Taiwan... the history, the cuisine, the climate and (like any other nation) the political controversy. Where do I begin?

Well, how about a week from last Sunday. That's when I flew in, after a 19-plus-hour journey. My first impression was that this was a community not unlike Japan. Everything is clean, everyone is industrious and everywhere there are printed words that I cannot read. Turns out I landed in the nice terminal. One of my classmates confided in me the other terminal is rather run-down. But that's hearsay. My terminal was brilliantly modern and stocked with people who speak better English than I speak Chinese. When I found my bus which would take me to the school (which was easily done) I noticed that the roads are not quite the same as the ones in Japan. In fact, I saw two gas-guzzling sport utility vehicles idling next to a bus the size of a U.S. tour bus--not to mention vehicles in Taiwan drive on the right side of the road. Looking only at the highways, the place looks exactly like any road in the United States. Except when you see road workers--it's interesting to notice that they all seemed to be working. It's not just one busy guy with four or five shmoes standing around watching like I've come to expect on U.S. roadways. Also is a noticeable absence of their country's flag, with which to flaunt patriotic nationalism, to be found weathered to shreds on the overpasses, or silkscreened on the rear windows of souped-up fuel hog, six-wheeled 4x4 pick-up trucks, which also happen to be conspicuously missing. In their places are all the scooters in the world, each with one, two, sometimes three people bustling about from here to there. In spite of the high humidity and sauna-quality atmosphere, many scooter-riders wear oven mitts and jackets worn backwards; I understand this is to protect from the sun, as fair skin is quite esteemed here. Also, many riders wear surgical masks. Picture seeing someone in a surgeon mask, a brightly colored helmet, oven mitts and a backwards shirt. It reminds me of Benny and Joon. But who am I to judge?

So here I am, standing at the bus terminal, contemplating the sticky air that's already about 80 degrees Fahrenheit at 6:30 in the morning, when the strangest thing happened. A pair of airport workers pass me pushing a train of baggage carts--you know, the kind you pay a dollar in quarters for so you can borrow it in the airport. The guy in front starts to point at me and says something in Chinese, I don't know what. With one hand pushing the carts, he gestures to me with the other rather urgently. From this hand flies something toward me. I see a cellophane wrapper break away. Reaching out, I catch this something and discover a green candy, naked without it's wrapper. At first I was confused and quite suspicious. But I realized there was no harm in it, and so discovered it tasted exactly like a Halls cough drop. It was an interesting experience for me, because it exposed to me my habitual tendency to distrust, which I want to change. (DISCLAIMER: this is NOT an endorsement to accept candy from strangers; do not try this at home.)

This random act of generosity is just one example of the positive nature of my first experiences in Taiwan. The people are friendly and helpful, and they know more English than I know Chinese. One bus driver helped me find my first bus, then another service agent walked me through the steps to find my second. A misunderstanding led to me spending time in the bus terminal (think of the Tom Hanks movie "The Terminal" for an idea.) So hours later, the agent kindly put me on the right bus, with wonderful air conditioning. The driver was a jolly sort of man with betel nut-stained red teeth and an easy smile to display them. He knew the English words New York and National Central University... just about the only things he seemed to want to know. I looked out the window of the bus and took in the parades of scooters with their strangely dressed riders; the square-shaped markets with odd and unfamiliar wares; old fruit trees and broad leaf palms; and brightly-colored and elaborately ornamented temples. This is a place to see.

As the bus passed through a gate and into the National Central University, I found my home for the next four weeks (of course, that was almost two weeks ago). As I hopped off the bus and into the steamy air, I tried to use some Chinese to tell the driver I thought his city is beautiful, but he replied with "I don't know", as in, I don't understand you. Ah well. When this month-long class of learning Chinese language and culture is over, maybe I'll try again.