It
never ceases to amaze me how suddenly the world goes quiet here. One minute, I’m
walking in downtown Hualien, scooters whipping past me so close I can feel the
heat off their exhaust pipes, shopkeepers hosing down their storefronts, cars
honking and breaking at stoplights. The next, the city is behind me and I’m
completely alone on the beach, listening to the sound of the waves.
That’s
not to say the Taiwanese don’t appreciate their natural environment. Their
complicated recycling system, based upon everyone taking personal responsibility
to sort their recyclables into upwards of ten categories, puts America to
shame. The beaches themselves are virtually free of litter. Taiwanese people
just know better than to go out in the scorching midday sun, unlike this sweaty
American.
After
a long week of teaching workshops, I enjoyed watching the waves (like a true
Midwesterner, I can never get over the size and the beauty of the ocean) and
sitting and reading by the shore. Afterwards, I reentered the chaos and
excitement of the city and immediately ended up by accident in a wet market (“wet”
markets sell impeccably fresh meat, fish, and fruit from small local vendors).
With a few words of Mandarin and a lot of hand gestures, I purchased a guava
and some moon cakes. I met a market stall owner who was studying a textbook on
International Business English. We had a short but excited conversation, him
happy to find a native speaker to practice with and me happy to find a Hualien
local who speaks my language. I promised to come back next week so that we
could speak again. I hope that as I begin taking Chinese classes in September,
I too can practice my Mandarin in the market.
The
market is loud, with shoppers milling about and haggling with the vendors, and
with the smells of everything from freshly butchered chickens to potted
orchids. I love the sensory overload just as much as I love the peace of the
beach. I have a lot more to explore of both, just as I have a lot more to explore
of Taiwan.
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