This cabbie was quite a character; somehow we began talking Taiwanese politics. He began by espousing quick contempt for the KMT [which currently holds the presidency] and their ever-closer relationship with Mainland China. His comments about the PRC rang extreme to my ears; he claimed that after undergoing the Cultural Revolution Chinese people there lost both religion and ‘human heart/feeling’ (他們沒有人心). It’s hard to say how much of this he said just for my benefit and how much he would live-out were he to meet a Beijing citizen face-to-face. When asked about the Democratic People’s Party (DPP), he seemed less heated, but I think said they weren’t very effective.
In the span of ten minutes, he registered as a critic of the two party system on the island. For my part, I tend to think that Taiwan’s politics tend towards bitter bickering, not unlike things in the US, although infighting appears more blatant here. Legislators hold protests on the floor of the legislative chamber and (I’ve been told) brawls as well, that are ostensibly media stunts. Century-old biases infuse Taiwan’s politics, running back much longer than my grasp of the island’s history, but my colleagues have told me boxing politicians weakens the international image of Taiwanese democracy. I’ll make no more inflammatory comment than this at the present juncture, as it’s not my place to criticize the Taiwanese system.
The cab driver said he’d been driving for many years, and during that time has taken many KMT politicians as passengers.
The next two individuals were studies in solitude.
The first I met on the third floor of the World Trade Center Exhibition Hall. He sat down at the table across from me, his black hair graying at the tips and wearing a beige ‘PGA Tour’ jacket that reminded me strongly of my grandpa. “Where are you from,” he asked in accented English, but with perfect grammar.
We chatted: he’s a 57 year old Penn State graduate (PhD in some kind of energy-related engineering), retired and claims to be rather poor, still three years from claiming his pension. The number sixty felt very arbitrary to me just then. Mister Tsui came just to enjoy the air conditioning, a refugee of a wife who’s stingy with the cold air in their home.
Both in body language and words he exuded a calm excitement to speak with me. ‘My daughter doesn’t like talking with me,’ he grumbled, ‘neither does my son.’ At first I thought he meant they aren’t willing to speak English with him, but he clarified that they just don’t like talking with him.
I begged-off and headed to a meeting leaving him there to enjoy AC and retirement.
The second was a woman on the subway who got chatting with Yanisha. People love talking with Yanisha, she’s very charming from the get-go. This lady seemed about forty, and mentioned she’s Christian. She told of her time working in Sydney, Australia, and said she prefers there to Taipei. Just before Yanisha and I disembarked, we asked if she has a family. She answered, ‘no.’
I find myself reflecting and dwelling on these strangers.
The night wore on, and we passed through the night market and rode the high speed railway back to Kaohsiung. Midnight had passed and the last subway car with it. We called a cab.
It took me a minute to notice the mouth and eyes of the driver: he said he’s 43 but looked 60 in the passing lights. His teeth were stained red like a kid who’d eaten Kool-Aid powder straight from the packet, and his eyes sank deep into baggy wrinkles, about the same color as his mouth from bloodshot. Local men sometimes chew ‘beetle nut,’ which is mixed with some addictive chemicals… it’s equivalent to chewing tobacco and the cab driver said keeps him awake at the wheel. He gripped it lightly at times, both hands at 12 o’clock, allowing him to spit refuse into a cup and replace with fresh ‘nut.
We whipped through the near empty streets, blurring the neon reflections bouncing off the river. At a stoplight the driver crept past the law-abiding citizens waiting for the change, and apparently satisfied that the five-0 was scarce simply ran the light. Hoper’s Nighthawk would have suited this fellow nicely, though he’d look a bit underdressed.
He dropped me off near home; I forgot to get the #%** receipt for travel reimbursement.
