About two years ago, I spent three months in New York City. I woke up around eight in the morning, fixed myself a bowl of oatmeal, fresh fruit and yogurt, then set out for the school. I lived in Bushwick, a spacious neighborhood. As I walked down the pale morning street, I could feel the ground shaking as the train whizzed its way through below me. Jefferson St., that’s my stop. Every time I turned the corner to the subway entrance, I saw the shoe hanging on the pole, not dangling. They said that’s where the drug dealers trade. I walked down to the dark and smelling stairs pass posters with their teeth blackened or some parts ripped. Occasionally, I met a drunk or two, but they were often too wasted to cause any threat except feelings of sympathy and sometimes disgust. I slid through the turnstile, always afraid to get rubbed at that timing, and walked in to the cage, to its rat ridden tracks, waiting to get on the Manhattan bound L train. This act of morning routine and predictability never bored me. On the contrary, it liberated me. I was a soldier for the Army of the empire state city, although only temporally. And it’s my duty to withstand the cold on the platform and the crowd while I switched to the green line to the Grand Central, acting annoyed but happily.
Dearest friends,
However, the subway here in Taipei is clean and bright. To other out-of-towners, it still causes a sense of wonderment. The fare varies based on the length of your ride. You can get tolls at the automatic machines outside every station. Or you can get an Easycard and decide how much money you want to deposit (no more than a grand).
The French engineered subway system is called MRT here. It has a very modern monitoring system that keeps every arrival and departure on time announced also on the screens on the platform. You can see people line up along the guide lines drew on the platform ground, for the system keeps the trains to stop always at the designated spots, too. The rules are, allow the passengers to alight first, and yield the seats to the elderly, the mother-to-bes, kids, the physically challenged, and people traveling with suitcases. You are not encouraged to take the deep blue colored priority seats if you’re not one of the above. And you’re not allowed to eat or drink anything inside the station and on the train, not even gums but maybe vitamin pills. Keep yourself to the right side of the stairs and escalators. The left side is preserved for the runners, the pushers, the oh-my-god-I-am-so-fucking-late people. It’s highly recommended to get an Easycard if you’re staying longer than a week in the city, not only as a souvenir, but also because you get discounts on the fare if you use an Easycard on your station-to-station rides, as well as bus-subway transits. When using an Easycard, the fare and purchase is deducted from your account as you wipe it at the sensor installed on every subway turnstile and bus. You can use Easycards to pay your taxi fare as long as the cab has the instrument installed (look for the Easycard sticker on the car window). You can use Easycards to pay the parking garages. You can even use Easycards to pay for stuff at convenient stores. Besides, beeping your way through especially when you’re in a hurry, can be, at times, ecstatic.
Orange line, Nanshijiao Station
The year 2001, before I turned 17, I first visited Taipei MRT. Taipei was the only city that had a subway system in Taiwan. And like most people, I, took it as a sight to visit, too. I traveled with several others of my military peers. We were on leave, young, naïve and stupid. We stayed with those from Taipei and cruised all those tourist sites as we could possibly crammed them into our tight schedule. We visited the National Palace Museum in the morning, the Danshui old streets in the afternoon, and Shilin night market in the evening, talking to foreigners as we dared. We ate oyster noodles at Ximen, and ate almond tofu at Gongguan.
There weren’t Easycards yet. But there was a one day pass that allowed us to use the subway as many times as we wanted in a day.
I would have been irritated had I been the one to witness the noise we made on the train. We joked and laughed all the time, all the way no matter where we were heading. When the train stopped, we got out of the train and got back in when the door was about to close just for the fun of it. At one point, we had to wait for someone who actually got cut off by the train door.
We were staying with a boy from our class. We took the MRT to the last stop and walked through a long line of food stands to his second floor home. We crashed the floor, not even the couch, of his living room. His big sister had to sneak “across” us to get to the door the next morning. And when she did, her ass was showing in her tight skirt. But I was too tired to care.
Red line, Xinbeitou Station
January 2005, I was still in the military service. I just got transferred to a northern island where I could see the mainland when it’s clear. Determined to leave Kaohsiung for the capital city, I came to Taipei prior to my date of registration to look for an apartment. James, a good friend of mine, who’s already stationed in Taipei, was considering moving as well. So I was looking for a place we can share, hopefully to reduce the cost of living even if only a little bit.
It was not going well. All the places we could afford were either in terrible conditions or looked like someone just died in there. There were some “rooftop added apartments”, the sort of building installation that’s no more legal after 1991 and were often problematic. But we decided to keep looking until we have no other options.
I went to look for the apartment alone that day. I took the blue line from the hotel I was staying then made a transfer at Taipei Main Station to the northward red line. It was a weekday after ten, The train was not so packed. The warm late winter sun flushed in through the windows as the train broke out of the ground after Minquan W. Rd. Station. The cart was suddenly filled with a peacefulness that was almost visible in the air, in the form of sun-washed dust.
The elevated train tracks sailed at the height of a second floor apartment. So as I sat basked in the warm winter noon, I looked out the window and saw different apartments and buildings pass me by. I always liked to look at apartments and daydream a little.
I got off the train at Beitou Station and waited for the transfer to take me one more stop further to XinBeitou, which in Chinese means the New Beitou, a neighborhood famous for the hot spring. I needed to walk a little distance from the station to the apartment. Hot spring flowed in the sewer along my way, and steam floated up. I saw an old man took of his shoes and put his feet in the water. The air was joyous and I was content.
The apartment, as it turned out, was a rooftop added. But it was clean and nice, and hooked to the hot spring inside the apartment. It had a large bathroom and a light filled kitchen with a window above the sink, letting the cool and fresh air in. I greeted the old landlady in common tongue. She responded in Taiwanese. I then switched to the local dialect which fewer and fewer people use in the north. She liked me. And I liked her. She seemed that kind of elderly that wouldn’t care when you tell her you’re having a baby not knowing who the father is and takes a cigarette when offered one. She’s cool.
As I left the building, I noticed that it had no mailbox. And I, after all, moved to somewhere else.
Green line, Gongguan Station.
National Taiwan University, a.k.a. NTU, the top university in Taiwan is stationed here in Taipei. A few steps off Exit 2 of Gongguan Station, and you’ll reach its campus. However, if you want to walk the famous Road of coconut palms, you need to head for Exit 3 to the front face of the university where they blended glass with cement as they paved the square. The square ground shines with tingling flash at night as cars rush by and the neon lights buzz on.
Americans might find this neighborhood friendly. The road was called Roosevelt Road after the U.S. president. It’s the only remaining road named after a foreigner. Apparently, people liked him.
This neighborhood doesn’t give you the impression that this is the place where Taiwan’s top scholar rule themselves superior than the rest. As if to challenge the college’s reputation, the other side of Roosevelt Road is the hot spot flooded with teenage pop cultural. Swatch, Apple Store, cosmetic clinics, plastic surgery practices and luxury apartments line up on the other side.
The nearby Tingzhou Road offers a variety of eateries to students and visitors alike, you see people line up for a cup of pearl milk or a famous stew stand. There’s a famous second hand bookstore called Molly’s, as well as Taipei’s only gay bookstore, probably Taiwan’s only one, called Rainbow Shiny Shiny (what else?).
If you are willing to walk a little, not so far off into Wenzhou Street has several cute cafés worth spending a quiet hour or two in the afternoon. There’s a place called ‘find a cat on the street’ (they don’t have an English name, and it’s impossible to translate such nonsense anyway). The blackboard with the menu squeezed in reminds me of my junior high days when Ms. Huang, my geography teacher, was pissed. One day, they drew a button on the blackboard, whoever presses the imaginary button can order a secret signature drink.
There used to be a restaurant I like a lot with a map of New York City posted on the wall. I especially love the huge chunk of juicy brownie after the meal. But it’s now yet another cheap hair saloon facing an academic that takes more than ambition and a will to learn to get in.
Brown line
When I moved to Taipei a year and a half ago, I had a hard time finding jobs. I stayed in the apartment, didn’t know what I want, afraid I was going to spend all my savings and end up on the streets. It took me three months to get a job.
The brown line had only recently extended its service and added several stations into Neihu. One day, I hopped on the Brown line, took the train to the last stop and then took the train back. The train was nearly empty once it passed Shonshan Airport. I couldn’t help but feel that I was alone on this journey. The trip was shorter than I expected. It’s hard to describe the feeling of being unemployed. There’s a lot of waiting.
Blue line, Zongxiao Dunhua Station
Two years after New York, I now live in Taipei. I wake up ten pass six in the morning, fix myself a bowl of oatmeal with soy milk, prepare a sandwich for lunch, then set out for work. I need to take a ten-minute walk to the nearest subway station. Far Eastern Hospital, that’s my stop. I put a mask on my face when I hike pass the heavy traffic. The route I travel doesn’t seem designed with pedestrians in mind. But I’ve learned to dive my way through.
Students in uniforms, people, like me, who work in the city, are now my comrades of commuting. Some girls put on their make-ups on the train. Some doze when the doors open and shut. Having no time to read before bed, I read on the train. When the train passes Taipei Main Station, People get out and more people swarm in. When the train passes Zhongxiao Fuxing Station, another group of people changes hand and that’s my cue to get ready for the next stop.
I walk to the door before the train fully stops. I head to the west escalator while I push The New Yorker back to my bag. I take my glasses off and put them in my coat pocket. Before I reach the turnstile, I lift up and look at the clock. If it hits eight, then I’ll need to dance, fight my way through the crowd, the bunch of senile idiots, that is.
I look back at the going traffic as I walk out the subway. If the bus is already waiting for the traffic light, I’ll then need to break the dance into an action movie run. If I miss it, I’ll need to wait ten more.
I stand once I get on the bus, so that I won’t need to excuse myself all the way to the front when it nears my stop. There’s a young man selling rice balls outside the Taipei Academic stop. But I never had the chance to buy one from him. Occasionally I catch people stealing looks at me. But I am often too exhausted to imagine any possibility.
Radiohead is always a good choice. But sometimes, jazz, some other indie bands, a violin solo, or a little electra work out fine. The right pick of music is important. My iPod broke the other day on my way to work. When there’s no music, I didn’t feel like I was riding the bus anymore. I felt like I was simply trapped inside a buzzing metal cart along with dozens of other devastated souls. I never realized how quiet it is on a morning bus until I was forced to listen. Despite the silence, it’s utterly restless and disturbing. The next day, I got my iPod fixed. And put the headphone on as I walked down to the subway, if anything, with slightly more haste.
Taipei Metro Rapid Transit was first launched in March, 1986, two years after I was born. The first line covering only 10 kilometers opened in 1996. By the year 2000, it had served 40 billion passengers, and has now 9 lines with 94 stations. This chaotic period is marked as the dark age of Taipei traffic for while the subway was under construction, so did it block the ground traffic to car drivers, pedestrians and stand in the way between shop owners and shoppers. It’s no longer the only subway service in Taiwan. Kaohsiung has its scandalous 24-hour subway. And Taichung, as of this moment, is building one of its own. But even till now, Taipei MRT doesn’t run 24 hours a day. The service closes down after midnight, the last train gets their destination around 1 a.m., and doesn’t start after six the next morning. So make sure you keep your eyes on the clock when out partying, for not everyone can afford a magical carriage. Nevertheless, it’s the heart of Taipei metro life. You often see corporate workers with their passes and Easycards hanging on their necks, two things that mark their essential beings, a working professional and a MRT commuter. You can see pretty girls put their handbags before the sensor, two things at once, a Gucci bag and an subway pass with a pink hello kitty sticker on.
But despite all that. It could be depressing riding the train down the track, jammed or nearly empty around midnight approaching its last stop. It always makes me aware of the old clothes I wear, the dirty sneakers and cracking cowboy boots on my feet, my fluffy and unstyled hair, all of which I am usually proud of. It’s also depressing to see people try to be the same, to see people rush to get the free newspaper with the same headline, one sided stories and its worshipping of celebrities. The subway under florescent light, usually looks a pale blue, is like a stretched fashion runway, with fierce capitalism, superficiality but little understanding for vivid and colorful diversity. And I can’t help but feel, doomed, slowly, on my way to somewhere if only I knew.
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