pissed off” was Mika’s advice to avoiding the cops. Not a problem; I do that anyway, even in the States. This woman tried to talk to me about how the world is going to end soon this morning. I told her that I don’t understand Russian very well. Muscovites don’t seem so cold and standoffish anymore, even though I still don’t understand most of what they say. Is it a change in Moscow, or a change in me? We bought lunch for less than $4 at a well-stocked modern supermarket. Way off the perspective radar of the average American, Moscow has changed and is still changing.

My host family lives in an old and cozy apartment. Yan, 30, is a biologist, and his wife Eugenia, the online journalist, was born the day before I was. Their 11-month-old Dunia is exactly what you’d expect of an adorable Eastern European baby, blond-haired and blue-eyed, and Liessa, the 3-year-old German Shepard, never gets tired of fetch in the narrow corridors.

As always, I want to take all the classes that are offered, not the least because they are being taught by the very people that advise the top of the Russian government. Was that Putin’s office who called Dr. Mau during his introductory talk? Wow, that’s heavy. That’s how Stanford rolls.

So despite the unstable electricity that’s making my laptop behave all funny and the possibility of getting jumped by racist skinheads, I’m very optimistic that this quarter abroad will be everything I wanted it to be. Welcome to Moscow.

Layover

So thus begins my second Europalooza of this year. I’m really getting spoiled by all this traveling.

I bet Frankfurt isn’t this nice and quiet on a weekday. I have no business being here, Moscow being my destination. Yet sitting in a park, watching a fountain stirring the water and backed by willows sweeping the undulating green, I can’t help but to note how easy this little excursion has been. Everyone I’ve spoken to speaks English, from the airport information desk (expected) to the ice cream stand girl (cautiously expected) to the Spanish tourists (wow). Suddenly, Frankfurt is not the cold city devoid of smiles in my mind.
My advice to you if have a few-hour-long layover anywhere in the world: put the bags in a locker and get the fuck out of the duty free bubble.
An old gent just asked me for directions. “Sorry, I don’t speak German.”
A Beethoven-looking dog wants to play fetch with me. “Sorry, but I’m writing.”
Time to keep going. The Main River is waiting for my company, and I do have a plane to catch, after all.

You never know who you'll meet at the post office

Few people know what it means to wear one, but I proudly put on my flight suit and went on campus. People don’t really stare; it’s rude and they might not even care. Guys work out around here, so I didn’t really take notice of the built guy with a cropped cut tucked underneath a baseball cap. He walked up to the counter with an open box, saying that he’s sending it to Iraq. “Do you have friends there?”
“Yeah…actually, I just got back from there.” This I gotta hear.
I was in a hurry, so there wasn’t much time to talk, save learning that this West Point graduate just got discharged (at least a captain, given the length of commitment) and is now working on a degree in the business school. I felt small and undeserving in my flight suit with an ostrich patch. If I didn’t ask, he would’ve told no one of what he just went through, and even after I asked, he still didn’t brag. Yet there I was, standing next to him, clothed in my inexperience.
“Welcome home, soldier. And thank you” was all that I could offer.
“Yeah, thanks. See ya around.” The unassuming warrior went about his business like everyone else.

中秋夢

舉頭望明月 卻非同她所見 靜靜的光芒

兩雙黑洞洞的眼 各自暗暗的欣賞

在時空裡 擦肩而過的月光

灑在他們腳底下 分裂的大地上

太近 太遠 都曾有過

友誼 還是更多 唯心中彼此知曉

但誰知 下次的滿月 會帶來何方的思念

或許 下次的滿月 就是長久以待的團圓

Moving On and Looking Back

Too much time has been spent on reaching the next station. But I like to sit on the rear-facing seats because the present receding into the distance is an awfully tragic sight. Every once in a while, the echoes of the past catches up to me, and I love to listen. Now my childhood and teenage friends have grown up; now my cousins are married with children. Now I keep speeding along on this train; "now" is only a blur in the periphery. I've wondered about them...those I haven't heard from in a long time. Maybe they are lost in the life aboard their own racing trains; maybe they are just lost in life. By and by I forget about them...am I selfish for doing so? Now and again an IM pops up--or the cell rings--unexpectedly and lets me know that they are ok, that they are doing great, in fact. I love moments like that, to know that my friends are ok, that my negligence has done no great damage to us. The cousin that the family worried about so much is sought after by a company; the friend that I used to spend everyday of an entire summer with is playing on the senior PGA tour. Where did they go since the last time I saw them? Why did they come back to me? Were they also looking for me and gave up like I did after a while? Doesn't matter, I'm just glad that I chose these seats, though the train keeps racing.

Taipei on the Move

So few of you will venture there, so I find this project possibly devoid of audience. Then again, you should go check it out, because it really is quite a city to visit...especially if you love night life and amazing food, the latter I'll discuss in a later post.

Self-directed vehicles (namely: you drive your own car, ride your own scooter or bike):
Despite my relative success traversing the lawless streets of Taipei in my dad's Nissan Cefiro, this is a highly not recommended mode of transportation. Not only do you need fine control of your vehicle, you need New Yorkeresque tough/rudeness to jostle for your right of way. And watch out for other calvaries; chances are they are more daring than you are. That said, I did witness two foreigners bike to a little diner, so go for it if you're into a little adventure. Just remember to wear a helmet on a scooter or a bike because the cops are not very negotiable.

Metro Taipei (MRT):
A map and enough dough is all that you need to use this awesome system. Even better if you put money on an Easy Card and can thus effortlessly glide through the gates. The website tells all. The lines are, like the metro system in any other modern city, color-coded. The clean and comfortable trains carry you fast and smooth from one pleasantly modern station to the next, with audio and marquee reminders in Chinese dialects and English to guide your way. I find the recorded voice at times annoying and other times slightly arousing, but that's just me. This is undoubtedly the best way to get around Taipei, IMHO. The only downside is that the system is still partly under construction, and the outer parts of the city are not accessible by metro.

Bus:
Navigating the privatized bus system can be a daunting task for any foreigner. The lines have numerical names such as "287" or color-numerical names such as "Blue-36" (which means it will cross the metro lines of the same color at certain stations). Although bus stops are ubiquitous across the entire city, the ability to read Chinese is necessary to know which stop it is and where the bus lines are going. To add to the confusion, almost as a rule, several lines pass through the same stop, so it's much better to have someone tell you which stop to go to and which bus to get on rather than having to sort things out yourself. Things do get easier once you're on the bus, though. Most buses have Chinese and English marquees, some even have audio prompts in the said tongues. The Easy Card that saved you time on the metro will likewise help you out here. Avoid rush hour if you can; for one thing, the bus moves slower, and you'll build up good arm strength if you have to stand and grab onto the handles in mostly bumpy rides.

Taxi:
They are everywhere you want to be, if you want to pay. Hailing a yellow taxi is the same here as anywhere else, just raise your hand and someone will quickly pull up for your business. The drivers are courteous to you, rude to other drivers; in both cases, you win. This mode of transport is a bit pricier than others, and most likely English won't get you very far. Travel with a local friend, or have someone write down where you want to go. Keep a look out for some more stylish taxis; since the car modification ban was lifted, there have been some interesting additions to the fleets in Taipei.

Walking:
Only for the short gaps between mechanical modes of transport and your destination. Use sparingly.

Bon Voyage!

Roots II

Last cup of steaming Vietnamese coffee in hand, I'm pondering the last morning of this stay. I came to rediscover my roots, and found that the kite I thought was lost in the winds of Time is still safely--but quietly--connected. Whatever I found, I hope it will not change me forever.

I was just starting to kind of like myself.

Was it the revelations that I never thought possible?...That Taipei is simultaneously more advanced and decrepit than America...That my friends lost for 13 years still remember and adore me...That my folded eyelids hint at European blood...That perhaps the failure of my parents' marriage really isn't all one person's fault.

Or was it the experiences that I did not anticipate?...Reconnecting with my dad...Drinking, singing and dancing with relatives with forgotten names and unfamiliar faces...Going to the top of the church and finding that I've already solved the conundrum...The enthusiastic pampering of cousins and old friends...Being considered ang dou everywhere I go...The night view from atop the pinnacle of the man-made world...The plethora of tasty Taiwanese authenticity...Waiting for the metro to reopen at 0600 after a whole night out...Fighting to keep the floodgate shut as friends ride away.

Will I see Taipei again in a few years, or 10? Will I recognize her? Will she remember me again? I don't know, but here I go, back into the arms of true love. Back to the New World.

Love and Unforgiven

To you I raise a glass of
My greatest love
My only pain
The darkest storm
We've braved it
Past the sunken cathedral
You walked, leading
Me by the hand
Squeeze too tightly and
You'd break it
Lightly as a feather falls, then
You'd know we've made it
May I never walk the
Path along the
Same sunken cathedral
Though I may brave the
Same weathers
I'll know from the willow
Weeping into the pond
That I too have made it

Talim

At this very moment, nothing ranks higher on the blog-able meter than Talim. Find out what you want about it on the news; I'm only offering my piece of the storm.

Typhoons were summerly experiences when I was a kid here. They were really more causes for joy than sadness. School days would be canceled, sometimes ground floors would be flooded. All in all a good time.

Some things never change.

I'll skip emo comments about how sad I feel for the people who are suffering worse than I have, and since I'm aiming for a career in search and rescue, you can save yours, too. These past few days have been harrowing for hundreds of thousands on two continents, so channel some positive energy into this world by lightening up, ok?

It turns out that western Taiwan never got hit hard, at least not while we were passing through on our way back from the southwest. Although nothing has hit Taiwan as hard as Talim for a while. Mei Nong, where we stopped to eat some ban tiao and look at the famous paper umbrellas, flooded to the knees a day after we left.


Things got much more interesting when we left my 2nd uncle's home in Sha Lu. The powerful gusts were driving the rain sideways, painting lovely mobile waves on the pavement with the help of pale street lamps. After copious amount of traditional Taiwanese food (deep fried and kicks ass), nearly a liter bottle of Taiwan Beer (think Corona but cheaper), and the effects of jet lag setting in, I decided to break the law, too. My dad and I switched seats after passing the first toll station, all of whom were closed across the entire island. I don't remember driving this blind in a torrential storm since high school, certainly never at night, without license in a country I've never driven in, speeding at 120 km(75 mi)/hr in a 100 zone, and pinching my knee to stay awake.

Dude, that was so extreme.

Fog lights would've helped, because high beam sure as hell didn't. I will hitherto forever respect those highway reflectors more than mere road bumps, because when your wind shield is covered with an opaque curtain of rain and gusts rock your car like a ship out on sea, they are the only proof that Big Brother ever cared enough to show you the way.

A drive on nearly deserted streets today brought the scale of destruction more to home. Fallen traffic signals, signs, and aluminum fences were almost amusing. The paper boy bravely rides along on his trusty scooter, still bearing two satches full of paper and ink. It was after noon.
Talim has weakened and moved on to the mainland, but its presence can still be felt. That's just perfect, because I've never jogged in the wake of a typhoon before.