Tales from Taiwan: Transportation

Offering a "Here's our Family Vacation to Taiwan" blog gives me the willies: it feels too much like my grandparents' dark-basement vacation slide shows. (For us kids, the moments of interest mostly came from the animated cussing at the slide projector.)  So I'd like to avoid the "itinerary + photos" approach to vacation memoirs and use a Whole New Exciting Approach.

Which I will dream up at any moment.

But while I'm dreaming and you're still reading, let's start with a couple of Taiwan subway stories.

The Taipei MRT map.  Our hotel was on the Yellow #4b line (St. Ignatius Station)
and we also used the Red #2 line quite a bit.

I quickly fell in love with the MRT in Taipei (bonus points if you already knew that was Taiwan's capital city): it's very clean, fast, safe, and the map is particularly well-labeled in Chinese and English. The station names are VERY practical, based mostly on the biggest attraction nearby, such as a high school, the zoo, or a museum.  Chicago could definitely learn a few things from these folks.

David was The Great White Subway Master. 

The MRT rules were also clearly stated in Chinese and English and they certainly explained why the stations and trains were so clean: no food, no drinking, and no gum allowed.  As Elisabeth discovered, the rules were also enforced (she got caught chewing gum and had to spit it out).

Three of these four rules make good sense.  But one was a mystery given that Taipei is about the size of Chicago and not some rural village overrun with, say, chickens.

I also admired the MRT's electronic card system (yeah, I know, it's probably old technology, but it was new to me--Chicago's system still used dime-sized tokens when we lived there and Sioux Center, Iowa certainly doesn't have a public transportation system). Anyway, our 5-day, credit-card-sized MRT passes fit nicely in one's pocket, allowing us to easily wave them over the turnstile scanners instead of fumbling for money or tokens on each trip. Smooth and simple; even little kids could do it.  Except one time it didn't work for me.  I waved and waved again while a loud buzzer sounded, the turnstile didn't open, and a guard came rushing over, waving me toward the Information Booth. I shamefully reported, my family watching from the other side of the turnstiles, wondering what I had done to warrant such attention.  Booth Guy informed me that one's hotel keycard, which was still in my hand, was not a subway pass. Oh. Oops. I suppose I should not resent that the guard and booth guy had a loud laugh together as I slunk away.

The very best part of riding the subway, of course, is watching people. Happily, Taiwanese folks appear to be somewhat less addicted to smartphones than Koreans and Americans; I even saw some people just sitting (sitting!). Most of the people are ethnic Chinese; we saw some other flavors of Asian and a very few white people.  Most folks were dressed for winter, including puffy coats and gloves, while we were thrilled with the warm weather (high 60s F; low 20s C) and could barely keep the kids from wearing shorts. (And we native-mid-west Americans would whisper "It's JANUARY!!" and do a happy dance.)

Look!  People were reading, sleeping, and...other things.
I liked that there were no doors between cars on one subway line  so we could see nearly to the ends of the train.

And while we're on a subway story roll now, I shall relate another.  Nick is relatively tall in the US, but in Taiwan he's a virtual freak of nature.  After a few days, he argued that he was the tallest man in Taiwan as he had to consistently ducking through doorways and under the subway’s silver grab rails.  

Feeling especially perky one day, I challenged a potential rival, a tall white male sitting obliviously across the aisle from Nick.

I asked him, "How tall are you?  My husband thinks he’s the biggest in the land, but you might beat him."  I gestured across the aisle to Nick.
"Naw," laughed the man.  "I’m tall, but he wins."

And...cue another happy dance.


Ok, just one more subway story, I promise.  On one ride, Nick discreetly pointed out a Chinese man standing near me.  Puzzled about what had attracted Nick's attention, I looked a few times before I saw it. I mean, IT.  This man had a prominent mole on his chin, about an inch off center.  Which would certainly be tolerable, except that said mole had hair growing from it, and not just one or two little sprouts that missed this morning's grooming routine. No, indeed: it boasted at least 15 hairs, 3 or 4 inches long, that had been apparently coached and waxed into an off-center goatee.  His little kid didn't even seem to notice this monstrosity while I couldn't stop staring in fascinated horror (praise me though for not whipping out my camera).  Oooh boy.  It'll be hard to forget Mr. Mole Beard.

And oh! Will you look at the time: no slide show needed today after all.  :)