June 30th – July 2nd
Flight was lovely, long and relatively uneventful. Malaysia airlines was quite nice – decent food, interesting outfits, comfortable seats, decent movie selection and unbeatable price! Of course it’s been so long since I’ve travelled more than 3 hours on a plane that I may just have forgotten what 12 hour plane trips are like.
Probably the most interesting section of my journey thus far was the Hallway of Despair in LAX. Now, if I were to compare LAX to any other airport I’ve ever been in, I would have to say it wins for being the most unique and the most confusing, not necessarily a terrible combination provided you’re not in a hurry. There are 8 terminals, each their own gigantic branch of the airport with gigantic jets leading up to them (the planes are much bigger in LAX). These terminals are connected by a series of honeycomb tunnels, walkways, and generally chaotic pathways that are poorly marked, seemingly random, and entirely gorgeous. Each terminal is decorated differently and supports a different airline, and some were very pretty – my favorite was terminal 5, and I only wish I could remember what airline travelled in that section so I could support them soley on the basis of design and schematic.
Anyway. Hallway of Despair. Here I am, in Terminal 6, headed towards the International section via Terminal 5. Unlike most of the other sections, this passageway was fairly obvious and well designated, and so I headed down an escalator, not knowing what lay ahead of me.
At the end, with my footsteps echoing and my spidey senses all out seizing, I came upon the only person I’d seen in the entire 5 minute tunnel extravaganza. A jolly looking man, looking dapper in his Technicolor green vest and perched jauntily (I’m sorry, but I’ve really been reading too much of the Princess Bride) upon his airport go-cart/taxi hybrid. I felt like it was the Matrix, and he was the architect. Or something.
I arrived in Taiwan equipped with the knowledge of numbers 1 – 8 (nine doesn’t seem to be sticking, and zero may never come to me), “thank you” (though I mispronounced it for several days afterwards), and about 6 hours of sleep in about 36 hours time. I made my way through customs with only a 15 second stink eye, and was greeted by a darling gap toothed man who had my name on a sign and spoke less English than I did Chinese. He took me on his tour bus, which was decorated with bobble head Koalas, bright gold buddas, and lace-covered Kleenex boxes. It also kept beeping ominously. During this time, I realized my phone could send text messages, and that I didn’t know how to tell whether a bathroom was occupied or not (obviously this last bit happened at a rest stop, not in the van itself). I also saw not-so-miniature bright gold buddhas on the side of the road in a shop, though I regret to say they were so shiny and overwhelming that I did not have the presence of self to snap a photo for you.
I arrived in Chiayi at about 9:00 in the morning. I was sticky and pretty pooped, and we met Harris at my apartment building. I didn’t actually learn his name until much, much later, coincidentally; he didn’t introduce himself and I was too tired to notice until later when it was MUCH too late. I took some time to settle into the apartment, noticed I had the wrong plugs, watched some doctor who, and then went out for an afternoon on the town!
Chiayi and Taiwan in general are beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful; bright signs, funny people, interesting houses, and huge patches of green in the middle of brick and plaster. We drove around and got some leche fruit, which are delicious, and had lunch which was some sort of bony fish which had, according to Harris, big goggly eyes and a gigantic forehead. It was tasty despite the mental image. The café was pretty funny; the lady owned three huskies who looked about ready to keel over, and when I wasn’t cutting my fish correctly she came over and did it for me, smiling and chattering at me in Chinese as she put the portions on the rice like I was supposed to.
I bought some essentials, and headed home, where, assured by Harris that the plugs were American style, tested this idea with my hairdryer.
Which blew up in my face.
I am now a sad, scarred woman, much like the previously gorgeous guy in Spiderman 3. Well, alright, I’m using ‘blew up’ in a very general sense… there was a nasty smell and a high pitched whirring noise. You probably can’t count it as an explosion if there aren’t any sparks, right?
Whatever. It’s my blog, and I can damn well exaggerate if I want to. And none of you lot are going to see me for a good long time, so if I say my face is a melted monstrosity, you have no way of disproving that information. HA!
I’m getting distracted by thoughts of buying canes to go with my new scarred visage and villainous personality. I was talking about exploding hairdryers, voltage difficulties, and my sudden lack of confidence in A) the compatability of any of my electronics, B) Harris’s outlet know-how, and C) my mother’s googling skills (as I had her look the issue up).
For two days, I wandered in a state of sorrow, alone in my apartment (my roommates are in Japan), confident I would never be able to plug in my electronics again. Then I went with Harris to the electronics store, where the shopkeeper also reassured me that I would be fine. I returned home, and tested out my next item of least value: my hair straighter. Never have flickering green and red lights seemed more precious to me (except for at Christmas but, well, DUH.)
Moral of that separate story? My electronics work, the problem was my hairdryer is broken.
Other things of possible interest:
- The garbage truck shows up at about 6:00 every night, and sings a little song to tell you to come on down, throw your trash away! It’s like the ice cream truck, only opposite!
- The hot water tap has a sign on it that says ‘don’t touch.’ It’s not FREAKING KIDDING.
- All the water tanks are on the roofs of the houses here.
- In the department stores, there are escalators without steps (they are just slopes). If you put you grocery cart on these slopes, they STICK because they are MAGNATIZED and NOBODY ELSE THINKS THIS IS AWESOME.
- when I went to go get my work visa photo, I had to put on a child’s vest to not blend into the background (I was wearing white). I ripped this when I took it off, but I don’t think anyone noticed. Then I got to pick one of the several photos taken – which seemed odd, having been to the DMV before for photos and not getting to retake them regardless how many boogers or chocolate smears you have. Harris was shocked when I picked one that wasn’t showing my teeth. “You aren’t smiling!” “Yes I am, just… subtly.” Then, my boss and the photographer spent about 5 minutes arguing in Chinese… which I’ve never heard conveyed with sarcasm before (the photographer). Today, I went to get the medical examination done for the rest of the checkup… and the photo I’d picked had been very, very definitely retouched. Even on my best days, I do not look so even and… matte. This strikes me as very, very funny… it’s a work visa, what the hell do I care what it looks like?
- traffic here terrifies me. Being a pedestrian makes me want to become an alcoholic, if only for the courage the booze would bring.
- on the few controlled crosswalks there are here, the walk sign is a frantically twitching little green man whos fitful footsteps are accompanied by a 20 second timer. The stop sign is a very demure little red man, standing still and prim.
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