Recalling times when I have been culturally challenged in Taiwan, there is a single very vivid memory which stands out among all the rest. I was hanging out with a friend late at night, just the two of us, and in the midst of our deep ruminations on life and personality and our respective futures, some oblique statement tipped me off to a potential religiosity in my friend. So I asked, “Do you believe in God?” I thought it a reasonable question, one which did not overstep any boundaries in terms of what I may or may not ask.

She suddenly looked very confused, and asked, “Well, which god?” Fortunately I was not so oblivious to her mindset that I thought she was referring to differing conceptions of the Judeo-Christian God. I realized—although I had already known this on some intellectual level, of course—that her religious heritage was such that there are a myriad of gods, and myriad expectations are attached to them. A person might believe in any number of gods, and eschew belief in others, thereby delineating a very individual, albeit substantially contextualized, set of rules for what constitutes acceptable behavior.

How insensitive it was of me to ask! Fortunately she was not at all offended. She reacted similarly yet oppositely to what I might expect from a peer in the U.S. An American college student in the Northeast, when met with a positive answer from “the God question,” might respond with polite disdain, with patronization, like an evolutionist discovering a Creationist. Standard “my god is bigger than your god” fare. I think the motivation for such a reaction, while utterly indefensible, is that the disdaining individual feels more educated. It is difficult to believe that one can subscribe to beliefs of Creationism, when evolutionism and its daughter theories have populated the academic world so completely. In a sense, this person is saying: “Oh, that. You still believe that?”

My friend’s reaction was not too distant from this. She smiled and laughed a bit when she realized where I was coming from with my question. She began to explain, humiliatingly for me, that the Chinese tradition holds many gods, unlike my Western tradition, which has been predominantly monotheistic for a good two millennia now. The disdain, the patting on the head, came from a vector I still believe I perceived in how she presented this knowledge to me: I am a Westerner, come to Taiwan to study—and I still believe in that monotheism stuff?

This incident, so planted in my mind for all my days, took root and spread outwards to touch memories of similar happenings. I was outside, talking to a friend, discussing the learning of languages and how much that brings, how much understanding of humans, both others and the self, it affords one. My memory of the conversation is hazy now, but I believe we were talking in English. My friend asked me whether I knew any websites where he could find free books in English to read. Of course I did! I would link him to Gutenberg.org, so named because of Gutenberg, the German, the man who invented—he built—“he, hundreds of years ago, in the past, he makes a big machine to make—produce—many books.” No, the machine did not write them. Oh, yes, OK, it did write them, but it did not author them. Nevermind. (I would make the same mistakes! But would he?)

I warned my friend that while the works on this website would indeed be free, and in English, they would be quite old. “Why?” Well, because—how on Earth to explain, using rudimentary vocabulary, copyright law and the golem that is the culture of ownership grasping its leash? I knew this was a test I had to pass if I ever wanted to be a teacher, so I tried my best. “And so, most books there, only before 1920 or so.” My friend was still very confused. “Tell me about the old books.” Egg on my face. English was never painted on cloth and hauled across deserts to foreign kingdoms. Its writers were never compelled, at behest of the emperor and under penalty of death, to write, just write, lest the world never know their perfect philosophies.

I know nothing of age nor progress. I am an American, a puling infant amid cultures and worlds thoroughly adolescent. What can I do for you, that you haven’t already tried? What can I say to you, that you haven’t already heard?

I want to rediscover each and every one of you and tell you why you are still great. Long ago, just this morning, America tried to become the archive, the library of Alexandria, for all cultures willing to come. Tell us. We are listening. We may be rapt within our own ignorance, but we are blessed with youth and vigor, too. All our hands are stained with blood; I was just trying to be like you. So invite me to the table tell me a tale. Let’s forget our differences, which never really existed anyway, and have a meal.

I’m not entirely adjusted to the time change yet—for example, I’m writing this at 9am on a Sunday morning, because I’d run out of interesting things to do online—but that’s in many ways a good thing, because now I act like a properly socialized human being.

There are very many things I miss about Taiwan. Three months for a stay is simply not long enough; I was very much spoiled by my ten months in Germany.

Look at me, obnoxiously talking about my travels as though they were Sunday morning routines.

I’m going to unwind for the next few days, maybe sort some photos, listen to some music, read some blogs. Be with family.

That’s what this time of year is for, after all.

This past weekend I spent in Tainan, a stunningly beautiful coastal city with warm, warm weather. I saw many temples, was cooked dinner by Buddhist monks, and declined an invitation to stay with them overnight so I could participate in the morning prayer. I did manage to stay for the evening prayer, though, which made for an unforgettable experience.

Today I had a written exam, for which I had to write solely in Chinese characters, by hand, with a freaking pen (typing Chinese characters is no long a problem, nor is reading, but writing? that’s another story), and that went quite well. Then this afternoon I had an oral presentation about all the traveling I’ve been doing. I’ve another, similar one on Friday.

I’m going to go out to dinner tonight and take it easy.

Till another time.

Don’t hate me for making this another tiresome photoblog post.

The night we arrived in Hong Kong, we caught a late train home from the airport and spent a long time walking through the city, trying to find our hotel. There were many latenight street shot opportunities.

I think I took some of my best pictures while just moseying around the streets, far too late at night, in this ghost town. There is no life in Hong Kong, it seemed to me during my all-too-brief stay, at night. But maybe I traditionally look for the wrong signs of life.

And then there are the mandatory skyline shots. Can’t go to Hong Kong and not take pictures of all the tall buildings, right? I particularly like this one, because it’s taken from up on the mountain, and shows how snugly the dense city hugs the hillside. There isn’t much wasted space in Hong Kong, at least not on Central Island.

And then, a staple of any tourist in Hong Kong: we had to stick around the bay one evening to see the Symphony of Lights. It was underwhelming, to be nice. But then, I’ve been craving some caving paintings as of late.

It sounds odd, but I think what I got most out of this trip was that I finally learned how to use a camera. Beginning on the second day or so of the trip, I got the balls to put my camera on manual. I don’t think I would have gotten a lot of the shots I did had I not had the courage to try this out.

So, looking good into the future!

Many more pictures here and here.

Image source: Wikipedia

On a whim, I bought a plane ticket to Hong Kong. Alcohol may or may not have played a role in the decision.

Originally the plan was to use Hong Kong as a gateway to China, and travel onward to Guangzhou, Shanghai, Kaifeng, and the Shaolin temple in Zhengzhou, but from what it looks like, visas for American citizens are at this time in my life prohibitively expensive. Maybe next time!

So I’ll be going to Hong Kong with three friends from here, all Americans—our Taiwanese friends are not exactly doing backflips about our desire to go to China—one of whom lived in China for 3 years (in Kaifeng, actually).

We’ll make sure to hit up Macau, too, as Hong Kong might not be enough to entertain us for 5 days. Although I’m really looking forward to seeing the Tian Tan Buddha in all its monstrous glory.

Image source: Tian Tan Buddha by Oye-sensei

It will be a marvellous time.

For the coming weekend my university here has organized a trip to Taipei for all the international students. I should get to meet a fair number of people. I hear there are some Dutch and French people, as well as lots from various Southeast Asian countries, so it should be a pleasant time.

I’ve saved many Taipei activities for this trip, as at least some of it will be on the school’s tab. That said, here are a few things I was lucky enough to see on my last trip.

Upon arriving to the city, I was able to bear witness to a gorgeous sunset.

I love the motion of the bicyclist in this picture.

The plan was originally to make it to Taipei 101 in time to photograph the mountains in sunset, but it took a while to get to that part of town. By the time I did get to it, it was fully dark, so I just took pictures of the outside of the building, rather than paying to go all the way to the time.

There was a splendid foot court in the basement complex, though. I wasn’t as adventuresome as I usually am in terms of food, because I saw fried rice and noodles and went wild, and everything was about US$1 a plate. Hell, yeah!

Nighttime is a great time to wander around and snap pics of things and places I can’t identify, but are pretty.

Sorry I’ve been tossing together only photo posts with very little narrative or speculative content. Things are fun here and there is much beauty of all kinds. Still sorting through all of that.

]]> http://www.conorschaefer.com/blog/index.php/2008/10/02/a-small-taste-of-taipei/feed/ 4 http://www.conorschaefer.com/blog/index.php/2008/09/27/typhoon-season-aint-over-yet/ http://www.conorschaefer.com/blog/index.php/2008/09/27/typhoon-season-aint-over-yet/#comments Sat, 27 Sep 2008 13:55:45 +0000 Conor http://www.conorschaefer.com/blog/?p=617 Despite the assurances of the Taiwanese students I’ve spoken with here that no more storms would find us this year, there’s another typhoon coming. This one looks substantially scarier than the last one, Hagupit, which didn’t even bring rain to the northern part of the island. Meet Super Typhoon Jangmi. (All pictures from Wunderground.)

As you can see, it’s already a Category 5, although it’s supposed to be losing some strength along the way to Taiwan. We’re gonna get bulldozed by this thing.

CNN already reports:

The Central Weather Bureau urged residents in eastern and northern Taiwan on Saturday to beware of strong winds and heavy rains being whipped up by Typhoon Jangmi.

[...]

It says the typhoon is packing winds of 118 miles per hour (191 kilometers per hour) and moving northwest at 12 mph (20 kph).

Based on the stats in the Wunderground pic above, Jangmi has obviously gotten stronger since the CNN article was written. It can’t go above a Category 5, so in some sense that’s comforting.

I stepped on my umbrella the other day and snapped it in half. Great timing, eh? I’m thinking I should run out in the morning tomorrow and buy one, if there are any left in town. And stock up on soup and tea, as well—again, if there’re any left.

Sundays are great days to read.

There are mountains around town, mountains which I will be visiting tomorrow, actually.

Most of the city, at least the small section of it where I am, is small alleys. Finding new restaurants (and, I’ll be honest, photo opportunities) is a perpetual quest.

The streets are full of character, everywhere.

I think it’s clear that this place is beautiful, but I hope to make it clear that it’s really beautiful. Always.

That’s about all that should reasonably be stuffed into a single post, in my opinion. I plan on making many more, but that’s all for tonight, I think.

In terms of translating the name of the city, I’m not entirely sure what it means, but I have an idea. I’ve consulted with an American here who knows much, much more Mandarin than I—he’s studied it for about two years and is conversationally quite proficient—and he wasn’t able to nail it down at first. The first character, 中, usually means “middle” (the word for “China” in Mandarin is 中國, which literally means “middle country”). The second character, 壢, doesn’t have an entry in any dictionary I’ve tried, but if you remove the leftmost radical from it, which is 土 or tǔ, the character becomes 歷, which means “to pass through” or “to undergo.”

土 or tǔ means “earth” and is present in the words for “cultivate,” “soil,” “land,” and “territory.” So all together, 中壢 seems to mean something like “middle passage through the land.” And honestly, if you take a look at the geography around here, it makes sense that the city would be named that.

Makes sense, no?

Anyway, I’ll throw up some more pics soon. I just wanted to offer a more formal introduction to the city first.

I got in about 10:30pm on Tuesday night. This means I’ve had three days’ worth of classes, and had my ass handed to me in every one of them. The instructors really are great, but I have a lot of studying to do to bring my Mandarin up to par.

Upon getting to the dormitory where I’ll be staying and meeting my roommates, I realized I wouldn’t be able to sleep. It took 23 hours to get from Philadelphia to Taipei, and I’d slept for most of it. Also, given the timezone difference (GMT +7 or EST +12), my body just wasn’t feeling it needed a nap.

So I decided to go for a walk around campus and the city. One of my roommates with whom I had a good vibe offered to tag along, and it seemed genuine, so I accepted. I reasoned that I would be able to wander much farther if I had a guide, and hopefully he could point out some places of interest which I could revisit later in the week.

The plan worked marvellously. Max and I walked and talked for an hour or two, I overstimulated myself, and even snapped some great pics.

There are many more great pictures to come. The upstream bandwidth I’m allotted here is abysmal, so I’ll have to start uploads before I go to bed, and make posts in the morning. I’ll try to do that soon.

On Sunday I’ll be going to Taipei by train.

More details to come.

Allegedly, there will be someone at the airport to pick me up when I get there.

I wish I knew how to say “God bless you” in Japanese. It would have come in handy quite a bit today.

Promptly after taking off, I spilled orange juice all over myself and then fell asleep, wet and sticky. I feel like an ambassador already.

Oh, and for the record, Taiwan’s timezone is GMT +8. That means EST +12, if that makes it easier.

Time to board.

The first trip I took up there, a Friday, my application was declined. The reason given was that they at the consulate wanted to know more about the curriculum at the university in Taiwan I’d be attending. I didn’t see why that was important, of course, and still don’t, actually, but, not having access to The Big Book Of Important Shit like these people evidently do, I figured it was best to take their word for it and bring back whatever they asked for. My acceptance letters to the program from both my unversity in the U.S. and the university in Taiwan were simply insufficient to convince these people of my intention to attend classes there. OK, super.

So I made a second trip. This was on the following Wednesday, the only day of finals week at my university that I didn’t have an exam. I brought with me my life history on paper. I had e-mails from every party involved in the matter, written confirmation of disbursement of my scholarship, bank statements corroborating a deposit of equal value, acceptance letters, Cheetos, a written statement from my mom saying how awesome I am—there was no way they could turn me down.

The girl helping me through the application process seemed to think the same. Then she slid the whole mass of papers back to me and said, “You also need two photos and you don’t have those.” I slowly touched my finger to the pictures I’d placed on her desk along with everything else. She seemed a little annoyed that she’d have to go through with the application process, but the papers were slid back across the table and the photos picked up.

“These aren’t the right size. We cannot use them and so the application is invalid. You will have to come again.”

I of course proceeded to explain that they were so totally the right size that the International Bureau of Weights and Measures had written me requesting to house one of them in some basement in Paris as the fucking SI standard for passport photo. My argument was less than persuasive.

Fortunately—according to her—I wasn’t to fret, because replacement photos could easily be obtained from a photo store that was just around the corner from the consulate. Not half a block away! I’d shown up at a reasonable time, so it looked like I could go get new photos, then come back and finish the application in plenty of time, same day. Great, right?

It should not have surprised me that the photo place, literally two doors down from the Taiwanese Consulate—a single Starbucks weakly fractured the aura of assocation between the two establishments—was run by Taiwanese people. I waited behind a persnickety woman for a while, before an employee stepped in from the side and asked me what I needed. I said a photo for a Taiwanese visa, and she responded with pleasure, as though it were an exceedingly simple task. She showed me to the photographer in the back.

It should be noted that the nice man taking my picture grinned and gave me a thumbs up as I snapped a pic of this sign with my cell phone.

After snapping a few shots and showing them to me for comparison, so that I could choose the one with least glare on my glasses, the man plugged in his camera and began to crop the photos on a computer. He then printed them out and cut them up, I believe cropping them even further. Whatever. He assured me he was very familiar with the requirements for “next door.” No surprise there.

The friendly old photographer hands me my two freshly cut photographs in an envelope and sends me off to the register up front. When I get there, the helpful cashier with a great New York accent reasonably supposes, “American passport?” I said no, that actually they were for a visa for Taiwan. He yells, “Oh!” and with a single button press on the register, my total flips from $6.00 to $14.50. For two photos. I recalled that I’d paid $9 in Philadelphia for six photos, which I still believed (and still do believe) were the right size.

These new ones I got were indeed exactly the same as my old ones. I only got two with my purchase, though, so I couldn’t take one home to show to friends, as two were required by the application. Bah.

So I pass by the Starbucks and head upstairs at the consulate again. I turn in my photos. The woman is very pleased with me, presumably because of how willingly I gave $14.50 to her cousin or brother or uncle, and says my application is now complete. She fills out a “visa pickup” form, handwrites in 4:00pm, and dismisses me for the time being.

I wander around that section of New York—right next to Bryant Park and the NYPL, for those interested—for a bit, and make it back by 4:00pm on the dot. The woman who helped me earlier that afternoon looks very upset and motions me over hastily to ask what I’m doing here. I point to the time on the paper she’d given me, and she points to the date, which was the day after. Oops.

On my third trip to New York, several days later, I picked up the visa without a single incident. Well, actually, there was one slight issue, but the people in New York assure me it’s not a problem: my visa is good for only 60 days, when my trip will last substantially longer than that.

Oh, well. At least I have something to let me into the country!

We met Jesus freaks. We feasted upon pizza and cheesesteaks. We didn’t check our receipts until it was too late.

We swam in the ocean and got harassed by lifeguards. Built sandcastles competitively and gaped in wounded awe when the tide calmly ravaged them. Makeshift chin towers did little to curb the sense of loss.

At night we headed home in time to try to catch fireworks in Philadelphia. It rained, so we stayed home and got drunk. We watched movies and told stories and slapped each others’ sunburnt backs and appendages.

Two friends practiced poi late into the morning.

And that’s about it. It was a wonderful time. I love my friends.

I need signatures and scads of paperwork from various officials. And I have nothing.

So, I wrote an e-mail to the scholarship committee, donning my most humble of humble miens, explained that I’m an epic douchebag failure.

I’ve already heard back from someone within the scholarship organization, someone who either works in a west coast office or has a brutally dominating boss, given the timestamp on the e-mail, and it’s all good.

Everything works out. Always. I learn no lessons.

Ever.

Today I had to head to campus for classes and meetings with various faculty and administrators. I received a new parcel of research work from my mentoring prof and discussed my upcoming trip to Taiwan with the coordinator of the program I’ll be taking part in there.

This evening I haven’t done much of anything productive. I sorted through some pictures of travels during the last few weeks I was in Europe, but nothing’s uploaded yet.

I miss my old life. But I guess that’s par for the course.

It’s only 1am here, but that’s 7am Germany time, so I think I’m going to turn in now.

I will try to blog over the coming days about how bad the beer is here and how weak the currency is and all sorts of other snobbish things.

I likely will not post again for several days.

On Saturday I will be in Munich with friends, drinking myself out of sadness and staying up all night to catch my plane back to the States Sunday morning.

I don’t know what about my life here I’ll miss most, but I have a feeling I’m about to find out.

Until whenever.

There were not many cameras present over the weekend, which was a wise decision, as the weather got suddenly shockingly bad on several occasions. We were graced with sunshine most of the weekend, so we spent our time shirtless and writing on each other, and finding broken sunglasses in the mud and trying them on.

A few highlights

It was a long weekend, but I’ll cherrypick some memories. A friend and I were on a mission to make the Opeth set, and since they got one of the larger outdoor stages (as opposed to the indoor club-style venue where most of the heavy bands were playing), we knew we had to show up early if we wanted a good spot. This meant I got to see most, if not all, of Silverstein’s set, and I must say it was a very pleasant surprise. They had a great crowd and some pretty solid tunes. I might not listen to them myself in the future, but I’ll definitely name drop with a few people.

Between Silverstein and Opeth, thunder rolled across the park complex. Wind flirted with the trees, lifting up the branches in an unbearably long arsis before the storm. When the rain came, it was absolutely torrential. Phones, cigarettes, campground maps, anything anyone might have had in their pockets was totally fucked. Those who stayed through it to wait for Opeth to come on were the hardest Opeth fans ever—but then, to be fair, there aren’t really that many people who are casual Opeth fans.

Right before the band came on, the rain turned to hail. It was only pea-sized, but since some of us (<– this guy) left our shirts back at the campsite to get soaked there, it stung like hell. Many people assumed a reverential, contemplative posture of clasped hands and downturned head, probably because they saw what hail can do to somebody’s eye if you look up at the sky while it’s coming down, like what happened to a girl next to me.

When Opeth came on stage, the place went nuts. By this point the mud was just a lake of muddy water and gravel, and the moshers starting sweepkicking to make sure everyone was not only soaked, but filthy, too.

Mikael got on the mic and said, “You guys are all fucking crazy. I? I would’ve just gone home, I think.”

Then they played, as an opener, Demon Of The Fall. Every time I’ve ever seen them, this has been the encore piece, and I think they reworked their set to reward the fans that stuck it out through the weather. Their setlist was so:

1. Demon Of The Fall
2. The Baying Of The Hounds
3. Heir Apparent
4. The Drapery Falls

There might have been a fifth song, but I don’t think there was. That’s the problem of having songs over 10 minutes: you really can’t play that many pieces live, even if you up the tempo (which they certainly did).

The fans there were freaking out, because pouring rain is the best weather to listen to Opeth to—especially anything off Blackwater Park. The acoustic bridge of The Drapery Falls was beautiful in the rain:

Spiraling to the ground below
Like autumn leaves left in the wake to fade
Waking up to your sound again
I lapse into the ways of misery

And then you headbang until you die.

Another great time was during Black Dahlia Murder’s set, when the singer gets on the mic between songs and says:

This song is about… putting your dick in the dead.

I was very near the front on that one, and looked over to one of my shirtless buddies, and we both pointed with our thumbs to the pit forming behind us. That was an awesome pit, which for some reason also had insanely hot girls in it, girls that would fuck you up if you went easy on them. I found that out the hard way. I saw several people land on the back of their head and have to be carried out. Staying up was definitely a bitch, because the floor of the indoor venue was slick with sweat and beer.

My shoes died that weekend in the pits. The soles are barely attached any longer, the shoelaces got ripped, and the holes for them to be fed through along with, holes in the bottom for rocks to get in… I need new shoes. The best part? I wear a size 50 here and I’ve never, ever been able to find a pair that big. I’ve asked all my German friends and they just tell me to go back to freak country where shoes that big are sold.

I guess I only have a week left anyway.

There are thousands of more tales, but I’m short on time this morning. Pretty much all the other stories need massive amounts of gesticulations and crucial comedic timing. Perhaps I shall videoblog some of the more palatable ones in the future.

For now, though, I post.

I just heard back regarding the scholarship this week, and the news was good.

May 30, 2008

Dear Conor,

Congratulations! On behalf of the Freeman Foundation and the Institute of International Education (IIE), we are delighted to inform you that you have been nominated to receive the Freeman-ASIA Fall 2008 Award for your proposed study in Taiwan.

Not too shabby, eh?

In communicating with my advisor at the university in Taiwan, I’d gotten a little overzealous and gone over the credit limit. Apparently there are 15-20 credits of language and culture courses which I must take, but I’m exploring the possibilities of just attending other classes and then not testing in them. Even that would still be killer.

So, here’s to learning languages, to meeting people, and to trying all kinds of alcohol on the face of the earth.

This weekend, to be sure, will be spent in Freiburg, just for the hell of it. Baden-Württemberg is one of the few states in Germany I haven’t been to, and Freiburg is supposed to be the only city in Germany prettier than Munich. (Judging by the date in the Wikipedia article, it’s also officially been a city for 38 years longer than Munich. Thanks, tour guide job.)

After that, I’ll probably wind up back in Munich for a day and maybe do a tour. If I’m here, with nothing else to do, why not? It’s good money, and free beer and bratwurst, which means I’m partly saved the trouble of converting the money into beer and bratwurst.

I’ve quit at all my jobs, though I have one shift left at O2 tomorrow. “Quitting” in Bavaria apparently means that other people make you drink. After my last shift at Joey’s, the guys dragged me to a bar where we ordered three buckets of zombie and some beers. Then that bar closed, so we went to another. Rinse and repeat. Made it home slightly after sunrise and overslept so badly I almost missed the tour that day. Then I had to drink more on the tour.

In terms of plans for the weeks to come, I don’t really know. I guess I’ll buy some beer and mosey around for the two weeks until my flight.

I hear Finland is nice.

Well, that confounded charger is till in Vienna, at the place of the dude with whom we stayed. I have no desire whatsoever to contact that individual again (a much longer story, and one I would never go into in public), and I wouldn’t even expect him to actually send it, were I to contact him.

This means I have two weeks left in this country and no cell phone. Amazingly, my dumpy cell phone is one of the only models that the O2 store on Marienplatz, where I work, doesn’t have a charger for in their charging station. A friend had had the bright idea that I’d just charge the phone every day while at work, which would have been bitching. Alack.

So now I’m considering buying another cheapo phone, just to get my through the next two weeks. If I’m going to be doing a lot of traveling, I think it’d be a good idea. Especially so I can keep the Twits flowing.

But in the meantime, those of you who stalk me on Twitter are in for a dolorous dryspell.

We overstayed our welcome in Melk a bit and missed the last train that our tickets allowed us to take back to Salzburg, so we had to buy upgraded tickets—but this meant a faster train, which was spiffy. And all told, we spent only about €33 per person on train tickets for the entire trip. That means Munich to Salzburg to Linz to Vienna and back again, all for €33. Not bad, eh?

Accommodation was completely free, as we hit up Couch Surfing and found some people willing to lodge us for the weekend.

All told, the trip was utterly win. I’ve harvested about 4GB of photos, which I’ll have to pare down quite a bit before I begin uploading. Since I have work in the morning, I think I’m going to retire presently, but I’ll spend all of Monday evening hacking away at this mass of pictures.

I really should travel more.

photo by bcnbits on flickr

Sounds grand, no?

photo by salat fresser on flickr

I’m looking forward to it. Have a wonderful weekend.

Back in the States, I’ve already taken two quarters of Mandarin. The coursework was primarily in Pinyin, which means I didn’t really learn many characters. My pronunciation was decent, though, as I was fortunate enough to have a professor from Taiwan and one from Beijing. I got the best of both worlds, so to speak.

Here in Germany, I took an additional course in Mandarin, which assumed knowledge of characters. Pinyin was used exceedingly sparingly (basically whenever I asked the professor to write something in Pinyin). It was in some sense a crash course, and I had to learn at least 200 characters for the final exam, which I ended up getting a B on.

In Taiwan, however, the characters are very different from the characters used in mainland China.

Regarding the trip to Taiwan in the fall, I recently received a placement exam for Chinese via e-mail. I thought, “No sweat!” and popped it open. I actually laughed out loud when I saw it. First question:

(   )今天是李小姐的生日,王先生___她吃飯。

1. 送
2. 請
3. 買
4. 賣

If you know the answer, hook me up in a comment, OK? Because I sure as hell don’t.

Fuck traditional characters.

Toward the end of the tour—at least, I think it was toward the end—we cruised through Bavaria and the tip of Austria. The pictures I took down there, with an old, rather beaten-up 35mm which my girlfriend at the time had lent me for the trip, are still the iconic pictures of Bavaria for me.

Years later, but still years in the past, I went to Bavaria again, this time just for a week-long stay. I had been offered a scholarship to study in Munich for a year (one which I declined—later, the scholarship I’m now taking advantage of fell into my lap, and I couldn’t say no again), and this brief stay was meant to be an introduction and a tease for what was to come.

We of course took a trip to the Alps, my second.

Even now, after having actually lived here for the better part of a year, these pictures still come to mind whenever I need to think abstractly about Bavaria. Nothing helps more to understand the Bavarian people than to take a look at these few glimpses of the landscapes. As I mused in an earlier post,

I’ve often noticed that Bavarians aren’t always looking over their shoulders at the revenant of the war, that they remember instead the cobalt blue of the Alps in the distance on that one day when autumn came so quickly.

I’m no de Tocqueville, but I stand by those words all these months (and Maßes) later.

I hope you now know at least a little better what it feels like to live here. The weather is changing. It now rains for two days and then is sunny for one. More pictures to come, I hope.