This's, I think, the most homesick I've ever felt since I was about four and first stayed away from home and the familiar. It's kinda like I've begun to feel the 16,000 miles between where I am and what's familiar.
But it's not a real acute homesickness, it's like a faint nagging that something's not right.
I was just talking to my brother, Neil, and he was kinda agreeing that it comes in waves. It might never go away, or there might be a lightbulb moment and suddenly everything's okay.
I've noticed that I'm currently struggling with a little claustrophobia and the unexpected nature of this culture. In Taipei there's almost never a building less that three stories, most of them have more, so any view of the sky is pretty abbreviated.
I remember thinking in the States, in moments of panic about moving around the world, the other side of the world will still have blue sky and sun. And that helped, but I get here, and they don't have as much sky as I was expecting and, indeed, counting on. So that's new, different, and a little hard to live with.
The Chinese-Taiwanese culture also seems to run in nearly direct opposition to my American timing. Where I'm expecting people to be fast, like in the subway, people seem, frequently, almost indifferent to getting anywhere. There also isn't quite the reluctance to bump into people, here. So if I'm not in a hurry, it seems like everyone else is 'cause I keep getting these little pushes.
It does make for a sudden camaraderie with my brother. It hadn't occurred to me before but, now, with a few months in a really foreign country, instead of Canada, I understand my brother's time in Russia a lot better. We can talk in more depth about both our experiences.
But right now I'm wondering about this feeling that I'm just not cut out to be a world traveler. I like being a world tourist, but spending many months here, it feels a little like the wonder has worn thin, and I'm just treading water, waiting for the next change to come along. Which's why it was good to talk with Neil about this, 'cause he pointed out that it can take some time for the out-of-place-ness to fade.
Or, Marie and I've wondered if it's more a matter of being in such a different place. Here, we're still even functionally illiterate. In Europe, we'd learn the written and spoken language almost simultaneously. But the written language, here, is so far from English that it's a completely separate project to learn to read much of anything.
The interesting thing, now, is that much of our lives is familar, and becoming boring, and I think that's why I'm struggling more. Without the wonder that usually offsets the frustration, the daily work is just annoying.
I noticed that when we went to the Lantern Festival in Pingsi (Ping-see) the other weekend, it actually made the rest of the boredom more bearable. So in a fit of irony, it seems the way to prevent feeling out-of-place, frustrated, and culture-shocked in a still relatively new country is to continually find new and different places and experiences.
Yes, I lied, there are photos.
This's Fay. You've met her before. She's organized several outtings we've been on. She called us around 2:00 on Sunday to ask if we wanted to go to Pingsi to see the Lantern Festival. Marie and I'd talked about going, but we'd need to figure out the other train system here.
The metro is pretty user-friendly and intuitive. The inter-city system is less so. So we were pretty happy when Fay said she wanted to go, 'cause she's native and knows the system and the language.
The funny part is the trains are like Amtrak. They have the big seats but they don't assign seats, necessarily, and they overbook. So for a couple of stops we, and many other people, would just stand around in the isles like it was the metro.
The other amazing thing was how long we were underground. There is a complete second set of tunnels for these trains, separate from the metro. The tunnels here would make an ant colony simple by comparison.
I'll appologize now for all the shots out the window. Mostly, I'd forgotten about greenery and not seeing buildings ALL the time.
There were some neat buildings, but I liked that they were in the distance, for once.
In this case, I was amazed we'd fly past this temple-like place at, like, sixty m.p.h. Or maybe, even after months here, I'm amazed they build things so close to roads and tracks.
I think the only disappointment was that it was so overcast and misty. I liked it too, but sunny would've been interesting.
This illustrates the thing I still don't get. Middle of, basically, nowhere. They build this mid-rise apartment complex. How unexpected.
So when we arrived, it was dark. We waited a long time in Rueyfang to change trains. Then the spur to Pingsi was really slow. But the first thing was this sight of these tiny lights in the sky over the city.
Of course, this doesn't illustrate it very well, but it's the best I have. The really amazing thing is to know that each little point of light is actually a small hot-air balloon the size of a mailbox. And very quickly, they go...
from this...
to this...
to this. It was really amazing. And there are another twenty lanterns that the camera couldn't pick up, so maybe 40 or 50 total, but there was a steady stream all night. But on Saturday (day before we came) and Monday (day after), which are the big days for reasons I don't have, the local government pays to send up like 2,000. So we didn't get to see the big event, but at the same time it was fun to see what people just want to do. Maybe a little like seeing backyard fireworks versus some corporate sponsored project.
Marie mentioned that frequently, when you go to do something, or see something, the actual event isn't the most fun, amazing, interesting thing. But it was like seeing real and really big fireworks for the first time. The lanterns were the most interesting, fun, and, amazing part of the trip, tho' the grilled Chinese hot dogs on a stick were pretty dang good.
Pingsi seems like a pretty small, and relatively boring, town; but for a couple of weeks a year, every shop is selling these lanterns.
They're so into this and it's such a part of the local culture that their storm drains have lanterns on them. You can faintly see the train and the mountains, and the holes are depictions of lanterns.
This's what they look like before they're blown up.
Then you write wishes, like New Year's resolutions, but bigger, and more hopeful and expectant than just "I'll lose ten pounds," on them.
Then they attach these lighter fluid-soaked papers to the base. They are real hot-air balloons.
Then you light the thing and the lantern fills almost instantly with hot air. And I mean hot, you almost can't keep your hands on the thing for long. They're a combination of crepe paper and plastic, so they're not as slick as the rain gear Marie and Fay are wearing, but they're not prone to falling apart in the rain.
Then you let it go and it runs into a telephone wire and burns up until it falls to the ground.
It's not a good way to feel like you've sent your wishes on their way, so you go back, buy another and try again. The second one made it.
Sorry about the spots in the photo. It was raining. More thanks to Karl, this camera works in all kinds of weather and conditions.
You know you've arrived in a place when you can set out for a place far from home, like Pingsi, like Fay, Marie, and I did, and run into someone you know from back in Taipei. Cyndy (in black) came out with a bunch of people from her school.
Going home was much easier, a classic case, I suppose, of knowing where we're going and how long it would take. We even got good seats on the train. And tho' it was pleasant to watch the lights of the countryside roll past, we were amused by the curtains.
I mean, are these the curtains of a professionally run transportation company? Marie mentioned, "well, at least they're all the same." Yeah, in this car. Maybe we're getting cynical about how things are run here.
Anyway, it was a lot of fun. We got home about 10:00 or 11:00, but I don't think we were really exhausted. It was a really good way to shake off some of the culture-shock blues.
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