Back in quarantine at the beginning of my Taiwan journey, I texted a classmate of mine asking if she knew any details about the logistics of our hour-long journey from the quarantine hotel to our soon-to-be dorms. Neither of us had any idea. In response to my confusion, she texted:
When they said I was gonna gain skills on this trip, I didn’t think they meant the skill of operating on no knowledge of anything at all times.
I had this quote in mind for the entirety of my past weekend.
My host family journey has been minorly turbulent. I only spend weekends living with them, but because both my current (and third) family lives about two hours away—and I also get whiplash from the dorm-host-family transition if not for intentional “me-time” that I carve out on Saturday mornings—I usually stretch my commute into the early hours of Saturday afternoon and arrive at their home in Xinzhuang (western New Taipei City area) in the late afternoon. This weekend’s host family experience started like most others: my host mom met me at the bus stop, we all ate dinner together (a smattering of Taiwanese standard small plates all laid out on the table, like purple rice and sweet potato, steamed vegetables with chicken, shrimp pancakes, etc.), and we watched the World Baseball Championship’s from the comfort of the living room couch (Mexico victory paired with a side of papaya).
Then, I retreated to my room in their apartment so I could call my extended family and virtually participate in my cousin’s Bat Mitzvah family photos! MAZEL TOV, Sydney! Here’s a pic (you can see my face on the small phone screen). I fell asleep shortly after watching the service livestream, and that’s when all my control over the weekend’s events ended.
I awoke at 8am on Sunday morning to the sounds of shuffling outside my door. My parents are early risers, and my host sister (age 26) was heading out the door to teach a Mandarin class to a bunch of Thai children. I slid into my 拖鞋 (house slippers) and was greeted by my host mom, who exclaimed:
蔣萬安!早安!你想吃什麼?
Jiang Wan-An, good morning! What do you want to eat?
I have recently grown accustomed to being referred to as 蔣萬安, a.k.a. the new mayor of Taipei City. For a host of reasons—namely that I a) am interested in politics and b) ran into him and a swath of reporters at a night market right after he took office—my host mom decided to no longer call me by my Chinese name, 馮美琳. In fact, she even bought me some stickers with my “new name” to use for postcards!
Anyway, I walked into the kitchen and began to dethaw a frozen 蔥油餅, or scallion pancake. Following my host mom’s instructions, I cracked an egg over the pan, added some 醬油膏, or thick soy sauce, and voila–my favorite breakfast!
Then, I was told to prepare for a hike. I changed into athleisure clothing, packed my small waterbottle and a mask, and was raring to go. My host mom and I hopped onto her motorcycle (shh, don’t tell NSLI-Y), and we rode on over to what I thought would be the base of a mountain. I THOUGHT WRONG! I stepped off the motorcycle, and my host mom pointed emphatically at the first floor entryway to a nearby apartment. “There’s gonna be a baby in there! We’ll go say hi to the baby!”
There was no baby. Just one of her many friends, who apparently takes care of small children on the weekends. I was never informed where the baby was located (empty crib, but lots of toys spread across the flat), but 繼續樓, onward.
Now, to the mountain, right? Wrong. We motorcycled TWO BLOCKS DOWN THE STREET, where my host mom waved down a young woman who was walking out the door. Although she seemed to be in a rush and the wave-down caught her by surprise, she greeted my host mom and ushered us back into the building she had just been walking away from.
The building turned out to be… a HAIR SALON. (I am reminded of a family friend, who told me a few months ago that Taiwan’s infrastructure frustraters her: ‘Sidewalks are inconsistent, many buildings are dilapidated, and most importantly, you can walk into any building in Taipei and find an apartment complex, an office space, or a hairdresser. No exterior indications whatsoever!’) I was instructed to sit down in one of the salon chairs, and the woman who had welcomed us in began to futz with my hair. I haven’t gotten an haircut in nearly four months, but I had no intention of getting a trim anytime soon. Luckily, she didn’t pull out any scissors. Instead, she pulled out a large squeeze-bottle of shampoo.
The woman began to work my hair into a lather—no water, mind you—while she commented on the striking color (thanks, ginger-genes-in-a-homogenous-island). As she shampooed my hair, her conversation with my host mom indicated to me that the young woman’s mom was a long-time friend of my mother’s.
你唱得非常好啊!
You sing so well!
Said no one ever. Well, before this past Sunday. Turns out, my mother had posted a video on Facebook of my host sister and me, performing a Chinese song at a gathering of all the NSLI-Y students and their respective host families. All the friends of my host parents had seen the video, and many were excited to hear a live rendition. So, with this hairdresser’s hands on my scalp, I began to sing 我們不一樣, the song I had performed to a large audience two weeks prior. I didn’t have stage-fright, per se, in this near-empty hair salon, but I must say that the seating-induced-diaphragm-squash combined with minimal head mobility, as well as the absence of background music and the stilted chatter from other clients, made the performance quite awkward.
Very memorable, though, to say the least. And if you’re wondering, I ended up getting a wash and blowout; no haircut! So, with the help of my host mother and my freshly blow-dried and curled hair, I made it to the base of a small mountain range about 20 minutes away (by motorcycle).
The hike was nice! Almost entirely steps. My host mom is extremely crafty; she explained to me that, growing up, her family didn’t have enough money to buy toys, which meant she got creative. As we ascended, she pulled random leaves from large plants and small trees, weaving small bracelets or creating bird-like figures using a series of folds and knots. Once we got to the top of the mountain (about an hour), she called another friend while we both hula-hooped.
Again, very random. The hula-hooping is something I’ve learned not to be surprised by. The New York Times’ recent “36 Hours in Taipei” article referred to the city as an “urban jungle”, which is pretty accurate. Nature is put to use, and a large portion of Taiwan’s 200+ mountains are professionally-paved, even if the paving has been somewhat eroded under the weight of hundreds of thousands of daily, mostly adult Taiwanese hikers. A collateral effect of these industrialized hikes is the random smattering of objects available to hikers once they reach the apex, varying from altitude signs to hula hoops.
After the hike, we motorcycled back to the Xinzhuang 老街, or “main drag”, where I grabbed a traditionally Taiwanese 掛包 (“It’s like a Taiwanese hamburger!”) before heading “home”, and then later, back to the dorms.
Despite my desire to wield total control over my schedule, my diet, and the activities I participate in daily, I have no complaints about this weekend. I clocked in some much-needed 1-on-1 time with my (relatively new) host mom, I got a nice lil’ hairdo, and I was even sent home with MIRACLE BERRIES, which are a pomegranate-like fruit that my host family grows on their balcony garden. The berries honor their namesake by coating your tongue with some sort of magical property that makes tart foods temporarily taste sweet. Very cool! More stories to come about my complex host family experiences.