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- posted by Prince Roy @ 8/06/2006 03:49:00 PM| |

 
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- posted by Prince Roy @ 7/31/2006 07:07:00 PM| |

 
Waiting For Ah-Do-Ga* I experienced a moment today that surpasses any absurdist theater I can recall. After lunch today, I walked through the American Citizen Services waiting room on the way back to my office. As I was punching in the door lock combo I overheard a little girl of about six say to her mother: 媽媽, 你看! 那個外國人要進去! [Mom, look! That foreigner is going in!] The girl and her mother were US citizens visiting Taiwanese relatives for the summer, (mom was naturalized, the daughter was born in the US) and were there to renew the daughter’s passport. Yet in that little girl’s mind, a conception no doubt placed there by her immigrant parents, I am a foreigner! It’s another fascinating glimpse into Chinese psychology. Spicygirl often does the same thing. When she talks about Americans, she’ll refer to us as "你們" or "你們的人" [plural ‘you’, ‘you guys’], even though she’s been a US citizen herself over three years now. Of course, it’s more understandable that Spicygirl (and many other naturalized Chinese I’ve met) do this—they immigrated to the US as adults, but it’s vaguely unsettling when a child born and raised in the US learns this mindset. Oh well, at least she didn’t call me "老外" **! * Ah-Do-Ga is a term in Taiwanese dialect for foreigners, particularly Westerners, and means something like 'big nose' or 'pointy nose'. ** "老外" laowai is a term in Mandarin specifically reserved for Westerners. It can be slightly pejorative, and is very controversial among Western students of Chinese.
- posted by Prince Roy @ 7/21/2006 07:00:00 PM| |

 
The things I do for my readers. Witchy Angel called me out on my offer made in the last post, and so last night I finally braved to enter the doors of 印度先生 Mister India for the first time. I had actually approached the place more than once before, only to chicken out at the last moment. I was expecting the worst. I figured Taiwanese would not know much about India or Indian food. Taiwan has borrowed considerable amounts of its popular culture from Japan, and the Japanese love curry. A lot like the Tamils in Chennai love Chinese food. So if you've read of my travails in India re Chinese food you know what's coming next: Japanese 'curry' retains nothing, nada, of its Indian origins. In fact, it is safe to say that any brown to yellowish sauce, containing chunks of veg and/or meat, with a hint curry powder, glopped over rice, is what passes for 'curry' in Japan. And that's what one normally encounters in Taiwan. It's like a foreigner going to the US, trying out chop suey, then going back to his country singing the praises of Chinese food. This analogy works well on more than one level: just as 'chop suey' does not exist in China, there is equally no such dish in India called 'curry'. It's a tad more complicated than that; you'll find the whole story here. Anyway, and thankfully, the worst of my fears did not come to pass: Entrance to Mister India. The sign translates as 'Mister India Delicious Curries'Walking into its No.1~1, Lane 31, Ray An Street location 瑞安街31巷1之1號, I was shocked to find actual South Asians! They are not Indian, however, but Pakistani. I got to talking with the owner and a friend of his. It turns out they've been in Taiwan over ten years, have married Taiwanese women, and are raising familes here. They spoke pretty decent Chinese, too. They told me there is a small community of about 150 Pakistanis in Taipei. I said to the owner that, given the history between India and Pakistan, it's pretty ironic for a Pakistani to run a place called 'Mister India'. His reply? 'You try fitting Mr. Pakistan on a sign!' (It takes twice the number of Chinese characters to write 'Pakistan'). Here's what I had: Veg Dahl and Roti Set Meal: 220 NTThe liquid in the bowl on the lower left is not tea, but a soup. The normal price is 150 NT, but I had an extra roti and they gave me some more 'gravy' (veg dahl) for it. I was going to get a lassi, but they were all out of yoghurt. Odd, because I was the only customer in the place, and everytime I've walked by Mister India, it is deserted. So how did everything stack up? The rotis were excellent. The veg dahl was ok; it had a nice bite to it, but didn't really take my breath away. Overall, it was probably the equivalent of a meal one would find at an average eatery outside an anonymous Indian train station. Good simple cooking, but not gourmet class, and somewhat pricy for the quality and quantity. The veg menu is extremely limited: only two dishes. But I should point out that of the handful of authentic Indian restaurants in Taipei of which I am aware, all are northern style, so that is to be expected. The owner and his mate were friendly enough; I may bring a few colleagues there soon and give Mister India another go. Regular readers may be aware of my profound debt to India in spiritual and philosophical matters, but a man does not live on manna alone. What I might miss about India more than anything else is the snack food. India, at least Tamil Nadu, is home to the greatest, most delicious potato chips in the entire world. In the US, thick-cut chips are a boutique variety, a way for them to gouge you out of even more money. In India, they are a matter of course. What I wouldn't give for a bag of Balakrishna Special Spicy Chips right about now. They are truly perfection in a bag: the ideal amounts of oil, salt and chili, and the thickness of each chip is of optimal size to hold it all together. I used to run down to the consulate canteen every afternoon in the hope they would be available. Only 8 rupees! My favorite departing gift of all was from my Indian colleagues who presented me with a bag of Balakrishna Special Spicy on my last day; they had seen me eat them for two years and knew how much I loved them. I steeled my will to save it for a rainy day, possibly later in my Taiwan tour. Result? That bag was gone by the time the plane had entered Iranian airspace. And now I suffer, for you see, as wonderful a creation that is the Madras potato chip, its Taiwan cousins are the worst I've encountered anywhere: Row after row of 'bleh'And no matter what John Pasden and Wilson Tai might say, I don't think the Mainland is any better. Give me bhelpuri and chaat any day. Taiwan does have one great snack, though, that I remember from my Taichung days---garlic flavored peanuts: Taiwan's tastiest beer food: Garlic-flavored peanuts in the shellOne of the greatest remaining mysteries of time and space is how they get the garlic past the shell and into the peanuts. Any guesses? Do Taiwanese farmers put in a crop of peanuts between rows of garlic shoots? I've been disappointed with the quality up here however. The best are down south. I'll have to fill up my trunk with these on my first trip down there after my car gets here. Interesting Taiwanese dialect lingui-trivia: the term for 'peanuts' is 土豆 tudou. But tudou only refers to shelled peanuts. They use the conventional 花生 huasheng for those still in the shell. In the Mainland, tudou is the colloquial for 'potato'.
- posted by Prince Roy @ 7/16/2006 08:35:00 PM| |

 
We're bracing for a full-on assault from Typhoon Bilis any moment (btw, can anyone explain the difference between a typhoon and a hurricane? I guess I must have missed that question on the Foreign Service Written Exam...). Will the city shut down? Only the Heroic Ninth Horse has the answer. Anyway, it's been raining all day, and the weather has put me in something of a Madras state of mind. The old joke about Madras is that it has just three seasons: hot, hotter and hottest. True to a point, but there is an all-too brief window from about late October-early January when it ranks as one of the most pleasant cities in which I've ever lived. That's when the monsoon arrives. My most delightful weekends in recent memory are those in Chennai during the monsoon. I'd awaken early to the rains, open up every window in the house, light my favorite cedar incense, and lie on the sofa with a book all day. The combined scent of the rain, incense and flowers in bloom outside, with the sound of the showers, wind and occasional rumble of thunder, was transporting, and extraordinarily peaceful. At those times I didn't want to be anywhere else. Truly India at its very best. Is it any wonder, then, that in such a contemplative environment Indian civilization has made immeasurable contributions to philosophy and metaphysics? This makes the recent news out of Mumbai all the more distressful and abhorrent to me. Taiwan has something similar to the monsoon, called the Plum Rains 梅雨; I caught the tail end of them when I arrived here. Sadly, they aren't in the same league. Plum Rains are an annoyance, an inconvenience. The monsoon, however, brings about a transformation, both to the city and its people, physical and psychological, that is impossible to quantify until singularly experienced. To my Indian readers: so far my mission to find Little Burma in Taipei has been an abject failure. I wish I could remember who it was who told me about the existence of the place. I'm beginning to think it was a cruel joke. Let that person deal with the fruits of his/her karma, then! I have run across a curry house on my walk home that I'm somewhat hesitant to bring up. It's called 印度先生, or Mr. India. I have intentionally avoided going in there for the time being, as it looks dreadful, but if any of you are curious, I will oblige and do the needful. Simply say the word. I guess I deserve it; after all, I've carped about how bad Chinese food is in India often enough! Of course, it will certainly pale in comparison to what you see below. I consider the high moments of my two years in India to be when I experienced first hand legendary Indian hospitality. Right before I left Madras in March, my good friend Vinay hosted a farewell lunch for me at his home. His mother prepared us the most amazing dishes that day. She is from Andhra Pradesh, the state in India renowned for having the spiciest food in the whole country. It's true, and it's heavenly. Before she left India in July 2005, Spicygirl and I went to their home on another luncheon occasion, and to this very day she remembers it as her favorite Indian meal. Coming from her, this is no small praise, believe me. I can't end this, though, without taking the piss out of another dear friend of mine, Tarun, also an Andhra Pradeshi. He enjoys the distinction of being the only AP person in the history of the world who can't eat spicy food. Methinks you spent a bit too long in Edinburgh and West Lafayette, cochise. AP feast seen from one end AP feast seen from other end from left: Vinay's mum, PR, Vinay
- posted by Prince Roy @ 7/13/2006 09:25:00 PM| |

 
It's been a very eventful week. First of all, one of my oldest and dearest chums was in town for a few days. I've written a bit more about Tyler here. We met 17 years ago during our junior year abroad at Tunghai University in Taichung, where we studied Chinese for a year. Amazingly enough, that program was also the place I first met Poagao. We all three hadn't been in the same room together since spring semester, 1990. So for the first time in over 16 years, here we are: from left: Tyler, PR, Poagao Poagao, as you might know, ended up naturalizing as a citizen in Taiwan. He even joined the army here after they drafted him. He eventually wrote a book in Chinese about the experience. Ever since I read his book, I was hoping that one day I'd run into him again so he could autograph it for me. Well, it happened that very evening: here he is signing my copy of his book. PR and Tyler at the Wistaria TeahouseTyler and I stumbled on to a great find his second day here: the Wistaria Teahouse. It is set in an old, traditional Taiwanese home and has a wonderfully peaceful atmosphere conducive for reading, chatting with friends, or relaxing from the hectic madhouse of the city just outside. We ended up going here three times during his short visit. They have excellent teas available here. This is my favorite so far: Tie Guanyin tea at WistariaMost teas are in the 250-350 NT range, and the bill normally comes to around 600 NT or so for two. Teahouses were hugely influential places in traditional Chinese society and often served as meeting places for leading artists and intellectuals. Modern Taipei is no different, and in fact the Wistaria hosts many cultural events. I can see myself spending a lot of time here in the next two years. Spicygirl and I are both enamoured with teahouse culture, and if any readers can recommend other teahouses in Taipei and Taiwan, we'll be sure to try them out. We really miss wiling afternoons away in the teahouses of Chengdu. Teahouses in Taipei aren't as common as they once were, but the Wistaria represents the finest of the tradition, and any visit to Taipei should include a leisurely stop here. The Wistaria has wifi, books available for browsing (few in English) and board games. In fact, it was here that Tyler destroyed me in Chinese chess, a game I had never played before. He adopted the novel tactic of not telling me the prohibited moves of the pieces until well into the match; of course by then I had based my entire game plan around those now improper moves. His strategy succeeded brilliantly. All that caffeine and gamesmanship worked up an appetite, so Tyler and I prowled the local night markets in search of something to take the edge off. We found it in the Tonghua Night Market: BBQ corn from 通化夜市Tonghua Night MarketThis was the best BBQ corn I can remember, except for the sesame seeds they sprinkle on top. But that's their gimmick, so keep a lookout for this stall. If you say you want it very spicy, prepare yourself. They will oblige. Tyler left Saturday morning, and that evening I went to see a performance by Poagao's band, the Muddy Basin Ramblers. They are a jug band with a devoted local following, and Poagao plays washtub bass and trumpet. I enjoyed it thoroughly save for two things: one band member is apparently leaving Taiwan so the whole night became kind of a lovefest in her honor. Understandable, I guess, but it detracted from the show for me. More importantly, though, Taipei needs to get with the times and ban smoking in bars and restaurants. It got so bad that I couldn't take it and left before the end of the show. I think if I go to another concert in Taiwan it'll have to be in an open air venue. Finally today, I went to visit a Taoist temple near my apartment. I got lucky and encountered the caretaker, a very friendly fellow, who showed me around and explained everything inside. If you're interested, you can take a look. He invited me to stop by his house any evening if I want to chat. Over tea, of course.
- posted by Prince Roy @ 7/09/2006 08:45:00 PM| |

 
Here's another true-life example which demonstrates the literal way in which many Chinese process the world. This is a rough form of a conversation I've had here several times with different folks, cutting across all social strata: Me: [I say something, anything, in Chinese] Them: 你的國語說得很好!.....[You speak Chinese really well!] Me: 哪裡,我的中文不行.....[Oh no, my Chinese is quite poor] [We then converse about other things for a few minutes] Them: 你來台灣多久了?.....[How long have you been in Taiwan?] Me: 一個多月.....[A little over a month] Them: 你來台灣才一個多月,國語說得那麼好,真棒!.....[You've been in Taiwan just over a month, and you speak Chinese that well, that's incredible!] Ok, an important part of Chinese social interaction upon meeting someone for the first time consists in finding something about the person to praise in order to give face and create warm feelings. I get that. It explains the ubiquitous 'you speak Chinese so well' that they will say to anyone who utters even one word, no matter how tortured. But when I tell people I've been in Taiwan a month, I believe the ones who respond as in the above example really think that I've only been speaking Chinese for one month. I can tell this by their facial expressions. It never occurs to them to consider the following: ---I may have lived in China or Taiwan at other periods in my life, i.e., this is not my first time in Taiwan ---I may have studied Chinese for many years in other places, just not in Taiwan Of course, not every Chinese here I've met responds in this way, but enough have that causes me to think something deeper is going on. I've been speaking Chinese for many years and consider myself reasonably fluent. At least, no person upon meeting me should believe I'd only been learning the language for such a short time. If the roles were reversed, would a Westerner come away thinking the Chinese person had only been learning English one month? I really doubt it, and I think it points to the unique ways Chinese shapes its speakers' perception of the world around them.
- posted by Prince Roy @ 7/09/2006 08:30:00 AM| |

 
During my first week at AIT, I think it was the first day in fact, a colleague told me about a popular nearby noodle joint that specialized in Sichuan-style noodle soups. He took me there that very day, and it lived up to all my expectations. The place is called 重庆抄手麵食 The Noodle House, and it is my first hard recommendation of a Taipei restaurant. If you love your noodles and want 'em spicy, this is a place you dare not miss. I don't know how many people in town know about it, because I think there is only one location. The address is 信义路3段103号 103 Xinyi Road Sec 3. People who work in the area are certainly aware of it, because it is packed everyday during lunch. If you go during the work week, be sure to get there by 12:15, or you may be in for a wait. Here's how it looks from outside: Exterior of The Noodle HouseWhen I first went inside I was immediately struck by the decor: Interior of The Noodle HouseThe Chinese name refers to Chongqing, a city that used to be the largest in Sichuan province (now it is its own special district administered directly by the central government and no longer falls under the authority of the provincial government). Whoever designed the interior did a wonderful job: with its dark wood tables, chairs and accents, paired with the cement walls painted steel gray, it seems as though you're actually in a Chongqing noodle shop; it really does have a remarkable Chongqing 'feel' to it. The exception being that this place is much cleaner than any you'd find in Chongqing and air-conditioned. The food here, while not strictly authentic, is still among the best I've had yet in town, particularly considering they only have simple snacks and noodle dishes. I was especially impressed with this little treat, which they call 酸豇豆 Pickled cowpeas: Pickled cowpeasIn Sichuan, I think it's known as 泡豇豆肉末. While the one pictured here was tasty enough, I had an even better version last week---imagine, if you will, finely chopped red chilies added to the mix. Amazing. It tasted as good as any I've had in Chengdu, in fact better than most. They have several types of side dishes like this, each costing 30 NT$. Now for the main course(es). First up: Noodles in Sichuan Garlic SauceThe Chinese name for this is 鱼香绍子麵(乾). They translate it as 'Shao-Tzu and ala Szechwan Noodles', but I think the above is better. It is my favorite item I've tried so far, and costs 60 NT$. It comes in both soup and 'dry' styles. I've always gotten the 'dry' style, but plan to give the soup version a try before too long. Another dish you might consider: Hot and Sour Noodles in Baby WontonsThe Chinese name is 酸辣抄手麵(汤). Like the garlic sauce noodles above, you can order it either as a soup or 'dry'. Besides noodles, it also contains Sichuan-style wontons. This one is the soup version, and will set you back 65 NT$. They sell beverages here, including Taiwan Beer, and although the staff does not speak English, they have menus with photos of the dishes and the names in English. This is a place worth going out of your way to visit if you are ever in Taipei, and if your business takes you to AIT, all the better as it is very close. Better yet, if you do combine with a stop at AIT, do the needful and be sure to take me along.
- posted by Prince Roy @ 7/02/2006 05:30:00 AM| |

 
One of the hardest things for Westerners to get our hands around is how maddeningly circular Chinese logic can be, at least in our eyes. Anyone who's read classical Chinese philosophical prose will understand what I mean (for example, try absorbing The Great Learning 大学). As it's been so long since I lived in a Chinese-speaking society, I had forgotten how the modern language retains much of the same characteristics, and how literal Chinese are as a result. After just one month in Taiwan, though, it's all coming back. For instance, here are a couple of common initial questions I ask Taiwanese visa applicants young and old, and their typical responses: Me: 你好. 你要去哪里?.....[Hi. Where do you want to go?] Applicant: 美国.....[America.] or... Me: 你好. 你要去哪里念书?.....[Hi. Where do you want to study?] Applicant: 美国.....[America.] Ok, I already figured out that they want to go to the US; that explains their presence at the visa window. Not that I would ever say it, but is there a Mandarin equivalent of 'Well, duh.'? I find it baffling that they don't make the logical connection past the literal meaning of my questions. Is this an inherent feature of the Chinese language? If so, how does that explain the roughly 20-25% of people who do provide a specific answer? Of course, I could ask them the questions using an unambiguous sentence structure, but #1, I'm trying to conserve time, and #2, given the context that they've come to apply for a visa to visit the US, I don't think my questions are ambiguous at all. I'd be interested in reading the opinions of any Chinese speakers on this issue. There is one question I ask in which I get a literal response by about 90% of the people, but on this one I believe I'm not on such firm ground: Me: 你在哪里工作?.....[Where do you work?] Applicant: 新竹.....[Xinzhu (a city in Taiwan...or wherever city they work).] What I'm usually getting at with this question is the name of the company, but I do think it is reasonable to respond with the city, since our applicants come in from all over the island. I find these kinds of topics in linguistics fascinating, and it's been interesting to observe my own re-immersion into a Chinese environment after such a long absence. I hope to write more about this as time goes on, as it's been quite an adjustment.
- posted by Prince Roy @ 7/01/2006 03:20:00 AM| |

 
给熊猫眼编个小快板儿

熊猫眼有双眼皮, 最可怕她的怪脾气 如果不吃棒棒鸡 她就发火不理你!

熊猫眼怕吃不香 所以带她的豆瓣酱 把它刷在盘子上 恶心西餐都吃光!

Spicygirl 最近跑一趟天津出差了几天. 当时她问我需不需要什么. 除了叫她吃吃看天津有名小吃狗不理之外,我什么也想不出来了. 真可惜没让她帮我买天津最出色的民间艺术快板儿用的工具:竹板.
- posted by Prince Roy @ 6/26/2006 09:00:00 PM| |