G.I. Joe circa 1955

One frame taken from a short video clip captured by Irina

Before tonight, I had thus far avoided the bars in Taiwan. They have never been my scene (state-side or abroad) and I do not find these establishments enjoyable. Obnoxious drunks, loud irritating music, expensive booze, the cultural imprinting that suggests this is the environment suitable to meet new people, the inability to have conversation because of the noise volume (although I will acquiesce and say that there exists certain bars where conversations could take place), basically the whole deal. I also find the hypocrisy of our cultural obsession with one particular drug to be offensive. Legislation against certain chemicals resulting in the imprisonment of thousands based on some “moral” (historically racist) premise is abhorrent. Simply going to these noisy, crowded, drug saturated establishments puts me on edge. People should be allowed to have responsible fun; I hope those who enjoy their time drinking away internal organs are setting a positive example.


Meeting a friend at a tea-house catalyzed the decision and subsequent action to see a live show at a bar. This decision instigated the introduction to a slew of foreigners working in Hualien. The night was exceptionally beautiful, warm, humid, stars shining, moon cut perfectly in half and gleaming wickedly, and the scent I attribute to Asia on the night's subtle breeze. The tea-house we visited was elegant, a place where you'd take a date or your visiting parents. In fact, that is how the Australian we met up with discovered the place. Most of the restaurants I visit on a daily basis are homely, good on the stomach and wallet, yet probably lack what some might call “ambiance” and I call “uncomfortable/stuffy”. I have to admit though, this fancy tea-house served delicious drinks and the sweet kumquat tea I drank was magical. A mile or two separated the establishments and we walked and talked, enjoying the night. Perhaps the most important thing I learned about Australia this night was that there exists spiders that run after you or swim and attack you from pools of water. There are dangers everywhere including poisonous, stinging plants using neurotoxic compounds; basically our conversation validated, if not exacerbated, my “Australia-phobia”. You will indeed be pulverized by 7ft tall kangaroos, bit by venomous brown snakes that look like sticks, and, worse and scariest thing of all, be subjected to the accent.


To expedite the story and, at other times, to protect the anonymity of persons, certain events will be casually overlooked. Thus far, all events portrayed in these blog posts have been extremely accurate and will continue to be unless disclaimed otherwise. As a subjective reporter attempting to remain objective, I felt the need to interject the above sentences to remain credible.


This bar could have looked like any in Portland. Various potted plant, hedges, and tables separated the entrance from the sidewalk. As expected, the density of people inside the place was indeed over-saturated. Every table, stool, nook and cranny seemed populated. The room was surprisingly small for a venue hall with the stage in the center of the room against the wall; the built stage was around a foot in height, perhaps 8'x12'. The center of the room was noticeable upon the very inception of entering the bar for white and black skin amassed. Flanking them, folks of Asian decent populated tables and walls. Foreigners from diverse countries and ages interacted with each other with familiar joviality. Most, if not all, of the people I met taught at the various English immersions school of the city.


A ska band from Taipei was performing that evening and they turned out to be quite talented and enjoyable to watch, even though I do not generally enjoy listening to the genre. Frankly the most enjoyable part of the performance remained internal. The music and the scene reminded me of the conversations I had with both of my grandfather's about their foreign travels. The brass, drums, and tuxedos transported me to the 1950's while on tour in the “orient”. My maternal grandfather served in USAF during the Korean War and visited “Formosa” (as he calls it) in the early fifties and my paternal grandfather served overseas in the Korean and Vietnam War and also consulted and traveled overseas after retiring from the Coast Guard. Having recently conversed with my maternal grandfather and listened to his life stories, his escapades in visited countries, and his youth spent in the service of politicians and bureaucrats, these events were within minds-eye. Although he wasn't physically present to share this experience, the internal bond of understanding grew ever taunt.


As the music played and alcohol consumption increased amongst foreigners, the tapping feet and head bobbing metastasized into full on boogieing. One or two old white guys, inebriated from the get go, danced throughout the show while the rest of us convulsed in spastic anti-rhythem with increasing fervor. The point of climax, where every foreigner danced, and some Taiwanese even bobbed their heads in enthusiasm, was when Tutti Frutti by Little Richard began. It was pretty surreal to be dancing away to a 1955 song that quite possibly set a new path for Rock and Roll as a genre. Our small group were the only ones dancing. It seems that dancing is uncommon (at a live show?) for the locals. People all seemed to be enjoying themselves, the music, and, probably, were entertained by watching us do our thing. It would be disconcerting for a band originating from the U.S. to play a show where nobody outwardly displayed signs of enjoyment. Dacota had the opportunity to ask the lead singer of the group about this and he replied, “You know it is a good show in Taiwan if nobody leaves the bar when you are playing.” I can see the logic in this but at the time, ignorant of this information, it seemed strange that the people, already prone to stand out, were the only ones dancing resulting in exacerbating the cultural divide by cutting loose and raising the roof.


Afterwards, we struck up conversation with two very nice people and discussed an assortment of topic.


Repeatedly called to join the “after party” of which migrated from an alternative bar to a popular bluff, we departed the bar and interesting company in search of the fabled spot. The clock shone past two when we finally found the destined location. By the time we arrived, only three people remained. Talking for a few additional hours, the time passed and sleep beckoned. We decided to forgo waiting for dawn and the sunrise in order to get some sleep. Another river-trace was already on the schedule and our plan to head out by seven was delayed until nine. Not sustainable but surprisingly fun, this night seemed worthy of an honorable mention in this blog.


This opportunity allowed me to meet people from Ghana, South Africa, Australia, Canada, Russia, Moldova, USA, Taiwan, and possibly elsewhere. Perhaps future communication with these folks will result in greater worldly understanding and alternative perspectives on customs, philosophy, political and economic systems, views of America, important literature that I might be ignorant of, and the geographic location and topology of the landscape. I honestly had to look up the location of Moldova. To be fair though, I didn't obtain my university degree in Geography. (For the Geography majors out there, this joke DOESN'T EVER, EVER get old.)