Cute

Imagine if you will a place where academia is revered, classical music is considered mainstream, public transport is clean and efficient, the people are warm and charming, there’s plenty of countryside for sporting pursuits and the area per head is considerable. So what are you waiting for, book a ticket to Taiwan immediately!


Following the American grid system, it’s effortless navigation. If you are suffering from acute loss of bearings then don’t panic; retrieve map (or locate one of the many near tube stations), and in certainly less than a minute you’ll be approached; “Do you need some help?” My first experience of the incredibly accommodating and caring locals came when stepping from the Airport bus in Taipei. I’d already been given a wealth of information from the passenger sat next to me, who then suggested I follow a man alighting at the same stop. Not only did he guide my way to the nearest MRT station, but he also assisted in purchase of an Easy Card (a prepay rail pass), and further directed me to the correct line and platform. Stunned by the generosity of a complete stranger I didn’t quite know what to do with myself; shake his hand, say thank you, offer him some money – would the latter be considered an insult? Instead, this kind of community spirit is everywhere to be found, even here in the capital city, where I assumed the concept completely alien.



Heading out to visit sights, the first on my list is the CSK Memorial Hall; it’s a fair trek there and being sub-tropical, I am forced to adorn honky cream once more. The grounds are impressive in size, grandeur and attention to detail; flower beds meticulously maintained, marble and granite used in abundance and more room to breathe than could possibly be necessary. To the top and the guards are changing. It’s 11am and their display is reminiscent of American parading; pointlessly spinning rifles and playing catch with – thankfully – unloaded rifles. The most ridiculous part of the display is the foot stamping and slow leaning when mounting their posts – the whole display taking almost as much time as their eventual standing attention.


The American influence is further clear to see with the national love of Baseball, however, stronger still are the ties that remain with the previous governors Japan, with Anime and it’s music arguably more popular than any wailing popstar you could throw a stick at. And hard, so that they stop due to throat impalement.

I’m thirsty, my mouth is parched and my heart pumping harder in an attempt to cool me down. Sit in a hot spring for much longer than five minutes and you’ll feel the same. It’s not a bad workout mind you; for doing nothing. Spend a whole hour and you’ll feel positively shattered and ready for bed. Coming in all shapes and sizes, I’ve experienced three thus far; the first being a separate gender bath, where nakedness is expected and three baths vary in temperature – mild, hot and cold. And that’s precisely the order you should follow, though I recommend the high pressure water jets for an excellent massage. Sitting around, the elder visiting Japanese gentry are a strange bunch; complaining if splashed (imagine that, in a bath), perched on the tiling above the baths and glancing to each other with looks either of camaraderie or apparently suggestive.

The second type was after driving almost 100km south of Hualien to a small town Rueisuei, which is famous for its hot springs. This was a private affair, coming with a feed directly from the spring and hence having a sea-water taste to it, and a second from mains water to cool down after. Less of an interesting experience, the best by far was recommended by my newly befriended English student; the public bath. With five sections of varying temperature, you can pick your torture and wimp out when necessary; just remember to wash your feet before entering each. This truly was bliss, with minerals creating an almost metallic taste to the water, which sterilises any raw patches with the efficiency and burn of TCP. Looking around, it’s similar to something from a scene in Spirited Away and a clear influence stemming from the Japanese Onsen. I’m left bemused why this hasn’t caught on back home; Saunas simply can’t compare.


A strain of their motherland’s tongue, Taiwanese makes for a more complex language due to the traditional writing in use. My translator on hand making it all the easier, we visit the Shilin night market, where prices for street food rival Thailand and the experience of Pig’s Brain Soup is something I won’t forget in a hurry. Image a paté, but far softer and you’re almost there. There’s a belief here after all; whatever you eat you will get. My stomach refuses to indulge my curiosity any longer sadly, and I don’t want to push the issue, which possibly explains my continual inability to speak Taiwanese.

Much like Hong Kong, this beautiful Island is clearly able to stand on its own. Thailand is visited by droves of Westerners wanting to experience friendly and charming people, and yet here there are clear benefits for the discerning traveller: It is completely scam-free and honest, food is similarly priced, the country is far easier to navigate, infrastructure and development is more modern and the people are so polite and genuine that it’s utterly impossible not to be enchanted. It even has beaches to the South, what more could you possibly want in a holiday destination? Why then, is this gem seemingly overlooked; ten days and only a handful of fellow honkies have I seen. Sh, keep it quiet, I want this place all to myself.




A great deal of the female psyche here is derived around a single word; cute. Clothing must be “cute”, mobile phones require a “cute” dangling thing from the corner attachment, bags are adorned in flare much the same way and the two-fingered photo pose is considered “cute”. Look around a night market and a section selling “cute” canines will be found (the connotation being “small” and “puppy”), where girlfriends of bored and tired men coo and gurgle uncontrollably. It’s a trade generating big business, however wrong it may be to sell animals to capricious and short attention-spanned girls – who one minute are amused by the “cute” head poking from the handbag in which it’s carried, the next traumatised by the realisation that it needs feeding, walking and has left a decidedly nasty mess on the side. As a result, you’ll no doubt spot the poor male soul walking the now adult and fascination-elapsed canine in a park. He may have three or four leaches in tow; as she most likely grew weary of the adult dog, wanting another “cute” one.


The “cute” factor doesn’t stop there, extending to all walks of life and most notably signage. It’s as if the mentality dictates that people simply won’t pay attention or notice unless it looks like something from a Manga or Anime cartoon. Pictures of “cute” policemen looking stressed as you cross the road at an undesignated point make the meaning more comical, than poignant. It is nonetheless amusing and in complete contrast to the British “If you do this, we will hunt you down and massacre your family, friends and pets, then chop off your left ear” signs that I’m used to.

Follow the east coast southbound by train and stop off at Hualien as a base for travel. The city itself isn’t particularly engaging, though head North 20K and you’ll enter the Taroko Gorge, for me the highlight of Taiwan. Had anyone been able to speak English, I’d have rented a road bike and cycled, though a few hours of futile attempts to communicate and that’s enough for me; the moped rental man knows a few words and it’s enough to negotiate a two day rental. The Gorge consists of a long winding road that gradually increases in altitude and passes many points of interest; some hardly worth the effort to stop at and others breathtaking in their majestic construction and surrounding scenery. Whilst there are tours available, I’d recommend heading off with map in hand to discover the area yourself.





Bamboo is incredibly strong and versatile stuff, so perhaps that’s why the 101 Tower was designed to resemble it. With eight sections, this behemoth of a building is an engineering masterpiece; marvel as the 606 tonne ball of steel absorbs and dampens wind vibrations, hold on tight and repeatedly swallow as the elevator hurtles you to the observation deck in less than a minute. It’s not difficult to find – just look up – which makes it the perfect tourist spot and explains the vast array of shopping malls dotted in and around the area. Take my advice; get there before sunset so you can see the city in both lights.



An all too brief stay of 10 days has left me struggling to fight the withdrawal symptoms; Taiwan is a perfectly balanced cross between the best parts of China, Japan and America; that demonstrates little in common with its domineering motherland, bar the underlying ethnic heritage. That aside, it trumps Thailand and everywhere else I’ve seen in all aspects and still even whilst writing this in Japan, I miss it.

Oops

Maps are flat, and in typical girly-like fashion for some reason I neglected to realise that Victoria Park was in fact more of a Mountain. Well I’ve started and so I’ll finish, though even dropping in to the Granny cog and lowering pace; it’s hard bloody graft tackling the road leading to the Peak. To the peak and back, is what I ended up doing.

On the way back my GPS got confused at precisely the point I needed to take a turning and hence the result was a tour of the area, which whilst offering some incredible views over the city, was fraught with car, bus and lorry-dodging. Definitely recommended if you want to get some serious hill training in.

17K around Hong Kong Island

Hacking knows no bounds

It’s only thirty years old and “Made in china”. The punters flock either by standard or crystal cabin. Some will take their offspring to enjoy the monkeys, others a walk with a Prince and his midlife crisis. The affluent will enjoy a Starbucks for $43 and pickup a shiny new pair of Sterling Silver Chopsticks.


The highlight of Hong Kong for me was the Ngong Ping 360 Cable Car ride to the top of Lantau Island, where after clearing through the clouds on an overcast and rainy day, the views are all the more impressive and mysterious. Mountains stand tall and jut their peaks above the clouds as the enormous drive train heaves my glass-floored cabin in to the heavens. It’s a sense of freedom I imagine only pilots enjoy.



Stepping across the border from the New Territories in to Kowloon, the change is dramatic; where once countryside spread itself thickly over mountainous regions littered with hiking trails and merely a handful of ancestral homes, suddenly high-density “pigeon holes” dominate the landscape. My walking path goes from straight to zigzag, as I struggle to navigate through the sheer number of bodies.

With a single window, bunk bed/sofa, sink and cooking area large enough for a single pot, these Government-provided one-room flats are minimalistic in design. A population of over 7 million and the highest density of heads ever recorded (53,000 in one square kilometre), would seem to necessitate these humble quarters; though with many military buildings left abandoned since the departure of the British, the Chinese government does little to alleviate the issue. It does, however, condone the Beverley Hills weekend apartments, located in Tolo Harbour, with a beautiful view over the sea. At a cost of $24 million though, I do wonder how much of the asking price the local fishermen receive. Their floating village has been home and livelihood for several centuries, but with Phase 3 of the construction underway, all will have been gravitated to their new habitation; first come-first served disbanded pigeon-holes. The view would simply be spoiled by them after all. It’s the kind of cynicism I thought only the Nazis were capable of.

It may be a nice handbag, but I certainly wouldn’t pay the $35,000 asking price for it. An influx of wealthy mainland Chinese has ensured that many people will, however, only to turf it out as the fashion wind of fickleness changes direction. The same is true of all manner of belongings; from technology to sport. Whilst running the Bride’s Pool Road from Luk Keng Road to Ting Kok Road, I noticed many cyclists displaying Bianchi, Trek, Cannondale and other carbon fibre masterpieces as a sign of wealth. Sad though it is, my outrage at the sacrilege of these machines being walked (not cycled), around like trophies will go unheard and the equipment wasted on businessmen wanting to rub dollar bills in to faces with all the subtlety of a pneumatic drill, with coarse sandpaper after for any missed parts. Second hand camera shops and car businesses thrive on this wastefulness, where the wealth is in extreme contrast to the humble average salary of a fluent English speaker.

Walk around and you will inevitably find your way blocked by an impressive amount of railings, forcing a navigational change. It’s as infuriating as it is challenging, though as just the tip of the iceberg, these pedestrian control measures are merely the beginning. A clearly shocked governing British body established enough signage to keep the global paper industry solvent: No smoking - $5000 fixed fine. No Littering - $1500 fixed fine. No spitting - $1500 maximum fine. Check your manners, cover your cough and sneeze (minimum $1500 fine). Wash your hands. The list is extensive and seemingly inexhaustible. Unfortunately and try as they might, hacking knows no bounds and as a running theme through Asia; it is as ever-present here as anywhere else. More of a habit and affliction, than necessary bodily function, some seem intent on treating it as a sport. The hacking Olympic games if you will, where volume, length and size are all competed for. In itself it may be barely acceptable, though with women occasionally joining in too, it can be an excellent way to remove all traces of femininity in an instant. Perhaps that is the desired effect.


As my pigeon hole, the two bedroom serviced apartment on the 24th floor is considered spacious for the area. One bed is under 5’5” long, making even my humble frame compressed and unable to extend fully. The other may fit a Hobbit couple, but certainly not two adults. Even more surprising is the heights to which the numerous sky-scraping monstrosities have been developed. An average of 50 stories dictates some clever engineering issues to be tackled, when combined with the demands of affluence and attention to privacy-hunting buyers. It’s an increasingly difficult problem to solve, with compromise the only true solution.


If you may be wondering what to call the citizens of Hong Kong, the generally accepted term is “Hong Kongers” (I prefer Hong Kongians). Whilst considered by the Chinese government to be simply an extension of China, many people I met do not feel any draw to the “motherland” from which the British took control. It may be offensive to refer to a local as “Chinese” here, with some instantly retorting “I’m not Chinese, I’m from Hong Kong”. And it’s not difficult to see why; a separate, independent currency, a largely incompatible dialect, vehicles passing on the opposing side and differing laws make Hong Kong – for all intents and purposes – it’s own country. What will happen after the remaining 32 years of Special Administrative Region has passed is questionable, but one thing is clear; that the current and previous generations will resist any mainstream change with the stubbornness of their ex-British protectorates.



To the South Bank of Kowloon and many attractions can be found to while away an extended stay. And with space to both walk and breath, it’s the perfect spot to enjoy some light entertainment in the evening. I’m of the opinion that music is important to any display and it seems a shame that instead of an Orchestra, I am blared the kind of music you might expect from a Nintendo title, or a child’s cartoon; it almost makes the whole display farcical. Instead it may be an idea to head out on a boat and follow fishing trawlers in search of the elusive and threatened species of White and Pink Dolphins. Their numbers are heavily dwindling in response to the construction of the new airport, which as wholly reclaimed land has decimated a large part of their natural habitat.


Very reminiscent of London, the manners and attitudes of the locals here leaves plenty of desirables. To my surprise I have found barging, pushing and undercutting perfectly acceptable, however, one clear sign of British influence is the uncanny ability of queuing. This, Hong Kongers have honed to as fine an art as their ex-protectorates. With so many people it won’t take long for one to form; quick get in queue before the additions at the end make it impossible to join in time. It’s one of the few things the British remain world leaders in, and can be proud to have passed on.



With so much money, why wouldn’t you have one? They’re so cheap after all and I really need the help! An influx of Malaysian, Indonesian and Sri Lanken immigrants in search of work “helping” the wives of financiers and bankers hasn’t helped the population figures. However, these “helpers” (as they are known here), are simply modern day slaves earning an average of 3-400 pounds each month to clean, cook, iron, wash and effectively raise the most spoiled, selfish, arrogant and self-centred children you are ever likely to meet. “Water. I want some water. Now”, little Adrian bellows to his slave atop the Dolphin watching yacht; it’s insolence the kind that can only be responded to with a swift back hand to the right cheek, followed by an imprint of palm and fingers on the gluteus maximus. This is considered perfectly normal here, however, with one-child housewives recruiting a slave as they “really need the help”, when everywhere else on the planet parents raise families in to double figures and work. For the first time, I have clear proof that my mantra on humanity holds true; humans thrive on hardship.

Something for the audience to look at

What is it about water sports that makes everyone an instant expert in the field; there must be something causing the spontaneous growth of ego and further chiselling at chip on shoulder. I was hoping to have left it all behind in the UK; where Rowing is reserved for lycra-clad elitist toffs with an accent that causes instant aggravation and an urge to try out Bruce Lee’s one inch punch; much in the same way pregnant women experience the urge to push – it’s irresistible.

Similar to Rowing, Dragon Boating is an incredibly team-orientated sport, but is dogged with a grotesque amount of politics. Perhaps it’s something to do with the fact that no one else in the boat can see your technique in order to comment on it. A few weeks of paddling and most people consider the basics honed; a few months and they’re ready to coach newbies; a few years and the top teams will be queuing to have you as their coach; breaking your door down to secure your awesome knowledge.

Sadly even in Hong Kong it’s the same – and in many ways far worse than paddling in the UK. Take the sea for one; it’s choppy, salty and occupied by nasties that don’t take kindly to capsizing humans. So it may be an idea to get one person making all the calls – the helmsman perhaps? Here the correct term is a steersman and they simply steer. “Backpaddle!” I hear from the front of the boat, but with no one to call “Ready, Go”, it’s complete pandemonium getting the timing right. And with 26 in the boat, timing may be considered crucial.

Race starts; the Hong Kong Island Paddling Club have a race tomorrow, so let’s try some 200m pieces. “Go!”, someone shouts; heads up on the pacers at the front or you’ll just clank wood and splash. It later turned out that the start routine was 3-3-8-10 (increasing in speed), and a stroke rate of what seemed like 120 for the last 50m; hardly any time for recovery, let alone reach. With three first-timers sat around me – the coach hadn’t bothered to ask me of my experience – they’re utterly shafted and most likely scared shitless by the lack of commands, calls or explanation as to what the hell is going on. Recruitment problem have you HKIPC? Difficult to see why.

After an hour or so of near-capsizing (brace the boat anyone – nah, it’ll be fine while we move seats), it’s back to the pontoon (jetty for us Brits), to unload. Due to the narrow construction, it’s an idea to unload one at a time, in order; here sadly it’s every man for himself, so just jump out and ignore the remaining crew left in the boat, throwing arms in search of a hold as the boat rocks hard to stern.

Having showered down, I jump on the 260 bus from the Victoria Recreation Club through the tunnel back to Central and home to change for an evening of classical music. The Orchestra is of a good standard, save the brass section; I think I could do better than the lady on French Horn. And I’m no Saxophonist. Looking around, I can see a cross-section of nationalities populating the orchestra. To be fair it’s expected, considering the way leading to work in an Orchestra is paved with obstacles; entrance granted usually when one member either leaves or enters a box around six feet in length.

Raising his baton, the conductor begins flailing his arms with the kind of affectation only they are capable of. Scan the sections of the orchestra and count how many times they look to him for instruction and I can almost guarantee it’ll be single figures at most. With little action happening he’s simply there to serve as something for the audience to look at; a visual placeholder to maintain attention. The sooner these overpaid and mistakenly highly regarded pompous morons are replaced with a simple flashing light or oversized metronome, the better. Close your eyes if you can’t find anything of interest, the idea in classical concerts is to listen not watch the proceedings.

For the first time in my experience, the third movement of Tchaikovsky’s 1st Piano Concerto is repeated, ruining the impact of the piece and simply showboating the Russian’s technique. Impressive though it is, an encore would have been far more appropriate.