Denver, Colorado
April 24, 2006
Here it’s been barely two years, and there are probably already a lot of details lost to history or mixed up in my memory. So it’s definitely time I write down what I remember for sure about what was, ultimately, just a fairly mundane day of travel (thank heavens!), if a long one. Well, we all have objectively mundane days in our past that nonetheless mark wonderful memories. And February 14, 2004 is mine, or at least one of mine.
I had spent that last night in Arlington on the couch. The blue couch, the one John slept on back in our first apartment in Alexandria, and which he bought from me when I was getting ready to go to Taiwan. My bedroom was stripped down to the bed, which didn’t even have any sheets on it, so the couch it was. It somehow seemed an appropriate way to check out anyhow, though I can’t really explain why.
John and I had spent a pleasant evening on the couch the night before, watching Family Guy episodes and also entertaining a friend of mine from my old job, who had come by with a parting gift, a book of Chinese fairy tales which I got around to reading a few months later in Longtan. It was a pleasant enough last night, though a rather quiet one. These things do usually end on a fairly quiet note, of course. You can’t really have your grand finale at the very end, since you’ve got to clean up after it!
I don’t think I got much actual sleep on the couch that night. I was too excited and, of course, a bit worried. But I do seem to recall the good excitement outweighing the bad excitement by quite a bit. The previous several months had not been easy ones for me, and they were over! That apartment was a beautiful one. All I lacked was a steady job to enable me to continue living in such style. I had come heartbreakingly close to changing that several times, but it just hadn’t quite worked out, and many an early morning had found me staring out the sliding door at the pool and the other side of the apartment building wondering how on earth I was going to get through this latest challenge.
I know I shouldn’t whine about that in retrospect, of course. It’s over, and I’m on to much better things. Nevertheless, the memory of worrying about my future is a key part of what was on my mind that morning when I saw the sun coming up through the curtains over the frozen pool below and the concrete jungle of Crystal City for the very last time. I’d seen it so many times before when I really didn’t want to, but this one time I was delighted to see the sunrise. It meant a rather difficult and depressing – and far too long – chapter of my life was over at last!
There was no rush to get moving once the sun was up. I didn’t have to be at BWI until about 11:00. But then, I also didn’t want to just lie there now that the big day was upon me! I got up and busied myself with tidying the couch, which of course didn’t take long. My luggage was there in one gigantic pile on the floor, ready to go as soon as I was. I had just consolidated it down by one bag the day before, so that I could – in theory, at least – carry it all at once. I could pick it up and go whenever I wished to.
But I had farewells to say. I could hear the shower running in Riki’s bathroom, and I definitely wanted to say goodbye to her. We’d known each other for over four years, and had roomed together for more than half that time, albeit nonconsecutively, and it was definitely the end of an era. I also had a small breakfast ready to go – a fruit bar and probably some juice and one or two other things – in the kitchen. So at some point I helped myself to that, while waiting for Riki. Or maybe it was just after she left. Minor point, but a point I can’t recall.
Riki did, in any case, emerge from the narrow hallway, dressed for work, and hugged me for the first and only time. Odd duck, Riki, but she certainly was a sweetheart all the same. Now safe in the knowledge that I wouldn’t miss out on that event, I headed for the shower. That, of course, was a non-event. Then it was on to saying goodbyes with John, whom I had also lived with for quite some time by then.
He was in his room, surfing the net despite – or perhaps because of – the early hour. There wasn’t a lot else to do, and he was off on another of his short term gigs overseas that very afternoon. In any case, he showed me his then-favorite web game, something like 20 questions where you were guessing the identity of either a dictator or a television character. Or rather, you were Stalin or Fonzie and the computer had to guess. It was actually pretty entertaining, surprisingly enough!
Next I remember being on my own in John’s room, checking e-mail. He was in the shower, or downstairs, or something. I don’t like long goodbyes any better than anyone else does, so once I was done with surfing, I called for a cab and then headed for the living room. John was nowhere to be found. I did try to carry all my luggage out at once, but it wasn’t to be! It was just too much. Traveling light isn’t my strong point. In any case, I got all six bags out there in several back and forth trips.
John turned up again down in the lobby. I think he’d gone to the Seven-Eleven for coffee. The cab was there. With all my bags finally out of the elevator, John helped load them into the cab trunk with me. His parting words: “Well, people who need people are the luckiest people in the world.” True, that, and quintessential John humor. He hugged me goodbye and the trip was on in earnest at last.
I was a bit numb on the ride into the city. Six years of memories, spread out over nearly ten years, all coming to a fast end. I wasn’t sorry, but I did feel odd. Sort of like I should have been feeling much more emotional than I was. But I had been in the emotional process of saying goodbye for about two months by that time, ever since that night in December when I stood alone in my room and made up my mind to take the job in Taiwan and to start in February rather than May. It certainly had come up fast! Even before that, I’d been profoundly unhappy in DC for much of the previous two years. So this goodbye was really a very long time in the making, and I wasn’t sorry at all to see it arrive at last.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
Union Station always was one of my favorite places in DC, and that was never truer than when we pulled up to the curb that morning. The cab driver got a luggage cart from somewhere and helped me load my luggage onto it. Or maybe he even did it all himself; I can’t recall for sure. I paid and tipped him, and then pushed the cart inside to the self-serve ticket machine, where I bought a ticket to BWI, the very next stop on the line. This, of course, would be yet another short part of the trip before the real fun started. With a bit of time to kill, I stashed my luggage in the luggage store room (the lockers having been off limits since 9/11) and went to the bookstore to browse. I don’t think I bought anything there. I do know I bought an Auntie Anne’s pretzel, the last one I would have until I found myself in Kuala Lumpur in August. I also now picture myself taking one last spin around the downstairs food court, which had been such a special treat when I'd first come to DC for good, back in 1996. All those goodies that seemed like a luxury when I was out of work, and an indulgence when I was in the money, plus all the many memories of going to the movies there with the ISH gang.
But I don’t know for certain that I did do that. It might be my memory playing tricks on me these two years later. I had been there pretty early in the morning in the past, and I knew by heart what the place looked like, with all the foodstuffs workers getting their places up and running, but no one actually selling anything yet except maybe coffee; and a few commuters mulling to and fro around the floor.
From then on I remember nothing until I was actually on the train. I can’t remember giving the conductor my ticket or how I got my luggage out there – perhaps a porter helped me. Somehow that sounds right, but I don’t remember for sure. My next clear memory is reading the Amtrak magazine on the train, specifically an article about the end of Sex and the City. How appropriate that I was leaving along with one of my favorite shows of the era! I also remember looking at the six bags stacked in front of me and worrying about getting them off the train.
It’s a pretty short trip from Union Station to BWI. Sure enough, I did need help getting the bags off. This time I do recall the porter helping me. I tried to carry them all, but once again it just didn’t work. But with a little help, I got them all safely off onto the platform before the train continued on its way. It was cold out there, but I was nearly done with lugging all six of the bags! For that I was grateful. But that leg of the trip wasn’t quite done yet.
As I had done in the hallway back in Arlington – already two state lines ago! – I carried them two at a time, ten feet or so and then back again for the next two. It isn’t a very long walk at all from the train platform to the bus stop, but of course it took me a while given the conditions. I remember walking up some stairs and through the corner of a parking garage at one point. It was sunny and cold, and I had that same nagging combination of exhilaration and fright and a touch of sadness. But just a touch.
Fortunately, that turned out to be the last real struggle I had with carrying all the bags. The bus arrived, I loaded them on two at a time, and we were off once again. The ride to the terminal was, of course, quite short; and here again, I have only the vaguest of memories. But then, it was just a couple of minutes. Once off, I was delighted to see luggage carts by the curb! Very quickly and gratefully, I loaded all the bags onto one. Then it was straight inside to the ticket counter, and I don’t think there was even a line.
There was, however, an extra charge for having too much luggage. No problem! I would have gladly paid more than they charged me (I think it was $50) to be rid of four of the six bags for the rest of the trip! With that detail squared away, I continued along my way with the remaining two bags, still in the cart for at least part of the walk. There was a long line at international security, and then the metal detectors to contend with. Somewhere along the line, a search of the luggage also took place; it was nerve-wracking, but of course my luggage and I were clean. Then it was just a matter of standing in line. I also ditched the cart somewhere in there, never really sure if I left it in an appropriate place or not. I do know that I got into no trouble over it.
With that most tedious part of the entire trip out of the way already, I made my way into the terminal and down the fairway to the gate. Once I’d located it, I bought an unhealthy but tasty lunch (I think it was a Pizza Hut pizza) and made fast work of it, having had only that rather small snack back in Arlington while waiting for Riki. And then there was nothing but to wait. It was about 11:00.
They tell you to arrive three hours in advance for international flights. In this case, that was about two and a half hours more than I really needed, and now I had three hours to kill. Of course, given all that could have been wrong, that really isn’t something I ought to complain about!
I sat there just off the fairway, staring out onto the sunny but bleak tarmac, thinking I should feel profoundly emotional about the farewell, but not feeling that way. I wrote a journal entry at that point which I still have somewhere. If I recall correctly, the entry was mostly about why I wasn’t feeling more emotional than I was. For one thing, I’d had my fill of long goodbyes by then, having done not much else for several weeks. For another, life in DC had become downright miserable and I wasn’t sorry at all to leave it behind. Then there was also the fact that John was leaving that very afternoon, Rikke (not to be confused with Riki) would also be gone shortly, and if I had stayed I’d likely have been unemployed pretty soon anyhow. I also wrote a blog entry about this memory six months later, from the comfort of a warm summer’s afternoon in Longtan. It remains an uneventful but iconic moment. A three hour moment, to boot!
But I don’t know for certain that I did do that. It might be my memory playing tricks on me these two years later. I had been there pretty early in the morning in the past, and I knew by heart what the place looked like, with all the foodstuffs workers getting their places up and running, but no one actually selling anything yet except maybe coffee; and a few commuters mulling to and fro around the floor.
From then on I remember nothing until I was actually on the train. I can’t remember giving the conductor my ticket or how I got my luggage out there – perhaps a porter helped me. Somehow that sounds right, but I don’t remember for sure. My next clear memory is reading the Amtrak magazine on the train, specifically an article about the end of Sex and the City. How appropriate that I was leaving along with one of my favorite shows of the era! I also remember looking at the six bags stacked in front of me and worrying about getting them off the train.
It’s a pretty short trip from Union Station to BWI. Sure enough, I did need help getting the bags off. This time I do recall the porter helping me. I tried to carry them all, but once again it just didn’t work. But with a little help, I got them all safely off onto the platform before the train continued on its way. It was cold out there, but I was nearly done with lugging all six of the bags! For that I was grateful. But that leg of the trip wasn’t quite done yet.
As I had done in the hallway back in Arlington – already two state lines ago! – I carried them two at a time, ten feet or so and then back again for the next two. It isn’t a very long walk at all from the train platform to the bus stop, but of course it took me a while given the conditions. I remember walking up some stairs and through the corner of a parking garage at one point. It was sunny and cold, and I had that same nagging combination of exhilaration and fright and a touch of sadness. But just a touch.
Fortunately, that turned out to be the last real struggle I had with carrying all the bags. The bus arrived, I loaded them on two at a time, and we were off once again. The ride to the terminal was, of course, quite short; and here again, I have only the vaguest of memories. But then, it was just a couple of minutes. Once off, I was delighted to see luggage carts by the curb! Very quickly and gratefully, I loaded all the bags onto one. Then it was straight inside to the ticket counter, and I don’t think there was even a line.
There was, however, an extra charge for having too much luggage. No problem! I would have gladly paid more than they charged me (I think it was $50) to be rid of four of the six bags for the rest of the trip! With that detail squared away, I continued along my way with the remaining two bags, still in the cart for at least part of the walk. There was a long line at international security, and then the metal detectors to contend with. Somewhere along the line, a search of the luggage also took place; it was nerve-wracking, but of course my luggage and I were clean. Then it was just a matter of standing in line. I also ditched the cart somewhere in there, never really sure if I left it in an appropriate place or not. I do know that I got into no trouble over it.
With that most tedious part of the entire trip out of the way already, I made my way into the terminal and down the fairway to the gate. Once I’d located it, I bought an unhealthy but tasty lunch (I think it was a Pizza Hut pizza) and made fast work of it, having had only that rather small snack back in Arlington while waiting for Riki. And then there was nothing but to wait. It was about 11:00.
They tell you to arrive three hours in advance for international flights. In this case, that was about two and a half hours more than I really needed, and now I had three hours to kill. Of course, given all that could have been wrong, that really isn’t something I ought to complain about!
I sat there just off the fairway, staring out onto the sunny but bleak tarmac, thinking I should feel profoundly emotional about the farewell, but not feeling that way. I wrote a journal entry at that point which I still have somewhere. If I recall correctly, the entry was mostly about why I wasn’t feeling more emotional than I was. For one thing, I’d had my fill of long goodbyes by then, having done not much else for several weeks. For another, life in DC had become downright miserable and I wasn’t sorry at all to leave it behind. Then there was also the fact that John was leaving that very afternoon, Rikke (not to be confused with Riki) would also be gone shortly, and if I had stayed I’d likely have been unemployed pretty soon anyhow. I also wrote a blog entry about this memory six months later, from the comfort of a warm summer’s afternoon in Longtan. It remains an uneventful but iconic moment. A three hour moment, to boot!
I had brought along Tender is the Night to read. Oddly, I had also brought that one along on my previous overseas trip, to Denmark over four years before, but I hadn’t read more than a few pages of it back then. I didn’t really feel like reading just now either; but with nothing else to occupy my time, I think I did go ahead and get started on it. Of course I don’t remember those three hours in much detail at all. I have only the vaguest reflection of getting on the plane. I think I probably gave some thought to the trip to Denmark along the way, and how wonderful fun that had been, and how different – but still fun – this was. This was even more of an adventure, working without a net, with no friends or translators for me in Taiwan as I’d had in Denmark. But there was also the fact that there was no joyous reunion awaiting me at the end of this odyssey. I’m sure I heard Harry Chapin reminding me that “You know there ain’t no rainbow waiting when this journey ends!”
That was the truth! But at least it might be warmer in Taipei. I don’t actually remember wondering about that, but I did write in August 2004 that I remembered thinking as much. So I probably did.
But back to the plane. As I said, only the vaguest memory of boarding. But board I definitely did. It’s a pretty short flight from Baltimore to New York, probably not even an hour. My next clear memory is looking down as the plane approached JFK and seeing all the neat backyards of Long Island stretched out below. I do love New York, but this was all I was going to see of it for quite some time. That, of course, provided yet another unnecessary reminder that this really was a very big leap I was taking.
I don’t specifically recall getting off the plane. I do remember hours of wandering around JFK – also bringing to mind memories of the trip to Denmark, which was the last time I was at that airport. I know that it was still light out – and thus fairly early, this being February – when I made my way to the inter-terminal shuttle. I think I rode it down to the next terminal, only to realize I was in the right one to begin with, or something like that. I also ate a nice steak dinner at some point at a sit-down restaurant near the concourse. I’m not sure what order those came in.
In any case, I did end up at the end of a rather long line for getting checked in for international departures. I also remember getting to the head of that line and then being directed to another one. I can’t recall if I was in the wrong line or just had to go through both of them. In any case, I was directed off to a room intended strictly for international departures, and I believe there were customs forms to fill out for China Airlines. I remember waiting quite some time for an attendant to become available. I also remember making small talk with someone else who was to be on the same flight. Once an attendant was available, though, the process was quick and painless and I was finally free to proceed to the elusive terminal. After all that trouble, I was once again free to wait.
The terminals in JFK are big, like everything about New York. It was quite dark by then, and I can recall sitting there in the middle of the room and watching the overhead TV. Probably CNN if I recall correctly. I still had Tender is the Night at the ready and may have read some more of it, but I don’t remember. There was also a bit of small talk with a Taiwanese guy who was probably surprised that I was going his way. The wait was long, but not as long as the one back in Baltimore. Happily, I had killed quite a bit of time trying to find the terminal and discovering I was already there and waiting in the customs line and wandering around aimlessly and wondering what on earth I was doing, but being pretty happy about it all!
Boarding the plane to Anchorage was probably one of the most significant moments of the entire journey. I do remember it rather vaguely, but of course it was just a walk down the tunnel to the plane. I remember having seen the French newspapers at the gate when I left for Denmark and hoping there might be such a thing this time, but of course there wasn’t. I can’t even remember for sure if there were any Chinese ones, but I think there probably were.
New York to Anchorage is about seven hours by plane, and it’s over some of the most desolate places on earth. Even for a guy who loves to travel as much as I do, that leg of the trip really wasn’t that much fun. I was truly in the no turning back stage now. Right up to the moment I got on that plane at JFK, I always had the option of turning tail and running. I like to think I never would have done so, but surely I was aware that the option existed. Now, quite definitively, it didn’t! I’m quite sure I spent a lot of those seven hours with my nose buried in Tender is the Night, but I don’t recall for sure. (I do remember that I didn’t actually finish the book until I’d been in Taiwan for a month or so. I didn’t like it very much.) My one vivid memory of that period was looking out the window somewhere over the Northwest Territories and seeing exactly one light down there somewhere. Absolutely desolate, and the darkness was already starting to get to me! I probably tried to sleep, but I don’t think I succeeded.
Upon landing in Anchorage, I believe we were allowed to leave our carryon stuff on board if we wished, but I don’t recall for certain. I do know they should have let us leave it there, because the cabin definitely looked lived-in when we got back on board an hour later. In any case, I do remember the layover pretty well. It was 2:00 a.m. in Alaska, in February. Once again, one of the more desolate memories of the whole trip. They did open the airport gift and duty-free shop for us, and they did have quite a collection of stuff. I almost bought a t-shirt, a cheap bottle of whiskey, and various other treats; but they would have just made for additional stuff to lug around until I finally got settled in Taiwan. That, of course, was a couple of weeks away at the time!
The waiting room looked vaguely rustic. I think it might have been under construction and/or remodeling. Of course most of the airport was closed. Boring. But the trip was nearly half over! Keltie, the gal I would ride into Taipei with the next day, was milling around as well. I didn’t meet her officially at that time, but I do recall recognizing her when we found ourselves together on the shuttle bus at the Taipei airport.
I certainly wasn’t sorry when we were allowed back on the plane! But I think my lack of regret only lasted until I learned this flight would be even longer than the last one. Over ten hours. Ouch. Although the flight was longer, it can be summed up more succinctly than the one from New York. I did a lot of reading, that much I recall for certain this time. I also watched Lost in Translation (how apt!) in various nonconsecutive snatches throughout the flight. I think I probably ended up seeing the whole movie, but I can’t confirm that. I tried to sleep, but succeeded only long enough to spill orange juice on my passport. That, paradoxically, is now one of the more lighthearted memories of the whole trip, as the passport cleaned up nicely and even now has a touch of that pleasant, sweet scent to it.
It was also around this time that I realized my clothes were probably starting to smell pretty funky, especially after the orange juice incident. I was wearing a dark grey cardigan sweater, which I believe Lisa’s mother had given me a few Christmases before. While the first month or two in Taiwan were definitely sweater worthy weather, I’m almost certain I didn’t wear that sweater again for a long time, even though I’d washed it! The perpetual darkness really started to get to me on that leg of the trip, too. Twenty straight hours of darkness, I think I figured out later on. There was also the cramped seating of coach class (on my trip back a year and a half later, I had no qualms at all about shelling out extra for business class!) and the heavy memory of what had led me to making such a big change.
That was the truth! But at least it might be warmer in Taipei. I don’t actually remember wondering about that, but I did write in August 2004 that I remembered thinking as much. So I probably did.
But back to the plane. As I said, only the vaguest memory of boarding. But board I definitely did. It’s a pretty short flight from Baltimore to New York, probably not even an hour. My next clear memory is looking down as the plane approached JFK and seeing all the neat backyards of Long Island stretched out below. I do love New York, but this was all I was going to see of it for quite some time. That, of course, provided yet another unnecessary reminder that this really was a very big leap I was taking.
I don’t specifically recall getting off the plane. I do remember hours of wandering around JFK – also bringing to mind memories of the trip to Denmark, which was the last time I was at that airport. I know that it was still light out – and thus fairly early, this being February – when I made my way to the inter-terminal shuttle. I think I rode it down to the next terminal, only to realize I was in the right one to begin with, or something like that. I also ate a nice steak dinner at some point at a sit-down restaurant near the concourse. I’m not sure what order those came in.
In any case, I did end up at the end of a rather long line for getting checked in for international departures. I also remember getting to the head of that line and then being directed to another one. I can’t recall if I was in the wrong line or just had to go through both of them. In any case, I was directed off to a room intended strictly for international departures, and I believe there were customs forms to fill out for China Airlines. I remember waiting quite some time for an attendant to become available. I also remember making small talk with someone else who was to be on the same flight. Once an attendant was available, though, the process was quick and painless and I was finally free to proceed to the elusive terminal. After all that trouble, I was once again free to wait.
The terminals in JFK are big, like everything about New York. It was quite dark by then, and I can recall sitting there in the middle of the room and watching the overhead TV. Probably CNN if I recall correctly. I still had Tender is the Night at the ready and may have read some more of it, but I don’t remember. There was also a bit of small talk with a Taiwanese guy who was probably surprised that I was going his way. The wait was long, but not as long as the one back in Baltimore. Happily, I had killed quite a bit of time trying to find the terminal and discovering I was already there and waiting in the customs line and wandering around aimlessly and wondering what on earth I was doing, but being pretty happy about it all!
Boarding the plane to Anchorage was probably one of the most significant moments of the entire journey. I do remember it rather vaguely, but of course it was just a walk down the tunnel to the plane. I remember having seen the French newspapers at the gate when I left for Denmark and hoping there might be such a thing this time, but of course there wasn’t. I can’t even remember for sure if there were any Chinese ones, but I think there probably were.
New York to Anchorage is about seven hours by plane, and it’s over some of the most desolate places on earth. Even for a guy who loves to travel as much as I do, that leg of the trip really wasn’t that much fun. I was truly in the no turning back stage now. Right up to the moment I got on that plane at JFK, I always had the option of turning tail and running. I like to think I never would have done so, but surely I was aware that the option existed. Now, quite definitively, it didn’t! I’m quite sure I spent a lot of those seven hours with my nose buried in Tender is the Night, but I don’t recall for sure. (I do remember that I didn’t actually finish the book until I’d been in Taiwan for a month or so. I didn’t like it very much.) My one vivid memory of that period was looking out the window somewhere over the Northwest Territories and seeing exactly one light down there somewhere. Absolutely desolate, and the darkness was already starting to get to me! I probably tried to sleep, but I don’t think I succeeded.
Upon landing in Anchorage, I believe we were allowed to leave our carryon stuff on board if we wished, but I don’t recall for certain. I do know they should have let us leave it there, because the cabin definitely looked lived-in when we got back on board an hour later. In any case, I do remember the layover pretty well. It was 2:00 a.m. in Alaska, in February. Once again, one of the more desolate memories of the whole trip. They did open the airport gift and duty-free shop for us, and they did have quite a collection of stuff. I almost bought a t-shirt, a cheap bottle of whiskey, and various other treats; but they would have just made for additional stuff to lug around until I finally got settled in Taiwan. That, of course, was a couple of weeks away at the time!
The waiting room looked vaguely rustic. I think it might have been under construction and/or remodeling. Of course most of the airport was closed. Boring. But the trip was nearly half over! Keltie, the gal I would ride into Taipei with the next day, was milling around as well. I didn’t meet her officially at that time, but I do recall recognizing her when we found ourselves together on the shuttle bus at the Taipei airport.
I certainly wasn’t sorry when we were allowed back on the plane! But I think my lack of regret only lasted until I learned this flight would be even longer than the last one. Over ten hours. Ouch. Although the flight was longer, it can be summed up more succinctly than the one from New York. I did a lot of reading, that much I recall for certain this time. I also watched Lost in Translation (how apt!) in various nonconsecutive snatches throughout the flight. I think I probably ended up seeing the whole movie, but I can’t confirm that. I tried to sleep, but succeeded only long enough to spill orange juice on my passport. That, paradoxically, is now one of the more lighthearted memories of the whole trip, as the passport cleaned up nicely and even now has a touch of that pleasant, sweet scent to it.
It was also around this time that I realized my clothes were probably starting to smell pretty funky, especially after the orange juice incident. I was wearing a dark grey cardigan sweater, which I believe Lisa’s mother had given me a few Christmases before. While the first month or two in Taiwan were definitely sweater worthy weather, I’m almost certain I didn’t wear that sweater again for a long time, even though I’d washed it! The perpetual darkness really started to get to me on that leg of the trip, too. Twenty straight hours of darkness, I think I figured out later on. There was also the cramped seating of coach class (on my trip back a year and a half later, I had no qualms at all about shelling out extra for business class!) and the heavy memory of what had led me to making such a big change.
But I think the lack of sleep was the biggest problem. What’s really funny is that I distinctly remember thinking I had to finish off that orange juice before I fell asleep, but I couldn’t quite do it…
I saw the lights of Japan from the plane. While that meant there was still some time left in the air, it was oddly comforting to see any sign of civilization at all. I think I probably did my best to concentrate on the fact that the sun would inevitably be up soon as well. They served coffee and some semblance of breakfast around that time, too. When I wasn’t watching Lost in Translation, there was also an oft-repeated ad for in-flight gifts you could buy for people who were meeting you at the gate. If only there were any of those! But then, I did come here because I wanted a total break with the past, didn’t I? There was also the mandatory filling out of immigration tickets, where I recall listing my occupation as “teacher” for the first time. That, of course, ushered in a reminder that I did have a job to do here, and I’d have to learn how to do it!
At long last, there was the landing. That’s often my least favorite part of the flight; but I was more than a little bit happy to see it this time! Touch down at last, in Asia for the very first time. Wow! Then and now, seeing that blue neon “C.K.S. INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT” sign for the very first time is another of the most iconic images of the journey. And it’s also one of the most beautiful ones.
Of course, we couldn’t get off the plane immediately. But it was close, so close! I certainly do remember the walk off the plane and into the airport at last. Then there was the fascinating walk down the hall with those oddball ads in Chinese and English alike. Somewhere along the line I was supposed to be checked for SARS, but somehow I slipped through that net without meaning to – I simply realized a ways down the line that I hadn’t stopped where I was supposed to, and nobody had stopped me.
Then there was the nice long wait at customs. I was painfully aware that I could be sent right back to America for some stupid reason, or none at all. Once again, I found myself reflecting on the why and how of my ending up standing in this line in this strange country at 5:00 or so in the morning. Most peculiar, Mama. Strange days indeed. For all my many non-American friends, I’d never known anyone from Taiwan. Now it was my life, for the moment anyhow.
Of course my paranoia was unfounded and I was welcomed into Taiwan with a nice red and blue stamp on my visitor visa (the work one still being on the way). It was still a long way down to the baggage claim, but surprisingly I had no trouble following the signs there. Having been one of the few non-Taiwanese citizens on the plane, I had taken much longer to get through immigration than most of the others, and I arrived at the baggage claim to find my bags among the few still unclaimed, sitting alongside the cart.
A pushcart – just like the one back in Baltimore – presented itself out of somewhere for free, and soon I had the six bags loaded and ready for easy transport. David H had given me a book about life in Taiwan as a going away present, and when I finally got to Longtan two weeks later I would read that those carts were considered the worst in Asia. Maybe so (I later found out the ones in Manila were worse anyhow), but they certainly were a beautiful sight at that sleepy moment!
Following the general flow of people, I found my way to the meet and greet area by the taxis. There stood a driver with my name and Keltie’s on a handmade sign. My first name was misspelled – “Debbid” – and so I thought Keltie’s probably was too, having never heard that name before. But no, I soon learned that that gal in the yellow sweatsuit I’d seen back in Anchorage did indeed spell her name that way. Being brand new in Taiwan, it hadn’t occurred to me that Hess would hire a driver who didn’t speak English. (I think I had expected him to be a Hess employee, actually.) So I made the mistake of trying to talk to him a couple of times. It didn’t take long to realize he didn’t understand me, but did realize that I was “Debbid”. I also remembered somewhat amusedly that my Japanese flatmate back in New Haven, Tohru, also pronounced my name that way, though he didn’t spell it that way.
Keltie was behind me in the immigration line, so I had time to go to the currency exchange and change most of my American dollars for Taiwanese ones. When I got back to the driver, I think Keltie was there. She definitely arrived not long afterward, anyway, and we were on our way to the end – for now – of the incredible journey.
Keltie was from Nova Scotia. I was pretty happy to have a fellow traveler from so close to home when I was as far away from home as I had ever been in my life. She was much younger, but I’d known enough to expect there’d be some of that. The sun was coming up over the smoggy suburbs of Taipei, and my senses were alive despite the jetlag with the sheer exoticness of it all. Temples, buildings, even the backwards swastikas which couldn’t help but be a bit shocking that first time…I was on fire! Keltie and I also kept up the small talk pretty well despite being tired. But mostly I was just relieved to see the sunlight.
The First Hotel was, well, a hotel. Some things look about the same all over the world. The driver very kindly moved all of our luggage into the lobby for us, something for which I was awfully grateful after the long trip and the memory of what I’d had to do with those damn bags back in DC. Then the driver was off. I didn’t know yet about tipping in Taiwan (generally it’s not done), so I don’t know how much awkwardness there may have been over that. I think I may have gestured to my wallet and had him gesture “not necessary” in return, but I can’t recall with any certainty.
The rooms weren’t ready yet. Not a nice surprise, but I was, of course, alive with curiosity about this brand new country! Back in DC, Riki had a Taiwanese-American friend whom I had met briefly the week before, and who had told me about how Seven-Elevens were absolutely everywhere in Taiwan. Sure enough, there was one just across the street from the hotel, and Keltie and I made our way over there to buy some cheap breakfast. Ah, the smell of tea eggs for the first time ever! They actually tasted great, but the smell was another matter entirely. There was also the first incidence of the clerks saying “welcome” in Chinese every time you came in…it sounded like “Good morning” in English to me, and for the first few times I thought that was what they said.
We also both bought phone cards. I found a pay phone around the corner from the hotel entrance and called Trina, but she wasn’t home. So I called Mom and Dad, who were home. I didn’t have a lot to say, except that the trip was a success. It felt good to know somebody back home knew where I was, anyway. Then it was back to the lobby and waiting for the rooms to open up. I found an English expat magazine of some kind, and can still recall reading about the experiences of Westerners in Taiwan over the holidays and what they did. It certainly sounded like a wonderful lifestyle! Any self-doubt about what I’d gotten myself into was receding rapidly by then.
With time still crawling by before the rooms would be available, I found myself out on the sidewalk for “fresh” air a few times as well. Yet another image etched forever on my mind: watching commuters racing by on their scooters on the way to work. It was just another day for them; but for me it was the beginning of one of my greatest adventures ever! But I was ready for sleep all the same, and that was several hours away yet.
I saw the lights of Japan from the plane. While that meant there was still some time left in the air, it was oddly comforting to see any sign of civilization at all. I think I probably did my best to concentrate on the fact that the sun would inevitably be up soon as well. They served coffee and some semblance of breakfast around that time, too. When I wasn’t watching Lost in Translation, there was also an oft-repeated ad for in-flight gifts you could buy for people who were meeting you at the gate. If only there were any of those! But then, I did come here because I wanted a total break with the past, didn’t I? There was also the mandatory filling out of immigration tickets, where I recall listing my occupation as “teacher” for the first time. That, of course, ushered in a reminder that I did have a job to do here, and I’d have to learn how to do it!
At long last, there was the landing. That’s often my least favorite part of the flight; but I was more than a little bit happy to see it this time! Touch down at last, in Asia for the very first time. Wow! Then and now, seeing that blue neon “C.K.S. INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT” sign for the very first time is another of the most iconic images of the journey. And it’s also one of the most beautiful ones.
Of course, we couldn’t get off the plane immediately. But it was close, so close! I certainly do remember the walk off the plane and into the airport at last. Then there was the fascinating walk down the hall with those oddball ads in Chinese and English alike. Somewhere along the line I was supposed to be checked for SARS, but somehow I slipped through that net without meaning to – I simply realized a ways down the line that I hadn’t stopped where I was supposed to, and nobody had stopped me.
Then there was the nice long wait at customs. I was painfully aware that I could be sent right back to America for some stupid reason, or none at all. Once again, I found myself reflecting on the why and how of my ending up standing in this line in this strange country at 5:00 or so in the morning. Most peculiar, Mama. Strange days indeed. For all my many non-American friends, I’d never known anyone from Taiwan. Now it was my life, for the moment anyhow.
Of course my paranoia was unfounded and I was welcomed into Taiwan with a nice red and blue stamp on my visitor visa (the work one still being on the way). It was still a long way down to the baggage claim, but surprisingly I had no trouble following the signs there. Having been one of the few non-Taiwanese citizens on the plane, I had taken much longer to get through immigration than most of the others, and I arrived at the baggage claim to find my bags among the few still unclaimed, sitting alongside the cart.
A pushcart – just like the one back in Baltimore – presented itself out of somewhere for free, and soon I had the six bags loaded and ready for easy transport. David H had given me a book about life in Taiwan as a going away present, and when I finally got to Longtan two weeks later I would read that those carts were considered the worst in Asia. Maybe so (I later found out the ones in Manila were worse anyhow), but they certainly were a beautiful sight at that sleepy moment!
Following the general flow of people, I found my way to the meet and greet area by the taxis. There stood a driver with my name and Keltie’s on a handmade sign. My first name was misspelled – “Debbid” – and so I thought Keltie’s probably was too, having never heard that name before. But no, I soon learned that that gal in the yellow sweatsuit I’d seen back in Anchorage did indeed spell her name that way. Being brand new in Taiwan, it hadn’t occurred to me that Hess would hire a driver who didn’t speak English. (I think I had expected him to be a Hess employee, actually.) So I made the mistake of trying to talk to him a couple of times. It didn’t take long to realize he didn’t understand me, but did realize that I was “Debbid”. I also remembered somewhat amusedly that my Japanese flatmate back in New Haven, Tohru, also pronounced my name that way, though he didn’t spell it that way.
Keltie was behind me in the immigration line, so I had time to go to the currency exchange and change most of my American dollars for Taiwanese ones. When I got back to the driver, I think Keltie was there. She definitely arrived not long afterward, anyway, and we were on our way to the end – for now – of the incredible journey.
Keltie was from Nova Scotia. I was pretty happy to have a fellow traveler from so close to home when I was as far away from home as I had ever been in my life. She was much younger, but I’d known enough to expect there’d be some of that. The sun was coming up over the smoggy suburbs of Taipei, and my senses were alive despite the jetlag with the sheer exoticness of it all. Temples, buildings, even the backwards swastikas which couldn’t help but be a bit shocking that first time…I was on fire! Keltie and I also kept up the small talk pretty well despite being tired. But mostly I was just relieved to see the sunlight.
The First Hotel was, well, a hotel. Some things look about the same all over the world. The driver very kindly moved all of our luggage into the lobby for us, something for which I was awfully grateful after the long trip and the memory of what I’d had to do with those damn bags back in DC. Then the driver was off. I didn’t know yet about tipping in Taiwan (generally it’s not done), so I don’t know how much awkwardness there may have been over that. I think I may have gestured to my wallet and had him gesture “not necessary” in return, but I can’t recall with any certainty.
The rooms weren’t ready yet. Not a nice surprise, but I was, of course, alive with curiosity about this brand new country! Back in DC, Riki had a Taiwanese-American friend whom I had met briefly the week before, and who had told me about how Seven-Elevens were absolutely everywhere in Taiwan. Sure enough, there was one just across the street from the hotel, and Keltie and I made our way over there to buy some cheap breakfast. Ah, the smell of tea eggs for the first time ever! They actually tasted great, but the smell was another matter entirely. There was also the first incidence of the clerks saying “welcome” in Chinese every time you came in…it sounded like “Good morning” in English to me, and for the first few times I thought that was what they said.
We also both bought phone cards. I found a pay phone around the corner from the hotel entrance and called Trina, but she wasn’t home. So I called Mom and Dad, who were home. I didn’t have a lot to say, except that the trip was a success. It felt good to know somebody back home knew where I was, anyway. Then it was back to the lobby and waiting for the rooms to open up. I found an English expat magazine of some kind, and can still recall reading about the experiences of Westerners in Taiwan over the holidays and what they did. It certainly sounded like a wonderful lifestyle! Any self-doubt about what I’d gotten myself into was receding rapidly by then.
With time still crawling by before the rooms would be available, I found myself out on the sidewalk for “fresh” air a few times as well. Yet another image etched forever on my mind: watching commuters racing by on their scooters on the way to work. It was just another day for them; but for me it was the beginning of one of my greatest adventures ever! But I was ready for sleep all the same, and that was several hours away yet.
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