Taiwan

Taiwan

I’m used to waking up early - I do it everyday. This morning however the pain is lessened by the realization that I face not eight hours at work, but rather four days in Taiwan; the transition to consciousness is suddenly a lot easier. I get the subway at the same time I do every other day. There are even some of the same people on it, although they’re going to work, and I’m not. Once I reach downtown Seoul, I meet Micky, my work colleague and travelling companion, and we catch a somewhat sticky (on account of the Seoul summer) bus to the airport. Here, happily, everything goes according to plan, and we are soon in possession of cash and boarding passes. Before long, I’m gazing out at one of my favourite views - the endless cloud fields, bathed in clear sunshine. In places, Korea in miniature can be glimpsed through breaks in the cloud, and it all combines to make ever more visceral the feeling of going somewhere new, of having another adventure. It’s great. I can’t help thinking though, as I carve my way through a very tasty omelette, that what would make it all just a little bit greater, is a glass of red wine. It is conspicuous by its absence on the refreshment trolley, but undeterred and ever optimistic, I enquire to the stewardess. Cathay Pacific is not to let me down. She returns promptly with a generous glass of something very nice indeed. Micky seems to find the whole proposition of drinking wine at ten o’clock in the morning quite preposterous, but despite his cynicism, I soldier on regardless. I have the sunshine, I have the clouds, and I have wine. The flight is complete.
  After a pleasantly short two hours, we begin our descent into Chang Kai Shek International Airport. Our first glimpse of Taiwan comes as we pass over the north coast, and across rolling green hillsides, dotted with only the occasional building. It certainly seems to be a lot greener than Korea. Having landed, we establish that there is a bus connection into Taipei, which lies about 50km away. As we leave the air conditioning, and head out to the bus stand, we are suddenly engulfed by a blast of hot, humid air, surpassing I think, anything either of us had expected. It feels more like Thailand, than Taiwan. This impression only grows stronger as we approach the capital, down highways flanked by palm trees and lush vegetation. I’m lulled into fitful sleep, during which I have a series of short, surreal dreams, on a variety of random subjects. After 40 minutes or so, we pull up outside Taipei Main Station, which is an architectural abomination of brown concrete, and step back out into the oven.
  Despite the fact that the Taipei YMCA appears, judging from the map in the guidebook, to be a stone’s throw from the station, we decide to enquire at the information desk on the main concourse, and perhaps request them to phone ahead to check availability for us, in order to save fruitless wandering. Unfortunately, we are as yet still grossly naive of the peculiar Taiwanese approach to signage. Things begin simply enough. We follow the arrows indicating ‘Information' and are led deeper into the recesses of the station. It’s all going swimmingly until the signs abruptly stop. There’s still no evidence of the information desk. Confused, we retrace our steps, only to be confronted by a sign pointing in the opposite direction to the ones we’ve just followed. Glancing around, we then spot two more, neither of which concur with the others, and one of which points upstairs. There isn’t an upstairs. The final confirmation that we are careering towards certain failure, is the sight of a sign which reads, ‘Information - ?' That says it all really. In reluctant acknowledgment that our efforts to save fruitless wandering have in fact, resulted in rather a lot of it, we elect to locate the YMCA ourselves. In an ironic twist it turns out to be plainly visible as soon as we exit the station. Getting to it however is anything but plain. It lies on the other side of a busy street, the only way across which appears to be underground. Locating the nearest access, we descend down a staircase of such twisting complexity, that by the time we reach the bottom, we are both completely disorientated, and now have no idea in which direction we are supposed to be heading. To compound matters we are in an immense and labyrinthine shopping mall, possessed of signage that is comparable in usefulness to that found in the station. Between this point, and actually locating the correct exit, we enjoy a visit to the subway concourse, a scenic tour of a number of consumer outlets, an abortive exit on the same side of the road that we started on, and the worrying realization that we may in fact spend the rest of our natural lives attempting to extricate ourselves from this vast subterranean retail hell. Happily it proves not to be so. We finally emerge above ground, and on the right side of the road. Despite being right next to the YMCA, it still succeeds in confounding us. We head towards the building, but are shouted at by a security guard, who indicates that we need to go right around the block, and approach from the other side.
  Having eventually managed to find our way into the lobby of the YMCA, we are surprised to note that it is rather plusher than expected. Indeed, it has a chandelier - a small one I’ll grant you, but a chandelier nonetheless. What it doesn’t have unfortunately, is a twin room. This leaves us facing two possibilities. We can either go back into the throng, and search for an alternative, or we can stump up for the rather decadent ‘Family Quad Suite.' Neither of us has stayed in a suite before, so we decide to be extravagant. We’re up on the ninth floor, and the place is enormous. It has a lounge with wide screen TV, bathroom, and balcony, as well as two single beds, and a double in the next room, which also has an en suite bathroom. Both sleeping areas also have their own balconies, from which can be seen Taipei 101, the world’s tallest building.
  Wasting no time, we decide to see what Taipei has to offer, and head out in search of the Chang Kai Shek Memorial Hall, an enormous edifice commemorating the man who ruled as President of The Republic Of China for the best part of thirty years. His popularity has always been a matter of division however, due to his repression of the Taiwanese people, and his desire to promote mainland Chinese culture, and this has led to the recent decision to rename the structure, ‘The National Taiwan Democracy Memorial Hall.' Whatever it’s called, it’s about ten minutes on foot from the Family Quad Suite, and this provides a good chance to take in a little of the atmosphere of this new city. I’d been told that Taipei was very similar to Seoul, although I can’t see it myself. Perhaps it’s the palm trees and the tropical weather, perhaps it’s the clear evidence of civic pride, or perhaps it’s the multitude of mopeds, but I’m reminded much more of Bangkok, despite being in what still officially counts as NE Asia. Indeed Taipei is rather dislocating in this respect. I know where I am, but it feels so much like I should be somewhere else, that the end result is a feeling of not really being anywhere at all. It’s like a geographical limbo. Nonetheless, upon arrival at the Memorial Hall, Taiwan firmly reasserts itself. The main hall lies at one end of an enormous square, lined with ornamental gardens. At the opposite end, are the National Concert Hall, and National Theatre, two intricate and imposing structures, built in the style of grand oriental pavilions, and glimmering in ornate red and gold. The official entrance to the square is a white, five-arched gateway, crowned with blue tile work, and known unassumingly as the ‘Gate of Great Centrality and Perfect Uprightness.' After a thorough exploration, we take a brief respite from the oppressive heat by ducking inside and savouring the air conditioning. There’s a display depicting Taiwan’s progression to democracy, but it’s very ‘modern' and looks like it was probably made by a struggling sculpture student. When the outside world can no longer be avoided, we re-emerge, and find ourselves weighing up the options, in the face of a huge bank of very dark cloud, which looms ominously to the east. Since neither of us has any particularly compelling urge to become water-logged, we decide to make our way back to the hotel, via some food.
  In the streets surrounding the Y, are a large number of small, pokey, food outlets, and it is to these that we turn in the hope of something palatable. An initial inspection reveals lots of unidentifiable things, which exude aromas varying from heavenly, to hellish. Eventually we stumble upon a stall at which a woman is preparing something resembling omelettes. A huge pile of vegetables is spread across a sheet of greaseproof paper, and then large quantities of egg are poured over it. Once the bottom has cooked, the whole thing is flipped, and the paper is removed. Perfervid amounts of oil are applied throughout, and once she has ensured that her fare is guaranteed to induce nine kinds of coronary disease, she removes the omelette, coats it in chili sauce, and serves it in a small cardboard box. We purchase a couple of beers by way of refreshment, and then repair to the Family Quad Suite to dine.
  Despite generally not being a huge fan of it, I am always interested in catching a little TV when in a new country, just to see where popular culture stands. In Taiwan, there seem to be a large number of channels on which monks sit behind flower-laden desks, delivering messages of spiritual guidance. I’m sure this is all delightful, but our Cantonese doesn’t really stretch to matters of such gravity. Indeed it barely stretches to “Hello," and ‘Thank you," so we look for something a little more visual. First up, is a show in which what I can only assume to be popular young Taiwanese celebrities, perform a variety of fundamentally inane challenges, the most pointless and asinine of which, is donning a helmet covered in tennis balls, and attempting to go down a water slide without the balls falling off. No one succeeds. It’s utterly ridiculous, but it must be said, worryingly compelling. What comes next however, sends the water slide paling into insignificance. It quite beggars belief actually, and I’m not convinced the entire thing isn’t some kind of hallucination. Essentially, the programme centres around a young Chimpanzee (dressed in clothes obviously) who is accompanied by a bulldog on a leash. This happy partnership gallivants around a park, occasionally meeting random strangers (none of whom seem in the least perturbed at the sight of an adolescent ape dragging a dog around) and generally doing what chimpanzees and bulldogs do. There is, to clarify, a higher purpose to all this. It’s not just puerile entertainment. The pair have an important mandate - mushrooms. Whenever they locate some, the primate places them in a blue, zip-up bag slung over the dog’s back. Why he doesn’t put them in the pink handbag he is carrying himself, is a matter to which no satisfactory explanation is provided. Throughout the broadcast, we are both largely incapacitated with laughter, although whether this is caused by the general surrealism, the utter pointlessness, or the fact that the whole thing is really, on a basic level, very wrong indeed, is unclear.
  Unable to cope with any more Taiwanese television, we head out as early evening approaches, to find Longshan Temple, and the nearby night market, locally known as Snake Alley. In a foolhardy move, we decide to go on foot, navigating with a variety of city maps that we have acquired since arrival. On paper, it looks simple - head to the river and follow it for a few blocks. In reality, navigating the streets of Taipei is something that should be left solely to the kind of person who can solve a Rubik’s Cube in less than 30 seconds, and play eight games of chess simultaneously while blindfolded. Our ambitiousness results in nothing more productive than getting lost, passing our destination completely, and having to backtrack for about fifteen minutes. It’s all worth it however, when Longshan Temple comes into view before us. Though not huge, it is incredibly intricate, and in the courtyard an artificial, although quite beautiful waterfall adds its melody to the soft, mesmerizing chants that come from within the temple itself. Originally built in 1738, Longshan is, like many Taiwanese temples, multidenominational, and encompasses Buddhist, Taoist and folk deities. At the main entrance to the inner courtyard, is an elaborate gate, covered with exquisite carvings. Dragons writhe down columns, and rear up at the sky, and not an inch is left bare of some kind of decoration. Despite this, what is more impressive than the architecture, is the general ambience of the place. It’s busy with local people making offerings of food, lighting candles, or bowing with sticks of incense, but is at the same time, a scene of utter tranquillity. All the senses are stimulated here, with moving effect. The soft light cast by hundreds of candles, throws an intimate glow upon the whole scene, and clouds of incense smoke perfume the air. Passers-by smile warmly at us, and from within the main temple, slow, rhythmic chanting drifts lazily, and seems to settle an air of serenity over everything. We are even offered a cup of spicy ginger tea. All of this combines with the humid, tropical evening, to produce something profoundly exotic. This is Asia; concentrated Asia. It’s the kind of experience you just wish you could bottle, because however you photograph it, or write about it, or tell people about it, you will never recapture it. I suppose that’s what makes it so valuable; it’s fleeting, it’s impermanent, and after tonight it will exist solely in the memories we have of it. If nothing else of any note happens during this trip, it will still have been worth it, solely for our brief visit to Longshan Temple. It’s another experience I feel very lucky to have had, and it’s one more that I will not forget.
  We could I think, both happily spend the entire evening in Longshan Temple, but there are other things we have yet to see, so we depart reluctantly, and make our way towards the nearby night market. Here is the bustle of commerce, in all its forms. A multitude of food stalls, some purveying the familiar, others the thoroughly mysterious, ply their trade next to stalls selling everything from counterfeit CDs, to sex toys, to medicinal herbs, to clothing, to jewellery, to live fish. Elsewhere, hordes of children play Pachinko machines, or try to win soft toys by throwing darts at targets. The streets are comfortably thronging with people ambling along, or simply milling about, and amongst them are the inevitable mopeds, haltingly weaving their way through the crowds. From the street side restaurants, come loud and impassioned pleas for custom. We ourselves are hunting for a bite to eat, but it all looks either very carnivorous, or very fishy. I’m relieved when I spot deep fried tofu, which is at least, something I can eat. We sit down at the side of the street, and through a combination of sign language and pointing, succeed in ordering some. It comes with a sweet soy sauce and lots of coriander, and we order a bowl of rice as an accompaniment. It’s delicious, but brings home just how disabling it is when you cannot speak a word of the local language. We are spoiled with the profusion of English in Seoul. Here, almost everything is written in Mandarin. Having eaten, and satisfied our market curiosity, the next order of business (this being about 8.30 on a Saturday night) is to locate a bar.
  There is apparently a street some way to the north of our current location, which represents Taipei’s most happening nightlife. All we have to go on is a name, ‘ChuangSheng Street,' and its location on a map. We get into a cab, and try to tell the driver where we want to go. He doesn’t speak a word of English (well actually that’s doing him a disservice - he does, literally, speak one word…”Sorry," and we are clearly butchering the pronunciation of ChuangSheng so as to make it incomprehensible. Our initial attempt receives a confused, “Sorry sorry sorry."  We point to it on the map, “Sorry sorry sorry."  We mark it with a pen on the map, “Sorry sorry sorry." We don’t know what else we can do. He starts to drive regardless, and round the next corner, pulls up outside 7-11, and goes inside with our map to see if they can make matters any clearer. As he does so, I begin to contemplate why it is that wherever I go, I succeed in finding geographically inept taxi drivers. I’m no closer to an answer when he returns, and this time says with cheerful confidence, “Sorry sorry sorry."  We take this to mean that he now knows where to go. About fifteen minutes later, I am forming the distinct impression, that he also knows how to effectively fleece foreigners by taking the most circuitous route possible to any given location. Still, we are now committed, so all we can do is wait and wonder. Perhaps he senses our cynicism, because he seems to try to offer some reassurance. He points at the clock, raises two fingers, and says something in Cantonese. This isn’t especially helpful, and maybe realizing this, he then adds, rather cryptically, “One, three." Micky and I exchange looks of mutual bewilderment, and resume our waiting and wondering. Not long after this, he pulls over in a street which at first glance, seems to hold little promise as the centre of anything, let alone nightlife. Sure enough though, we are where we intended to be. It must be said however, that it’s not all we had hoped for. There is, it’s true, a long, narrow street, lined with bars. Unfortunately they all appear to be either deserted, or of questionable morality, or both. As we amble along, girls in doorways shout hello, and I’m transported back to Seoul’s Hooker Hill, or any one of a thousand establishments in Thailand. Rather alarmed, we pass by everything, and find ourselves at the end of the street. We decide to go round the block, and try the street again, since it’s Saturday night, time is getting on, and we are both still stone cold sober. As we make our way round, we pass a sign for a store called ‘D’Orig Mang George.' The more I think about it, the more ridiculous it seems to become. On our second pass of girly street, we find somewhere that looks normal, and sit down for a beer. It is normal…too normal. British pop music, and English pub decor. Neither of us came to Taiwan to sit in an English pub, however helpful, friendly, and cute the bar staff may be (and they are), so we leave, with instructions written in Mandarin for the next taxi driver. We are heading back towards the Memorial Hall, and an area that, according to the guidebook, contains a number of watering holes, including a cool sounding gay bar that Micky wants to check out.
  We arrive swiftly, and begin the search. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. We are, as we confirm by numerous checks, in the right place, it’s just that none of the things indicated in the guidebook actually seem to exist. Indeed the only thing of interest to be found anywhere, is a clothing store called ‘Wanko'. Confused, and still disquietingly sober, we wander down the street, and by coincidence get chatting to three local students, who speak really good English, and happen to be on a mission to find somewhere to drink. They seem to have no objection to us following them, and lead us down towards Shida University. We pass through another night market, and then turn left onto a reasonably busy looking street. A short way ahead, we find exactly what we’ve been looking for, a busy bar, with both local, and ex-pat clientele, and a pleasing absence of hostesses. We settle in, and soon enough, sobriety is drifting away in precisely the way it should on a Saturday night in Taipei. Its passage is not however, aided by the fact that we are being served by a bint of the highest (or lowest, depending on how you look at it) calibre. She appears to have an abject inability to retain even the simplest of information, or indeed to perform any of the functions one would feel intrinsic to her position, namely taking orders, serving them, and providing appropriate change. The sensation when dealing with her is one of inevitable resignation - a sad surrender to the fact that something is bound to be forgotten or miscalculated somewhere in the procedure. It’s how I imagine trying to teach an orang-utan to play chess might feel.
  When I wake at about 8am, the day is sunny and clear; a description that sadly cannot be applied to my head. Back to sleep. Eventually we are up and about, and get on with the business of moving to more modest accommodation. A twin room on the sixth floor is our new domicile. It’s hardly the Family Quad Suite, but then decadence should never be overdone. Breakfast is taken at Starbucks, because we are both in need of strong coffee. Feeling a little perked up, we walk north of the station, to locate a couple of temples, and an area apparently rich in medicinal herb stores, and therefore, atmosphere. After the obligatory confusion and disorientation, we find what we are looking for, but there’s nothing particularly remarkable about any of it. Heading back, I notice that my face is very red. It’s particularly humid this morning, but even when I get into air conditioning I seem unable to cool down. After a while it starts to make me feel a little light-headed. Choosing to forego heatstroke, I decide to repair to the room, while Micky does his own thing for a while. A few hours of coolness and inactivity sort me out, and my thermoregulatory capacity restored, we head out again. First stop is a craft store - four floors of oriental oddments. There is a lot of nice stuff, a sizeable amount of tat, and a few things that are nothing less than revolting, notably a multi-coloured mutant rabbit of death, which I think may actually be the single most repellant object I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes upon. After the store, we make our way back to the main station, and get to grips with the Taipei subway system, or MRT as it’s known locally. The ticket machines are all automated, touch screen affairs, and on receipt of the appropriate cash they dispense a small, blue, plastic token, which is chipped, and serves as the ticket. The subway itself is clean, spacious, efficient, and pleasant, not to mention unfeasibly cheap. We are on our way to Taipei 101, the world’s tallest building.
  It would, one would imagine, be difficult to lose the tallest building in the world. Nonetheless, as we emerge from City Hall Station, it is nowhere to be seen. The geographical perplexities of Taipei continue to astound! Fortunately, we soon discover that perspective has a lot to answer for. 101 is merely obscured by another tall building between it, and us. Heading towards this most sizeable of edifices, I happen to spot a UFO. A couple of hundred feet up, to the west, is a stationary, triangular object. Micky ventures that it’s probably a kite, although it would have to be on a bloody long string. Besides which, it isn’t moving. In any case, it’s clearly flying, and I don’t know what it is. In my book that qualifies it as a UFO.
  Taipei 101 looks pretty big from any angle, but it’s when you get close to it that its size becomes really apparent. It’s huge, 509 metres to be precise, and resembles a giant bamboo stalk. Apparently the layout of the entire building was designed by a Feng Shui master, right down to the fountain outside the main entrance, which was put there to block a perpendicular road than ran past the building. Perpendicular roads are bad Feng Shui by all accounts. Once we get inside, we are once again, in a trend that has blighted us since we arrived, confused about where to go. The bottom floors of 101 are a large shopping mall. They have lots of shops, many escalators, and a plethora of signs for things like the conference hall, the function rooms, and the car park, but apparently no indication of how to proceed should you happen upon the novel idea of actually going to the top. One would think this would be a fairly common objective when it comes to people visiting the world’s tallest building, at least common enough to warrant a few signs, but then this is Taipei after all. We decide, perhaps against our better judgment, to seek the information desk. Lo and behold, the signs for it all converge on the 3rd floor, at a location occupied by a handbag shop. We board an escalator heading up, and it’s only when I glance over the edge, that I happen to spot the information desk hiding on the 2nd floor. The people at Information direct us to the fifth floor, from where tickets and the lifts are available. I wonder how many visitors get demoralized, and leave without ever reaching the fifth floor.
  Soon enough we are rammed into a lift with about 57 other people, preparing to ascend. The observatory is on the 89th floor. Rather unsettlingly, the journey, all 84 floors of it, takes approximately 39 seconds. There is a graphic inside the lift, which depicts the progression up through the building. It’s startlingly fast. Apparently the lifts in 101 are worth $2 million each, and after you’ve been in one of them, you can see why. We emerge onto the 89th floor just as the sun is beginning to think about setting. It’s casting a hazy orange glow across the western side of the city, and illuminating the clouds that hang romantically over the mountains. Photographic overkill takes place in earnest. To the east, the shadow of 101 can be seen stretching up a mountainside almost to the peak. This, perhaps more than anything else, brings home just how tall this building really is. Having paid 350NT to get to the observatory, it does seem a bit much though, to be charged another 100NT just for going one storey higher and being deprived of air-conditioning in to the bargain, but we head to the outdoor observation deck regardless. Surprisingly it’s very still and muggy even at 500 metres above the city. I’d expected at least a bracing breeze at this height. The outdoor observatory is the final floor before the spire of the building begins, and although the view is obviously very impressive, it does lose something by the presence of a six-foot high steel fence between you and it. I can understand the desire to discourage suicide, after all, it would be quite something to be able to say you’d topped yourself from the world’s highest building (not that you would be able to tell anyone about it, obviously) but couldn’t something more aesthetic have been achieved with a bit of imagination and a few truckloads of Perspex?? When finally the sun has set, and having taken far too many photos, we descend to the fifth floor in all of 40 seconds, and then repair to the basement food court, by all accounts one of the best in the world. It’s certainly big, although I can’t help thinking that it would rise a few places up my own personal food court top twenty, if it didn’t grant floor space to McDonalds, KFC, Burger King, and Subway! We happen upon a place selling what looks to be authentically Taiwanese food, and are perusing the menu (one of the few with an English translation) when the woman behind the counter, one of life’s incurably enthusiastic people, starts gesturing frenetically at various items, in an effort to persuade us of their virtue. Micky makes a decision easily, but as she grins, and points vigorously to something involving chicken, I find myself in need of the phrase, “I’m vegetarian." Fortunately the Lonely Planet has it written in Mandarin. While we are leafing through to find it, she is busily amusing herself at nothing in particular, in the way only harmlessly unhinged people can. Once we show her the phrase in question, she expels a massive, “Aaahh!!" and stabs her finger repeatedly at a picture of some tofu. A few minutes later we are dining on a kind of thin soup, laden with vegetables (and chicken, in Micky’s case), and accompanied by the aforementioned tofu. It’s really rather nice.
  Once dinner is in place, the hunt for a bar begins again. We decide to start at the same place we drank yesterday, although even getting back to that is more complex than we’d anticipated. Having become totally lost within an embarrassingly short period of time, we end up getting directions from a passing stranger. A couple of beers later, we set off again, determined to find somewhere else to drink. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with Jr.Caffe, but it would be nice to see the inside of more than just one place. Alas, it’s not to be. We wander the streets of Taipei for about an hour, but pass only the uninspiringly named, ‘Pub', which looks to have all the atmosphere of a mortuary in the Outer Hebrides. Perplexed by quite how a city of two and a half million people can apparently have a near total absence of places in which to drink, we decide to head back to the YMCA, via 7-11, the default source of alcohol. Perhaps we’ll discover something tomorrow.
  We are on a mission to get out of the city today. A few options are weighed up, before we settle on Danshui, a coastal town located at the point where the Danshui River meets the East China Sea. This affords us the additional opportunity to stop along the way at what is apparently one of the world’s largest mangrove swamps. To my recollection, mangrove is an eco system I still haven’t succeeded in seeing, so the prospect is rather appealing. There cannot be many places in the world where you can take the subway to a mangrove swamp, but in Taiwan, you can. I also doubt that there are many places in the world where you can take the subway to a mangrove swamp and find it closed for maintenance, but yet again, Taiwan comes through. There’s a walkway out into the swamp, but it appears to be getting rebuilt, so all we can do is skirt the very edge. This is all rather disappointing, but on the bright side, we do get to glimpse some fiddler crabs scuttling around and burying themselves to avoid being inundated. There are also a few mudskippers to be seen. At least I’ve now seen a mangrove swamp.
  With the mangrove largely abortive, we walk down the banks of the estuary, and into Danshui town itself. It’s best described as sleepy. Certainly when we arrive almost nothing is open, although this seemed to be the case in Taipei this morning too, so maybe it’s a Monday thing. Happily, the Taiwanese authorities, for all their officiousness, have not yet succeeded in finding a way to close the sea for maintenance, so we are able to take a stroll along the promenade, in fine British tradition. It is a little lacking in inflatable orcas, candy floss, disrespectful adolescents, and used hypodermic needles, but you can’t have everything. In Danshui in fact, it rather appears that you can’t have very much at all. When we try to visit the Portuguese colonial fort at the top of the hill, we find that it too, is resolutely closed. Clearly we chose the wrong day. Despite the demoralising lack of sightseeing opportunities, Danshui does have some delights tucked up its sleeve. One of them is a small cafe on the main street, which in what I can only assume to be blissful ignorance, someone has seen fit to call, ‘Cafe La Muff.' Unfortunately the establishment isn’t open, so we are forced to eat next door. On perusing the menu, I spot the vegetarian option. The entry is, one could argue, a little lacking in helpful information. The dish itself is simply called, ‘Vegetarian' and there is no additional description of any kind. I’m feeling brave, so I order whatever it may prove to be, and hope for the best. It’s pleasantly surprising - soup followed by rice, mixed vegetables, and tofu. There’s even a dessert, although it’s of very modest proportions, and resembles a small, globular eclair.
  After lunch, we make our way back to the station. Forked lightning can be seen splitting the sky in the distance, but it remains dry in Danshui itself. On the way back to Taipei, we stop off at the Taipei Grand Hotel, a massively ostentatious edifice, built in the classical oriental style. It looks very impressive in photos, but I can’t help thinking that close up there’s just something undeniably tacky about the entire thing. Back in the city, we spend a few hours chilling, in preparation for our final evening in Taipei.
  First port of call is Longshan Temple, just to see it one more time before we leave. It’s just before dusk, so at least there are good photo opportunities. A stroll through the night market follows, before taking the subway down to Shida Road. Inevitably we end up in Jr Caffe, but are still convinced there must be other places to drink. We even go to the lengths of asking the bar staff if they know anywhere. Despite being residents, they don’t seem to have much more idea than us. They suggest one place, but when we go to check it out, it’s all shuttered up. It seems we finally have to accept the almost unbelievable fact, that there is only one good bar in Taipei. When confronted with this kind of revelation, there’s really only one recourse - Long Island Ice Tea. After a few of these, neither of us really care about the bar situation, and are more preoccupied making home video of ourselves throwing shapes. Oh dear. We later discover that there is a table football machine downstairs, and engage in a vigorously fought tournament, which is no less exciting for the fact that every single one of the players has been beheaded, and provides great amusement until the table eats $700NT and then refuses to work. I think I can say, without too much fear of contradiction, that by this point we are both on the far side of liquored, and it may be this fact that contributes to my zealously held conviction that we absolutely MUST go back to girly street, so as to obtain a photo of the ‘Mang George' sign that we passed the other night.
  So it is that we are soon piling into a taxi. Girly street is quite quiet, this being 2am on a Monday night/Tuesday morning. As we proceed to the aforementioned sign, we pass a Family Mart, in which is working the fattest Asian either of us has ever seen (with the possible exception of Sumo wrestlers). He is absolutely monstrous. Anyway, obese shop clerks aside, we get our photo, and decide to have a last beer before heading home. At the top of girly street, we are beckoned into an establishment, the name of which I don’t recall, save for the fact that it begins with an M. Here a girl starts to talk to us. She asks, “Do you want a drink?" although clearly Micky hears something else, because he sharply retorts, “What?!! Hostess?! What??!" She retains her composure, and repeats the question, at which point he calms down and says, “Oh..right…er…yes please." She joins us at our table, and regales us with her ability to say, “How are you?" in about thirty five different languages. She also demands that we buy her a drink, and proceeds to order something hideously overpriced, as tends to happen in these places. She doesn’t really seem too put off when Micky informs her that he’s gay, and I’m married. Indeed she has an immediate solution for him, “We have a French ladyboy!" In truth, she’s not the most riveting of conversationalists, but at least she joined us, rather than the glitter-covered, overly made–up, one-inch long fake eyelash wearing girl who is also there. She is positively scary. After a drink, we really are in need of bed, and so we bid farewell to our hostess, and to nocturnal Taipei. It’s been fun, even if there was only one decent place to drink.

  A little bleary, we deal with the matter of leaving this morning. A few loose ends are cleared up, such as mailing postcards, and other assorted purchases, but the humidity combined with the hangover, really encourage only one thing - stillness. We soon head to the station for the airport bus. I have never enjoyed an hour on a bus so much in my life - air conditioning, a comfortable seat, and no need to do anything other than remain totally sedentary. All is smooth at the airport, and a few hours later, we are back on Korean soil. It has been a great weekend. Taipei has provided an eclectic cocktail, combining the traditionally Asian, the completely surreal, and most points in between. The atmosphere was relaxed, the people were friendly, and the nightlife was…oh, that’s right, there wasn’t any.