tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56153665077892932982024-02-21T02:28:51.766+08:00Betelnut Equation - Living in Taipei Taiwan as an expatA warts and all look at how foreigners cope with living in Taipei, Taiwan. Learn about: where is Taiwan, working abroad, teaching English, studying Chinese, Taiwan food, Taiwan Taipei, China and Taiwan, Taiwan news, Taiwan daily, Taiwan travel, Taiwan weather, China Taiwan, Taiwan capital, National Taiwan University, Taiwan daily and Taiwan consulate, Travel to Taiwan, Taiwan Kaohsiung, Taiwan wikiDan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.comBlogger198125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-58552655031142946612014-09-16T18:10:00.000+08:002016-12-06T16:59:09.141+08:00Taiwan characters: Eric and studying Chinese VEric posted his ad for someone to study and practice Chinese with him, then a few months later he was sure he had found paradise. Until it all came crashing down...<br />
<br />
Eric turned his head and looked at Hsing-Cheng: “So you are saying the reason why there are always fights in the legislature is because of frustration; to show they are doing something. Am I saying it right?”<br />
<br />
“Yes. No problems,” she replied. “Your Chinese is improving everyday.<br />
<br />
“That is really interesting. Fascinating,” said Eric.<br />
<br />
Background: apart from the stamp on the back of all products, ‘Made in Taiwan’ - Taiwan is best known for the mass brawls in the parliament that have made international news around the world over the years. The answer to why they never used to be able to talk out a problem was based on Taiwan’s rather undemocratic makeup at the time: when Chiang Kai-Shek was defeated by the communists and brought the Nationalist Army over from China, suppressing the 4 million Taiwanese who were already there, he was pretending to be a democrat, but there was a twist on his style of democracy: he claimed to the government of the whole of China, and so declared the honourable members of Nanjing, Xian, and Beijing that came with him needed to stay in the parliament to make policy for the little island of Taiwan, otherwise it wouldn’t be representative of the views of the whole of China. And, at the same time, those honourable members could only stand for re-election when they could return to China and face their respective electorates…Forty years later, the political climate had thawed such that Taiwanese wouldn’t simply be shot on the spot for a dissenting voice, and the number of seats for Taiwanese in the Taiwanese parliament had increased to maybe 20%. Still the honourable members for Xian and Beijing who were still alive were being wheeled into parliament with their drips – and pressing the buzzer on their chairs to rubber stamp anything Chiang Kai-Shek’s son Chiang Jing-Gwo wanted and block anything beneficial to the Taiwanese. Understandably the democratically elected and young Taiwanese members decided to take out their frustration, and show their electorate they were doing something, by taking a few pot shots at the old guys in the chairs.<br />
<br />
Eric smiled to himself because life was great. He had put that advert for someone to practice his Chinese with and luck had fallen on him. Well, not immediately – there was the girl who had spoke English all the time, and replied, Oh, I thought you were joking when you said you wanted to speak Chinese. Then there was the one who answered the door in her underwear. He had been about to give up when he met Hsing-Cheng. Two months had passed in which she had happily taught him Chinese, not speaking a word of English.<br />
<br />
He sat up straight on the bed, picking up the condom next to him. “You want a drink?”<br />
<br />
Of course they were sleeping together - he had been wrong about many things in Taiwan but he knew no girl would give away free Chinese lessons unless she had an ulterior motive.<br />
<br />
On the third lesson, after they had talked for many hours in Chinese, and he found out what a selfless, nice girl she was - he decided to initiate a ruse to get her back to his. She had initially seemed coy but he knew for a fact that they all were; he had learnt that you are supposed to ignore this otherwise nobody would ever sleep with anyone. He wasn’t culturally stupid on this one anymore.<br />
<br />
Since then things had been even more perfect: she came around two or three times a week; she didn’t want to go for dinner or coffee; she never talked about their relationship or seeing each more often. She was just perfect.<br />
<br />
“You are quiet today,” said Eric.<br />
<br />
“You know we must stop this soon,” said Hsing-Cheng.<br />
<br />
<em>I see</em>, thought Eric. <em>The time had to arrive and I am not bothered. I am happy to say I am her boyfriend.</em><br />
“I would love to have you as a girlfriend. Sorry, I should have said earlier,” said Eric.<br />
<br />
“No,” she said starting to cry. “It is not right, I have a boyfriend.”<br />
<br />
Eric wasn’t that surprised. He readjusted for the fact she was in an unhappy relationship with some Taiwanese guy her parents had introduced her to.<br />
<br />
“It is okay. You can finish with him. I really like you and I am prepared to make a commitment,” he replied.<br />
<br />
“No, you don’t understand. I love him. I will marry him soon.”<br />
<br />
“So…uh….why?” said Eric switching to English; wanting to understand the explanation with no room for errors.<br />
<br />
“I feel sorry for you. I like to help foreigners in Taiwan to pay back for when people help me in Canada. I know you want a girlfriend, but you should be honest in those columns. Not waste people’s time. I know you are shy, but you will find one. Taiwan girls are very easy…Hmm, I think best we don’t see each other again. ”<br />
<br />
Eric wasn’t sure if he got off his bed again that day.Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-38414822814798904952013-10-25T10:51:00.000+08:002013-10-25T08:49:31.268+08:00Expat Culture in Taiwan: To buy or not to buy...One of the things you suffer from in those early years when you haven’t decided if you are going home or not, is ‘to buy or not to buy’ syndrome. <br />
At the start, when you first arrive, it is easy: you rent yourself a small room, you buy the minimal furniture and lifestyle accessories to fry yourself an egg and wash yourself and all is ok. After all, you will be leaving in a year and then you will buy that really nice armchair you want and a fancy set of cupboards. Then you hit your 2<sup>nd</sup> year extension and it starts to get painful, for a number of reasons:<br />
1) You are already feeling bad because you have his funny feeling in the pit of your stomach that tells you there wasn’t any sense to your extension, and you are setting yourself up for the long haul in Taiwan. Still you are not able to deal with that at the time so it just leaves you feeling a little insecure.<br />
2) You have probably extended because you like Taiwan, or your job, or a girlfriend, and you have begun the slippery slide into settling down, becoming domesticated.<br />
3) You have already started driving around the city with your girlfriend having conversations about: ‘yeah, if I was going to stay in Taipei long-term, I would live here…’ <br />
What happens then it that you do what you have been resisting for years, you allow the girlfriend to take you to Ikea and other furniture shops and home comfort purchase crisis sets in. <br />
What is purchase crisis? It is the period between when you don’t make any home comfort purchases and when you give up and accept you are staying in Taiwan. This is a painful time, because you start to buy home comforts and you are torn because you are in Taiwan to save money and frankly you know this is a total waste. <br />
You start small by just buying a few wine glasses justifying it by saying: ‘so what if I can’t take them home, they are only cheap.’ But shopping is an addictive thing so on the way to the wine glasses you see the tables, chairs, and sofas, and it burns you inside. You arrive at the checkout with a lamp, and some prints in your trolley, and it is hurting because you know it is a complete waste of money, but you keep repeating to yourself: ‘It is not really very expensive. I might be able to sell it one day.’ Once purchased and at home it feels good, but also unsatisfied because you didn’t really want these items, you wanted the sofa and table.<br />
One year later your apartment is filled with lots of small items, half of which you don’t really want. In particular, the prints that you knew were naff when you bought them, and too many rugs, drapes and all those disposable plant type things like Ikea sells to give you instant style to your room. You bought them not because you were lazy but because, by being fast food furniture and not requiring effort or love to install, they allowed you not to feel guilty about putting down roots. Still it dawns on you that all that crap you don’t want actually costs more than the sofa you did, and you are still sitting on that old sofa that someone gave you; that you hate. <br />
Why didn’t you buy the sofa? Obviously, it can’t be packed into your suitcase, it is a large one-off purchase, and it, most importantly, signifies putting down roots --When you buy a sofa you always talk about it lasting you several years. <br />
At this point you get even more depressed by your rootless existence, and double up your efforts to decide if you are going to stay in Taiwan or leave. In order to give yourself time to decide you resolve not to buy any more home comforts, but throw your money into buying DVDs because they can be taken with you. <br />
About six months later you buy that sofa and get married… Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-24514085196540962432013-09-06T09:36:00.000+08:002013-09-06T09:34:40.673+08:00Cute Language Uses: An unfortunate use of 'a' instead of 'the'In the old days, when there were only a few places we foreigners went - apart from the girls who wanted to date foreigners - you would get a fair few gay men come to the bar. It wasn't that they were particularly looking to pick us up, it was more a case of them feeling free to be themselves in this bar - Remember, there are no homophobes in the west; it is just one big love-in.<br />
But that wasn't the end of the story, as unlike straight Taiwanese men, they would feel the need to meet us foreigners and talk to us all night -We share an identity as social outcasts I suppose. <br />
They were also very clever as they would befriend the girls in the bar - The girls in the bar liked to come with their gay friends because they could also be themselves: the traitorous, dirty slapper, free spirit that society said they were for liking foreigners. In fact, if you wanted to know the availability of a girl and the likelihood she might want to be with a foreigner just ask her how many gay friends she had. Similarly, if you see a girl wandering around the bar with a couple of gay guys target her: she is planning to do something her regular friends view as the activity of westerners; something that only other social outcasts would understand. What is she planning to do? Get drunk and maybe have a one night stand.<br />
On this occasion i saw a girl who i had liked for a while. She wasn't with her female friends, rather an effeminate looking guy who was a little well-dressed and i guessed my luck was in. <br />
I walked over. <br />
"Hi," i said looking at her making my interest clear.<br />
"Her English...Uh, not so good," he said. "I help you."<br />
My heart sank a little as it was a noisy bar, and unfortunately his English was also not so good, either. What to do? I had to give it a go.<br />
"Hi, I am Dan," I said. "What is her...Uh, I mean your...Both of you - what are your names?" <br />
"Her is Little Mei. Me, I am Patrick," he said. "So where are you from?" <br />
"England," I reply.<br />
"Wow, I studied there for six months."<br />
"Really," I asked. "Where?"<br />
"Uh, London. How you say - I study a Queen's English."<br />
I couldn't resist: "And you did a fantastic job."<br />
"What?" he replied. "Thank you."<br />
I thought about leaving it at that, but i guessed i should grasp this chance to get in his good books. Like with all things in Taiwan if you are recommended by the friend, they will cut off their hands for you.<br />
"Sorry, anyway you don't want to say that. It is a grammar mistake that may result in misunderstanding...Especially for you."<br />
"Why?"<br />
"Queen also means gay."<br />
"But i am gay," he replied. "What is wrong with that?"<br />
"Nothing, but it is an often patronizing word for gay. Means - "<br />
"What?" he said.<br />
I was starting to sweat. I had started this explanation and feared i had no way to finish it.<br />
"Again. Doesn't matter. Nothing, but would you go up to someone at a party and say i am studying a gay English?"<br />
"I would love to meet the gay English," he replied. <br />
"I am sure you would, but it is not my point....A not the...It just the fact - Forget it. Do you like to get your grammar wrong?"<br />
"Uh, no," he replied.<br />
"Ok, then just remember it is the not a....There is only one Queen," I said.<br />
"England have two Queens," he replied. "She is Elizabeth II."<br />
Great. In a country in which most people believed England was an American state, now i had an expert on English history.<br />
"Yes, but when we talk about the Queen's English we are referring to this specific Queen's English and not the first."<br />
The moment i finished speaking I knew the sentence was too difficult.<br />
"You mean the first Queen didn't speak English?" he asked.<br />
"Yes, she did," i replied. "But she has been dead for 500 years so it is clear we are talking about this Queen's English. You understand?"<br />
I was lost at this point because it seemed he might have a point and I couldn't explain grammar.<br />
"Anyway, just remember to use the. I am just trying to save you from being the butt - On the wrong end...The victim of a joke."<br />
He whispered something in Little Mei's ear and they walked off. <br />
I resolved never to help anyone again with the difference between a and the.Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-73505419142640113772013-07-25T14:40:00.000+08:002013-07-25T10:14:04.020+08:00Expat Culture in Taiwan: Definition of IndependenceThe Taiwanese are not independent is a recurring expat discussion in Taiwan - along with, and because of it, the frustration why we are not catapulted to instant success.<br />
<br />
It comes from their family relationships. You will here a 40-year old man say he has to ask his parents if he can go on holiday and you will explode at his immaturity.<br />
<br />
Over the years you will then witness the contradictions to this: Same 40-year old man will mortgage his home, teach himself English, set up a business from scratch, gamble everything and succeed. Inspite of this you will still insist he is not independent and you will get even more frustrated because you haven't made your fortune.<br />
<br />
Before the argument below I also suffered from my ingrained definition of independence...Until that is i had my eyes opened...<br />
<br />
One afternoon, a couple of months after being in Taipei, I was sat in the hostel with Mike, a Canadian, Chris, an Australian, and John, an Englishman (who would later become a good friend). I didn't know much about these guys other than that John was supposedly ex-army and in Taiwan to try and stay out of trouble.<br />
<br />
"Listen to that John,” said Mike pointing at his girlfriend next to him. “Christine wanted to go and study in Canada last year. She had saved her money. Arranged her course, and her father said no. She is twenty-five. You tell her in the West we are more independent. We would do it anyway. You know, I have told her if she wants to survive in the modern world she has to make up her own mind - be independent.”<br />
<br />
“Hmm,” said John turning to Christine. "How do you put up with listening to this daily crap about your country? I doubt his dick is really that big."<br />
<br />
John could say these kind of things because he was six-two, about fifteen stone - and basically looked you straight in the eye making it clear he would do more than just blow hot air.<br />
<br />
“What, man?” asked Chris then turning to his girlfriend Roxy. “They lack independence these people - they are afraid to make decisions. You tell him Roxy.”<br />
<br />
Roxy had a wry, earnest smile. She had had this conversation before; she knew what the foreigners liked to hear. “You know my brother lives in the house with my parents. He have the girlfriend before that he really love. Hmm, they together six years, but my parents say no, don’t let them marry.”<br />
<br />
Chris was now pumped up.“What sort of fucking limp-dick doesn’t stand up to his parents, and marry the girl he loves?”<br />
<br />
"Why didn't he marry her?" asked John.<br />
<br />
Roxy answered,“You know that is a funny story. My father tell my brother, he have the good friend who is looking for the husband for his daughter. If my brother marry her, he can the high position in that company. Company is part of the Yuan He group. It is a very good opportunity .”<br />
<br />
“Obviously a limp-dick who is selfish and cold-hearted, not lacking independence,” replied John.<br />
<br />
“Nonsense mate," said Chris before turning to Roxy and suddenly changing the subject. "Hey, did you phone the police station about my visa? I only have a couple of days left and I have to leave?"<br />
<br />
"There you go," said John. "You fucking moaners - Your girlfriends double as personal secretaries: ordering pizza, making calls, solving your visa or money transfer problems, writing Chinese on little pieces of paper so you can get around town in taxis, advising on schools to work at and places to go. When they are not available you sit around like a couple of spare tools...Not true, you always sit around like a couple of spare tools. You are more dependent on their girlfriends to function in Taiwan than an unborn baby is to its umbilical cord. Now who lacks independence, pricks?!”<br />
<br />
Chris and Mike looked at each other scoffing at the ridiculously of what they had just heard.<br />
<br />
Chris replied, “How can you compare the two? I ask my girly to order a pizza and that makes me as bad as the person who lives at home until they are thirty?”<br />
<br />
“Yes, moaner. The definition of independence isn’t the ability to tell your parents and authority to fuck off.”<br />
<br />
It was a revelation and the answer. People are complicated and capable of all sorts of weird and wonderful things. The 40-year old Taiwanese guy who set up his business from nothing will, if his mother requests, run down the high street wearing a pink frock, high heels and wig, screaming i love hairy bottoms. Get used to it. It is a different culture. Things are done differently here.<br />
<br />
Years later John defined his ability not to fall for most of the stereotypical misjudgements as thus: "I am not a poncey college boy that covers my lack of social confidence by rejecting family, relationships and all things emotional. I didn't sit and watch 'Neighbours' every lunch time just to laugh in a condescending way."Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-37289406080910422862013-06-11T11:12:00.000+08:002013-06-11T10:01:53.275+08:00Taiwan girls: The moral code and the highest moral of allJust last week we were watching some DVD, New York, I love you, I think it was called. A collection of short stories glorifying that city, as if it hasn't already been glorified enough. My wife was excited because Maggie Q was in it, but sure enough, as it got to the end of her scene, things went to Asian girl stereotype and it was revealed she was employed in the oldest profession in the world. I had been over this subject a few times before, but as the movie was boring, I started it again.<br />
“Hey, doesn't it bother you all Asian girls are portrayed as hookers in the west?” I asked.<br />
“She is American, isn't she?” said the wife preferring to watch the movie.<br />
“Sure,” I replied. “But if you weren't looking at the Asian half why did you get excited when she came on the screen – point her out.”<br />
“She is beautiful,” she replied. <br />
“I think you are avoiding the question. Aren't you bothered?” <br />
“I am living in Taiwan,” she answered. “Besides a lot of Taiwanese girls are hookers. Or KTV girls etc. It is a culture thing.”<br />
I was taken way back. How could she say that? When I had first arrived and seen all the KTVs I had also tried to find an answer to what appeared in front of me. After a while, I just concluded that I was being an obnoxious foreigner and the propensity for Asians to sell sex was an illusion created by bigotry.<br />
“You can't say that,” I replied. “You are saying Asian girls are dirty little – that gets me more excited admittedly – immoral hussies.”<br />
She looked at me angrily. “It is not a moral thing, it is religious.”<br />
“Religious or cultural?”<br />
“Both,” she replied.<br />
“Please explain,” I asked as it seemed she was going to leave me in limbo. I paused the DVD.<br />
“Well, you know, I was a Christian when I was young...Oh, it is so different. They are always telling us what is moral and right and wrong and what we shouldn't do. It is so troublesome.”<br />
“So, you are saying, your parents didn't teach you moral values etc? All the crap on the TV shows when I first arrived. Dads still care about the virginity of their daughters. I have first hand evidence I am not going into now...”<br />
“Of course, stupid,” she replied. “You are missing the point. Do you remember why I gave up being a Christian.”<br />
“Maybe, but enlighten me again.”<br />
“When my grandfather died they said at the church I couldn't worship him...”<br />
She paused wrongly assessing I had put two and two together. “Go on...”<br />
“You really are stupid,” she continued. “Of course we Taiwanese girls have morals, but the highest moral is parents. If you are doing something for your parents that cancels out all the negatives below. What will your sister do if your mother needs the money for a life-saving operation?”<br />
“Nothing. We have the national health service.”<br />
“You know what I mean. Will she go to the KTV and earn the money?”<br />
“You have met my sister and so the national health service waiting list is quicker than her earning potential...But I get your point – No she wouldn't. And nobody would expect her to.”<br />
“See. In Asia we would all go to the KTV and get respect because we earned the money to save our mother's life.”<br />
“So, you are saying all of the girls in the KTV are doing it to earn money for mother's operation. That is a lot of operations. And you all have national health insurance too.”<br />
“Well, you know, if you can also manage to buy a Hermes bag, you deserve it. Hermes bags are very nice.”<br />
“I know. You have told me many times -” <br />
“Yes, and I am still waiting.”<br />
I sat back and thought about it. “Anyway. Wow. Interesting. I'll have to get more stupid, slow romantic movies in future.” Then I suddenly got a bad feeling. “Didn't your grandmother die of cancer? Has your mother had a check-up recently?”<br />
She looked at me and smiled. “I don't know, but I will do my duty when the time comes.”<br />
“Lets just hope we have another ten years. Time for you to get too old.”<br />
“I see. You say I will look unattractive in ten years. I can't earn any money?”<br />
“Not at all. Just you will have a couple of nieces coming to an age where they can pick up the baton.”<br />
“Yes. Even our daughter -”<br />
“Ok. You win. End of subject...”<br />
I spent the next few days sending my resume out to companies in England and making arrangements for the move.Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-12537270153357964742013-05-16T12:37:00.000+08:002013-05-22T09:13:48.899+08:00Studying Chinese: Not exactly Mr. MiyagiAfter a few weeks of Chinese classes i was beginning to curse The Karake Kid and Mr. Miyagi.<br />
<br />
The classroom consisted of four desks arranged in a rectangle facing the board; I was sitting in my usual seat next to the teacher, on her left hand side.<br />
<br />
For the moment, all was silent because we, the students, had collectively complained: to practice the dialogue from the book we always started with Eric and read a sentence each going around the class, today, we wanted a more creative way.<br />
<br />
The teacher finally spoke. “Park, you read the first sentence this time,” she declared proudly to the Korean guy directly opposite Eric.<br />
<br />
I want to buy a book.” “How much is that book?” ‘Which book?” “That book,”<br />
we all repeated.<br />
<br />
Praise the lord, I thought, the dialogue conversation sounded so different and fresh on this, the tenth time, now that it was circling clockwise rather than anti-clockwise around the class.<br />
<br />
"Now let’s read the vocabulary,” she announced.<br />
<br />
<em>Clockwise or anti-clockwise,</em> I thought<em>, or maybe, we are going to get another spectacular piece of innovation like odds and even numbers?</em><br />
<br />
"Not exactly Mr. Miyagi is it man?” said Adrian. “It doesn’t get any better.”<br />
<br />
Adrian sat on my left, he had been in Taiwan for about five years. He was back at the Chinese school studying Chinese because he needed a visa.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I was beginning to understand Adrian wasn't just a moaning old hand: the teaching was still very Dead Poet’s Society and i was wondering why i was bothering to study. I had got an apartment near Shih Ta University because I planned to study Chinese in their language program - supposedly the best in Taipei, Taiwan. I thought having to give them a letter of reference was strange because I was a paying customer, studying for personal pleasure, but I nonetheless prepared all the documentation to prove himself worthy of a place. Then it started: rote combined with memorization, repetition and drills, and only the register in between. I complained that perhaps they should at least be allowed to make a sentence to practice, but apparently the teacher knew better, we were too basic to be allowed to innovate. Finally, there was a weekly test which I began to be sure she just hid behind to waste a lesson. I walked out after two months shaking my head telling them: 'You waste one lesson a week testing me when I am a paying adult. Gonna make me stand in the corner next?' I decided if authority was going to be so unquestioning, I would head to a private Chinese language school like this one, where there were no rules.<br />
<br />
"Wipe on, wipe off...” said Adrian, pleased with his observation. “You watched the Karate Kid when you were young, right, man? I wanted to come to Asia because of that movie. Wanted to be taught by a cool little Asian dude like Mr. Miyagi...The ultimate teacher, with his cool, alternative methods for learning karate. Not like the reality, eh?”<br />
<br />
"I hear you, man,” I replied.<br />
<br />
It was funny: east Asia have done one fantastic thing, they have managed to convince the world that they are these great delivers of knowledge. Trust in me and I can impart knowledge to you in some magical way. It is not just Mr. Miyagi. There is Kung Fu with Grasshopper, Jackie Chan…In fact whenever Chinese, Japanese and maybe even Koreans appear on the scene it is inevitably a double act of master and student with the student getting wiser by the second just by being in the aura of the great teacher.”<br />
<br />
"But they are actually good students?”I countered because all the top students in my school were East Asian.<br />
<br />
"Much more earthy reasons.” Adrian pretended to crack a whip.<br />
<br />
He continued, "Five years I have been here man, in and out of schools studying Chinese, and I haven’t met a teacher who threw out the traditional for the creative, the tried and tested for the unusual and inspirational. Unfortunately, the downside of Miyagi’s techniques, unquestioning loyalty for the teacher’s methods I have seen too fucking much of.”<br />
<br />
"Thanks. You want to go to lunch?” I said making an excuse to get away. The unfortunate reality Grasshopper got his pupils to write the sentence a thousand times behind the curtain wasn’t what I wanted to hear.Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-65108993030548279292013-01-16T08:53:00.000+08:002013-05-16T08:54:09.523+08:00Where is Taiwan?Where is Taiwan, is usually the next question asked after the acceptance you don't live in Thailand after all. Your friends are confused because they spent a lot of time checking flights to Bangkok and imagining which islands they were going to visit.<br />
<br />
Taiwan is off the South-East coast of China, a little download from Japan, a little higher than Hong Kong. It kind of also answers the question of when you return in winter to your western country why you don't have a permanent suntan. Taipei has a winter, not a zero degree snowy winter, but definitely a winter where you have a wear a medium sized jacket. Nobody has central heating because this winter only actually lasts for around 6 - 8 weeks, so you definitely know it was cold.<br />
<br />
Although Taiwan is a small place, the weather actually gets significantly better as you move down the island. Even in winter Kaohsiung, Tainan and Taitung have sunshine, you can swap the jacket for one long sleeved layer and expect much less rain.<br />
<br />
Also it is eight hours ahead of the UK and around fifteen hours ahead of pacific coast USA. For more details check out the Taiwan wiki.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://wikitravel.org/en/Taiwan">http://wikitravel.org/en/Taiwan</a><br />
<br />Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-27801515979025533992012-12-22T15:04:00.000+08:002013-05-16T08:56:03.088+08:00Free Availability of The Betelnut Equation Kindle Book<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">Hi All,</span><br />
<div>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">I recently made this blog available as an e-book with reformatted, reorganized, rewritten and added content. It will be available for free download from the Kindle store on Christmas Day, the 27th and the 28th.</span></div>
<div>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">I did made it available as an e-book for a number of reasons. Ideas and understanding of the situation are continually evolving and improving so I have spent a lot of time to go back and review all my posts and make sure points are made clearer and quicker - and connections that I previously hadn't noticed are drawn - As well as adding additional content. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">The e-book format also offers several other advantages: all the content is grouped according to categories and, as there is a hyper-linked index, it is very easy to jump instantly from one story to another or one chapter to another. This way you can definitely get deeper into the stories and come back and forth quicker.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">The amount of content is huge so I have split into two parts, the first is available on the Amazon Kindle Store at the links below - I will be adding the second part very soon and also adding the content to other book stores.</span><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007QSGZ3U" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007QSGZ3U" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.de/dp/B007QSGZ3U" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">http://www.amazon.de/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.fr/dp/B007QSGZ3U" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">http://www.amazon.fr/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.it/dp/B007QSGZ3U" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">http://www.amazon.it/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.es/dp/B007QSGZ3U" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">http://www.amazon.es/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.899999618530273px;">My passion and mission hasn't changed: to deliver some real and extremely relevant insight into the culture of Taiwan in an entertaining style. Hopefully, arm anyone coming with knowledge I didn't have. I look forward to hearing whether I have achieved that aim – And will of course work hard to answer any of your questions.</span></div>
Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-47504093919552832392012-07-31T12:05:00.001+08:002013-05-22T09:18:37.162+08:00China and Taiwan: The Olympics and Really Understanding Taiwanese Thoughts about Not Having a CountryFor foreigners it is not always easy to gauge Taiwanese feelings about not having their own country. <br />
We know the China and Taiwan situation (this is a rough guide for the people who are not familiar with Taiwan): Taiwan exists in a state of de facto independence with its own army, currency, government and passport, but in reality has only relations with a few tiny countries and no nation-level representation in any international organizations because China doesn't allow it to be a country. When SARs happened it is said the WHO guys were scared to come to Taiwan without asking China, and then refused to take Taiwan off the list until China came off the list of SARs affected countries. However, as Taiwan pretty much functions as a country, you really only notice when you are applying for a Taiwan visa; searching Google for Taiwan embassy, and finally work out there is no embassy, just a trade office. <br />
Of course there is a political party that stands for independence – or used to – and if you go down south the people are more vocal in their desire for a country. And, during the fifties, sixties, and seventies 10,000s were imprisoned or killed fighting for democracy. However, looking at now: the people managed to elect the party in favor of unification twice, about a million or more Taiwanese live in China, an awful lot of guys will do all they can to avoid military service – and the Taiwanese keep a healthy sense of humor about it all based pretty much on the practical knowledge it is a lost cause (It is 23 million against 1.4 billion). And that comes back to the Army thing again: the Americans were apparently surprised when they found the Taiwanese army wasn’t like the Israeli, but Israel has a chance of winning whereas Taiwan doesn’t against China. Apart from in stupid movies people don’t fight to the last man in lost causes; in much fairer fights than this one, plenty of countries have given up early when odds turn against them (as my father would say about a certain neighbor across the water who apparently just wanted to protect their architecture).<br />
Often people stupidly cite surveys where Taiwanese answer that they support the status quo not a declaration of independence, as proof they don’t want independence. They are answering the question practically not in a dream land, ie, the status quo means they won’t get bombed, then they reluctantly choose it. If they asked the question, ‘would you like independence?’ (forget China invading) of course they will resoundingly answer yes. <br />
They can appear apathetic, but then when the Olympics comes round it kind of reveals their true feeling. Or in fact any sporting occasion or sign of success overseas:<br />
1) Jeremy Lin – A Taiwanese American did well in the NBA and now is a national hero in Taiwan even though he is in fact really an American.<br />
2) Wang Jien Ming – A genuine home grown baseball pitcher who a few years ago played for the New York Yankees. When he was playing they erected screens in public places all around the country and the normally hardworking Taiwanese all stopped to watch.<br />
The incident that most sticks in my mind is the Olympics in Greece back in 2004. Taiwan won 2 Golds in Taekwondo. When the Taiwanese went up to the podium to receive their gold every channel had been changed to broadcast from children’s TV to stocks to news. As they raised the shitty Chinese Taipei flag and broadcast some weird national anthem that nobody knew their wasn’t a dry eye in the studios. Presenters who had covered wars, seen the results of terrorist attacks and lost family and friends could not control the tears from raining down. Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-41821221990577100072012-06-20T10:23:00.001+08:002013-05-22T09:34:31.730+08:00Taking Taiwanese girl back to the West to make her more outgoingI had really assumed this kind of behavior was a relic of the past, but then the friend who inspired me to write this blog confessed to doing it, and then I bumped into the guy below. Clearly, some things never change…<br />
Dave Ritco had got married to a Taiwanese girl and left about 2 years ago. I had got occasional emails from him but now I suddenly saw him on the street in Taipei.<br />
“Why are you back? Thought you were nicely settled in Canada?” I asked.<br />
“It is a long story man. Sorting out the divorce.”<br />
“What?” I asked. We then had a long conversation about what had happened and how she had refused to work or make friends in Canada. It wasn't a surprise to me but then the key words came out: “I thought she would change back in the West. Become more outgoing.”<br />
I felt sorry for him because we had all been through this stage. It was also an interesting confirmation of that fact: to lesser degree or more we had all bought into the nonsense that the West was going to make Taiwanese girls more outgoing. <br />
The argument of course went like this: Taiwan was sexist and given the freedoms and emphasize on being yourself in the West, said Taiwan girl will come out of her shell. It was an easy mistake to make, but still a bad one nonetheless.<br />
<ol>
<li> Not everyone in the West was outgoing – Once you thought about that fact and realized that most people spent their time knocking themselves or trying to do anything possible to gain more confidence you would realize the take them back argument wasn't going to work.<br />
</li>
<li> Outgoing was a personality issue not a society one – This tied in with the above and had reams and reams of evidence to prove it. Once you met loads of Taiwanese you realized that an awful lot of them were extremely outgoing. Taiwanese: set up businesses, they are extremely social, they have little fear of public speaking or even public singing and dancing. They just operate within a social framework which makes certain aspects of their character appear timid. They are scared of their parents and bosses and we define outgoing and freedom as the ability to tell our parents to fuck off. I always like to refer to Dangerous Liasons the film with Glen Close. Clearly she is an outgoing, determined woman but she has to keep it under wraps because of the society in France at the time. 17 or 18<sup>th</sup> century France didn't by default make all women doormats, but rather made them think harder about where and how they could express their character.<br />
</li>
<li> Taiwan society isn't that repressed – As well as being very sexist and paternalistic, Taiwan is also one of the most socially and sexually liberal places in the world. Parents in general don't care what their kids do as long as come home, pay up the monthly allowance and are seen when relatives come to visit. They operate an extremely long rope policy turning a blind eye to most of the things their kids get up to. The classic being the Taiwanese girl who is on the phone to her mother at 11pm to tell her she is staying at a friend’s house; the mother says nothing even though she can hear a guy discussing hotel room sizes with the receptionist in the background. In short, if someone was naturally outgoing there were a million ways to express yourself. And, in even shorter, if your Taiwanese girlfriend was afraid to sing in KTV, or dance in the disco, or meet your friends, or get up and speak at work; she was naturally introverted and that was that. No amount of time in the West was going to change her.<br />
</li>
</ol>
The above may appear commonsense and it was. However, if you were able to keep your commonsense while in deep culture shock there wouldn't be a need for this blog. <br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><strong>Don’t forget to check out the kindle books linked in the post below.</strong></span>Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-68367753310379228392012-04-05T10:22:00.001+08:002013-05-16T08:59:00.914+08:00Betelnut Equation Now Available As An E-BookHi All,<br />
I have now made this blog available as an e-book with reformatted, reorganized, rewritten and added content. <br />
I did this for a number of reasons. Ideas and understanding of the situation are continually evolving and improving so I have spent a lot of time to go back and review all my posts and make sure points are made clearer and quicker - and connections that I previously hadn't noticed are drawn - As well as adding additional content. <br />
The e-book format also offers several other advantages: all the content is grouped according to categories and, as there is a hyper linked index, it is very easy to jump instantly from one story to another or one chapter to another. This way you can definitely get deeper into the stories and come back and forth quicker.<br />
The amount of content is huge so I have split into two parts, the first is available on the Amazon Kindle Store at the links below - I will be adding the second part very soon and also adding the content to other book stores.<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007QSGZ3U">http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007QSGZ3U">http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.de/dp/B007QSGZ3U">http://www.amazon.de/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.fr/dp/B007QSGZ3U">http://www.amazon.fr/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.it/dp/B007QSGZ3U">http://www.amazon.it/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.es/dp/B007QSGZ3U">http://www.amazon.es/dp/B007QSGZ3U</a><br />
My passion and mission hasn't changed: to deliver some real and extremely relevant insight into the culture of Taiwan in an entertaining style. Hopefully, arm anyone coming with knowledge I didn't have. I look forward to hearing whether I have achieved that aim – And will of course work hard to answer any of your questions.Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-69435749212165808582011-10-26T09:42:00.001+08:002013-05-22T09:56:08.997+08:00Stupid expats: Hate yourself too much to appreciate Taiwan girlsThe two expat guys in question were called David and Swen – although we guessed there were plenty like them. <br />
David and Swen were friends of John’s who he always met in the bar at around at 11:00. He would ideally like to go with us but we, like most expat foreigners in Taiwan, sat around in someone’s apartment drinking beer until one in the morning to save money. John worked 50 hours a week or more and, in his own words, didn’t want to sit around waiting for his evening to happen. It was arguable if he even needed to meet them as, as soon as the bar got crowded they would fan out, only passing another twenty minutes of conversation together all night. David to one side of the bar and Sven to the other, while John wandered around introducing himself to anyone who would talk to him. When pushed on the subject, he admitted that it wouldn’t make much difference to go alone, but it was that initial thirty minutes or so of knocking back Tequila, he didn’t want to do by himself. None of us liked Sven and David, but John explained they were disgusting Neanderthals and after working hard all week, behaving like a decent human being, it was good to talk to someone without a good bone in their bodies. <br />
Sven and David were in the bar to pick up Taiwan girls three nights a week; rain or shine, sick or healthy, on their own or with friends, they had to be there to stop there lives falling apart. They had not evolved – This was Taipei, everyone had a Taiwanese girlfriend so you could talk to your friends for most of the time in the bar; there wasn’t such a hurry. Not them, they were to be found heads above the crowd, staring hungrily, agitated, consumed, like the desperate guys in the over-25 Nightclub back home, who hadn’t met a girl for months, and were beginning to question whether they ever would do again. They were so focused a 100 people could walk by and spit in their glass and they would never know, yet they picked up the night before, 3 days ago, 5 times this month and countless this year. Surely they must have proved to themselves that they were men by now…it seemed not.<br />
“What’s up mate?” asked John suddenly finding himself next to Sven.<br />
“It is a bit slow tonight.” And with the sheer horror of not picking up that night dawning on him, Sven set off back into the crowd, efforts redoubled. <br />
Then John saw David. “How is it going?” asked John.<br />
David and Sven were not assholes because they liked to pick up Asian girls; they were assholes because of the manner in which they did it.<br />
David replied, “I can’t find a decent girl, man - these Taiwan girls are all sluts. I am going to have to leave soon…to somewhere with decent girls. I expected to be married by this age, but not here!” <br />
That was the problem: David was absolutely sincere in his disillusionment and disappointment, and because of it, destined to lead an unhappy life: arriving a nerdy virgin with an ultra conservative upbringing, meant he had to fuck as many Taiwan girls as possible to try and prove his worth as a man; then recoil in disgust because the girl was prepared to sleep with him. Drawing large maps of his hypocrisy, with bright colors and 3-D shapes specially designed for kids, didn’t help.<br />
“Look at that slag. I fucked her last week and now she is with another guy,” he continued.<br />
“It is okay, I don’t think you were planning to marry her,” replied John.<br />
“I decide when things are over.” As an expat David’s ego had also got out of hand: he had got the idea that getting Taiwan girls had something to do with his looks and personality.<br />
“Hey, that guy is ugly. You are ugly. This is Taiwan.” retorted John.<br />
Sven returned, “I got to go someone else. I don’t care if it takes all night.”<br />
“Just get yourself a whore. Save your energy,” replied John.<br />
“I’m not going to pay for it.” Sven would never see her again; she could be anyone and he didn’t care if she liked him or not. However, it was different from prostitute for reasons only known to him. <br />
John was glad to see middle-class liberal contradictions weren’t dead.<br />
Sven wasn’t finished. “Man, I just don’t get these 3-hour Take-a-Break hotels,” he said. “I mean, my girlfriend is at work so I go to one with this thing I picked up and the woman behind the desk is looking at me like I am some sort of smuck. She doesn’t know it ain’t my girlfriend.” <br />
“There you go - Shows why we all hate lawyers,” said John.Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-69275123799281482572011-10-05T10:38:00.001+08:002013-05-28T08:31:59.079+08:00Eric and over compensation towards Taiwanese girlsDespite years of evidence to the contrary Eric still found it impossible not to overcompensate for Taiwanese girls’ poor status in their society – It is not that Taiwanese girls didn’t have lesser status, they did; it was rather the situation was more complicated than that: a lesser status didn’t mean they didn’t have an opinion or pride or desire to have your own way. <br />
Still, no Taiwanese girl with Eric would be allowed to make a decision just to make her man happy. On this occasion, Eric was trying to arrange a vacation to southeast Asia with his new girlfriend Christina. Christina understood that she could speak out with a foreigner – that was why she was with one after all; however, over the vacation she just had no idea.<br />
“Where would you like to go? Thailand or Philippines” said Eric. <br />
“Why not California or New York?” replied Christine.<br />
“We have discussed this,” replied Eric. Christine wasn’t sure what they had discussed – apparently some nonsense about getting to explore her part of the world when she had no interest.<br />
“Then i am fine with anywhere,” replied Christine. <br />
Eric stared at her for a short while. “Come on, you can tell me. It is okay, I am a foreigner. Would you like to go to Koh Samui?”<br />
“Yes, anywhere you want,” she replied as she had no idea where it was.<br />
“No, come on, I want you to say where you want to go. This is a joint effort you know.”<br />
“I just know nothing about these places. You decide.” Eric was sure she was just as a Taiwan girl being nice and respectful.<br />
“We could also go to Koh Samui in Thailand, or maybe the Philippines or Bali. What do you think?”<br />
“Okay, what is the difference?” replied Christine reluctantly. <em>I now have to decide my execution method</em>, she thought<br />
“Boracay has the best beaches but is the least developed; Koh Samui has better beaches, Bali better hotels.”<br />
“Okay, then take me to Bali. I decide,” said Christine thinking it was quicker this way.<br />
“Okay, so you prefer Bali and I prefer Koh Samui. I thought we were going to go cheap, and therefore it is better to go to Boracay and get a beach hut.” <br />
“Okay…wherever you say…Boracay then!” She had lost him a long time ago and was getting annoyed they were still having the conversation.<br />
“Wait a moment, we are discussing this together. Boracay is hard to get to and a little bit undeveloped. Koh Samui is a good compromise of the two!” Eric was talking to Christine and himself at the same time. <br />
“Why you bother to ask me when we are back to the original? You want me to make decisions and then you change. Don’t ask me again!” <br />
“No, I wanted to discuss with you. That is the important thing.” Eric was sure he knew best where to go, he just wasn’t sure where that was. Like those bosses who call meetings to make it appear like it was someone else’s decision he needed to discuss it with Christine. <br />
“You are now grateful for my input yes! Remind me: what was my input?” barked Christine.<br />
They moved on to timing. “So when can you go?” <br />
“Just give me a month and I can book it. What is a good time for you?” said Christine. <br />
“Me the same! So give me a date.” He was not going to fall for that trick? He was sure if he gave her a date, she would agree with it just to follow him.<br />
“Okay! July. First week,” she replied.<br />
Next Eric opened the website hotels.com. “Ok, where to stay?”<br />
Christine. “I decided the place, you decide the hotel.” <br />
“You didn’t decide the place. We did together I was happy with your choice so help me choose a hotel,” said Eric. This was what he had suspected: she was being a Taiwan girl. He needed to get her more used to taking part in the decision making. He knew because he daily monitored his own actions for signs of male chauvinism, and was getting increasingly worried because he didn’t seem to be able to spot any acts of caveman like behavior. To train her, he knew he had to spoil her now, let her get used to making more decisions and then he could start to bring things back to a more equal balance later.<br />
“Okay, this looks like a better hotel,” she replied wearily.<br />
“Are you sure? You are not saying this because you think I want to stay there are you.” He was sure she had been trying to read his face. Actually, she was just confused. <br />
“No, that hotel is the hotel I want to stay at,” she replied. Even though she didn’t care, after the destination discussion she was going to make a stand on this one, she wasn’t going to be messed around again.<br />
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at this one.” Desire to let her have her own way was now causing decision grid-lock.<br />
“If I can’t stay at this one, I’m not going.” For an instant he thought she was serious –which she was – but then concluded that these Taiwanese girls really were experts at hiding what they truly thought. <br />
“Ok. Great. Then it is all decided,” said Eric. He gave a nod to himself that he had managed to negotiate the tricky problem of drawing out of her what she thought. Now, he just needed to get together the money for his half about a month earlier than he initially planned. Maybe, the hotel was a little out of his price range – but he would think of a way out of it.<br />
“You know anyone who can get us a cheap flight?” asked Eric. <br />
“A travel agent is a friend of mine and she will give me a good price.” <br />
“What do you mean she is your friend? She actually gives you a special discount and you occasionally go out socially?”<br />
“My family has bought a lot of tickets from her in the past.” It was the same old story – couching a business relationship in personal terms; the belief that cheaper tickets would come because she was a friend. <br />
“So she is just someone in an agency who you have bought a lot of tickets from - like the other 4 million in Taipei. This woman has a lot of friends, I’m sure.”<br />
“You get the fucking tickets! You ask me if I had a friend to get us a cheaper ticket, yes or no? I don’t want to help anymore.”<br />
“I meant an…” He wanted to say ‘actual friend’, but realized it was much quicker just to apologize - “I’m sorry.”Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-57976941771910795242011-08-30T14:08:00.001+08:002013-05-28T08:32:12.743+08:00Flooding the toilet and germ obsession in TaiwanIn was in a Starbucks in Taipei. I waited for the door of the bathroom. I had heard the guy splashing and sloshing around from the other side of the door, now my fears were realized as i spotted the wet floor, walls and water dripping from the mirror over the bathroom. <br />
<em>Jesus, can’t i even come to Starbucks and not need my wellies</em>, i thought.<em> It is well decorated. The assistants keep it clean. You are not at home.</em> <br />
The obsession with germs and cooling oneself down meant almost every bathroom you went to in Taipei, Taiwan was soaking wet. You kind of expected it and were not bothered at some tourist attraction where the toilets were pretty basic, but not in this spanking new clean bathroom. Obviously, the guy has done what he always did. Pulled out a 100 tissues or so to place on the toilet seat, so many that it must have felt like a sofa. Then he had opened the tap with his fingernails and, once his hands were washed spent 10 minutes throwing water over the tap to make sure when he turned it off he wouldn’t pick up any germs. But he hadn’t finished yet. It was summer so he had to throw water on his face for another 10 minutes, and, as Taiwanese never have carpet on their floors in the bathroom, he threw enough water to thin out the paint on the back wall. <br />
Oh well, nothing to do. I had to turn up my jeans and wade in. Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-13847648256839748072011-08-04T13:37:00.002+08:002013-05-28T08:33:08.159+08:00Work in Asia: Smuggling into Taiwan IIA long time after the gigolo work Pierre started his Taiwan import/export business – see, smuggling expensive bags into Taiwan <a href="http://betelnut-equation.blogspot.com/2009/04/smuggling-into-taiwan-i.html" title="http://betelnut-equation.blogspot.com/2009/04/smuggling-into-taiwan-i.html">http://betelnut-equation.blogspot.com/2009/04/smuggling-into-taiwan-i.html</a>.<br />
While it was work, it wasn’t exactly ever going to IPO but at least it keep him in enough cash for a 4 or 5 month stay in Taiwan. However, like all nice little numbers it was destined to come to an end. <br />
He was back in Paris for another bag run. At the start Pierre had showed some commonsense: he went shopping for the bags when he arrived for good reasons – He didn’t spend all the money he had been given and if an item was out of stock he had a chance to get it another day. This time he had reverted to type. The money his buyer in Taiwan had given him was mostly gone – she gave him about half the money – and he had just one day left to get all his bags and scarves.<br />
Still, armed with his father’s credit card, he was sure he could do it all in time. <br />
First stop was a scarf and bag he needed in Hermes. On the way he checked out the pictures he had in his pocket of the items he needed before entering the shop. He didn’t have much time so he just shouted to the shop assistant to get him the items, but this was France not Taiwan so the assistant ignored him, before pointing curtly to a table in the corner. <br />
Pierre sighed, somebody was already looking at the bag and he had a tight schedule. He hovered around not trying to look too interested or pushy waiting desperately for him to put it down. He breathed a sigh of relief as the guy moved over to the scarves and he went to pick it up.<br />
“Hey, what are you doing?” said the guy. <br />
“I am taking the bag,” said Pierre. “You put it down.”<br />
“I put it down because i have decided it is the bag i want and now i am looking at the scarves.”<br />
Pierre wasn’t sure about etiquette here. He had never had to fight to make a purchase. He looked at the sales assistant who just shrugged his shoulders. Pierre snarled and put it down again.<br />
Pierre to shop assistant, “Ok. I want that bag, please.”<br />
Assistant: “Is there anymore on the table?”<br />
“No,” said Pierre. There was a long silence punctuated with: “So can you get me more from stock?”<br />
Assistant: “Is there anymore on the table?”<br />
Pierre turned to the guy with the bag and tried to be charming. “Look, it is my girlfriend’s birthday tomorrow…”<br />
But it was pointless. “Same here,” he replied. “And, no. She didn’t give me a long list of choices.”<br />
Pierre turned back to the assistant. “Ok, can you order me one from another shop?”<br />
“Sure,” said the assistant. “It will take two days to arrive.”<br />
“Never mind,” said Pierre. “He bought the scarf he had to and headed out the door to the taxi.<br />
An hour and a half later after wasting plenty of Euros in taxi he had his bag and he was in Gucci to get a couple of wallets. <br />
There were lots of people there already but he knew the layout of this shop and headed straight to that section. As he approached the glass counter the same guy was approaching from a different angle. Pierre accelerated and grabbed 3 or 4 wallets.<br />
“Don’t know which one i want yet but i am booking them all.”<br />
The guy stared at him but knew he was beaten this time. He headed off to pay for the sunglasses he had picked up, while Pierre stood a couple of customers behind him in the queue. As they waited Pierre began to put two and two together. The guy had sunglasses he had just bought, he was dressed overly smart for someone who clearly wasn’t going to work that day, and now he was double-checking a piece of paper to make sure it was the right item. He guessed they had the same mission. <br />
Once outside he chased and caught up to the guy.<br />
“Ok,” said Pierre. “Who are you getting the bags for?”<br />
“I don’t know what you mean,” the guy replied. <br />
“Stop,” said Pierre. “We are both French. What difference does it make?”<br />
The guy then explained how he got his smuggling job into Asia. He had met a Hong Kong girl in a bar. She had told him a hard luck story of how the racist shop assistants in Louis Vuitton wouldn’t sell her a bag so he had gone and bought it for her. It became a habit and he knew she didn’t have that much money. After giving her the bag and getting the money he followed her a while and saw her meeting another guy. Initially he had been interested in her, so he approached angrily only to see her collecting another bag and handing over cash. He demanded to know the truth and from then on it became a job. <br />
Pierre knew this was kind of work was not limited to Taiwan but all across Asia. It was a smart move and a step up in operations. Usually the Taiwanese and Hong Kong relied on students from their respective countries and air stewardesses, but that was limited: they could only buy one at a time and not so regularly because they didn’t want to get blacklisted by the shops. This way, with a local buying, the bags could be passed on and the hostesses could bring in two or three per trip nicely tucked away in their luggage. It was a necessary move now with the demand for these kind of bags in Shanghai etc. <br />
<em>Can’t anything stay low key,</em> thought Pierre.<br />
“Anyway, do you have to do this today?” asked Pierre.<br />
“Sorry, man. I have a mortgage to pay. Besides the girl said tomorrow lots of items had to go.”<br />
<em>That will be my flight</em>, thought Pierre. <br />
Pierre continued: “So what now?” said Pierre.<br />
“I don’t know, man,” replied the other guy. “I guess you do yours, and i do mine. And let the best man win.”<br />
With that they both ran in opposite directions. <br />
…<br />
Five hours later the shops were shutting and Pierre was assessing his shopping list of items that needed to be smuggled back to Asia. He was down about half the items. During the afternoon he had only seen his competitor about a couple of times, but he had felt his presence as stock was gone before he got there. But it wasn’t just competing with the other French guy it seemed because the shops with packed with Mainland Chinese guys in bad jackets trying to buy luxury and getting rejected. The Mainland buyers were a hard bunch to pick because the super rich from China also often dressed extremely badly. Picking a westerner faking rich was about looking for a cheap pair of shoes combined with the nice suit; for the Mainlanders spotting someone who was genuinely rich was about finding one extraordinarily expensive item – usually watch – among a bunch of bad ones. <br />
On this smuggling run he knew he would only make enough for a month or so. He also knew that he wouldn’t be bothering to fly back in such a short time. He would have to find other work to do. <br />
He went around the corner to a bar and sat down for a drink. Across the room was an Asian girl sitting across from a French guy. Not extraordinary but for the fact that there were a bunch of name brand bags on the floor between them – and obviously, they couldn’t afford the contents for themselves. The couple got up and left after exchanging bags and the guy gave him a wink as if to say “you too”. Pierre ignored him based on professional pride: he was the original smuggler. He would have some real work in Asia.Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-69823242458407113432011-04-07T14:11:00.001+08:002013-05-28T08:33:32.565+08:00Work abroad: Pierre and his KTV Gigolo job in Taipei VIJust a reminder this is the sixth installation of the story of Pierre's work as a gigolo in Taipei. Best to go back and read all in the Pierre and his KTV gigolo job series from work abroad.<br />
<br />
About a week after he went into hospital in Taipei, we all went to visit. As we got close to the door of his room a certain woman came out and suddenly we felt the need to sprint in, hearts racing.<br />
“What the fuck was she doing here?” We shouted in unison. “You didn’t eat anything from her did you…? She didn’t get near your drip?”<br />
“Relax, guys,” said Pierre.<br />
Eric lost his temper. “What do you mean? RELAX. It was her you dumb fucking idiot! She hired the hoods!” <br />
We hoped the pain shooting through his body would generate some humility, but unfortunately not. “I think I know her,” he replied. “I was always too careful. She is not smart enough to have worked it out.”<br />
We all thought about punching him or grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and banging his head against the wall. <br />
Pierre broke the silence. “Besides - You boys don’t want to lend me the money to pay for my hospital bill?” <br />
We didn’t of course, because lending no doubt meant giving.<br />
Pierre continued. “How do you think i got moved into this private room?” <br />
In fact a week ago, for a few moments, we had delayed his entry into intensive care wrangling over Taiwan identity papers and costs: <br />
In the end Eric solved it. “I use my registration card and John handles the costs. You’ll be able to get the money out of him; he is afraid of you.” Eric had suggested and so it was settled: one of them had the cash, and the other, an identity card.<br />
“You sure no syringes went near your drip?” I asked.<br />
“No. Now have some fruit. It is one of those Japanese apple/pear combinations. Very good and very expensive,” said Pierre.<br />
It did look great but still we declined.<br />
<br />
In spite of his convictions that it wasn’t her, the next day he checked himself out of the hospital, arranged to see her to tell her he was going back to France, and went to collect his stuff. <br />
He then chose to interpret her not standing in his way, and the envelope with four thousand US dollars, as a sign she felt sorry for him - rather than that she felt extremely guilty. <br />
No doubt she did actually only want him scared and a little roughed up. Things had conspired against Pierre: he was drunk, spoke excellent Chinese, and had already gone into Mickey Rourke mode. They were professionals, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t be provoked into making it personal. <br />
* * *<br />
Another week later. We had gone to meet him in a pub. He had already arrived. Probably been there all day. <br />
We sat opposite him watching in awe while, with his arm in a sling, he ‘chain’ ate and drank: a pint, a large submarine sandwich and his evening dose of pills with just the one working hand. <br />
“Not easy to keep the salad in the sandwich with one hand,” said Pierre implying that he could, and he was coping much better than most who, just two weeks ago, had all the nerves in their hand severed. When they set up the ‘Machete Victim Olympics’ he would be the new Carl Lewis. <br />
He continued. “It must have been my ex-boss. I don’t fucking forget this sort of thing. There are some horrible kind of guys in the gigolo industry, I can handle them but, you know, I ain’t that sort of man. Don’t want that for my life.” <br />
"So that is the end of your career as a gigolo then?" I, unable to resist, asked.<br />
"You know i have been trying to get out of that for a long time," said Pierre. "Working abroad is not easy you know."<br />
I wanted to say working abroad was indeed difficult when you refused to work, but i decided to leave it.<br />
Overall, we still felt too much admiration and pity for him to tell him what an asshole he was. Josh, Eric and myself knew we were expat wimps: that if we temporarily lost feeling in a little toe, we would have been on the first plane home to utilize the hospitals of our respective Western countries, and promise our parents to never leave again. It was irrational of course: Taiwan has a first world healthcare system and similar could have just as easily have happened back home, but times like this demanded panic, familiarity and a ‘bogey man’ to blame.<br />
“If I owe you money, get it now, while I have it,” said Pierre getting a huge envelope of cash out of his jacket pocket. “ Thank you all. In fact, take some money for drinks tonight. Only, I excuse myself from going to get the rounds.” <br />
We had visions of him going backwards and forwards bringing one beer at a time and started to smile. We could tell that there was a slight lack of energy in his tone - Maybe the unsinkable ego had it bows breached after all. <br />
Pierre then declared he was off to Thailand for a few months because he needed to lie low and have a think about what to do.<br />
Thailand wasn’t exactly the place where you go if you want to stay out of trouble. <br />
As expected he was back in under a month. All his money spent, but at least not lacking functionality in any more limbs.Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-29810792098237487092011-03-07T11:52:00.002+08:002013-05-28T08:34:56.137+08:00Work abroad: Pierre and his KTV gigolo job in Taipei VJust a reminder this is the fifth installation of the story of Pierre's work as a gigolo in Taipei. Best to go back and read all in the Pierre and his KTV gigolo job series from work abroad.<br />
<br />
After the BBQ on the roof, drunkenness and just down right stupidity meant we agreed to go to Pierre’s gilded cage for a party. <br />
At the time we actually thought we were being clever because Pierre went ahead by half an hour or so – just to check the coast was clear. Who knows what would have happened if we had arrived at the same time? I suppose it doesn’t matter. <br />
John took Eric on his scooter and I took Martina, Pierre’s date. Worried about being caught for drink driving i took things slowly arriving about 20 minutes after the other two. It proved to be one of the best decisions in my life as i guess it saved me the kind of stress that turns you gray. Afterwards, John decided to drive slow as well. <br />
Anyway, this is how they recounted the story of the first 20 minutes. <br />
“Get the fuck off the back,” shouted John to Eric. They recognized the shirt, they were outside his apartment, and had to extremely reluctantly face the fact that the limp body being dumped in the boot of the car was Pierre’s. (John had seen this once before, when he was walking pass a dark alley, the guys flashed a concerned look at him, to which in reply he pointed two fingers at his eyes, shook his head and walked on). <br />
Unfortunately, now he knew the person concerned and had to do something. Driving off would be the best option, and he thought for a second whether Pierre was a friend worth putting his life on the line for…Probably, not, but he couldn’t risk regretting it the next day. <br />
John left Eric depressed and shaking and sped round to the front of the car, dropping his motorbike to prevent them driving off. <br />
“Just do nothing but translate, word for fucking word, no ideas, no personal input. If they come for us run screaming like a bastard! Got it!” Eric didn’t know whether he was more scared of John or of the guys who had just bundled Pierre in the back of a car and were now coming to the front of the car to confront him and John. For once, he appeared to get the idea that it was best not to threaten to sue. <br />
Eric was actually caught in two minds about the presence of John: if the situation was going to be got out of, he was the man, but if John hadn’t been there, Eric could have pretended he didn’t see, then later justified it on the basis of there was no point in two people getting killed. On his own he knew he would be crap, non-existent; he was not going to much use now - just hoping to pull off being John’s Chinese speaking hand puppet, and he may even fuck that up. He had always thought he was far too logical to get into a fight: he never fought, he wasn’t big; common sense taught him he was going to lose. After all, you don’t expect to go out and beat Federer at tennis when you have only played a handful of times in your backyard. He often got angry, and felt like punching people, but then logic would take over and he would walk away. Now he was just overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness. And, he didn’t know how he had time to think of this because he was frozen and numb with fear; but it seemed his poor attention-span applied to feeling shit scared as well: his mind wandered off until it couldn’t ignore the shaking anymore, then went back to blind panic.<br />
“Right. In you’re best non-arrogant, condescending, <i>listen to me I went to Harvard</i> tone tell them we just want them to leave the guy. We didn’t see anything…But…We ain’t going without him.” For once in his life Eric was sure he could do non-combative, modest, and un-argumentative. <br />
He did as John said but it didn’t seem to be effective: the guys still went to the trunk, pushed Pierre’s body about a bit – they heard a bump and a groan – and started coming towards them with a machete and a baseball bat (Stun and slash seemed to be their operation) clearly intent on taking the two of them with their friend. <br />
“Hmm, it doesn’t seem this is going to be so easy after all,” said John. “Right. You know what you are supposed to do after you start running?” <br />
Eric thought that was straight forward enough – pump air into his lungs through his nose until they burst while approaching looking back as if he were <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hades" rel="wikipedia" title="Hades">Hades</a> leading his dead wife through the underworld back to life. “Get around the corner and call the police, then start ringing every fuckin’ buzzer on this street. Use that big mouth of yours for something good for once. I won’t be able to last out too long.”<br />
Eric thought for a moment. “Shouldn’t I…” he said. He knew Pierre got himself into the situation, but John hadn’t and was going to get himself killed and he decided a man can’t be a weasily-coward all his life.<br />
“No!” said John. “Is it going to help the situation if you hang around?”<br />
Things changed again. John and Eric had already backed down the street thirty yards so the guys had turned back and were picking up the bike. John knew he was going to have to provoke them, he looked around for some weapons…Bloody typical, he thought, in this city there is always a skip by the roadside, building sites and scaffolding with materials that would make Mr.T orgasm, now…<br />
“Gan ne ma (Fuck your mother).” He shouted as loud as he could and produced a middle finger. An East/West combo insult couldn’t fail. As expected the guys dropped the scooter, and started to move in his direction. No amount of profession pride could suppress a Taiwanese gangster’s anger at being told to go and fuck his mother. John was starting to feel a little sorry for himself, that life was shit no matter where he lived, and he was going to go out for someone else’s sins.<br />
At this point Martina and I arrived. <br />
I didn’t initially see Pierre, and i had never been in this situation before. All i saw was the two guys with the weapons, but it is funny how fast your worst fears allow you to clue in. <br />
“Where is Pierre?” I shouted to Martina. <br />
Martina quickly found Pierre and went running in the direction of the guys with the weapons. I followed until i realized she wasn’t going to stop running and i was getting in swinging distance. John changed from backing up to running in their direction to help her out.<br />
Martina stood in front of them. “Na ma, le hai,” she said, and then kept repeating it while dipping her head and being reverential. It seemed completely weird to compliment the guys but i didn’t have any better ideas. <br />
“You the winner. You beat him,” she said. “Please. Let him go. He stupid foreigner. He is very scared now. You teach him. Please let him go.”<br />
It was then a weird couple of minutes as Martina continued sucking up to them and we all stood in our various positions. Two minutes ago my hands had been outstretched trying to grab her and pull her back. John had been sprinting with a motorcycle helmet in his hand. And Eric was running away. Now, my hands had relaxed at my side, John was in half hulk mode, and Eric was slowly edging his way back towards us. Stress levels were dissipating.<br />
Suddenly, the tension then ratcheted up again as the two guys walked back to the boot of the car. They then rather un-lovingly positioned Pierre on the boot entrance lip and ceremoniously tipped his balance so he fell to the ground, spinning and bouncing off the bumper below. While John moved his scooter the window screen was lit by a broad arrogant, menacing smile; as they drove off they shouted ‘bye bye’, in that patronizing way that says you boys are losers. <br />
Pierre was unconscious and and some pools of blood were getting bigger on the floor. I immediately went for the smaller pool whose source was his forehead. I took off my outer t-shirt and held it on his head. <br />
The biggest pool was coming from under his left arm. <br />
“Hold the cut together, man. Apply pressure to stop the bleeding,” said Eric to John.<br />
“I know. I was in the army knob head. Why me?” questioned John understandably.<br />
“One of us has to call an ambulance. How is your Chinese?” replied Eric.<br />
John grunted and quickly put one hand on either side of the wound and pushed it together. <br />
About 30 seconds passed and Eric was still standing there. <br />
“Why the fuck aren’t you calling?” I shouted.<br />
Eric hesitated again before blurting out. “You know me. My pre-pay card is out and I didn’t have enough money…”<br />
“You twat, earn some fuckin’ money,” shouted John. “Anyway, use my phone.”<br />
There was another moments hesitation before Eric worked out it was best for John not to let go - John was holding together Pierre’s left forearm which had been sliced to the bone. And, it wouldn’t just be the effect on Pierre’s blood volume if he took his hands off, but John knew a game of <i>now you see it, now you don’t</i> with the white bone below was likely to cause him to throw up. <br />
Eric reached into John’s pocket, took his phone and started dialing.<br />
“What a fucking dick, eh!” said John.<br />
“Shut up – maybe, he can hear,” I said. John thought this was bullshit, but given the gravity of the situation decided not to take a chance. He had visited casualty plenty of times on the early hours of a Sunday morning for his own, or friends’ broken noses, cracked ribs or concussion, but they had always managed to wake up from the boots in the head; this he knew was a level above. <br />
“Martina, that was amazing,” i said. “That took balls.”<br />
“I am from the Ukraine,” she replied. <br />
“But i mean the whole reverse psychology shit to calm them down. In a movie but - ” I said.<br />
“Of course,” said John. “We had courses in that in the army. Hostage situation. Talking someone down and all that stuff. It works. Very useful.”<br />
“So,” I said. “You were standing with a motorcycle helmet?”<br />
“There you go asshole,” he replied. “If i could do that crap i might have made it to the special forces.”<br />
He continued. “Besides, do you think they would have allowed me within 2 yards of them?”<br />
For the next 15 minutes, we kneeled and sat on our asses on the road silently, hands occupied holding wounds together – Me on his head, John on the left arm, Martina on the right arm, and Eric on his ribs. Selfish motives for his survival went through our heads along with the noble: neither of us had had anyone die on them before and we had no interest in wrestling with the question, ‘Did we do enough?’ <br />
Fifteen minutes later, the ambulance arrived. Unfortunately, the officer thought he could speak English.<br />
“Uh, what…Uh…matter?” he said.<br />
“Ta di shou be bei kan le. Ta liou hen dwo xie,” (His arms are cut. He has lost a lot of blood.) Eric informed the medical officer from the ambulance.<br />
“You say…um...arm. cut…yes…Where?” he replied taking an age to finish his sentence.<br />
Eric repeated it and started to explain about the head and ribs as well.<br />
“Stop. Uh. Slowly,” said the guy. “So…Uh…Head? Rib? Did i say it right?”<br />
For once we were all in agreement with Eric and weren’t prepared to be polite. <br />
“Stop practicing your fucking English,” we shouted. <br />
Offended, he walked off leaving his colleague, who didn’t mind speaking Chinese with a foreigner, to take over. <br />
At the hospital.<br />
“What happened to him?” asked the receptionist in the hospital.<br />
“He was beaten up; hit by a meat cleaver,” replied Eric.<br />
“Hmm, that is nothing. See that man crying there, his daughter jumped from the roof - Se diao le (dead).”<br />
“What did the old bird say?” asked John.<br />
Eric stood pondering the unbelievable level of insensitivity. Almost admiring it. Normally he would have already taken the bait but tonight he was spent. “You don’t want to know,” he replied.<br />
Pierre was taken into emergency and we had no choice but to hang around at the reception desk, accompanying each other for finger biting and cigarette breaks, before checking with the insensitive receptionist if their was any news from the emergency room. She had more important things to talk about. <br />
“Your friend is American,” she asked.<br />
“French,” answered Eric, but her attention had been taken : “Look at that !” she shouted. A suited businessman was being wheeled into emergency on a bed wearing an oxygen mask. “He tried to commit suicide, but failed! Mei you yong (No use). That man’s daughter succeeded…3<sup>rd</sup> attempt though, I had seen her before today.”<br />
“Maybe, this guy will be back soon. Have you seen him before?” <br />
“No!”<br />
“Next time is number 2. That is quicker than her.” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation.<br />
“That is right.” She turned in the businessman’s direction, “Die next time and you won’t be such a failure.”<br />
Then flitting back to me: “You are American?”<br />
“No,” I replied. “But he is.” I pointed to Eric so she turned her attention to him.<br />
“I have been to America. Denver! My friend lives there, opened a Chinese restaurant,” she said. <br />
“Never been,” replied Eric. “Denver is a nasty place. I am from New York which means i find you culturally easier to understand. What is happening with my friend? Uh, i mean the person we brought in.”<br />
Receptionist: “Worry is a waste of time! If they can save him they will. Just wait and see.” <br />
Eric was traumatized, and having seen enough blood for one evening he sat down instead of thrusting the pen, he still had in his hand from filling out the forms, in her eye. The world seemed a cruel place. <br />
Half an hour later, and her shift had finished: “Tell your friend to be more careful - if he survives…” <br />
The lady who replaced her was compassionate, sensitive and understanding! <br />
About two hours later, he woke from his coma, and we were able to go home to sleep. He had twenty stitches in his head; several of his ribs were cracked, his face was a swollen mess, and the most permanent damage was to his left arm. The nerves had been severed meaning it could take months or years or never to recover full feelings. <br />
We went home assuming it was the end of the story of Pierre's gigolo job. Still it had one more episode…<br />
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<a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=847f721b-e4ec-4c72-be38-bd6ea3c033ca" style="border: medium none; float: right;" /></a></div>
Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-81918220020270429422011-01-31T13:45:00.002+08:002013-05-28T08:35:08.863+08:00Work Abroad: Pierre and his KTV gigolo job in Taipei IVJust a reminder this is the fourth installment of the story of Pierre's work as a gigolo in Taipei. Best to go back and read all in the Pierre and his KTV gigolo job series from work abroad.<br />
<br />
A little while later and Pierre had taken things with Ms. Hu further. <br />
It was the mid-September Full Moon Festival meaning, among other things, everybody was supposed to have a barbeque in the evening. <br />
The struggling artists, prompted by Eric, had agreed to arrange one and John, Pierre and Josh and myself had reluctantly agreed to go because it sounded like they had an ideal place: a top-floor flat meaning quick access to the refrigerator from the roof; the roof had not been built on; and, the best thing of all nobody had covered it with corrugated iron so you could see the stars. <br />
Firstly, who were the struggling artists? The struggling artists were a group of Eric's friends who shared similar interests: they organized drum festivals in parks, they went to the beach and played their guitars, they studied ancient Chinese, and they desperately claimed to only be doing work they wanted to do rather than teaching. But that is where the similarity ended because, whereas Eric was committed and fierce in learning to do the things he wanted, they were not: Eric struggled; they struggled to get out of bed. And it was something about Taiwan that allowed you to do so. It was easy to get your 40,000 NT a month for doing very little and with that you had a scooter so negligible transport costs; food was cheap and you could always find a girlfriend better looking than you ever had back home - Either impressionable young girls who wanted to speak better English or older women who thought you were going to treat them better than a local guy. Their relationships lasted about a year or so, until the girl went off to study in Canada or the older woman worked out they weren't going to turn their lives around and get a good job. <br />
Although this was a national holiday, requiring the purchase of lots of fresh meat a foreigner could still confidently walk into the supermarket at four o’clock and expect to get what he wanted - The Taiwanese had emptied the shelves of the chicken wings, squid, little boney fish with the eggs still inside, clams, shrimps and intestines, leaving all the nice pieces of steak, chicken breast, pork and sausages for those barbarian foreigners with no taste. <br />
John and myself had been waiting on the road outside their apartment for Eric for half an hour and when he arrived we remembered another reason why we didn't like to attend the struggling artists bbq.<br />
“Sorry I am late man! I had to go to several supermarkets,” said Eric. He had balked at the price of the steak and so spent an hour driving around town until he found the only reduced price chicken wings left. <br />
“More Taiwan style, eh,” he said. We went upstairs and laid out next to the bbq were a lot of chicken wings all supplied by the hosts. They arranged this, but clearly didn’t seem to suffer from the Taiwanese desire to impress their guests with their generosity. <br />
It wasn't a surprise. The first time we had eagerly turned up at their bbq with steak and lamb bought from Costco and wine. Feeling embarrassed we had put it down next to the chicken wings and proceeded not to get any all night. Tonight would be different. Our stuff wouldn't come out of the bag till they were all too high to notice.<br />
Suddenly Pierre arrived with Martina, a Ukrainian girl who was in Taiwan as a model. Pierre pulled me over to one side. “Look at this. Don’t tell Martina where I got it.” Pierre had not managed to get any food, but had bought an extremely expense bottle of XO Brandy. I had no idea where he had got it so I, of course, couldn't tell Martina. <br />
Eric had missed his chance for a bottle of brandy yesterday. As a way of saying she didn't want to study anymore, Eric's student had tried to give him a bottle of brandy with her excuse that she was busy. As a form of petty revenge he had said, No, and walked away shaking his head cursing the Taiwanese for not being straight. Telling himself back home they would have come out and told him, they wouldn’t have wasted his time like this. John assessed the situation correctly. “So it would have been much better if she told you you were crap? Back home they would never have given you the bottle... And, anyway, she didn't waste your time because you have been in Taiwan for a while and you know not to hang around waiting for students to call.”<br />
Oh, for the marvels of alienation. <br />
John had no such problems exploiting his status. His date for the evening was Lucy, another of his eager beaver, dying to speak good English young girlfriends who would be gone in six months to the States. <br />
John walked off to hide his meat and we stood awkwardly with Lucy. It was awkward because we knew she would be determined to speak English and us Chinese, and we had to stop ourselves being rude. We decided to indulge her – It was funny how that always happened in Taiwan.<br />
“Do you want a kebab?” I said.<br />
“Sorry, what did you say?” she replied keenly. <br />
“Kebab!” I picked it up to show her, “What about a beer? Taiwan beer is a nice beer you know!”<br />
“No, thank you!” She was a little impatient: these weren’t useful words to learn. She decided to go on the offensive and ask a question. “What do you do in Taiwan?”<br />
“I am studying Chinese” replied Josh knowing this was the quickest way to lose her. She moved to Eric: “And you?”<br />
“I am a student of Daoism… dao jiao.” She stood awkwardly for a moment after realizing she wasn’t going to have a conversation useful to her progress in the English language and walked off. <br />
“Where is Lucy?” asked John now he was back.<br />
“Finding a victim,” said Josh. “Why do you bring these stupid, boring young girls?”<br />
“Because I can, I suppose.”<br />
Eric continued: “Don’t you just hate that when they try and show off their English?”<br />
“Okay with me,” replied John. “We both get the benefit of a body part above the neck.” <br />
At this point Martina wandered off. Pierre’s declaration he could get girls from anywhere in the world, that he didn’t need Taiwanese girls - and was thus better than the rest of us - hadn’t been an idle one. Two months previously his girlfriend from France had arrived on a year long deafening trumpet fanfare: they knew everything about her, but especially that she had large breasts – cue, Taiwanese girls don’t. He walked around for two weeks showing her off, totally unaware that we just didn’t care. Otherwise, over the last few years he has had a succession of eastern European models working abroad in Taiwan. Martina, like most of them came for two months, working packed schedules for the smaller, local clothing companies, who needed a white face to show their clothes were imported from Italy or France, but didn’t want to pay too much. <br />
Up until now we had remained indifferent to his superiority, but the dynamic was getting annoying so we had a plan to stop it – We were always with Taiwanese girls, who, of course, didn’t believe in the superiority of men, but understood to play that game. You could be rude and sexist and they smiled; you could criticize western women, which they did all the time, and of course the Taiwanese girls smiled. <br />
We decided Eric had to execute the plan because they were the least friendly to each other.<br />
Eric spoke: “Pierre, man, where do you find all these hot white women? Look at us, we have to make do with the local girls.” <br />
And with that Martina was his last western girlfriend.<br />
Josh changed a topic. <br />
“Hey, Pierre, how was the visa run?” he asked. Pierre looked like the game had been given away, and made a point of pulling me and Josh over to the side, making something that wasn’t clandestine extremely so. <br />
“Best not to ask me about this in front of Martina.”<br />
“She is not here,” I pointed out.<br />
“Why?” asked Josh because he knew if he asked Pierre wouldn't tell. “It is complicated. Just don’t mention it to Martina.” <br />
Eric walked back over so Pierre had to involve him. “American. Did you hear what we were talking about? Same goes to you don’t mention it to Martina.” <br />
“That will be easy,” he replied. “I never speak to any white women. And, just so that I don’t, dude, just blurt it out. What am I suppressing?”<br />
Pierre was feeling friendly towards Eric, now that he had shown the integrity to admit the truth about the women, so he decided to tell him: “I went to Thailand with Miss Hu (one of the women he met as a gigolo). She is paying me to live with her now.” <br />
Pierre pulled his <i>now that is big shit, isn’t it</i> face, and on this occasion we had to agree it was warranted. That was the thing about Pierre you couldn’t permanently dismiss him as an arrogant buffon because there were some things he did exceptionally well - He spoke perfect Chinese and English – when many of the other French guys had rather strong accents; he could charm a crowd with his Chinese singing; and he got women to pay for him, which has just about every guy’s fantasy. Pierre then went on to tell his story…He didn’t want to live with her, but he had had enough of the KTV and he wanted to make a clean break. He had to do it - You see, he needed someone to buy him out of the KTV, otherwise he would get his legs broken by the bosses. Pierre had told us about being sucked into an underground world where he constantly had to stay alert, but this was nonsense. He wasn’t a mainland Chinese girl smuggled into Taiwan to whore until her debt was paid. He was working at the higher end of the scale; yes, they might have called him a few times, but basically he could have stopped being a gigolo and left the KTV anytime he wanted to. <br />
“I had to tell Martina I was sorting out some business,” he said.<br />
“Didn’t you have to go to get a new visa, anyway?” I asked.<br />
“Yes”<br />
“So no need to say anything other than that.” <br />
Pierre had got tired of the club only working two times a week. He refused to meet Miss Hu on his days off, no matter how many times she asked. This forced her to come to the club on the nights he worked and pay them to take him out. He knew he could be getting that money, but, short-term at least, he liked to think about how much money it was costing her, and this way, he didn’t have to work either. Then, after realizing he didn’t have enough money for a visa run to Thailand he had decided to invite her:<br />
“Pierre I am a traditional woman, well-respected in the business community,” she replied. “I can’t just go to Thailand with a young foreign guy.” She had reacted exactly as expected. <br />
Two days later she called for his full name for the tickets - Of course, he had to go to the airport and check in separately.<br />
“I am a good woman. I know you need somewhere nice to live, and I want to give you a chance to relax, not worry about money and find something you really want to do,” she had said. And with that she had managed to make the hiring of his services for 50,000NT a month sound like a humanitarian gesture the Almighty couldn’t match.<br />
John wandered back to our group and we inched towards the bbq. <br />
“You know Pierre is living with the old bitch?” I said to John.<br />
“Of course! Anyway, come here.” Even though the hosts hadn’t felt embarrassed about not providing any food for their guests, John felt so about not sharing his food. Now they had gone downstairs for a spliff, and the hundreds milling about were all people he didn’t know and didn’t need to give a fuck about, he had started to pile large pieces of steak on the barbeque and give everyone dirty looks. <br />
“If anyone comes near let me know,” said John. “Anyway, he told me last week, because I am prepared to carry the cyanide pill.” <br />
Pierre wanted some steak and was back again.<br />
“So what is it like?” I asked Pierre. “By the sounds of it must be a month or so.”<br />
“Two months,” he replied. “And a nightmare.”<br />
This is how he described a typical evening. <br />
‘Oh, yes! Sorry, I am too presumptuous,’ he said. Miss Hu would flash him a stern look to leave her room. Despite the fact that he had slept with her countless times, stupid games still had to be played – On this occasion, they had just got back from a restaurant, and he knew she would want sex – that was what she was paying for after all – so he had followed her into her room thus causing the look. He went to his room, turned on the TV, and waited for twenty minutes. <br />
“Miss Hu are you okay? Do you want anything?” he said. He knocked, then opened the door and went in. First time, he had just knocked - he didn’t want to burst into the shy ladies bedroom - and she didn’t tell him to come in, so he left again for another hour. Second time, he knocked and because he was getting impatient he just went in and this was acceptable behavior; she wouldn’t invite him in so she had to give him someway to get to her, otherwise he might be still knocking at regular intervals for eternity. <br />
<i>Why the fuck do I have to initiate sex, when I am the whore?</i> He thought. <i>I have slept with a few female whores and they do nothing, but play with their toes, waiting for the time to be up.</i><br />
‘I am sorry about earlier. I just wanted to make love to you immediately,’ said Pierre who understood ham and cheese, as he had delivered more than an EU food mountain of it in his time. <br />
The flattery was very simple to give. It wasn’t a matter of believing – for her, someone so obsessed with getting respect; tired and paranoid about not doing so, she was not interested in anyone’s sincerity, just that it came. <br />
She only stayed three nights a week (that was the agreement) – the others she spent in her home with her son. She always arrived with bags of shopping and then spent two hours cooking, and washing up, presumably to try and create the image in her mind that they were a proper couple. Once a week, usually while she was cooking and he was hanging around trying to look helpful, she went on a tirade about how she didn’t get enough respect, and how he thought he could just come in a her house and do anything he wanted. How she was not a soft touch, or interested in using her money to buy people. And how she should be thankful that she was sponsoring him to help him get himself set up in Taiwan. <br />
Sex was unusual. Pierre called it taking turns to masturbate. She was a stressed businesswoman who always needed to take control, get want she wanted, and sex was no different. She took control, maneuvered herself into position (it was an exact science for her), and five minutes later she was orgasming. Once was enough for her, and she then asked what position for Pierre was opportune for maximum efficiency and she assumed it. There was no chance of them cumming together, or even fumbling at doing so, or playing the game of pretending to try and do so that most couples do. And, no need to apologize for coming just before she did thus spoiling it for her. There was order: her first and him second, and nothing in between. Pierre had thought many times about heading to the bathroom first to get himself on the verge so he could beat her to punch, but in the end he thought better of it – No doubt she wouldn’t politely lie down, but demand instant rehardification. It was the nearest a heterosexual man could get to shagging another man. <br />
For twenty minutes or so she would then tenderly kiss and cuddle him, but her expression did say, <i>wasn’t that nice making love?</i> but rather <i>look at what we managed to do for each other. Today, we both managed to come within twenty minutes, our efficiency is getting better and better</i>. Then it would be, “See, I am not so hard to handle. You can do it.” <br />
Back to the moment.<br />
“Hold on now,” said John. “I am going to ask you a serious question. It should be bleeding fucking obvious the answer but I have to ask it anyway because I know what a dumb wit you are. You are not taking Martina back to that apartment are you? <br />
….You fucking are, aren’t you? Jesus, you are stupid.”<br />
Pierre burst into indignant. “John, you know I can handle these situations. She will never work it out.”<br />
Pierre then stared at us and us at him projecting the belief we thought our opposite number was as dumb as fuck. Clearly, all the dumb vibes had had an effect because later that evening we all headed back to Pierre's gilded cage. <br />
To put it mildly the evening didn't end well.<br />
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Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-23644222583717826112011-01-18T14:34:00.003+08:002013-05-22T10:57:22.131+08:00Work abroad: Pierre and his KTV gigolo job in Taipei IIIJust a reminder this is the third installment of the story of Pierre's work as a gigolo in Taipei. Best to go back and read all in the Pierre and his KTV gigolo job series from work abroad.<br />
<br />
After his one stab at paid sex, Pierre had sworn himself off preferring to just drink with the women. Six months later Pierre had found his feet and in doing so rediscovered his sense of the melodramatic, and that melodrama expressed itself in clients with overlapping schedules. He was sure that if a client saw him with another it would be disastrous. His gigolo colleagues told him that it is generally not a problem, but he replied with: “Yeah, right, what I am going to say to her, ‘Sorry, I was fleetingly making someone else’s life less lonely. Now it your turn.” Still, his gigolo colleagues knew there was no need for embarrassment, but were not interested in arguing (Taiwanese are very good at that) and decided it was best to just play along. <br />
That evening:<br />
He made an excuse to a Miss Chen to approach the bar and talk to his colleagues. <br />
“Has Miss Hu arrived?” asked Pierre.<br />
“No,” said his colleague. <br />
Pierre did his <i>phew, the world isn’t going to end</i> face and waited for someone to be interested.<br />
Nobody was.<br />
Pierre continued: “I don’t know what time Miss Chen is leaving.” <br />
“Should be no problem,” said his colleague again. But nothing was ever ‘no problem’ in the Pierre universe. He started to pull his <i>this is deadly serious, man </i>face, but got no joy. He then pulled it harder and harder until all the energy in his entire body was helping to radiate seriousness; but, all he got was a polite smile (Taiwanese were also very good at polite smiles). <br />
Besides, they had seen and heard it all before: at the start he had just talked about the possibility that he would get a clash of clients coming to the KTV, then he invented them and had everyone running around pretending he wasn’t there, or in the bathroom, or covering for him at a table so that he could sneak out the emergency exit. Now, he was throwing out names that made no sense to them for authenticity. <br />
“Is Miss Chen a regular,” asked a different colleague.<br />
Pierre raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.<br />
“Well…is she?” asked the colleague again.<br />
“She might be,” replied Pierre.<br />
Now his colleague was raising his eyebrows because he didn’t understand. He thought about getting to the bottom of the situation, but decided to walk off instead.<br />
Suddenly Miss Hu arrived and it was a perfect chance to invent a problem. <br />
“Miss Chen, excuse me, I have a problem...I am really very sorry,” he said.<br />
“No need to be so polite,” she replied. And she actually meant it because she didn’t much like foreigners, and was waiting for someone else.<br />
Pierre went out the emergency exit of the KTV, clambered over the empty beer crates, slipping on a fire extinguisher buried underneath; down one flight to the office below, then took the lift back up. <br />
He straightened his tie as he approached Miss Hu. “Sorry, I have got here. I was late tonight,” he said. Miss Hu looked baffled why he would lie - She knew he was already there with another client, and if he wasn’t popular, she wouldn’t be interested. Anyway, he had told her to be there at 10:00…Insisted in fact.<br />
A little white lie. It wasn’t entirely accurate to say that he had decided never again to take payment for sex. He had decided never to take payment from a nice woman. A few weeks ago Miss Hu had taken a shine to him, and, at the moment, she was certainly fulfilling the above criteria. <br />
Typical Miss Huisms:<br />
“You know, even though I have a lot of money, I like to have normal friends. I don’t show off my money -I have 3 houses, one in the California, but I don’t it doesn’t make me arrogant.”<br />
“I am really nice to my friends. I always forgive people when they are mean to me. But one time, I don’t like to use my power, a friend of mine doubled crossed and one phone call and they had their business closed.”<br />
“My friend are only secretaries, but I don’t tell them that they should do better with their lives.”<br />
“I pay for everything, and I never ask for anything, but I know they don’t respect me.”<br />
And it went on and on…he was sure he was going to go mad. The first time he entertained her was the first time rage had been so intense he could have killed someone. Everyone, from time to time, was stuck talking to someone they didn’t like, and watched their clock desperately hoping the next sentence would be the last and you could get away. That first time, he had watched her lips and wondered how such beautiful, thick things could allow such obnoxious, arrogant drivel past. Didn’t they have a sense they were being showed up? It quickly became clear there would be no respite, so he concentrated his attention on those lips, convincing himself that when they stopped, she would stop. Unfortunately, they’re momentary stops were only pauses while she gathered together another snippet of self-absorbed reflection. Still it helped to see them unmoved for just a second, it was a moment’s relief before the torturer put the electric tongs back on his balls. Each sentence hammered into his head on the same spot. And it was so much worse because he was not just required to appear to listen to someone else but to actually listen and respond - She continually asked him what he thought and pulled him up if he wasn’t listening, but she wasn’t looking for a discussion, merely an acknowledgment of her plight: your empathy showed that you had digested what she was saying. <br />
While he tried to keep his attention focused his teeth clasped tight, and his eyes stared forward, then he was hit by the sensation the parts of his face had got so close together they could feel the presence of the others and were about to engage each other in conversation. When she went he just stumbled around dazed, shell-shocked. He was afraid to go to sleep – Initially surprised he had not gone mad, he then decided the experience would be like when you play on an injury and get used to it, but the next day, you have done so much damage you are out for the season. He expected to wake up dribbling and babbling; or somewhere in a small African country, having undergone plastic surgery, carrying a new identity, with no knowledge of the past twenty-five years, only of unspeakable past trauma. He tried to run and hide second time she came, but she sought out the manager, who asked him to do a favor, and therefore he had no choice. It got better from then in - <i>You will get used to hell</i>. He knew what she was going to say, developing the ability to wake back up just when she was finishing a sentence. She was so obsessed with face that he could wrap her around his little finger: Keep telling her what a nice person she was; misunderstood, down to earth, sincere, and she would keep coming back. And, he wanted a woman who he could rip off, but had been restricted by conscience, so a candidate like this, that he disliked so intensely, wasn’t going to appear too often. He knew he shouldn’t miss hopping on the broom stick.<br />
The next evening we were all out together.<br />
“Have you sorted anything out yet - what you want to do?” I asked. <br />
The fact that it had been eight months now since Pierre entered the KTV club, wasn’t lost on his friends either. He was still talking about how: he was going to change the world, do something different, not rely on his status as a foreigner to earn money, and now the period in which we were too impressed to say anything was over.<br />
“I have been working 4 nights a week. It was not as easy as I expected you know,” he replied. <br />
His expression was humble, introspective, and everyone wanted to feel sorry for him, but nobody could really take it seriously: you don’t believe the gambler who says he has quit, you don’t believe Pierre will start approaching life by realistically assessing his strengths and weaknesses. <br />
Sometime during his upbringing his parents stopped trying to tether his self-belief to reality - Presumably, as he is still alive today, it was sometime after teaching him to cross the road, but the indications suggest not long.<br />
He continued: “Having to drink so much everyday and deal with the people, I don’t think you boys could handle it.” <br />
<i>Ah, back to normal</i>, we thought. <br />
“What about that cash? You must have a stack saved up.”<br />
“I have some, but meeting business contacts is not cheap here. You have to keep up appearances.” <br />
We didn’t believe the excuse. We also disputed he was working at the club four nights a week --The regularity with which we saw him meant there would have to eight or nine days in a week. <br />
Anyway, we knew he was spending the money. You can pretend this is independent cinema and invent the killer who likes to prune roses or work with disabled children when he is not lopping and dismembering, but in the real world, most of these guys follow the stereotype. Pierre and his colleagues spent fortunes on clothes, cars, drinking, and cards in illegal gambling houses. It was stuff right out of the movies for Pierre – dumping one or two thousand US dollars on a bet and losing it all. At times, we wanted to feel sorry for the naïve boy who we were sure was going to regret it bitterly later, but there was no need to feel sorry for him: Pierre only remembered the experience.<br />
Still, even the most optimistic guy can have a few regrets. The Miss Hu situation would come to be one.<br />
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Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-67176485648928931052010-12-22T10:46:00.001+08:002013-05-28T08:35:23.633+08:00Work abroad: Pierre and his KTV gigolo job in Taipei IIJust a reminder this is the second installment of the story of Pierre's work as a gigolo in Taipei. In total there are six parts to Pierre and his KTV gigolo job series from work abroad.<br />
<br />
For a long time he had contented himself with drinking with the younger girls, then teasing from his gigolo colleagues made him have to take things to the next level. Finally, a couple of months after going to work in the KTV club, he sold himself for the first time.<br />
We heard the story in one sitting of two parts. The first his manful boasts then the real story of how he felt. As suspected he wasn’t as big an asshole as he tried to be.<br />
We pick up the story at the love hotel with Mrs. Jiang, a woman fifteen years his senior and married to some rich guy who spent all his time in China. <br />
This Love Hotel was an up-market one recently opened by a Japanese Love Hotel Chain, leaders in this market. It was themed Africa Nights: mud hut texture wallpaper, African masks, shields and spears, and fake antelope and elephant heads adorning the walls; the bed had a leopard skin bed spread; the toilet was in the shape of a hippo's mouth; and the center piece of it all, a giant massage chair in the shape of a spider which shook, vibrated and closed its legs to give you a tickle when you sat on it. <br />
“What are you laughing at?” she asked. “You don't like here?”<br />
“It is great,” he answered, then slipping into French so she didn't understand. “It is just what I need to take my mind off things.”<br />
He stood staring at her for a minute. It wasn't her forty years that were putting him off. She had smooth white skin, the result of years of expensive European cosmetics, wearing factor 50 suntan cream, and carrying a parasol (older Taiwanese do their best to keep their skin as white as possible to show they don’t have an outdoor job; they are not low class). She is decked from head to toe in designer clothes, and carrying a Louis Vuitton bag. She is well-manicured and made-up with her hair dyed a taint of dark brown instead of her natural black. In fact, she wouldn't look out of place pulling up in a Land Rover to pick her son up from any of the best public schools across England. <br />
She was only five-foot high, petite, slim, not more than fifty kilos; she is ethnically Chinese and therefore exotic. But all of that misses the point completely: she is attractive; he wouldn't choose her as a girlfriend but he wouldn't say no to sleeping with her based on looks. And, most importantly, he wanted to sleep with her because he have seen her prim-and-proper lady-like exterior, and was aware of the ironic contrast. <br />
They had taken up positions on opposite sides of the leopard skin bed spread. She was sat down on a bamboo chair in front of a huge mirror; back straight, knees, elbows and wrists together checking her mobile for messages. A lady to the last. <br />
He was loitering; leaving himself open to being asked if he was staying or not. <br />
She looked up from her phone.<br />
“Are you ok?” she asked.<br />
She had gone quiet once they got in the taxi, but now she was looking at him with a motherly concern. Suddenly, she had the upper hand.<br />
“No problem,” he had to answer. “You want a drink?”<br />
He had already entertained for an hour before Mrs. Jiang came to the club, but the whiskey wore off easily these days. <br />
She said no, headed to the shower, and he got a little bottle from the mini bar - and lied on the bed to ponder his doubts.<br />
Mrs. Jiang had been coming to see him at the club for about a month now – paid for his company at least eight times before he had agreed to be taken out. <br />
What did he know of her? - Very little. She had two children. And, her husband lived in China with his air hockey table factories and several mistresses. No doubt she was lonely, but there were lots of lonely women who didn't employ the services of a gigolo. He told himself he didn't know the whole story and it wasn't his job to do so. She had decided to come to the club.<br />
But he felt sorry for her. He used to feel sorry for female prostitutes. Now he felt sorry for being one. A contradiction if it wasn't for the lowest common denominator: a liberal middle-class white male upbringing, that always seemed to find another way to bite back. <br />
And that was another thing: he was getting those pangs of guilt you do when you cross a moral boundary. It made no sense as he was hardly robbing a bank or selling drugs - but then again, after living here for more than a year, he had forgotten how Christianity, unlike the local one, does equate purchased lovemaking with murder and mayhem. He wasn’t religious or anymore moral than the next twenty-five year old; it was surprising those values are still lurking in the subconscious, raising objections when he least expected. <br />
He started playing with the electronic panel next to the bed to pass the time. He hit the button below the Chinese characters for <i>Office</i>, and the sound system kicked in blasting the noise of a busy meeting. He had heard of this - It was designed for when you get a call from your loved one. Next to it was the characters for restaurant and motorway. Presumably, if you are in the room for a long time… <br />
He started to roll around the floor after hitting the last button: Atmosphere - Suddenly 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight' was shaking the room, and the elephant trunk was swinging from side to side. He turned it off, figuring he would need it later. <br />
Five minutes later she emerged from the bathroom; tiptoeing, hip wiggling and holding her towel at the chest to protect her dignity. Her exposed slim white shoulders, ankles and calves were getting him excited. It occurred to him he could presumably do this for free, and then he wouldn't need to feel guilty. <br />
“Why don’t you take off your jacket?” she said now back in the wicker chair.<br />
“Sorry,” he said jumping up off the bed. “I hate it too when the whores play all coy and waste my money.”<br />
He took off the suit – black Emporio Armani – that he had been wearing almost constantly for the last three months, and jogged across the room to the wardrobe. The wardrobe door was in the shape of a huge African shield with crisscrossing spears, split vertically down the center into two doors. He grabbed the hair on the imitation shrunken head door handle, and hung up his suit, then his shirt. For a moment he knew what a girl felt like when she displayed herself for cash, and he thought about shouting 'so here are the goods, love.' <br />
He guessed a little bit more subtly was in order. <br />
“Lay on the bed - I'll give you a massage,” he said.<br />
For the next five minutes, he worked his hands over her body, still stung by that feeling he wasn't doing a good job. <br />
Soon his hardening dick woke him to decision-making time. He knew he wasn't going to give it out for free - if he did, he would have to pay the club's cut out of his own pocket. Her husband would be paying for this not her, so he wasn't making her destitute. Which left the question of exploiting her loneliness? He knew the guys in the club would just say he was providing a service; temporary relief from loneliness and it sounded right, even if it didn't feel that way. <br />
He looked at her face, eyes closed, relaxed with just a faint sadness bubbling around the surface. I would only make her feel worse if I walked away now, he thought. <br />
“Turn over,” he said, and then undid the towel from the front. <br />
Her breasts were in fact a wonderful pert c-cup that sat up nicely on her chest. Fakes he guessed. <br />
“What do you think?” she asked.<br />
“About what?” he replied.<br />
“My breasts - can you tell they are fake?”<br />
“Really? I didn't notice.” he replied.<br />
“Yes - I went to the best plastic surgeon in Taipei. I even swapped the nipples - After you give birth, they are very dark.”<br />
He perched himself up on his elbows, above her chest and turned up the brightness of the lamp to check. <br />
“Look,” she said now animated grabbing her right breast and pushing it towards his face. “The nipples are very pink again. This technique was pioneered by a Japanese surgeon - Only one place in Taipei knows how to do it.”<br />
“Those are truly the nipples of a fifteen-year old.” Then speaking a bit faster. “If I hadn't seen your face first, I would now be running for the door.”<br />
“What?”<br />
“They look fantastic. I am honored to get my grubby hands on them.”<br />
“You really think so? Wow. You know - you are the first person to see them.”<br />
“As I say - honored love. Now let's not waste them talking.”<br />
He smiled to myself, figuring he wouldn't need to listen to Tight Fit anymore. <br />
Still he had had many questions - Was she just going to lie there? Was she going to do anything for him? Then he remembered she didn’t have to: this was a service. In that case, was he expected to warm up with a lot of foreplay? If, so? How much? He had a large ego, but for once he was not sure if he wanted to do his best. If she didn’t cum was he obliged to go again? Female prostitutes have it easy, the extent of their service was clearly defined: get the jizz out; payment was always per hour or ejaculation, but here a satisfactory conclusion of service was unclear. He was supposed to stay with her for the evening, but otherwise…? <br />
He started to head downstairs.<br />
“Take it slowly,” she said.<br />
“Hmm, trying to get your money's worth then…What ever that may be.” <br />
Anyway, he headed back up to her neck and then jerked his head back as she tried to kiss him - You are not supposed to let a client kiss you. At least that is what happened in the movies.<br />
“What is the matter?” she asked.<br />
He thought for a moment: “Nothing…I presume you want me to just pretend this is a romantic encounter. Save your face. I can do that. I have been here a while.”<br />
“Ting bu dong (I don't understand),” she said.<br />
“Nothing,” he repeated and started to kiss her.<br />
A little while later, he went for the condoms in his trouser pocket and took one out. <br />
“What are you doing?” she said. <br />
He wanted to scream: <i>I am a whore. Are you mad?</i> But it wasn't entirely unexpected. He threw it away. <br />
It was time to penetrate, and now the adrenalin was rushing, almost like it was his first time. Once he did this he was officially a whore. He concentrated hard on what was important in life: experience, risk-taking, enjoyment and pride; something to tell the grandson.<br />
Once inside, he had the feeling you do when you have got anyway with something naughty; he held things in press up position enjoying the moment. <br />
“Just a minute,” she said. <br />
She then twisted her body round and started to look at the control panel next to the bed, while he twisted his torso trying to stay inside. Soon it too resembled a game of Twister and he gave up.<br />
“Ok,” she said, and 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight' started blasting out. “This is romantic. Don't you think?”<br />
“Totally - Sade and Barry White will be relegated to student all-you-can-drink night from now on.”<br />
Twenty minutes later, the alcohol meant things were taking a long time, which was kind of good and bad: good because she was getting her money's worth, and bad because he was flagging. He wanted to tell her to get on top so he could take a breather, but he reminded himself that this was what she was paying for and<i> </i>kept chugging away….<br />
He noticed he wasn’t really making any noise, and he wondered if he should. Ordinarily - Yes - noise showed you were turned on, gave her an indication of your progress, but now he was providing a service. Too much noise might appear like you were in it for yourself; too little would make her embarrassed. Men like girls to make a noise because it signifies that we are giving them pleasure, but is the reverse true?<br />
Another ten minutes and it was all over. He lay on his back. As post-coital adrenalin dissipated, and the cold light of day crept back in, he began to ponder his actions.<br />
“You don’t like?” she asked.<br />
He thought it a strange question, irrelevant in fact, still: “Of course,” he replied.<br />
“I am not so bad, no?”<br />
“You are very sexy?” He replied because it was the truth. If she just got a plane to the West she would be the one getting paid.<br />
She put her arm across his chest and tried to engage him in eye contact. He suddenly got a sickening feeling and tried to change the subject.<br />
“How is Michael (her son)?” he asked because I knew he had been in trouble at school (Only 99% on his tests apparently). <br />
“I know, you don't love me,” she said rubbing his chest with a tragic look. “I just want a man to make love to me, sometimes that's all. Is that so bad?” <br />
He said nothing because he was an immature twenty-five year old who didn't deal well with reality. Yes, he was admittedly an attention seeking, manipulative, arrogant asshole, who liked the idea of being a gangster, but his was the romantic world of crime, where there are no innocent victims. He had wanted his first one to be a bitch so he wouldn’t have to care. Now, he could see his mother’s sad told-you-so face, like that time when he hadn't listened, let the dog run in the road, and it was hit by a car. <br />
“You will find someone,” was all he could muster, and he turned over and pretended to sleep.<br />
Two hours later - six a.m. - he stopped pretending to sleep and sat up. The rhythmic, peaceful chants of Daoist music and a drum beat were coming from outside, reminding him of where he was. He pressed the button for Tight Fit, lit a cigarette, and focused on the swaying rhino head. <br />
The sun was beginning to come through the curtains, it was going to be a beautiful, hot sunny day again. It was a pity he would be getting up at three in the afternoon as usual. Simpler pursuits like teaching English and studying Chinese suddenly seemed attractive again. He couldn't remember why he had given them up. <br />
He really had learnt his lesson this time, he was sure: he was going to lead a normal life. <br />
Suddenly, he was horny again - and she looked fantastic with the light on her shoulders. Presumably, it was a simple matter of waking her up, but he didn’t know what to do - If he made love to her again was it part of the original price or a separate item? If she had paid for just the once, he felt obliged to negotiate a new contract, and he was too embarrassed and lazy to do so. Anyway, she might not want to pay for a second time. He decided to give it away, but then the words of the gigolo guys from the club started ringing in his ears, and he felt Scrooge-like towards the thrusting of his thighs: if she did want it she would be getting something for nothing. <br />
He decided to head to the bathroom to resolve the problem<br />
…Nah, he wasn’t like the other guys he would give it for free… Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-71577343042071550372010-12-01T11:36:00.000+08:002010-12-01T11:36:57.712+08:00Taiwan Blog Awards 2010Hi all,<br />
<br />
If anyone has enjoyed the blog this year please go to below and vote for me. If no time don't worry.<br />
<br />
If you liked somebody else you can also vote for them here.<br />
<br />
<div><span>Voting has now started in the 2010 Taiwan blog awards. Full details are available at <a href="http://www.taiwanderful.net/blog/voting-2010-taiwan-best-blog-awards" target="_blank">http://www.taiwanderful.<wbr></wbr>net/blog/voting-2010-taiwan-<wbr></wbr>best-blog-awards</a>. </span></div><div><br />
</div><div>Anyone can vote using the Digg style voting mechanism and there is no need to register to vote. There is a limit of one vote for each blog from any IP per 24 hours. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Cheers,</div><div> </div><div>Dan </div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div>Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-5674866392195591992010-11-26T16:46:00.002+08:002013-05-28T08:35:49.979+08:00Work Abroad: Pierre and his KTV gigolo job in Taipei IA long time ago i started to tell the tale of Pierre’s most off the rail moment (<a href="http://betelnut-equation.blogspot.com/2009/07/temptation-of-being-treated-v.html" title="http://betelnut-equation.blogspot.com/2009/07/temptation-of-being-treated-v.html">http://betelnut-equation.blogspot.com/2009/07/temptation-of-being-treated-v.html</a>), but i stopped because my blog wasn’t just about sex in Taiwan and i didn’t want to give the wrong impression. Hopefully, now i have built myself a little credit and it is ok to finish the tale.<br />
If not, never mind, because it is a damn funny story and the deuce bigalow comments can come later.<br />
As i have mentioned before Pierre was determined to prove he wasn’t just another teacher overseas like everyone else, he could find any work abroad he wanted. Still: laziness, refusing to take the gift horse of teaching overseas, the effects of watching too many gangster movies, and a chance encounter combined to make him very broke and willing to try anything, ie. a Friday club or KTV gigolo club. <br />
BTW - This is all a while ago now so i have no idea if these gigolo KTVs still exist – Back then we didn’t all have beer bellies. <br />
We take up the story a few months after he started work. Below is what he told us it was like.<br />
The gigolos sat at one end of the KTV behind a glass screen, up straight on their chairs waiting to be picked. When the women came they could select a guy or behave embarrassed, sit in one of the high-back sofa booths that surrounded the dance floor and wait to see who was sent. The first night he had at once been repulsed and excited by what he was going to do - And scared; scared mainly because he had a bad temper and he knew that if he met someone rude he was likely to be fired first night for retaliation. He knew the substance of the job was to entertain and charm, and of course he could do that. He had charmed girls, friends and family before to get his own way, but he could walk off or shout if they were rude, now he was very aware that he was supposed to smile and blame himself. If they didn’t want him to sit at the table he couldn't say, ‘Fuck you then bitch.’ <br />
He said he had got all competitive about being chosen at first, until he realized he was the only foreigner at the club and therefore only really competing with himself – Taiwanese generally have an opinion on race so they were not considering whether they wanted the tall, fair-skinned, blonde guy on the left or the yellow-skinned dark-haired guy on the right.<br />
He had also had to make many adjustments to his style. <br />
As a man he had spent his whole life trying to get his grubby hands on women - theirs on him - and then drag them back to his cave at the earliest opportunity - Words spoken in lead up to sex were inversely proportion to excitement of the event as far as he was concerned. <br />
“You will come to my house tonight?” asked a client.<br />
“Of course!” he answered the first time he was asked, only for his colleague to pull him over. <br />
Colleague: “Pierre come here. How many times have you seen her?” <br />
“Once.”<br />
“That is not the way it is done,” he replied, explaining that you were supposed to say no to keep them coming back, spending money in the place, and the more you said , no, the more presents and money you would get. <br />
“But she wants it,” replied Pierre. “What about feeling her up? She just asked me to touch her boob?”<br />
“Any promises of a watch?” said his colleague.<br />
“No,” said Pierre. “I mean. I will enjoy...Really. I am happy to do for free – Ok. I understand…Jesus, this is no fun.”<br />
“You are not here for fun,” said the colleague.<br />
“I seem to be learning that,” replied Pierre. <br />
On the first evening he had rushed back home to change his boxers because he expected to be taking his clothes off in the club. His image of these kind of bars had been set by his one visit to the male equivalent - Girls came in g-strings and bras, which they removed extremely quickly on pain of being thrown out of the room, while the guys helped themselves to a grope of any body part they wanted. He had been looked forward to that, later disappointed to find out he was not going to have a bunch of women groping him up and down and ripping off his shirt. His new suit had stayed firmly on.<br />
Two main motivations brought women to the club: loneliness and desire to be given respect. It could be just one of these emotions; usually was both, and each woman had their own unique ratio. About half the women who came to the club were young hostesses, who after a week of waiting on men, now wanted to get a little attention themselves. Pierre hadn't got the hang of demanding watches yet or the fact that this was supposed to be a job, so he preferred to spend his time with these hostesses, because he didn’t feel have to feel sorry for them. They destroyed the myth that all women in this profession were victims: If they had been born boys they would now be gangsters, and there would be no debate about them being bad people. They were rude, crude, hard but fun; they were not here to complain and moan about their unhappy lives for two hours, like the older ones, and having spent the week aware of its financial value, they were not interested in sex. They were interested in drinking a lot of whiskey though and he was paid commission on how much alcohol he got them to buy. And the only way you got them to buy more alcohol was to keep toasting them, and downing drinks yourself. The blinder drunk you were by the end of the evening, the more you had earned. Good for Pierre but really bad for us, as it meant we had to put up with himre at his obnoxiously worst, staggering and tottering around the disco at five or six in the morning.<br />
“You can’t stand up you twat! Go home,” yelled John over the music. “You are going to fuck up your suit and then I’ll have to lend you more money.”<br />
Pierre's capacity for the melodramatic was 24/7. He never went off air, took a break for adverts, or went on strike for better pay. And, he could bring attention to himself in a fifty-thousand strong stampeding crowd. <br />
“Do you think people guess what I am up to? Pretty fucking obvious I suppose,” said Pierre. It was not obvious, at all. Yes, he was in a disco that was ninety-nine percent populated by people in jeans and t-shirts, but this was Taiwan and so nobody cared too much what you were wearing. If they did notice, they assumed you were just one of those businessmen who occasionally turned up, sweating in the corner looking bewildered.<br />
“If you say so,” I said trying to limit the conversation. Before I had said no and he had gone on for hours talking about how other people weren't as naieve as me. <br />
Unfortunately, it wasn't the end. “Fuck. Really,” he replied. “I heard some guys were thrown out for doing similar. I guess they are not as smart as me about it, but still you have to be careful. If anyone asks you, you deny it don't you?”<br />
Of course I couldn't bring myself to answer. To lower myself.<br />
“Dan,” he said. “You are a friend. I trust you. I know you are a nice guy and I know you like your stories but this is serious stuff...”<br />
I started to fume. “Look behind you,” I said. “There is an older woman waving at you.”<br />
He looked. I disappeared to the other side of the disco. Fortunately, our paths didn't cross again that evening. <br />
Apparently, he made Eric spend half an hour searching the disco looking for the older Taiwan lady.Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-40610571471043253032010-11-01T10:21:00.002+08:002015-06-12T16:21:44.421+08:00Mothers, old people and their scootersTaiwanese mothers and scooters<br />
“I saw the kid go into the air and hit the car window,” said the wife after finishing throwing up. We had just witnessed a motorcycle accident in which a father was missing a daughter and a wife.<br />
The woman in question had of course not been looking when she came out of the lane at speed assuming there would be no traffic on the 10-lane road. It wasn't the first time. Mothers on scooters are one of the most tragic thing you will ever see - Sat bolt upright, one or two children riding pillion, they never look anywhere but straight ahead, ignoring completely the inconvenient presence of other traffic on the road. Perversely the more children they have on the scooter the more dangerously they drive: usually one or two; three means they are unlikely to get through that day. Under constant time pressure - after finishing work, they rush desperately to get their kids to evening class – hence two kids, means two schools and more danger – then get home in time to cook the parents-in-laws' dinner, while deep down the stress is stirring feelings of unfairness: if my husband can’t afford to get me a car, then he is not working hard enough; if his children die on the road, it is his fault and with that she declares defeat in the daily battle to manage everything. She decides the consequences for her of not getting the mother-in-laws dinner are more painful than not looking at the other traffic on the road and she ploughs on ahead.<br />
School gates are the worse place in the world to be stuck around school finishing time as thousands of like-minded mothers: dragged kids onto scooters, let them down again when they realized they were not theirs, picked them up again after they fell off the back, and then picked everyone up when the scooter in front of them, that appeared not to be in the way was. All this, like baby turtles rushing to the sea, just to get into the traffic and be the first statistic of the day.<br />
“Hao dao mei. (So unlucky),” sighed the wife. As usual luck dealt someone a cruel blow, forcing them to plow across the road blind past a parked van.<br />
Old people<br />
Old people are really different when they are driving: they actually do look first, but still pull out - which kind of makes you begrudgingly respect their absolute selfishness and lack of respect for anyone else on the road. Case in point (almost everyday). An old man was coming down the wrong side of the road slowly in my direction so I applied my horn in a manner that would get me the 10 years for disturbing the peace in the west. The old man looks up reluctantly because he knows he is driving down the wrong side of the road in my direction, and is selfish not stupid; he stares blankly, sees he is not going to be hurt just inconvenience me and the whole road. He then slows down even more and eases himself across my path into the parking space that he was going to park in whether the rest of the world existed or not. I duly applied my brakes hard and hoped the car behind didn't run over me.Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-71688940103356563142010-10-14T11:51:00.001+08:002013-05-28T08:36:34.899+08:00Teach English in Asia: Eric and the eight-year old Taiwanese intellectualsAs I say Eric had had a reaction from hell to the idea that all westerners can think independently and the Taiwanese couldn't. On one occasion he had been substituting for me at my school.<br />
“Hey, Dan, what is up with the boss at your school?” said Eric while we were having lunch.<br />
I didn't need to ask him what exactly the problem is. “Yes, Eric, I need to talk to you about that...”<br />
Apparently he had been teaching them the sentence: 'What do you like? - I like music.' And it had turned into: 'Do you like....?” And when the kids answered, 'No, I don't', he had asked, 'Why?' And of course they didn't know why...and it was pointless and stupid and not part of the repetition exercise, but he had stood there for 10 minutes repeatedly asking why until all the energy from the room had dissipated away and the kids started climbing on the chairs. Unfortunately, this had happened more than once. <br />
It was necessary of course because Asian education system was based on rote learning and memorization, and so they needed his help to teach opinion forming and the ability to think abstractly.<br />
“Eric,” I said. “They are eight years old. No education system in the world believes eight year-olds can debate politics. And frankly it is not an admirable skill as most politicians are full of shit.” <br />
Still, I knew it was pointless - he was sure that when he was 11, in between reading comics, playing on his skateboard and sniggering over a pack of cards of naked women he kept in his underwear; cards that he coveted, took out and pawed over and examined so often if he could use them in Vegas he would be a billionaire, he could debate with lawyers and politicians. So what if the entire education establishment – western and eastern - believed kids of that age needed discipline, repetition and order, he knew better.<br />
Man, I am doing you a service here. Get these Asian thinking when they are young,” he replied.<br />
“Well, you will have to do a service at another school if you continue as my boss doesn't want you back,” I replied. “Again, if you want to eat sometimes you have to keep your mouth shut.”<br />
“Man, this culture,” said Eric, pulling this big offended face because: why were these people again stifling his creativity. <br />
We paused for a moment both taking a breather from our frustrations at each other. <br />
John was the next to speak. “Look at that guy in the suit,” he said. “More specifically the ass pant of his trousers. Now that is an Asian cultural difference.”<br />
“What are you talking about? I asked. <br />
“He has been in that toilet for twenty minutes and it is a squat toilet – I know because I was there earlier; in and out in less than a minute, precariously trying to support myself over the bowl by putting my hand on the back wall – still it killed my thighs in seconds and at the end I had to check the back of my trousers hoping for no accidents. That guy went in there in his best suit, read a newspaper, did his business and hasn't even broken a sweat. Man, these people can squat.”<br />
“It is beautiful when they are on top,” mused Pierre.<br />
“Ahem.”Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5615366507789293298.post-18927290279775499492010-09-30T10:15:00.001+08:002013-05-28T08:37:19.364+08:00Expat and studying Chinese: The friend who never learns ChineseWe all have a friend who still can't speak much Chinese after 10 years in Taiwan, that was John. At once best able to deal with the Taiwanese but not able to say more than 20 words of their language. Because of it you would get stupid phone calls like the one below.<br />
I was in an important meeting: <br />
“Dan I am getting a hair cut, and these girls don’t seem to understand what am saying,” said John agitated. <br />
“I am kind of in a meeting, John,” I said. “Don't you have a girlfriend for the week or something who can deal with this?”<br />
I said this because taking you to the hairdresser was one of the P.A roles a Taiwanese girl performs for her new boyfriend. Among the hundreds of little tasks we passed onto our girlfriends this was actually one of the most necessary - Applying for a phone number could be done ourselves because their would be someone in the office wanting to practice their English, and even if you insisted on speaking English when ordering your pizza their would be a student who could sort it out, but hairdressers were populated by girls who left school at sixteen and were not so fantastic in their own language, let alone English. <br />
In fact, most of the younger girls loved taking you to the hairdresser and it was great to see the competition that would play out between stylist and girlfriend: <br />
Stylist would be just giving girl in question a knowing dirty look about her being a stupid whoring western lover. <br />
Girlfriend: ‘Have you ever cut western hair before…isn’t it so soft…please shave his neck; you know he has too much hair, it like that all over his chest.’ <br />
The stylists would be polite, complimenting the girl on her English.<br />
Girlfriend: 'Have you ever had a foreign boyfriend before?”<br />
Stylist: 'No, my English is so poor.” Trying to be polite.<br />
Girlfriend: 'Many foreigners these days can speak Chinese.'<br />
Stylist: 'Really?' While thinking: 'Who cares? I am not a stuck up fucking whore…Anyway, you know he is going to dump you soon and return to his country.’ <br />
Back to the conversation with John:<br />
“I was walking past this place and it said haircuts for 200,” he said. I wondered why he insisted on trying to get a cheap haircut when he earned a lot of money.<br />
“You read Chinese?” I replied. <br />
“Yeah. My Chinese isn’t that bad, you bastard.” <i>Then why are you calling me</i>, I thought.<br />
“Look, mate. Can you help? They have me sat in the chair here with the apron on for a while now and I am feeling like a right tool.”<br />
It seems girls didn’t know what to do with him and so came back and forth every 5 minutes or so to check if he had learned to speak Chinese.<br />
“She is back again, how to say, ‘just a little off the sides’?”<br />
“Pang bien, duan e dien dien,” I said.<br />
“Pang bieng, dan e dien dieng,” repeated John. All the tones wrong and some of the actual sounds.<br />
“She’s not responding,” he said.<br />
I excused myself from the meeting and went outside the door. <br />
“Give the phone to her,” I said. <br />
I then took the assistant step-by-step through how to cut his hair. It was a weird feeling, describing how to cut another man’s hair; like buying shirts for a guy and telling the assistant: “Well, he has a large muscular chest…” A little too intimate, and I wanted to go home for a shower. <br />
I then went back into the meeting ready to apologize profusely for answering my phone. It didn't matter as they had all taken their chance with the foreigner gone to start dialing away. <br />
Twenty minutes later and my phone was ringing again.<br />
“Hey, Dan,” said John.<br />
“What?”<br />
“She says it isn't 200.”Dan Chapmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786596041715638135noreply@blogger.com2