This is a new series called “The Elephant Travels” where I share stupid stories from my travel journals while living abroad. I edit out anything extremely graphic or illegal, but most of it’s intact. Just a word of caution: there’s a lot of swearing. Try not to take me too seriously. Oh, and why the “elephant” travels? Because it’s hard to travel with an elephant in the room.
After I unloaded my stuff, [] took me to see the area around my apartment, Taipei Main Station, and Taipei 101. (She even helped me get a number from a pretty thirty-year-old girl, which didn’t lead to anything — oh well, it’s the thought that counts.)
Later that day, after I finished the monumental task of arranging my apartment and unpacking, I walked over to Yong Kang Jie to partake in some legendary, Taiwanese nightlife. I chose a small, garage-style restaurant that had a big menu on the wall, but unfortunately, I couldn’t read what the hell it said. The waitress came by:
“What would you like?” she asked in Chinese.
“Uhh, I can’t read,” I said in broken Chinese.
“YOU CAN’T READ!?”
She said it so loudly that everyone in the fucking restaurant instantly knew I was illiterate.
“Do you want fried rice?” she asked.
“Uhh…”
“Or noodles?”
“I’ll have fried rice.”
“Okay.” She paused. “Where are you from?”
“America.”
“Ahh.”
Minutes later, I saw a cute waitress and I asked her in Chinese what she liked from the menu. Well it turns out that she couldn’t read either because she was from Vietnam! That took some of the sting away from my embarrassment, but I had a feeling I was going to feel embarrassed many more times during my trip.
That night — my first night in my apartment — I was serenaded with the sounds of heavy trucks, jackhammers, more trucks, drilling, and men yelling in Taiwanese. What the fuck was going on? I ran downstairs and walked toward the noise when I realized I was now living one hundred yards away from an enormous government project: they were building a new subway line with the “cut-and-cover” method — digging a ditch to install the subway line and then covering it as they went — and they worked exclusively between the hours of midnight to 6pm. 幹!
Of course, if I knew my house was next door to a major construction site, I would’ve picked somewhere else, but I had no other choice because I already committed to a three-month contract. Coupled with the issue of my window not closing properly, I ended up spening every night in that apartment sleeping with foam earplugs.
Come to think of it, my apartment in Taiwan was a classic “fixer-upper.” My bed sat under a window that stretched the width of the apartment and faced east; every morning, sunlight would pour in through the thin, beige curtains and kill my sleep. (I fixed this issue like I did in South Korea — with aluminum foil.)
The next problem was the floor. The previous tenant left the apartment a mess because the marble floors were covered from wall-to-wall with greasy smears. It took me two days of working on my hands and knees to clean and absorb most of the grease, grime, and dirt.
The final issue was the bed. In Taiwan, beds are covered with a layering of bamboo reeds — bamboo!— which was as comfortable as it sounded. The reason behind that ingenious innovation was the heat and humidity that pounded the island; bamboo deflected heat better than feather (or whatever the hell mattresses are made out of nowadays) so someone came up with the bright idea to sleep on it.
Waking up on that first morning, I felt like I like that episode of Seinfeld when Jerry slept on a wooden board (“The Blood”) and the episode where he slept across from Kenny Rogers Chicken (“The Roaster”). Unfortunately, I couldn’t solve this problem until almost three weeks later when I finally walked to Carrefour (家樂福), bought a foam mattress topper, and lugged it back to my apartment through the curious stares of all the patrons on the bus and subway.
Because of that perfect storm of housing problems, I became a zombie during my first week: my neck hurt, my shoulders hurt, my back hurt, and I’d flop around on my bed until maybe 2am and then sleep like shit until 6am. Things would’ve been a complete mess that week if it weren’t for the first girl I kissed in Taiwan.
It started on my first Friday night in Taiwan when I checked out a basement gym innovatively named “Taipei Gym.” I bought a membership and strolled back toward the subway station when I noticed a coffee shop behind a long glass window with large, wooden tables, elaborate and twisting coffee-brewing machines, and — for good measure — dogs.
Since I always carried a book in my backpack, it looked like the perfect place to read and relax on a ho-hum Friday night. I dumped my backpack on a long, empty table and pulled out Vagabonding by Rolf Potts when the server handed me a spiral-bound menu. At that time, my Chinese was so crappy, the only way I ordered was by looking at pictures and pointing (just like I did in my first month in South Korea).
“Umm,” I muttered to the waiter while studying the pages. I could tell he was getting impatient.
“This one looks good,” I answered. “Yeah. I’ll try it. Xie xie (Thanks). Where’s your restroom?”
The waiter pointed toward the counter, and I left my seat. “Wait a sec,” I thought, “I don’t really want to leave my stuff unguarded.” There was only one other person in the entire coffee shop — a girl in a white, oversized T-shirt sitting alone by the dark windows, buried in a book.
“Excuse me,” I asked in broken Chinese, “do you speak English?”
“Yes,” she said, turning her face to me. She had a warm and inviting smile with perfectly straight teeth. Her gently colored hair tickled her tan skin and her dark eyes watched me carefully. She was stunning.
“Uh, could you watch my stuff for a minute?”
“Sure,” she said with a smile.
Because there’s nothing more romantic than asking someone to look after your stuff while you go to the can.
“Hey thanks,” I said on my way back. “What are you doing right now?”
“Oh, I’m just reading a book.”
“Cool. You know, I’m pretty new to the country. Uh, would you… like to join me at my table?”
I had no idea why I asked that, but I felt shy and stupid as she thought about it.
“Umm,” she uttered, “sure.”
“By the way, what’s your name?”
“Esther.”
“I’m Anthony. Hey, what brings you here on a Friday night?” I asked as she got her things.
“Sometimes I just like to have a quiet night and read a book, you know?” she said.
Did she just get cuter?
As we chatted, she teased me about my Chinese while I teased her on her English (which was far better than my Chinese). I told her about my many misadventures while teaching English in South Korea while she shared hilarious stories from her past. We talked like great friends: no clichéd introductions or banter — just awesome stories, emotions, and aspirations.
About an hour passed when her friend stopped by to get something from Esther. She sat at our table, wearing a black coat, and eyed me critically. Truth be told, Esther’s friend was a bitch: I tried to chat with her, but she didn’t open up. Later, she started to leave and asked Esther if she was leaving, too. Esther looked at me and smiled . “Well…,” she said, “I should probably leave pretty soon.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said. “But hey — if you’re not in a hurry, we can keep talking for a little and then head to the subway together.”
“Hmm. Yeah, that sounds good.” She grinned and her friend left.
We strolled together on a street lined with restaurants and stores and decided take a detour to walk a little longer. She told me about a small pond in TaiDa, the big university across the street, where we could sit and talk and we walked together on a dark, lonely, tree-lined street on campus. I held her hand and, at that moment, we both knew we were falling for each other.
While the moon shined bright that night, our lips met on a wooden bench in the shadows of the pond and began their exploration. It was intense and passionate. “I never thought this could actually happen,” she whispered. I prodded a bit, but stopped before things got too far.
We spent a few more minutes starring at the pond with our heads resting on each other, watching the ducks, and listening to the frogs before we trekked back to reality. We smiled at each other near the subway station knowing that our lives changed and we had a new secret to share.
The next morning while lying in bed, I happily texted her to see how she was doing. She responded:
I never saw her again.
The only thing I could conclude was that she got swept away with her emotions and couldn’t resist a movie-like ending to an otherwise quiet evening in Taipei. She never once mentioned she had a man in her life. Whatever it was, it hurt — really fucking bad. (Almost as bad as the dozen or so mosquito bites I got from that fucking pond.) I spent the day trying to gather my sanity and fix a broken heart that seemed unbearable.
The next morning, I popped on some Michael Bublé, got ready for a lunch date, and had an epiphany: if Esther really truly found someone she loved and who loved her back, what could I say? Sure, she handled the situation so immaturely and irresponsibly, but I could honestly say I moved on and harbored no hard feelings towards her.
And isn’t that what we all want? Every time a man gathers the courage to approach a girl — is that not the goal? To live “happily ever after?” I liked Esther. A lot. She was an adventurous girl with a radiant personality, and it was easy to see how someone else could love her. Maybe all she needed was someone like me to help her realize she was in love with someone else. And that made me happy. She found hers, and mine was still out there somewhere.
I just hadn’t found her yet.
[…] It was from [], a cute 25-year-old Taiwanese girl I met the day after my disaster with Esther (which was another great story). On one of our dates, we played pocket ball at a spot underneath my pad and I made her a bet: if I […]