October 2009

Baishawan Beach

The view from our apartment by day and by night.

Taipei 101

Valentine's bridge, Fisherman's Wharf

I just don't think it's that heartfelt

By the Danshui River

Pedantic is one way of describing the faceless populace of Taipei - I can't think of anyone in particular that would be worthy of such derogation but you'd get the picture if you had to teach a class full of children wearing masks because the parents are scared of swine flu. Fortunately, when the boss came back from the West she decided that teachers needn't bother, so at least the kids can hear me talking now even if I'll never understand the quieter ones as they mumble through a muffler. And I'm really not sure these masks are such a good idea - I've seen people sneezing into them, which seems a bit gross to me if you're going to go on wearing it for the rest of the day.

This entry is being typed with the machine on a stool on a desk so that it can reach the window where we can just about get a wireless signal from the metro station opposite our apartment. The reason we don't have a normal internet connection is that, for whatever reason, the ISPs won't set you up unless you have a work permit, which is taking a while because the photo booth at Carrefour's banjaxed.

When we found out that we would have to wait, I got myself down to 7-eleven to get set up on the city-wide wi-fi network: WIFLY. It sounds brilliant, and I suppose it is - it costs a tenner a month and the signal is sent from all metro stations, major roads, 7-elevens, Starbucks and other places - but it didn't half take some getting on to. Suffice it to say that it was a farce because the English service they claim to provide leaves a lot to be desired. It always makes me cringe when people complain about language barriers when they go to foreign-speaking countries because you should either learn the language or put up with it, but it was a bit frustrating to get through to the English service and be greeted with a bloke who put me on hold for ten minutes because he didn't know what to say.

For some reason they simply will not tell you that they don't understand. When Sally asks for runner beans instead of chips at IKEA, using full on body-language to make sure they get the point, they nod their heads and give her chips. They always pretend they've understood even if they don't have a clue. I just want to tell them that there's no shame in not understanding - we're in your country, we should speak your language - but they just nod their heads and make a pig's ear. It's like the woman that rang into the anglophone radio station to win tickets to see the latest big-screen tripe-peddler's delight, the question was: 'Which Friends actress stars in this movie?', so as the DJ's making small talk with her before they get to the crunch he asks her, "So, who are you going to go and see this movie with?" To which she replies "Jennifer Aniston."

In spite of all that, the people here are some of the kindest people you could ever come across. It's the first country I've ever been in where I can honestly say that I have not seen even one instance of anti-social behaviour. Everyone seems to look out for one another and with the exception of some of the elderly, who think that old age has earned them carte blanche to push people out of their way on public transport, you'd find it difficult to find a more quietly dignified people (which I assume is part of the Eastern mentality rather than Taipei in isolation).

The jump from teaching in Carr Manor, an inner-city comprehensive in Leeds, to teaching at Dalton, a cram school for elementary-aged children in Shipai, could be compared to swapping a swamp full of crocodiles for a litter of puppies. They still make you cross sometimes, but keeping them in line is usually effortless. The best thing is that it doesn't make them boring. Wesley thinks his name is Wesley Toilet Underwear Gorilla and he wears his shoes on the wrong feet. Grade 3 caught me out with the spelling of 'diarrhoea' and the next time I see C1-A I'm going to have to try to explain what antidisestablishmentarianism is in a way that they can understand. It's also the first place I've ever worked where they give you free lunch: real Chinese food made in the canteen by a small, eccentric lady who shouts "I love you!" across the kitchen when you arrive.

On Friday night we visited New York New York, an American themed shopping centre next to Taipei 101, and got some nosh from the food court. On Saturday night we spent the evening putting liquid in the John. Third time this year for me that I've got food poisoning; second time for us since we left England; it wasn't even a grotty place. So I missed the big Hallowe'en party at school today which blows a bit but it's not all bad - they were going to have me dress up as a clown.

The beach was a little strange we went because the only person in the sea was this mega white guy from Romania, wading around all on his own. There were some windsurfers further out, but even the surfers weren't going further in than a few metres. There were strong currents in some areas, but I think they just don't really see the appeal of swimming in the sea.

There are some great night markets here and you can get plenty of stuff on the cheap. One night we were walking down the alley, browsing at a stall when the merchant cried "Sorry!" and dragged his stall away. Thirty seconds later the alley was empty of stalls, and a policeman strolled past. Of course, the stalls were back soon after once the all clear was given, and this little sequence of events repeated itself another couple of times while we were there.

We got the bus to go to Carrefour one Saturday night, but as soon as we got on the bus turned around and went in the other direction. Sally thought we should just stay on and see where we ended up which turned out to be Fisherman's Wharf, a beautiful riverside resort with fancy restaurants, an iconic bridge and a few tacky restaurant-boats, some of which had "I love you" in neon lights, others of which blasted out the old favourite "Let's get retarded".

Opposite our apartment, just beyond the metro station there is a cycle path that runs from the northern tip of Taiwan to Southern Taipei and beyond. We plan on renting some bikes and going camping sometime, but for now we've just been on walks and runs alongside the river at night. It takes some beating, and it's an adequate substitute for the canal in Leeds.

Sally gets a word in

I hope to chronicle our first two to three weeks in Taipei as well as Ben would, but he doesn't think this is likely.

Arriving at the airport I was a little wary we'd be sent back. The internet is so full of rubbish and I actually read we had to sort our tourist visas in our home countries, but not really believing this we just went and booked the tickets anyway. I was greeted at the arrivals desk with a friendly high pitched, 'Wow! Are you a natural blonde?' Relief! And our first impression of Taiwan was positive.

Other first impressions - this city is full of cute things. Hello Kitty and other cute characters I've never heard of are on every notepad, pencil, poster and lamppost. This may be a bit of an exaggeration but this pink bank might give the idea

The shops play music with dogs and cats singing christmas songs, and people stop you in the street to ask if you know how to get to where you want to go. They love to keep things clean, and stuff is efficient. The Metro is wonderful. In England people generally sit on the priority seats until someone who might need them gets on, but in Taiwan people are just too polite to be the one to occupy the special blue seats meant for old people or women with babies. I just want to sit down.

There is such a wide variety of food, and to my delight, lots of Sushi. There are Sushi take outs, sushi restaurants and sushi food stalls. Yum. I am actually a bit sick of it now though so I've given it a break over the past week.

Looking for jobs has been a different kettle of fish. Parents here send their children to Buxibans which are special language schools aside from regular school. From what we have seen they are owned by Taiwanese people who want to make money and often demand you teach in a way that the kids memorise a lot of English but don't really comprehend or take it in. My first interview was with the biggest cram school, Hess, who called me while I was in Morocco to interview me. This phone call I received cost me £79 and they offered me a job, but not a contract I wanted. My second experience was at a school called 'Zest of Education' where I was required to teach a demo lesson to a kindergarten class with zero preperation time, no materials and no help, for a whole hour. I was shown the words to a nursery rhyme which I was to teach and was sent straight in. It was naturally a disaster. While one child had a tantrum stamping her feet on the floor, another sat by the corner scared. Another had special needs, and the other little girl was bright and a bit older. I was offered the job but my questions as to holidays, pay and whether I could speak to other English teachers were pretty much ignored and I was told I was to find my materials on the internet and print them at 711. It was the most unorganised of any business I've ever seen. Another interviewer reassured me several times that it was a full time job and after arriving at the school I was told it was in fact only a 6 hour per week job. By this time I was getting a bit discouraged. Ben however had a different experience. Uncle Jason wanted him, Isobel wanted him, and Dalton wanted him. He has the ability to walk into a classroom, teach for 15 minutes, and get the job. I am so jealous he had no fear, and I'm proud he's my husband. The Dalton Institute where he took the job seems like the best we've encountered. It seems organised and a nice environment, and he has enjoyed it so far so we have definitely landed on our feet.

We have been blessed since we left England, but this was the beginning of some even more major blessings. Cody and Nicole, a lovely couple in our ward, invited us to stay with them. The first night was amazing. We felt so comfortable after having spent two long weeks on hard bunk beds with no covers. Nicole made us a delicious meal. Chui-yi and Josh, another young couple in the ward invited us to eat at theirs on Sunday and Chui-yi who is Taiwanese helped us look for apartments. I've had a really nice week spending time with Nicole and her little girl, Jadyn, while Ben's been at work. I managed to get two new people to tutor, a 5 year old called James and his dad both want to learn English. We'll see how that goes next week. We should move into our apartment on Monday and we're really looking forward to it.

The cheapest way to get from Morocco to Taiwan

We thought that getting a train at two in the morning would guarantee us some space to sit and possibly stretch our legs out. Of course, if we did have our legs stretched out and somebody else needed to sit down, we would have sacrificed this small amount of comfort and allowed them to take a seat. No such luck for us. As we moved down the narrow aisles with our bulky bags we had people coming out of their seats and trying to push past instead of waiting for us to pass first and walking down an obstacle-free aisle. We got nowhere until it made me cross and I was a bit more aggressive. This was perhaps the one place I have been where the people are less courteous than London.

Without fail, the Moroccans follow horrible experiences like this up with something particularly impressive. A young man came up to us as he was getting off the train about an hour into the journey and told us we could have his and his friend's seats. Unfortunately we were getting off at the same stop, but he made sure that we knew where we were going to get our connecting train.

Standing up next to the out-of-order toilet in the gangway at the end of a carriage meant that we were constantly assaulted by smoke from cigarettes and joints. It was unfortunate that the lad that started talking to us was so attached to marijuana, rap music and blatant half-truths, because it made it difficult for us to relate with him on any level despite his being overtly friendly. He grew up in the US and counted us tales of $30 000 rap contracts, US tours, getting in 6 fights a week and people annoying him because they want to speak with him because they recognise him off the telly.

And if that first leg of the journey from Fes to Tangiers was bad, Sally preferred it to the next one. Having learned that shy and retiring types get nowhere on Moroccan trains, we pushed into the first cabin we saw with some space in it and got settled. Sally was able to sort of sleep stood up on the first train, but in this cabin the train jolted you from side to side so every time you almost dropped off you were startled out of slumber and Sally was next to an old bloke with bad breath who slept with his mouth open.

We had no desire to visit Tangiers as we had heard that it was a haven for frauds, pickpockets, sleaze and scum, but in retrospect this was probably a good reason to go and try it because everything we've heard about Morocco has turned out to be backward.

When we planned this trip I was really looking forward to travelling across the Strait of Gibraltar, moving from one continent to another separated by a mere 14 km of water, but when we got on the ferry it was just a chance to get some sleep. We hadn't had a shower and knew that we wouldn't be able to have one tomorrow either. Now I wish I'd looked a bit more at the landscapes and scenery.

We stayed in the port at Algeciras and waited for our bus. An eight-hour journey to Madrid in a coach of superior comfort to any National Express we've ever used set us back a mere £25 each.

Madrid was very convenient, we dumped our luggage at the airport (attached to the metro system) and took off for the temple.

Sally said that the vases look like trophies.

We like street art.

After being disappointed that the end of Top Gun wouldn't play, we got the plane to Luton and met Matt and Tabi, friends who live nearby, and went to stay with them despite having booked a hotel room. We didn't regret it, we got to have a lie in, Tabi made us pancakes for breakfast and we finally got to have a shower. On Saturday morning we went with them to get some fish.

We got the train from Hitchin to Heathrow.

Taipei via Bangkok.

This is the view from our hostel when we woke up at 5pm local time

Rabat and Fes

It was only half an hour or so after eating a Big Mac meal from McDonald's in Marrakech train station that my stomach began to churn. We'd all got some for lunch just before getting on the train. Jacob was fine, I felt okay apart from passing liquid, but Kalli and especially Sally had a pretty rough time over the next day or two. Jacob later tempted fate in Fes, had a McDonald's and spent the next day paralysed.

It was immediately apparent that Rabat was a good deal more cosmopolitan than Marrakech; we saw young couples holding hands, joggers running and women in jeans.

Kalli sorted out church out on Sunday for us. It was held in the palacial home of a member family and also consisted of one other family and, for the day, us four. We were extremely grateful to be offered dinner, since all we had at home was yesterday's bread and lukewarm Laughing Cow.

Our visit to the beach was a lot of fun. We enjoyed trying to propel ourselves with the huge waves, but they started to carry us towards a pretty dangerous area of which we were unaware until one of the surfers told us to move back to where we were, by which time it was okay for Jacob, but too late for me, and as hard as I tried to get back I was actually moving nowhere and the surfer had to come back and lend me his bodyboard.

We'd only been in Fes about ten minutes and we'd already caused a massive fight between a load of taxi drivers and some bloke in sweat pants and a baseball cap who we later found out was actually a 'false guide and a thief'. The latter had offered us a hotel at a ridiculously unrealistic price and when he offered us transport from right under the noses of the taxi drivers, they made sure that he knew that they were very sad. For a video, visit http://jacobandkalli.blogspot.com/.

We said that we'd walk because our false guide said that it wasn't far, then he said that the girls were like Ethiopian women because they'd rather walk all the way there instead of spending a small amount on his 'taxi', so we asked again how far it was and he said it was just down the road. He had one of our suitcases as he'd offered to help with it, but we finally got rid of him when Kalli was less than impressed with his analysis of the situation: "We do this for you, for the womens, because the men, we are okay, but you know in the sun..." he touched his temple and Kalli kicked off, which was good because he took off.

Night time was much better. The false guides and thieves were replaced with friendly and helpful youths who happily directed us where we needed to go.

Le palais royal, Fes

Mohammed, Mohammed, Hamsa, Hamsa, and I forget the smallest one's name. It's a good laugh talking with the kids in Morocco, but if an adult sees them talking with tourists they tell them to leave us alone as if they're doing us a favour when it's actually one of our only opportunities for normal human interaction.

If you enjoy diahhroea and vomiting, why not visit this emblem of Western decadence?




The medina in Rabat was just as crowded but a lot less hassle than Marrakech

A pretty door at Kasbah des Oudaias, by the sea in Rabat

I don't think I'll be hanging one of these on my wall

The King's palace in Rabat. It was closed for the king's birthday. It was Kalli's birthday too, but the guard wasn't interested.

A graveyard through the fence. They put them by the sea because land by the sea is traditionally undesirable. This is changing now so poor people with property by the sea are sitting on a lot of money.

Marrakech

We've got friends who've been to Marrakech who really rather enjoyed the experience, though after a few days living there ourselves we found it difficult to see why. Our main reason for coming to Morocco was to meet up with my missionary companion and his wife, Jacob and Kalli, who had stayed with us for a while in Leeds. We also thought it might be nice.

Our taxi driver was pretty grumpy that Sally had talked his mates down from 60 to 50 dirhams for him, even though the maximum charge for a petit taxi is 15. When we got to the main square, jamaa el fna, we had a friendly duo mount the pavement on their scooter so they could show us the way to our riad. Unfortunately for the lad who did all the walking, presumably while his mate went looking for more fresh meat, he didn't get chance to take my mobile number, and I don't think he wanted to ask for money in front of the bloke that runs the hostel. Jacob got himself out of a similar predicament by telling his youthful guide that if he didn't get lost he'd crush his head. Jacob later met said guide by chance outside a small store, and apologies were exchanged on both sides.

Without enough of a budget to join Jacob and Kalli on their camel trek, something I mourned bitterly, we were destined to soak up the culture with a tiny tourist sponge. It sometimes makes me wonder why residents of tourist areas don't hold a more sympathetic attitude towards holidaymakers who are, for most of them, their major source of income. Then, they are probably only reciprocating the kind of attitude they have to deal with on a regular basis. I don't think I'd be nice to tourists if Leeds became a haven for foreigners trying to talk down to me and treat me like I didn't have a clue what I was doing because my country isn't as advanced on one level or another as theirs.

A berber latched onto us at the entry to one of the medina's endless alleys, recounting all the places he'd been to in England (Portsmouth, Brighton, Birmingham - I didn't tell him his mother wouldn't be proud of him if he knew what he was admitting to). He then got me into his stall and had me in an all-singing, all-dancing, 'air-conditioned' tunic.

"Balak!" (Get away!) he ordered when I said we might come back later. It wasn't my fault I looked like a spanner in his clobber.

"What, you think we wait 12 month for you to come come back? Balak! Get back to your own country."

And it got worse. I was greeted with an F*** you and a middle finger from a couple of orange juice vendors I turned down as they were selling at over 3 times the normal price.


One shining light was our hostel: Amour de Riad. The staff couldn't have been more friendly, it was the cleanest place in Morocco and when we wanted to stay an extra night and they were fully booked they offered us a night on the terrace for 10 dirhams each. I was gutted when they had a couple pull out, leaving two free single rooms and leaving us feeling like we ought to pay for them, though they'd proabably have been fine with it if we hadn't.

When Jacob arrived his attitude made a huge change. He would reply to frantic gestures to come and buy tat with ridiculous gestures of his own. We discovered that a code name for hashish is chocolat and once we'd learned that the fun never stopped as we played thick and genuinely asked the sly marijuana peddlers for a bar of Nestlé. Every time a black-burka-clad woman ran up to one of the girls, snatching a wrist with needle aloft hissing "A gift for you", Jacob would whip out his black felt tip and start giving them the tattoo they were trying to sell us.

Some of it was very inventive, some of it was the kind of thing I'd probably get my head kicked in for, but Jacob can get away with quite a lot of things that normal people can't. One night he was accosted by three men who tried to stop him in his tracks so they could show him their menu. One took him to an empty table and started to arm wrestle, vowing to get him a free meal if he won. He didn't even need to try, and his opponent was as good as his word.

At the palais royal the police showed us their version of frantic gestures: not only did they want us to know that the palace wasn't open to the public, but also, apparently, that we weren't to come within 100 yards of where they were sat. Mocking the unnecessary nature of their bizarre signals, Jacob got his ridiculous arm movements out, to which he received the puzzling reproach, "You shouldn't be doing gestures: it's ramadan."

To be fair on the Moroccans ramadan does mean no eating, no drinking, and, even worse for some, no smoking from dawn til dusk. It's normal that they'd be more prone to outbursts of anger. Sally saw one full-on fist fight. And they weren't all idiots. Jacob could not praise enough the courtesy and generosity of the people of Ouzazarte: not-for-tourists to such an extent that his host laughed out loud for a full two minutes when he announced that they would be staying for a month - "What are you going to do here?"

I thought that the Moroccans had an incredible ability to destroy your faith in humanity and then to immediately restore it sevenfold. The richer ones were no problem. A man in Fes would later give us a lift to the station in his 4x4 just because we asked him what direction it was in. But even beyond the tough exterior of those to whom foreigners are either a threat or a walking dirham sign lies just as selfless a centre. Speaking French and visiting the gym was a massive eye-opener for Jacob and I, because we got to see the people as people and not cut-throat bandits. They let us use the gym for free twice, and complimented my mediocre football ability.

For Sally and Kalli, neither of whom speak French, neither of whom joined us at the gym and, greater crime, are women, there was very little hope of an enjoyable experience. Had us males been able to speak Arabic I'm sure we would have been even better off and able to positively enjoy living amongst the Moroccans, but I would entertain no such hope for us wives.

Getting Out

I'd not really had the chance to get excited about going away because there was so much stuff to do to get prepared. I slept on the way to Manchester airport and by the time I woke up we were pretty much there. We got all our money we'd amassed from Asia and the Pacific changed to Moroccan dirhams, and flew to Frankfurt. Only we weren't actually in Frankfurt, we were 2 hours out of Frankfurt but Ryanair's marketing team is staffed by disingenuous toerags so it's called Frankfurt-Hahn. Dreams of getting a taxi and seeing a bit of Germany were quashed and we slept on the floor after watching Pretty Woman on the computer.

I'd like to say that I awoke to this:

but I didn't and I have no desire to work for an Irish airline so I might as well continue being honest. I couldn't tell you why, it just made me smile.