The Elephant Travels: Clubbing in Taipiei — How I Taught Taiwan The Dougie

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.

By the end of the night, I counted three altercations, one middle finger, one dance-off, and two passionate kisses — my first clubbing experience in Taipei was a stunning success.

It was my second Saturday night in Taipei when I walked with a friend around the exciting streets of Da’an District, one of the busiest areas of the city. I met up with a new friend from the Chinese Culture University named Adrian who was a chubby, reserved guy from France with pale skin, black hair, and who spoke English with a thick accent.

Snaking our way through the back alleys, we found a nice, open-air bar and chatted over some cheap Taiwanese beer about our home countries and what brought us to that tiny island. For Adrian, he couldn’t find a job after college and decided to study Chinese in Taiwan to boost his resume. He also had an ulterior motive: Adrian had a native Chinese girlfriend who still lived in Lyon and he wanted to be able to speak with her. That’s an awesome reason, I thought.

Compared to Adrian, however, my story sucked. “I just wanted to try something new, I guess,” I said, chuckling. Travel the world, perhaps?

“Where do you want to go next?” Adrian later asked.
“I don’t really know. What’s around here?”
“There’s a club close by that’s pretty good. Hey, what time is it?”
“Like 10.”
“Oh yeah. And it’s free before 10:30.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck. Let’s go.”
At last! I was going to go clubbing in Taipei!

As we were walking over, however, I suddenly got a text. 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 won, she had to kiss me.

Naturally, I won.

But something kept holding our relationship back: her ex-boyfriend. As result, she built these elaborate defense mechanisms that would prevent her from ever getting hurt again and which kept hurting me again and again. Sure enough, she texted me saying she didn’t want to date me anymore so I ran into the quietest place I could find — a restroom — and called her. Like a good lawyer, I pleaded my case and arranged to chat the next day. Then I realized the call lasted over ten minutes, which probably left Adrian wondering just what the hell I ate for lunch.

That threw everything off and, from that moment, I was a man on a mission that night. We stopped at a 7-Eleven, each chugged a huge can of beer that cost about one US dollar (yes, you can drink in public), and hurried to Luxy, the premier club on Zhong Xiao Road.

“Have you been here before?” Adrian asked.
“Nah. I actually haven’t gone clubbing since I got here,” I said, “which is saying a lot because I used to go clubbing every weekend in Korea.”
“Nice, ha. Okay, so when you get in, they’ll give you a ticket. Don’t lose it. It’s for two free drinks.”
“Oh man, no way. Haha, I love this place.”

When we arrived on the dance floor, the elevator doors opened to a dark room with a black, marble floor and a maze of green lasers and lights. Around the corner was the main area with a large island bar in front with a fountain on top and hundreds of bottles of alcohol. Wow, this place is enormous. At the back of the room was a large, square dance floor — still empty — with VIP tables and a pack of people surrounding it. We came too early.

In Taiwan, people don’t start dancing in nightclubs until about midnight. It’s a weird cultural thing that you’d only see once you arrive, but until that time, all the club-goers crowd around the dance floor — not on it — and wait because they’re not confident enough (or drunk enough) to be first. Adrian and I stood around the edge scoping the club when I heard a song that hit me like a right cross: “Teach Me How to Dougie” by the California Swag District.

Fueled by confidence (and alcohol), I confidently ran to the middle of the lonely dance floor and hit my greatest dougie ever. It was masterful: arms up-and-down, shoulders side-to-side, and — of course — my “Doug E. Fresh.” Adrian laughed from the side and watched as all eyes were on me; within a minute, other Westerners jumped in and cheered me.

It was just what Luxy needed because the dancing commenced right after. And, for the next thirty or so minutes, that stunt gave me an open invitation into every group of girls on the floor until I noticed one in particular, however, close to the front stage.

I moseyed over and started dancing with a curvaceous girl in light blue t-shirt. In one smooth move, I put my hand on her shoulder, traced it down her arm, held her hand, twirled her around to face me, and lay her arm behind my neck. Her lips spread to show a big smile as her eyes softened and lowered. We kissed. Hard. It got passionate… then icky.

This was already a world apart from South Korean dance clubs because, over there, locals followed a strict protocol to dance with girl. Korean girls generally danced in packs facing inward so, as a guy approached a girl from the side or rear, her friends would signal if you were a “yay” or “nay.” A “nay” would bring obvious results, but a “yay” bought you some time and the opportunity to flirt some more and then go to a bar to drink.

Since I was short and of average looks, I normally got the “nay.” Worse, because of our language barrier, the girl could only communicate this by making a huge “X” symbol by crossing her wrists. Thank you, dear. Taiwan, however, was far more similar to America, which bestowed upon me this sweaty make-out session with “blue T-shirt” girl.

Suddenly, her friend yanks her off me. What the fuck! (I must’ve got the “nay.”) I had no clue what happened, but I turned back, found Adrian, and we headed to the electronic music room. On the empty dance floor a guy, older and overweight, danced with a few girls and signaled us over — it turns out he was on vacation from Vietnam and celebrating his birthday. He offered us as much alcohol and food as we wanted and we proceeded to drink and drink some more.

After enjoying some Vietnamese hospitality, we returned to the big dance floor to watch a show on the main stage with some sexy professional dancers. Later, they opened the stage and let people climb up to dance. Naturally, I went. I danced with a few different girls and, suddenly, felt someone smack me on the back. I turned around to see Sean, a half-Asian, half-White person from Northern California who studied Mandarin in a different university.

We met once before at a random dumpling shop — I remembered him being callous and arrogant — but we acted as if we were long-lost brothers. He quickly introduced me to his friend, a beautiful blonde girl from the States with a pretty smile and a short, black dress.

“Where are you from?” she asked with a smile.
“America!”
“Haha, I know! But where?”
“LA.”
“Awesome!”
She had dance moves. I was impressed and answered back with some saucy dance moves of my own.
“Wow,” she said in a flirty voice, “you are from LA!”

You know, at that point, I never thought much of my dancing. I just loved good music, good drinks, moving my body, and pretty women. Like most men, I get a little self-conscious from time-to-time, but if the mood is right, I can let go and sync with the beat. She put a smile on my face, for sure, and I think Sean got jealous.

After a quick break with Adrian, we scanned the dance floor again and I noticed a girl wearing plain clothes, dancing by herself. She had a cute, slender face with long, black hair and stood taller than me, but she smiled as I maneuvered nearby. We chatted in Chinese.

“Where are you from?” she asked, moving in front of me.
“America,” I said. “I study here.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Two weeks.”
“Wow, your Chinese is good!”
“Haha, don’t lie.”
We flirted for a little, but I felt a few guys watching me as we danced together.
“Hey, my boyfriend’s at a table,” she whispered in English.
“Oh…”
Her male friend with a sharp jaw and long hair then barked something in Chinese.
“It’s okay,” she responded to him. (She spoke in Chinese, but I could understand.) “I want to dance with him.”
Her friend gave me a long glare, and we continued.
“I think your friends hate me,” I joked.
“Haha, they just want to make sure nothing happens to me.”
“Riiiight.”
“Hey,” she asked with a grin, “why are you always smiling?”
I didn’t even realize was smiling the whole night. I flashed a bigger one.
“Haha, why not?” I asked. “I’m happy — I love dancing.”

We danced closer and had just starting kissing when her long-haired male friend ripped me off her and stuck a middle finger in my face. Suddenly, his friend wearing a tank-top joined in, so I put my hands up to apologize as he jerked his finger in the “get the fuck out of here” motion. I retreated as she complained to her friends.

“Watch out who you fight with here,” Adrian calmly said. “Some of these people are in the Triad [the Taiwanese mafia]. I had a friend that got beat up outside of a club and the police didn’t do anything.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I thought.

Minutes later, I came face-to-face with the Taiwanese girl who tore her passionate, French-kissing friend off me. What luck. She was wearing a long, oversized t-shirt with thick white-and-black horizontal stripes. She was tall with an attractive face, light skin, and soft eyes. I gave her a glare, but surprisingly, we started danced together.

“Why did you pull your friend off me?” I asked in English.
“Well, we didn’t want her to get hurt. She does that sometimes,” she said with a smile.
“I see.”
For some reason, she kept trying to convince me to see her again.
“Are you serious?” I thought. “You pull your friend off me because you’re jealous and now you ask me out?”

She didn’t have an answer and I refused to take her number. It felt kinda good.

Soon, the lights in the nightclub brightened, and it was time to leave. I grabbed Adrian and we inched our way through the crowd toward the elevator. In the swirl of people, I saw the French-kissing girl. I smiled at her, but her friend — a chubby guy with a dark jacket and a fitted cap — grunted at me. I continued walking.

“Hey!” I heard someone call. I turned around. It was the girl with the boyfriend and “Triad” friends.
“Call me sometime,” she said with a grin.
“You’re kidding me,” I stammered. “After all that?”
“Haha, yes,” she said. “I like you.” She smiled and put her number in my mobile phone.
[I later wrote in my journal: “She covertly gives me her number, but what the fuck am I going to do with that?”]

For obvious reasons, I never called her.

Twenty minutes later, with my ears still ringing, I sat silently in the front seat of a taxicab as it sped home through the empty streets of Taipei. It was late, I was tired, but it was worth every second. As I recapped that night, I couldn’t help but crack a smile — through all that ungodliness, I made out it alive, had a blast with a new friend, and had some great adventures.

And I danced pretty well, too.

Enjoyed this article? Check out all the “Elephant Travels” articles!

My First Week In Taiwan, A Romantic Disaster
Finding Happiness By Sleeping Alongside The Homeless in Hong Kong
My Taipei 101 Story