Missing New York

I'm getting lunch in the basement of a big department store in Taipei, near the Zhongshan MRT station. I've ordered and am waiting for my chicken leg to be prepared and decide to walk around and guangjie yixia.

Maybe check out the fruitjuice booth, the tea shop, or the cheese- and black forest cakes neatly wrapped in clear plastic around the corner. The ladies in the sweet shops of these foodcourts always smile at me, hoping I'll buy some of their cakes. From their eyes, I know what they are thinking, "Oh my Heavens, this foreigner probably knows no Chinese, but maybe he will buy!"

There's hustling and bustling as people are taking a break from their New Year's vacation department store shopping.

As I turn a corner, making my way around a daydreamy teenage girl who is walking too slowly (probably thinking about her next haircut), a middle-aged man looks at me, smiles, and says, "Hello!" in a thick Chinese accent. I say hello back and he looks like he wants to talk some more. Does he want to practice his English?

Little does he know, he has found the king of "waiguoren who like to talk to Taiwanese strangers in public".

In English, he asks me what I am doing here. I try to use only English, but with his thick accent, I assume he won't understand, and so I throw in some Chinese. Even though my Chinese is not the greatest, I am not really used to speaking English these days, especially with middle-aged Taiwanese guys in department store foodcourts.

I tell him I am studying Chinese at Zhengda. I can see he is happy to meet an American and talk English. To my surprise, he tells me that he is American and lives in New York, that he hasn't lived in Taiwan for twenty years.

"Welcome to Taiwan!" I say, a little abruptly perhaps. I listen as he tells me more of what's on his mind. Prices are expensive here, he says. He likes the prices better in the States.

He is beaming, and perhaps will feel a little more himself today. I need to excuse myself to get my lunch, so I say goodbye. He pauses, smiles, and shakes my hand, and it almost seems that he doesn't want to say goodbye to me, a friendly face that reminds him of home in old New York.

Chinese New Year

It's Chinese New Year, and people are just starting to come back to Taiwan from their family homes all over Taiwan.

Last week, a friend invited me Taoyuan for New Year's Eve. Quite an honor. On Saturday afternoon, I got on the MRT to meet my friend's good friend Chi in downtown Taipei, and we would take a bus to Taoyuan. By the way, Chi is also my good friend and we sometimes talk about very, very secret things that not very many people talk about.

I had taken a shower and wore my nice clothes, and got on the train at the zoo near my house. There were like two other people on the whole train with me as I made the trek from Muzha in southern Taipei to where Chi was waiting for me. Taipei felt empty. Everyone, I later found it, packed into their cars, onto trains and buses, after finishing work on Friday afternoon.

By Saturday, when I got onto that train, everyone was already back in Kaohsiung, or Yilan, or Taichung, watching TV with their families, eating nuts, fruits, getting ready for a big dinner. While eating these snacks, firecrackers were going off everywhere in Taiwan, continuously. This is to keep away the big bad monster that threatens everyone's good fortune for the next year. His name is Nian, and I say, keep the explosions coming, because I'm for good fortune!

Chi and I were waiting for the bus on Minquan West Road on Saturday afternoon at about four. I had brought a bag of goodies for our hosts and Chi was checking it all out. In the meantime, the bus went by. Chi was a little flustered and told me that if she hadn't been checking out my chocolate, then we wouldn't have missed the bus. I like my friend Chi so much, that I told her that now and in the future, she is allowed to blame me for any kind of traffic-related lateness or even an accident or two. That's how much I like her!

It was no problem, as another bus came ten minutes later. We arrived in Taoyuan about a half-hour later and our friend Cecilia picked us up. She just got back from getting her MBA in Holland. She told me that it is not fair that Taiwanese parents will not hire her to teach English even though her English is good. Well, I sort of agree that it's not fair, if they are not hiring Taiwanese people who grew up in the States, but she grew up in Taiwan. So I gave her a hard time and told her that if I were a Chinese parent, well, I would want a native speaker, too, and I don't think it's discrimination.

I love languages, and the more I study Chinese, the more I come to love English. And the more I come to appreciate how languages contain so many cultural codes. And that to really learn a language, one has to live with it every day, hear it until it enters deeply the limbic part of your brain, until it becomes completely unconscious.

In every sentence, there are layer upon layer of meaning, nuance, feeling, and history. There are things that I can say to another native speaker that even proficient non-native speakers of English in Taiwan would have a hard time understanding. And, needless to say, the same thing happens the other way around, in Chinese.

Cecilia introduced us to her parents and we sat down to chat before dinner. I can't say that Chinese has fully entered my limbic system, but it is dancing around my cerebral cortex at most hours of the day (including in some of my dreams), and so I can hold a conversation with them. We have a little wulong tea.

Some more guests arrive, some friends of Cecilia who were from Holland. They have two beautiful children. Their Dad drives TGV trains in Europe, and is here teaching operators to use the new high-speed rail here in Taiwan. We chat about the project here in Taiwan and he explains that because of politicians, it is a big fucking mess. They are using Japanese trains and German tracks, or Japanese tracks and German trains or something like that, and the French guys can't talk to the Japanese guys.

Before we get too cozy in the living room, we are invited to the dinner table, and we feast. As we fill our bellies, I suggest we sing karaoke after dinner, and sure enough, Dad informs me that the family has a whole karaoke setup in the living room, complete with spinning colored lights.

I had been invited a few days earlier to visit my friend Wan Ling in Yilan, and after a group of us got back from the night market, her Mom joined us for snacks and a little plum wine in their den, where they had a high-tech karaoke machine and several songbooks with song codes. I sang "It's a Wonderful World" and then me and my friend Kenny sang "Uptown Girl". Afterwards, Wan Ling's mother asked us if all those "wooo-wooo-wooo's" were actually part of the song, and we told her that they were indispensibly so. We all laughed a lot.

Back to Taoyuan, where more karaoke is taking place. Some English songs, but mostly, Cecilia's parents are singing in Taiwanese, with a few Chinese songs. Cecilia's Dad has a great voice. He's always in key, and he's got an authentically raspy voice, as if he's smoked just the right number of cigarettes to make it sound cool. I especially like his rendition of the Chinese version of "My Way".

As midnight approaches, we all head out. I put on my shoes and thank my hosts repeatedly. The next morning, I'll need to get on a bus to head to the south. My student has invited me to spend time with her family in Kaohsiung.

I arrive at home at one in the morning, and start packing. My phone alarm rings at eight, and I make some tea, eat the tea eggs I bought yesterday at 7-11, get dressed, and walk down the mountain, getting ready for meeting another Taiwanese family.

There's certain to be a lot of food, smiles, a few cute Taiwanese kids, and as always, too much complimenting me on my Chinese. I don't have family in Taiwan, but somehow, people come forward, and they take care of me, they feed me, laugh with me.

Yehoram Gaon in Muzha

It is late up here on the mountain. The roosters will start crowing in a few hours. It's okay. I'm on break from school.

For some reason, when I hit iTunes tonight, it started playing some Israeli music, the famous Yehoram Gaon. To me, he is the voice of Israeli. He is sing old songs about Israel's beauty.

Up here in Muzha, halfway around the world, I couldn't be farther from the Galil or Jerusalem, physically or spiritually.

There was a point in my life, a long, long time ago, when I wanted to live in Israel. What would my life be like now?

Instead, I am here in Taiwan, learning Chinese.

Virginia

I take a break from studying in a cafe today and go outside for some air. There's a guy with a small fruit stand right in front, and I see he has some oranges and a press for making juice. I ask him for a cup of orange ( 柳橙; liu cheng) juice. As he is pressing the juice, I see that his sign reads 柳丁 (liu ding).

"What's the difference between 'liu cheng' and 'liu ding'?" I ask him. As usual in Taiwan, I am pretty good at asking questions, but I don't always manage to fully understand the answer. I think he says 'liu cheng' is more sour. I pick up an orange and decide that 'liu ding' is a valencia juicing orange. I know 'liu cheng' is not a tangerine, because that is 'ju zi', so maybe 'liu cheng' is a naval orange. It might take me a few more years to get all the different kinds of oranges. As you can see, Chinese is hard.

An old man with grey hair is standing and watching me get my Chinese lesson on oranges and he has a kind, grandfatherly smile. I look at him.

"You speak Chinese," he says.

"A little, but not as good as your English," I respond. As you can see, I am becoming Taiwanese, developing my flattering ways. "Where did you learn?" I assume he was a professor who did graduate work in Ohio in 1957, or an engineer who was trained in Michigan in the 60s. Or something like that.

"I was in the army and I worked in the States, in Virginia," he says.

I wonder what was going through his mind as he was looking at me before I noticed him. Did I remind him of an American soldier he once knew? Was he thinking about his life when he was younger, stronger, full of hope? What did he hope for back then? What has he lost since then? What has he gained?

He raises his hand and says "goodbye" in a soft, polite voice.

"Goodbye," I say, and smile at him.

The First Meeting of the Taiwanese Association for Peace in the Middle East (Muzha Chapter)

When you live in California, it's not often that you meet real Iraqi citizens. But when you live in Taiwan, you can meet a few right here in Muzha, studying Chinese with you at the National Chengchi University School of Mandarin Studies.

We students at the Hua Yu Ban (華語班) have all seen each other at least once, but we don't all know each other. Today, while walking on the Zhinan Rd. Bridge, I saw a nice couple whom I had seen before. They look Middle Eastern, and I had been wanting to introduce myself to them.

For those of you who don't know, my father is from Morocco and both my parents grew up in Israel. I feel I have a deep connection with the Middle East. Made me want to help start a band band in Berkeley, California that plays traditional Arab music (www.zaatar.web.com), which I did, along with my good friend John.

I am also a friendly guy and am interested in learning about all cultures, all of which made me want to say hi.

Walking on the sidewalk next to them, I said hello and asked them where they are from. "Iraq," they replied.

"Keyfa haluka (hello)," I said to them in my best Arabic accent. They asked me where I am from, and I said California. I told them that my father is from Al Magreb, Morocco. When I said this, the girl's face lit up, as if she were meeting family. I introduced myself and they told me their names were Bruah and Kisha.

"So you are muslim?" Bruah asked.

"No, ana yahud (I am Jewish)," I replied. It was amusing to see Kisha's reaction this time, which was an obvious frown. I am sure she had no idea what her facial expression looked like.

"You know, I don't support my country's government," I said.

"Why not?" Bruah asked me.

"Because they are killing people, and perhaps they got rid of Saddam, but I don't think they would have done it if there weren't oil there," I said.

"We are Kurds," Bruah informed me, "so we are glad that the US got rid of Saddam, but there are things we don't like about the US government."

I told Bruah and Kisha that I play Arabic music in California, "I play tabla (Arabic hand drum)", and Muslims and Jews and Christians all come to our concerts and they dance and enjoy the music together.

I continued: "I believe that people are good and that it is the governments of the world that pit one people against another. I have good Palestinian friends and we all know that there is no reason we should hate each other. It's certainly not because of religion."

Bruah told me that Islam does not permit terrorism and that if someone is good, he likes them; if someone is bad he hates them. He, too, doesn't believe that just because you are a Jew or a Christian that he as a Muslim should hate you. "How about you, how do you feel about Islam?" he asked me.

I told him that all the Muslims I have met are good people, and that I know that the true message of Islam is about peace.

I then took his hand and I said, "Bruah, you are my brother." And I looked at Kisha, "You are my sister." It doesn't matter what religion we are.

We had walked a few blocks together, and they needed to turn the corner, and so we said goodbye.

I'm glad we got a chance to talk.