It's been good to know you.
For the first time in a week there was no rain. This Sunday the sky was bright and cloudless, a really beautiful blue. As I woke up, I packed the last of my things so that I could catch the 9:10 train to Taipei.
It's possible my writing to the point hasn't probably recognized this, and I won't discount the optimism of retrospect, but in my final moments in Pingtung yesterday morning, I spent almost all of my time reflecting on what a wonderful gift it has been to spend the time I have in this city. Challenges of teaching aside, it has been an extraordinary month and a half. Challenges and frustrations of teaching included, it has been a profound period of personal growth as well.
One: Where do I begin?
Before I even arrived in Pingtung, I was warned by some of my Taiwanese-American relatives that the city was quite out of the way. If not the rural boonies, it might be the equivalent of a Scranton for Taiwan, albeit next to the Philadelphia-sized Kaohsiung. Even on such a small island as Taiwan, both cities are at the opposite end of the cultural and physical geography. So, from my first day, I was wondering a lot, "What will this place really be like?"
It turns out that my relatives' warnings were absolutely right in at least one regard -- in Pingtung, almost no one spoke English. For all of difficulties that this might have posed, it was paired with a really wonderful fact that everyone should know about southern Taiwan: people are incredibly friendly, kind, and really very patient. My Mandarin is far from perfect, but I found that people were always willing to spend an extra five to ten minutes with me to understand what I was trying to say. Not just friends and acquaintances, but even strangers were totally willing to really help me along.
This has been one of the best things from my experience here. My chinese has improved enormously, and even more importantly, I've had a real sense of being a guest, rather than a stranger, in this city. It makes all the difference.
Two: And so I teach.
Obviously, in terms of time, the biggest part of my trip has been teaching English. My job has been the centerpiece of my trip, and the daily anchor for my schedule and life. With a long break in the middle, my first class started at 10:00 and my last class ended at 8:00 or 9:00. So, I spent a lot of time with my students. They were a diverse bunch. The youngest were as little as 3 (and stumbled to calculate their age on their fingers when asked), and the oldest were sixth and seventh graders (who didn't like being asked anything, more or less, or talking to teachers). In the middle, there were students for every age group in between. All told, I taught 7 classes during the week, and including one on Saturday morning.
Even for just a month, that's a fair bit of time. Over the month and a half I was there, I formed some pretty strong connections with a few of the students. Between lecturing and boring classroom stuff, I also got the chance to play soccer, play coin-toss type games, and commit to more interesting activities like discussing superpowers or what their dream house might look like. Leaving suddenly, it feels quite jarring to abandon the daily ritual of class. I don't miss hounding students or getting on their case for not doing work, but I really miss the kids.
Having finished the work, I think I'm only just now starting to get a sense for the real nature of the work I was doing. The curriculum, for example, I can't say mattered very much. But there were a lot of small moments, which, stitched together, make me feel like I really did accomplish something during my time at Carrick's English school.
Three: The non-curricular curriculum. Games!
What were these, you ask? Sometimes, it meant acting out being old, tall, short, or pretty, and then getting the students to follow along. One day, the whole class pretty much looked like a comedia dell'arte troupe. Sometimes, it meant helping one student to really get a tricky set of sentences in their oral report. In the morning class, which was always the same group of students, I got a lot of time to work one on one with the kids. My favorite was the sneaky learning that goes on when students got to play games. Hang man of course, was present. But I also got to be really creative here, and invent or transform some existing games as I liked. They were definitely my favorite.
One game involved throwing a quarter (American) into a bullseye drawn onto the tile floor. This one was tough because the coin would bounce around all over the place if you threw it too high. If you threw it too low, often it would roll right past the bullseye altogether. When students made it in, they got to answer a question related to what we were studying, and win points for their team. This one was such a blast that I must have played it a dozen times. It often ended in really tight competitions between two groups. -- By the end of most games, even I forgot that what we were doing was a "productive" activity. We all just got lost in the game.
Another big hit was a game that I didn't discover until the last week of school, which was a pity because it was awesome. For this one, I drew a big snakes and ladders-style pathway on the board, filled with chutes to carry students ahead and ladders that made them fall back. The mechanic of moving forward was a little different for different level students, but basically, they would spell words using a set of Bananagrams (r), and then get to move their team's magnetic-piece forward depending on how long the word was. This one also ended with a lot of jaw-clenching close runs. Plus, you got to see pieces physically move, which was a great way to see progress.
There were other games that I tried, but the last really great game involved the same set of Bananagrams pieces, which turned out to be an incredible tool for teaching English to younger kids. In handling the pieces, it seemed, they got to have a different, much more tangible experience with language. In the hard plastic tiles, they got to hold, create, and tear apart words at will, learning what did and didn't work to create sounds and words. I usually played another spelling-type game here, sometimes cooperative and sometimes competitive. But honestly, with this, it was the simple pleasure of watching kids tear into a pile of letters that was best. The pieces would scatter all over the floor. It was pretty awesome to watch. Who knew that this would be head and shoulders more popular than battleship?
Four: On my own.
As I've mentioned before, one of the most striking things about this summer was that I was working largely without supervision or guidance from above. My host, Andrew Carrick, left early in the summer, leaving me in charge of his curricular classes and to teach the "report" class summer program. Needless to say, it was a bit unnerving to have as much freedom as this gave me. I will admit though, that having that freedom really pushed my own boundaries in ways that forced me to adapt and learn. The alternative being, of course, to sink.
It was pretty cool to feel the classes shift from unproductive to humming along as I found what worked. The games were great discoveries. I also loved the sense that whatever success I found was largely connected to approaches and methods that I myself was able to find. Of course, when classes failed as well, I knew that was also basically influenced by my inexperience. The sense of accountability, not so much to the school, which gave me a great deal of slack, but accountability to the students themselves was really incredible. In the end, it proved to be a really strong motivator for me to connect with the students and with the work that I was putting into the classroom. I don't know what the summer would have been like without this independence, but I do know that the freedom that was utterly shaped the experience I found.
Until next time,
Traveling onward,
-Eli
Lanterns of Kaohsiung
Pulling the "Chinese Lantern" trick. To give my blog that authentic foreign feel! But seriously, these were really pretty. From Kaohsiung.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
The Straw and The Camel
I woke up this morning with a stomach ache. On my way to work, I found at that my usual route was closed off for construction. Then, in my morning class, only a third of the students did their homework. Sometimes, trouble comes in small doses, but my how they can add up! One of the things I've been noticing this week is how, in a foreign country, every small mishaps seems to have a way of ballooning outward and having an exaggerated impact on one's life.
My small stomach pain, for example, is complicated by the difficulty of finding familiar, plain, and digestively non-threatening breakfast foods. On my bike ride, I ran into a series of cones and a big ole sign smack dab in the middle of (I thought) the only road out of our micro-neighborhood. I figured the message was important, yet felt how limited my understanding can be when I'm functionally illiterate. Even with the children in class, as a cultural question it can be a difficult matter to know the proper balance between discipline and laxity. Too far one way, I fail to motivate my students and fail to control the class. Too far the other, and I risk pushing the upsetting the students, the school, and my own self. The question of where the boundary is, metaphorically (as with teaching) and physically (as with the construction) has proven to be a major theme of my travel. It's just so easy to miss the mark!
Of course, such boundaries are often hard to read even in our own homes, so part of the experience is just a heightened sense of what already goes on everyday--the navigation of indeterminate social and physical relationships with the world around us. Yet, I am definitely feeling a renewed appreciation for my firm understanding of American cultural norms. Reliability is great!
On another note, this weekend I've been invited to travel to a scenic area for a few days in the mountains of central Taiwan. From everything I hear, this place is very beautiful. I've been looking forward to seeing more of the mountains for some time. I promise to write some more positive reflections next time! With fuel like beauty, it shouldn't be hard.
All the best,
-Eli
A shot of Pingtung from outside my window.
My small stomach pain, for example, is complicated by the difficulty of finding familiar, plain, and digestively non-threatening breakfast foods. On my bike ride, I ran into a series of cones and a big ole sign smack dab in the middle of (I thought) the only road out of our micro-neighborhood. I figured the message was important, yet felt how limited my understanding can be when I'm functionally illiterate. Even with the children in class, as a cultural question it can be a difficult matter to know the proper balance between discipline and laxity. Too far one way, I fail to motivate my students and fail to control the class. Too far the other, and I risk pushing the upsetting the students, the school, and my own self. The question of where the boundary is, metaphorically (as with teaching) and physically (as with the construction) has proven to be a major theme of my travel. It's just so easy to miss the mark!
Of course, such boundaries are often hard to read even in our own homes, so part of the experience is just a heightened sense of what already goes on everyday--the navigation of indeterminate social and physical relationships with the world around us. Yet, I am definitely feeling a renewed appreciation for my firm understanding of American cultural norms. Reliability is great!
On another note, this weekend I've been invited to travel to a scenic area for a few days in the mountains of central Taiwan. From everything I hear, this place is very beautiful. I've been looking forward to seeing more of the mountains for some time. I promise to write some more positive reflections next time! With fuel like beauty, it shouldn't be hard.
All the best,
-Eli
A shot of Pingtung from outside my window.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Family Ties
On the other side of the world...
My trip to Taiwan this summer has many reasons behind it. As a Chinese minor, pragmatically, I know that there is no better way to learn a language than to immerse oneself within a language community. Coming to Taiwan, and particularly to the relatively smaller town of Pingtung, has provided the best sort of experience of this kind. Last year, as well, I found that teaching English was a really rewarding experience. Given the opportunity to repeat this work, I felt compelled to come. In short, the opportunity for a unique language and work experience have been at the forefront of my thinking about this trip since the beginning. However, these were never the only motivating factors.
For as long as I can remember, I have known that my uncle Ben was Taiwanese, but for most of my life this had little bearing on my relationship with him. When I was young, for example, this information was filed away in the category of factoids, along with the knowledge that one uncle liked to work with computers, or that another lived on a farm.
As I began to consider studying Mandarin Chinese, though, this aspect of my uncle's life took on new significance. At least part of my decision to pursue the language was due to growing up with an internationally inflected extended family. Yet, despite this, I never knew my Uncle's extended family well, and rarely met them. It is worth noting, too, that his family speaks primarily the Taiwanese dialect of Chinese, not Mandarin. Although the older generation learned Mandarin under Guomindang rule of Taiwan after World War II, my uncle's generation emigrated at a young enough age that Mandarin, also variously known as "Guoyu" (the national language), "Putonghua" (the common dialect), or "Beijinghua" (Beijing dialect), was not a language that ever much influenced their lives. This meaning, of course, that linguistically at least, my Chinese education did linguistically connect me to my uncle's family.
Culture, though, is another matter. In three years of studying Chinese I have been impressed by how textbook knowledge of a language is entirely distinct from experiential cultural knowledge. Understanding of the consensuses that drive social norms, the milieu in a regional community, or the daily breathed rhythms of thought and life are a different matter altogether. Last summer, especially, I found what an expansive sense of culture shock one encounters in stepping into a new region, even after years of study. This is obvious to anyone who has travelled to a country where they speak another language. Still, the combined influence of so many day-to-day "culture surprises" (the repeated experience of: "Oh, you find that offensive? I see...") had the effect on me of alienating my own knowledge of Chinese from my sense of myself as a social person. Again, culture shock maybe common phenomenon, but to feel it in connection with one's own chosen direction is at the very least a little disconcerting.
Condundrum. But of course the solution is one that has been near to me all along. Against the background of this experience, only this year did it finally dawn on me that my own family, with extended relatives living on either side of the Pacific, might be able to help me to ease this conflict between knowledge and life. Despite some apprehension about reaching out to distant family members I had never met, my experience that followed has been a deeply fulfilling connection with a side of my family that had until now been strangers.
The organization of the trip itself has been entirely dependent on the goodwill and generosity of my Taiwanese family. My position helping at the Carrick's English school was the direct result of a recommendation from my uncle (to stretch the term, he is my uncle's uncle) Ray. In the final leg of my trip, I will be staying in Taipei, with the great fortune of a roof over my head due to the kindness of another relative, my uncle Tom (also my uncle's uncle**).
Even more than this sort of logistical aid, though, I have been overwhelmed by the sense of truly being welcomed into Taiwan. Last year, I was greeted at the Nanjing airport by an organizational representative, a wonderful help and great kindness which nonetheless constitute any kind of intimate connection. This June, on the other hand, I arrived in Taipei to be greeted by uncle Tom, who came on his own to pick me up. After one feast that first night, a trip around Taipei with distant cousins, and a truly outstanding connection with uncle Ray in nearby Kaohsiung, I feel almost overwhelmed by the show of support I have found. Since then, I have felt completely uplifted by the helping hands and homes of family members whose kindness has really been the greatest gift, even more than the professional and language experience, this summer has yet had to offer.
Wishing you all the best,
-Eli
**If anyone can tell me the precise English term for this relationship, I would be very appreciative!
My trip to Taiwan this summer has many reasons behind it. As a Chinese minor, pragmatically, I know that there is no better way to learn a language than to immerse oneself within a language community. Coming to Taiwan, and particularly to the relatively smaller town of Pingtung, has provided the best sort of experience of this kind. Last year, as well, I found that teaching English was a really rewarding experience. Given the opportunity to repeat this work, I felt compelled to come. In short, the opportunity for a unique language and work experience have been at the forefront of my thinking about this trip since the beginning. However, these were never the only motivating factors.
For as long as I can remember, I have known that my uncle Ben was Taiwanese, but for most of my life this had little bearing on my relationship with him. When I was young, for example, this information was filed away in the category of factoids, along with the knowledge that one uncle liked to work with computers, or that another lived on a farm.
As I began to consider studying Mandarin Chinese, though, this aspect of my uncle's life took on new significance. At least part of my decision to pursue the language was due to growing up with an internationally inflected extended family. Yet, despite this, I never knew my Uncle's extended family well, and rarely met them. It is worth noting, too, that his family speaks primarily the Taiwanese dialect of Chinese, not Mandarin. Although the older generation learned Mandarin under Guomindang rule of Taiwan after World War II, my uncle's generation emigrated at a young enough age that Mandarin, also variously known as "Guoyu" (the national language), "Putonghua" (the common dialect), or "Beijinghua" (Beijing dialect), was not a language that ever much influenced their lives. This meaning, of course, that linguistically at least, my Chinese education did linguistically connect me to my uncle's family.
Culture, though, is another matter. In three years of studying Chinese I have been impressed by how textbook knowledge of a language is entirely distinct from experiential cultural knowledge. Understanding of the consensuses that drive social norms, the milieu in a regional community, or the daily breathed rhythms of thought and life are a different matter altogether. Last summer, especially, I found what an expansive sense of culture shock one encounters in stepping into a new region, even after years of study. This is obvious to anyone who has travelled to a country where they speak another language. Still, the combined influence of so many day-to-day "culture surprises" (the repeated experience of: "Oh, you find that offensive? I see...") had the effect on me of alienating my own knowledge of Chinese from my sense of myself as a social person. Again, culture shock maybe common phenomenon, but to feel it in connection with one's own chosen direction is at the very least a little disconcerting.
Condundrum. But of course the solution is one that has been near to me all along. Against the background of this experience, only this year did it finally dawn on me that my own family, with extended relatives living on either side of the Pacific, might be able to help me to ease this conflict between knowledge and life. Despite some apprehension about reaching out to distant family members I had never met, my experience that followed has been a deeply fulfilling connection with a side of my family that had until now been strangers.
The organization of the trip itself has been entirely dependent on the goodwill and generosity of my Taiwanese family. My position helping at the Carrick's English school was the direct result of a recommendation from my uncle (to stretch the term, he is my uncle's uncle) Ray. In the final leg of my trip, I will be staying in Taipei, with the great fortune of a roof over my head due to the kindness of another relative, my uncle Tom (also my uncle's uncle**).
Even more than this sort of logistical aid, though, I have been overwhelmed by the sense of truly being welcomed into Taiwan. Last year, I was greeted at the Nanjing airport by an organizational representative, a wonderful help and great kindness which nonetheless constitute any kind of intimate connection. This June, on the other hand, I arrived in Taipei to be greeted by uncle Tom, who came on his own to pick me up. After one feast that first night, a trip around Taipei with distant cousins, and a truly outstanding connection with uncle Ray in nearby Kaohsiung, I feel almost overwhelmed by the show of support I have found. Since then, I have felt completely uplifted by the helping hands and homes of family members whose kindness has really been the greatest gift, even more than the professional and language experience, this summer has yet had to offer.
Wishing you all the best,
-Eli
**If anyone can tell me the precise English term for this relationship, I would be very appreciative!
Monday, July 5, 2010
In the Thick of It
Hello friends,
At this point, I've been in Taiwan for close to two weeks, and in Pingtung for two weeks. Over that period I've been plenty busy, adjusting to life in Taiwan, adjusting to life in Pingtung, and adjusting to my position teaching at a school owned by my host, Andrew Carrick. The period has been a wild mix of bracing acceleration punctuated by open spaces of empty "down time." My brain, ears, and stomach have been busy reorienting themselves to a new social and physical environment, with a different cityscape, different food, and different language. For all of these reasons, the trip so far has been a little rocky. It is important to emphasize, however, that it has not been bad--each success I reach is all the more fulfilling because the road is rough.
Since my arrival, working at Carrick's English School has captured most of my time and attention. The school itself is a good example of cultural difference between Taiwan and the USA. As a "Bushiban" or "Cram School," the English school is not any sort of standard elementary, middle, or high school. Rather, it is akin to an after school program. After students have finished their normal school day (which runs until about 5:00), their parents will enroll them into a "Bushiban" program such as Carrick's, where they will stay to learn English until sometime between 8-9:00pm. By the time I'm done with them, these kids are really exhausted.
From my own end, teaching has proven to be quite challenging. Last summer, too, I was teaching English. The experience was really exciting, felt like a success, with the one caveat that my Chinese was not yet very conversationally communicative. This summer, coming to Pingtung, I was looking forward to using much better Chinese to communicate with a new batch of kids. What I didn't count on was that the school, Carrick's Bushiban, requires that teachers speak no Chinese in the classroom. This, has been a challenge. Lately, I've been finding that I am naturally loquacious, and not given to the simple, direct, easy speech that is necessary to the classroom, especially with young children. This has led to a lot of misunderstanding, which is currently my biggest frustration with teaching, the counterbalance to having my job, essentially, being to make kids laugh.
------------------------------
When not spending time at the school, I've spent much of my free time exploring the immediate area. Pingtung, the city where I am staying is not too big, boasting only about 100,000 residents or so. It has a very local-town feel. It is adjacent, however, to Kaohsiung, which is the second largest city on the island of Taiwan, following only Taipei. Kaohsiung has a fascinating history. Founded in the 17th century by the earliest immigrants from China, the city grew into an important industrial base and shipping center under the Japanese colonization from 1895 up until the end of World War II in 1945. Kaohsiung's mixed legacy from the Japanese rule, having experienced both colonial repression and significant investment in the form of colonial development, matches the experience of much of the island to Japan's presence during the war. In comparison to the heavy prices exacted against the populations in Korea, Manchuria, and the Chinese heartland, Japanese rule in Taiwan was much less harsh. In the case of Kaohsiung, investment during the war did much to position it to become one of the largest commercial harbors in the world in the second half of the 20th century. It is still up there, following below only the likes of Singapore, Shanghai, Rotterdam (Dutch), and Guangzhou (Southern China). In the last few years, the city has also begun to grow not only in industrial and commercial capacity, but also as a metropolitan, livable city. Perhaps 1.5 million people live within the city limits, and maybe 3 million in the wider metropolitan area (including Pingtung!). (Thanks to Wikipedia, Lonelyplanet.com, and my hosts for the history).
So it's an interesting place to be next to. Perhaps surprisingly, Pingtung doesn't feel entirely overshadowed by its larger neighbor. Sure, people travel to the larger city whenever they want to do serious shopping, but Pingtung still has a strong sense of regional identity. Much of this comes, it seems, from Pingtung's position--a space between the mega metropolis and the rural countryside leading up into the mountains. It is a mere 20 minutes in either direction to international shopping malls in Kaohsiung or to the territories reserved for native (non-Han Chinese) Taiwanese villages in the nearby mountains.
So far, as part of my busy schedule, I've had a chance to visit both Kaohsiung (see the pictures of the beach below) and the native-Taiwanese village of Sandimen (lit: Three Gates) at the edge of the mountains (see the picture of the mountains). Both were rich visits fully worthy of their own independent posts, but for the moment I leave you with a few pictures of the surrounding world around the Pingtung region.
Until next time,
-Eli
My hosts (Andrew and Julia Carrick)
The beach by Kaohsiung
Lanterns by a restaurant where we ate in Kaohsiung
A view from Sandimen
Morris (a student) and me!
At this point, I've been in Taiwan for close to two weeks, and in Pingtung for two weeks. Over that period I've been plenty busy, adjusting to life in Taiwan, adjusting to life in Pingtung, and adjusting to my position teaching at a school owned by my host, Andrew Carrick. The period has been a wild mix of bracing acceleration punctuated by open spaces of empty "down time." My brain, ears, and stomach have been busy reorienting themselves to a new social and physical environment, with a different cityscape, different food, and different language. For all of these reasons, the trip so far has been a little rocky. It is important to emphasize, however, that it has not been bad--each success I reach is all the more fulfilling because the road is rough.
Since my arrival, working at Carrick's English School has captured most of my time and attention. The school itself is a good example of cultural difference between Taiwan and the USA. As a "Bushiban" or "Cram School," the English school is not any sort of standard elementary, middle, or high school. Rather, it is akin to an after school program. After students have finished their normal school day (which runs until about 5:00), their parents will enroll them into a "Bushiban" program such as Carrick's, where they will stay to learn English until sometime between 8-9:00pm. By the time I'm done with them, these kids are really exhausted.
From my own end, teaching has proven to be quite challenging. Last summer, too, I was teaching English. The experience was really exciting, felt like a success, with the one caveat that my Chinese was not yet very conversationally communicative. This summer, coming to Pingtung, I was looking forward to using much better Chinese to communicate with a new batch of kids. What I didn't count on was that the school, Carrick's Bushiban, requires that teachers speak no Chinese in the classroom. This, has been a challenge. Lately, I've been finding that I am naturally loquacious, and not given to the simple, direct, easy speech that is necessary to the classroom, especially with young children. This has led to a lot of misunderstanding, which is currently my biggest frustration with teaching, the counterbalance to having my job, essentially, being to make kids laugh.
------------------------------
When not spending time at the school, I've spent much of my free time exploring the immediate area. Pingtung, the city where I am staying is not too big, boasting only about 100,000 residents or so. It has a very local-town feel. It is adjacent, however, to Kaohsiung, which is the second largest city on the island of Taiwan, following only Taipei. Kaohsiung has a fascinating history. Founded in the 17th century by the earliest immigrants from China, the city grew into an important industrial base and shipping center under the Japanese colonization from 1895 up until the end of World War II in 1945. Kaohsiung's mixed legacy from the Japanese rule, having experienced both colonial repression and significant investment in the form of colonial development, matches the experience of much of the island to Japan's presence during the war. In comparison to the heavy prices exacted against the populations in Korea, Manchuria, and the Chinese heartland, Japanese rule in Taiwan was much less harsh. In the case of Kaohsiung, investment during the war did much to position it to become one of the largest commercial harbors in the world in the second half of the 20th century. It is still up there, following below only the likes of Singapore, Shanghai, Rotterdam (Dutch), and Guangzhou (Southern China). In the last few years, the city has also begun to grow not only in industrial and commercial capacity, but also as a metropolitan, livable city. Perhaps 1.5 million people live within the city limits, and maybe 3 million in the wider metropolitan area (including Pingtung!). (Thanks to Wikipedia, Lonelyplanet.com, and my hosts for the history).
So it's an interesting place to be next to. Perhaps surprisingly, Pingtung doesn't feel entirely overshadowed by its larger neighbor. Sure, people travel to the larger city whenever they want to do serious shopping, but Pingtung still has a strong sense of regional identity. Much of this comes, it seems, from Pingtung's position--a space between the mega metropolis and the rural countryside leading up into the mountains. It is a mere 20 minutes in either direction to international shopping malls in Kaohsiung or to the territories reserved for native (non-Han Chinese) Taiwanese villages in the nearby mountains.
So far, as part of my busy schedule, I've had a chance to visit both Kaohsiung (see the pictures of the beach below) and the native-Taiwanese village of Sandimen (lit: Three Gates) at the edge of the mountains (see the picture of the mountains). Both were rich visits fully worthy of their own independent posts, but for the moment I leave you with a few pictures of the surrounding world around the Pingtung region.
Until next time,
-Eli
My hosts (Andrew and Julia Carrick)
The beach by Kaohsiung
Lanterns by a restaurant where we ate in Kaohsiung
A view from Sandimen
Morris (a student) and me!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Landing in Taipei, Moving South.
As I write this, I am traveling on a southbound train from metropolitan Taipei to the small town of Pingtung, Taiwan. Already I have discovered how much rain Taiwan gets this time of year. Right now we are approaching the beginning of the Typhoon season. The very name comes from the Chinese "tai-feng," and uses the same "tai" as the name for Taiwan. It's tropical, warm, and wet. Coming from southern California, where I have been staying these past two weeks, the different weather is an abrupt change for me.
I just arrived yesterday. Although my time in Taiwan is just beginning, my trip has already been enriched by the two weeks I spent in Pasadena. There, I stayed with my uncle, a sociology professor at nearby Occidental college, studying historic and modern transnationalism between China and the United States--the movement of people and money across national boundaries and the ties that bind people together across borders. One way to think of transnational studies is as the human side of globalization--how lives and relationships stretch across geography. It's been a rich period of study, and given me a lot to think about as I am now embarking on my own transnational journey.
Yesterday morning I was welcomed by a Taiwanese relative of mine who lives half of the year in Taiwan, half in California. I spent the day exploring Taipei with his sons and another cousin, each born and raised in America. Exploring the city together exposed many of the surprises or contradictions inherent in globe-spanning communities. Walking around, we saw the same global luxury brands that one sees in New York, Boston, and the King of Prussia mall outside of Philadelphia. Dior, DeBeers, Calvin Klein, each of these brands are the same that I also saw last year during my time in Nanjing and Shanghai. In Taipei at least, the effects of globalization are ubiquitous and dominate the visual field of the cityscape.
As my train keeps riding further, I wonder what Pingtung will be like. Already, my relatives have described the town as much more easygoing, laid back, and provincial. How it compares to the skyscrapers of the north will remain to be seen. When I find out, I'll write more.
Until next time,
-Eli
I just arrived yesterday. Although my time in Taiwan is just beginning, my trip has already been enriched by the two weeks I spent in Pasadena. There, I stayed with my uncle, a sociology professor at nearby Occidental college, studying historic and modern transnationalism between China and the United States--the movement of people and money across national boundaries and the ties that bind people together across borders. One way to think of transnational studies is as the human side of globalization--how lives and relationships stretch across geography. It's been a rich period of study, and given me a lot to think about as I am now embarking on my own transnational journey.
Yesterday morning I was welcomed by a Taiwanese relative of mine who lives half of the year in Taiwan, half in California. I spent the day exploring Taipei with his sons and another cousin, each born and raised in America. Exploring the city together exposed many of the surprises or contradictions inherent in globe-spanning communities. Walking around, we saw the same global luxury brands that one sees in New York, Boston, and the King of Prussia mall outside of Philadelphia. Dior, DeBeers, Calvin Klein, each of these brands are the same that I also saw last year during my time in Nanjing and Shanghai. In Taipei at least, the effects of globalization are ubiquitous and dominate the visual field of the cityscape.
As my train keeps riding further, I wonder what Pingtung will be like. Already, my relatives have described the town as much more easygoing, laid back, and provincial. How it compares to the skyscrapers of the north will remain to be seen. When I find out, I'll write more.
Until next time,
-Eli
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