Typhoon Day

I have lived here for years. I like to think I understand Chinese people. But then they go a little crazy and I am right back where I started.

Monday was a Typhoon Day. This meant that schools and government offices were closed, trains and buses stopped operating and a lot of people took the day off. My school was also closed. This is both good news and bad news. The good news is that I did not have to drive to work. The bad news is that I will be paid less this month and Pi Chi and I are taking a trip next month. There was another Typhoon Day two Thursdays ago. That one did not even hit us directly. I got to drive all the way to work in the rain only to be told that the school was closed and then I got to drive back home in the rain. We are not paid for Typhoon Days. Less money is not better.

Closing schools and offices makes sense when a large typhoon is headed your way. But there was no typhoon on Monday. Typhoon Fanapi hit on Saturday night and all day Sunday. By Monday it was pretty much gone. It did not even rain much on Monday. There was less of a typhoon on Monday than the distant typhoon on Thursday.

I live amongst people who have dealt with typhoons all of their lives. At least one typhoon hits every year and several usually pass by. We had no typhoons where I grew up. Not even hurricanes. And our biggest Earthquake Day happened after I was already awake and at school. No one ever told us to stay home because an earthquake was coming. Yet I seem to be the only person around here who never freaks out during a typhoon. The locals flood Carrefour and 7-11 to stock up on tiny fishes and stinky tofu. I simply stay home.

I would like to say that people are more paranoid than usual after Morakot. That was only a Category 1 but it caused massive floods and a shitload of damage. The mudslides wiped out an entire village and hundreds of people were killed. But people around here were paranoid about typhoons long before Morakot. They are reactionary but in a different way from Americans.

The level of American panic at an impending hurricane is directly proportional to the amount of damage caused by the last hurricane. Hurricane warnings were not big news immediately before Katrina. After Katina the slightest breeze made headlines. Especially if it was headed toward New Orleans. This weekend CNN yammered incessantly about a young hurricane named Igor heading toward Bermuda. It was a Category 1; the lowest category, with 100-120km/h winds. As of this typing there were no reported deaths that I know of and no serious property damage. Yet CNN covered it like it was a new Lady Gaga dress. I am happily out of touch, but even I know who she is.

At the same time, Typhoon Fanapi, a Category 3 (180-200km/h winds), was tearing through my city. It killed three people as far as I know and destroyed about US$8 million. CNN mentioned it in passing during the weather report.

Typhoons bring a lot of rain and heavy winds but they rarely kill more than a few people at a time. Most deaths are from people stupid enough to drive their scooters in the middle of a typhoon. Most of the buildings that collapse are those sheet metal shacks. I have not ridden a scooter in the middle of a typhoon in years, and that was an accident. I did not know it was a Typhoon Day. And we live in one of those well-constructed buildings. Most of the buildings here are much stronger than anything in the United States. Mostly because at least one typhoon hits every year and the area is subject to earthquakes. In fact, there was a tiny earthquake during Sunday’s typhoon. I heard that it was a 4.4. Hardly worth mentioning.

When I lived in 崙背 the electricity would usually go out for several hours during typhoons. During one super typhoon it was out for over 24 hours. That was more than a little annoying since it is usually very hot and humid during a typhoon and opening windows is not the best idea. But even in my tiny farm village I never worried about the building collapsing, though we did lose a few betel nut stands.

Here in the big city the electricity usually stays on during typhoons. On Sunday it went out for about 15 minutes. That is how I knew it was a big one. The rain was never much of an indication. It rained without interruption all day Sunday, but it has been raining practically every day since June.

My neighborhood is not on a hill. It is neither uphill nor downhill from anything. But on Sunday every neighborhood surrounding this one was flooded. The rest of the county just east of us recorded the most flooding it has ever seen. All the television news programs showed us footage of scooters driving in water up to their knees and blue trucks being washed away. There was no flooding here. Which is strange since it used to flood on our street after an hour of rain. Knowing what I know about the powers that be, I cannot imagine that they did something sensible like put in a drainage system, and if they did it was the fastest and most efficient public works project in non-Japanese Asian history.

When I lived in 崙背 I watched the eye of a super typhoon from the roof of my building. It was impressive and more than a little eerie. When we lived in the three bedroom apartment with a much better view I watched smaller typhoons hit us and larger typhoons pass us by. That was less impressive. But when the largest typhoon that has hit us directly since I have lived in this city strikes, I am in a lower apartment with practically no view of anything. All I could see was the constant rain and occasional lightning. But I have been watching that since June.

I cannot wait for winter and blue skies. Weather permitting.

The Death Of Papa Giovanni’s

Pi Chi and I went to 台北 for the weekend. She had some sort of conference or other and she wanted me to go with her. Ordinarily I am up for a trip to pretty much anywhere except 澳門, but I have been to 台北 too many times to care and this trip, like all Pi Chi trips, required waking up at an ungodly hour. And Pi Chi did not particularly want to go either but she is a member of whatever organization was hosting the conference and she has failed to show up at any of their little meetings for the last two years and she figured she should probably make an appearance lest they think she is as disinterested as she clearly is.

Pi Chi often travels out of city for conferences and meetings and whatever else they do. More often than not that requires taking a very early train. That usually means I have to wake up at an unreasonable hour and take her to the train station. The high speed station is about 30 minutes away. This means that by the time I return home I have been awake for at least 75 minutes and that means going back to sleep is a chore. I might as well stay awake and watch the sun rise. Assuming it ever does.

Whenever Pi Chi goes to 台北 she spends the night. Conferences in 台北 often last more than one day, and even when they are only one day long they usually suck up the entire working day. Waking up before the birds, dragging me out of bed, going to the train station, taking the train to 台北, sitting in a day-long conference, and repeating everything in reverse would be a bit much for one day. Although I think the conference in reverse might be amusing.

Whenever Pi Chi spends the night somewhere she wants me to go with her. And she thinks 台北 is romantic for some reason. I know the reason but I am too much of a gentleman to mention that it is where we first fornicated like wild monkeys. We went to 台北 for shits and giggles and planned on going to 淡水, which is considered a romantic spot by most of the locals. We never went to 淡水, for obvious reasons. It was raining.

Often when Pi Chi takes a day trip somewhere, I cannot go because it interferes with my work schedule. Regrettably, it did not this time. And this was the weekend right after Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day is in August around here. And in February, as far as Pi Chi is concerned.

So I agreed to go with her even though I did not particularly want to. This is what married people do. We are not married, but we might as well be. She nags me to take out the garbagie and I go places I have no desire to go. That is marriage.

But I got her to agree with me that going with her at such an unhealthy hour was completely unnecessary since she was heading straight for her conference and we could not spend any time together until much later in the day. She sleeps on the train anyway, only waking to complain that the music from my 500mb MP2 player is too loud. If I cannot listen to music on the train I stare out the window and watch the endlessly repetitive scenery pass by. I have seen it. I have taken this train many times before. I have taken pictures of all the farms. I have taken mov files of the signs flashing by. For my Valentine’s Day present she took a taxi to the train station. Taxis are very easy to get around here. We live on property owned by a large and famous hospital. There are taxis loitering outside at all hours. And the fare to the train station is reasonable.

My initial plan was to sleep as late as possible and get to 台北 no earlier than after she was finished with her conference. But this was Valentine’s Day so I started early.

Whenever Pi Chi goes anywhere she packs entirely too many clothes and a big bag of whatnot at least a day or two before she actually leaves. The last time we left the country she packed a week beforehand. I do not own enough clothes to pack so far in advance. And I would not even if I could. I tend to pack just before leaving. Unless we have to leave at an ungainly hour. Then I may pack the night before. The mystique of packing a suitcase and heading for the airport does nothing for me anymore. I get about as excited getting in the car to go to work.

But I know enough to know that different places require different considerations. Europe in winter requires extra clothes for layering. East Asia pretty much any time of year requires extra clothes since whatever you are wearing at any given time will get wet one way or another. I never wear sunglasses at home, but I always take some with me on any trips to anywhere. After our recent move my good sunglasses, the $5 Thai “Ray Ben”s, went into hiding. Finding them took longer than it would to pack for a trip to Mongolia. I almost never wear hats at home, but I always take one with me on any trips to anywhere. Hats are essential in hot places to keep the sun off your head. My hair may be thinner than it was 20 years ago but there is no unobstructed view of my scalp. And yet my scalp has been burned under African skies. Hats are essential in cold places to keep the icy wind from ripping through your skull like an unrealistic television reality program. East Africa during the rainy season requires an umbrella. Preferably a very strong umbrella. East Asia pretty much any time of year requires an umbrella. In places like 台北 it will rain. Especially if it has been raining since June and at least two typhoons are on the way. It rains in 台北 no matter what the weather is like. I have seen it rain in 台北 without a cloud in the sky.

It did not rain at all during this trip.

But I had no way of knowing that while I was packing all this specialized gear for the big romantic getaway and missing the train I wanted to take. So I rushed to get out the door and on the train. The high speed train is unlike any other train in this country. It is on time. I generally like taking the high speed train. You cannot get on the train unless you have a ticket and if you have a ticket you have a seat. Unlike the low speed trains. They sell tickets until the horse leaves the stable. A seat on an eight hour ride is never guaranteed.

The high speed train is also newer. It is still relatively clean, and far more comfortable than the low speed trains; some of which have cars in which the last emperor of China probably rode. The high speed train cars were made in Japan. In this century. Meaning the last century. We old people still consider the 20th century modern. But the cars are relatively new.

Another quaint fact about old people is that we derive great pleasure from small comforts. My favorite thing about taking the train alone is that I can listen to music on my aforementioned 20th century MP3 player. It is not the latest technology, cannot do my laundry, and has no menu to speak of, but it plays the music that I put on it a few years ago and it is more convenient than carrying around the old victrola. I used to listen to music all the time when I was young and careless, before the burdens and responsibilities of working twelve hours a week aged me prematurely. Now I have no computer on which to play music and my old computer was old with old speakers that just made everything sound old. Especially the old songs. The best stereo system to which I have access is in Pi Chi’s car, and it is hard to hear anything with the constant cacophony of all that horn honking and cursing I do while driving.

I got into 台北 later than I had planned and called Pi Chi as soon as probable. Naturally she did not answer my call. If you know Pi Chi then you probably know about the cute little game she plays where she will answer absolutely any phone call from anyone known or unknown but she will never answer any call from me. I could be strewn about the gutter, holding my severed head in my lap and she would still not answer my call. It is just the sweetest thing.

When Pi Chi eventually called me back she told me that her conference was running late and she wanted to meet me nowhere near our hotel or the train station. Despite getting started early and running late I had more than enough time to wait around. Going to the hotel was not an option as Pi Chi had not yet checked in and I had no idea where it was. She was unimpressed with my choice of hotels the first time we went to 台北 together. It was what you could conceivably call clean by Asian standards and in an excellent location. But Pi Chi is a bit of a snob and prefers to stay in hotels where poor people dare not tread. The good news is that I got to drag my bag all over the place.

If you know anything about 台北 then you know that its roads and “sidewalks” are not always paved or what one would call even. What was a light carry-on bag with wheels an hour ago becomes a Sisyphus stone after walking the streets of 台北. Much of 台北 can be reached by an excellent if reliably inefficient public transportation system. It took the powers that be over ten years to build the MRT, and it was several years behind schedule and dangerously over budget. Conventional wisom has it that much of the money found its way into a few pockets. That is standard operating procedure around here. The MRT at home was only five years behind schedule and a mere 400% over budget. But you have to wait much longer for the trains since few people ride them. At home I can get a seat on any train at any time of the day. In 台北 there are no seats available even late at night. When I first went to 台北 I remember being able to sit down on the MRT from time to time. Now it is like Tokyo’s JR, only the trains are always late and you see far more old men picking their feet on the MRT.

The MRT goes pretty much anywhere you want to go. Except to Pi Chi’s hotel. So we met at 台北101, once the tallest building in the world. If you count spires and antennae. People debated the issue for years, but now the Burj Dubai is so much taller that no one cares. The first time I went to 台北 they were still building 101. The second time I went to the top. It did not seem that high and the view from New York’s World Trade Center was infinitely better. The third time they had put up a steel fence around the outdoor observatory to keep people from jumping off the building. A reasonable precaution in a country where people kill themselves the way Americans eat nachos. But an obstructed view of the unimpressive cityscape below is far less impressive. One can always use the indoor observation deck but one would probably notice all the finger, hand, face and hair stains another one left on the windows. And I like to feel that I am on top of a tall building, not just see it. The Donauturm in Vienna is not especially tall, but when you are on the outdoor deck you feel the building sway back and forth and the wind that makes it sway.

But Pi Chi likes 台北101 because it has an overpriced shopping center where poor people seldom go. So our first official act together on our romantic weekend getaway while we were both dragging around our luggage was shopping. I have known Pi Chi for six years. I know that shopping is her favorite activity, next to telling me to take out the garbagie. We could go to the most cultural, historic, exotic, romantic place in the world and she would judge it on its shopping centers. We could go to Antarctica and she would want to go shopping. It is my own fault that I was surprised.

When we finally made it to Pi Chi’s hotel, which is nowhere near the MRT, I was gobsmacked, as they say in places where people talk funny. I may have mentioned that Pi Chi is a bit of a snob. She likes five star hotels (Asian five star is nowhere close to European five star). She likes shopping in places where you could buy the same thing for half the price if you go where people do not drive sport utility vehicles. She hated my hotel because it was not lucky or popular or whatever snobbish reason she had. But her hotel was a dump. The lobby was renovated. During the Vietnam War. I do not generally care what a hotel lobby looks like and most hotels in this part of the world are usually a few decades behind, but the carpeting in this lobby was damp. The hallway outside our room could have been from a five floor walkup on Delancey Street. The room itself was not the worst I have ever seen, but it was nothing close to Pi Chi’s standards. The biggest surprise was in the bathroom. The less said about that the better. If I had picked this hotel Pi Chi would have insisted on leaving immediately.

After dragging our luggage all over the 100% humidity Pi Chi wanted to take a nap. Knowing her as I do I knew that if she took a nap she would sleep until dinner, eat dinner, and then go to sleep. That is not my idea of a romantic weekend getaway. But it was (Chinese) Valentine’s Day and I have seen pretty much all of 台北 that I care to see. And in my rush to pack and make it to this shithole hotel I wore a shirt that I have not worn in a long time. When you live in a place with constant humidity and almost no indoor sunlight you should avoid wearing anything that has not recently been washed. When we got to the hotel my back was as red as Obama. And in my rush to pack and make it to this dump I did not bring as many changes of clothes as I should have. I was ill equipped to paint the town. And who says naps are not romantic.

The only things we planned for this romantic weekend getaway were a trip to 淡水 and dinner at Papa Giovanni’s. We pissed away most of Saturday so 淡水 would have to wait until Sunday. But Saturday night we could eat at a nice restaurant. Papa Giovanni’s is famous amongst foreigners because it has genuine Italian food cooked by genuine Italians. There are plenty of Italian restaurants around here but most are as authentic as Thai food in Vermont. Papa Giovanni’s was the only Italian restaurant I know in East Asia that was owned and operated by Italians. I have heard about others but I have never been there.

The first time Pi Chi and I went to Papa Giovanni’s we were seated at a quiet corner table. Mrs Giovanni took our order. Pi Chi started talking in Chinese, as is the custom, but Mrs Giovanni told us, in English with a strong Italian accent that she does not speak a word of Chinese. This just made the place better to me. Usually when we eat out Pi Chi does all the talking. This time she pointed on the menu and I did all the talking. Most likely with horrible pronunciation. But Mrs Giovanni understood everything. Except when I tried to ask her if they had 雪碧. I am so used to calling it 雪碧 that I temporarily forgot its English name. So Pi Chi helped. But her Chinese pronunciation was nothing like Mrs Giovanni’s Italian pronunciation. Then I remembered how to say Sprite. We all laughed. That’s old people for you.

The food at Papa Giovanni’s was good. Easily the best Italian food I have ever had anywhere in Asia. Except maybe that Italian trattoria in 澳門. But it closed years ago. Everything about Papa Giovanni’s was good. From that point on we made it a point to always eat at Papa Giovanni’s whenever we went to 台北. And by coincidence or not they always put us at our quiet corner table.

So our big Saturday night romantic weekend getaway dinner was always going to be at Papa Giovanni’s. When we went there something seemed different. The sign above the door said “PaPa Gio’s”. The interior was different, but generally the same. Our quiet corner table was gone. They put us in a room that they probably use for large parties. Middle aged white dudes were eating and talking loudly. One of them wore a chef smock.

Mrs Giovanni did not take our order. A Chinese waitress did. We asked her why everything was different and she told us that the Giovannis retired and moved back to Italy. The entire family left and sold the restaurant to the loud white dudes sitting nearby. We saw no cause for alarm and ordered Italian food in Chinese.

Papa Giovanni’s was a family restaurant. Mrs Giovanni took your order if you were not Chinese. Mr Giovanni made the rounds and played host. Their sons and daughters ran the place and made the food. PaPa Gio’s was different. The owner, manager and chef were there, but they appeared to be off the clock. They were not cooking the food or talking to the customers, but they were definitely talking.

They covered a wide range of subjects that night. They discussed how all Mormons are “racist douchebags”, all Catholics are “baby fuckers”, all “towelheads” are terrorists and that the Sons of Abraham only care about “Jew money and controlling the world”. They discussed their world travels as it pertained to illegal narcotics, comparative prostitution and the best places to vomit after a night of binge drinking. They told one of their Chinese waitresses that they were going to put mirrors on the floor and not let the waitresses wear anything under their short skirts. The waitress did not seem to understand what they were saying, which might be part of the reason they said it. But they must have known that the foreigner sitting two tables away could understand them, as could the few other foreigners in the restaurant. Most of the customers were in a different room, but the loud white dudes were loud enough for all to hear.

I could have stormed out in righteous indignation, but Pi Chi had no idea what they were talking about and we thought that the food would still be good. Plus I was a little curious to see what other crazy shit they would come up with. The food turned out not to be so good. Pi Chi hated the pasta, and Pi Chi loves pasta. She has been to the actual Italy and she freely admits that actual Italian pasta is better than any type of Chinese pasta. If you know anything about Chinese it is that they rarely consider any foreign food better than their own. I got a pizza because Papa Giovanni’s had the best pizza in the country. You can find pizza almost anywhere here, but Chinese pizza is nothing like Italian pizza. No New Yorker would ever recognize a Chinese pizza as pizza. PaPa Gio’s pizza was not as bad as a Chinese pizza, but it was nothing like a Papa Giovanni’s pizza. It was closer to Pizza Hut.

Papa Giovanni’s also had some of the best bread this side of the Himalayas. PaPa Gio’s had the same bread the locals use for toast that you can find in any grocery store. An Italian restaurant with bad bread is like a brothel without those ceramic bowls full of condoms. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.

As we left, the loud white dudes were debating whether the David of David and Goliath was the same as King David. Most thought they were different people and one said that he was appointed king right after killing Goliath. In the middle of their colorful and heated discussion one of them broke away from telling another to “suck my dick” and thanked us for coming. I gave him my best what-the-fuck-is-your-problem / rest-assured-we-shall-not-patronize-this-establishment-again, not-that-you-give-a-shit look. I considered telling them about Saul and Michal but thought it best to let them wallow in their secular ignorance.

The other restaurants favored by foreigners are either not to my liking or largely unknown to me. Grandma Nitti’s has been around since before anyone knew who Monica Lewinsky was. They have a good breakfast, but they are too expensive and Pi Chi does not care for their food at all. Several years ago my favorite 台北 bakery took a dirt nap. There are probably still a few good places to eat non-Chinese food in 台北 but I no longer know where they are.

Pi Chi has agreed with me that the next time she goes to 台北 I should stay home.

And we never made it to 淡水.