Sunday December 9, 2012

9:12 a.m. at the 7-11 on Zhongshan Road in Taipei

The big event for yesterday (Saturday) was a performance at the Experimental Theater. I went to see a play by Stan Lai called Bach Variations: Rebirth. I didn’t really know what it was when I bought the ticket, but I like Bach very much. I delayed my departure for the theater a little too long for some reason, and I had to rush to get there on time. I felt a bit dumb about that since I usually make such a big point about arriving early. It was also raining quite heavily and the winds were strong. I had to rush across the open square of the Chiang-Kai Shek Memorial with the wind blasting my umbrella back into my face. I was walking through deep puddles and very glad that I had finally purchased a new pair of shoes. Going through this very wet winter with my old shoes with all the holes would have been pretty ridiculous. I felt even dumber as I struggled through the wind and rain when I realized that I wasn’t even entirely sure that the performance was at the Experimental Theater. It might have been at the Recital Hall (in the National Concert Hall). I hadn’t really checked beforehand, and with only a couple of minutes to spare, I couldn’t afford to go to the wrong place. Luckily, I realized that I could figure this out by checking to see if my ticket had a reserved seat. If there was no reserved seat, then it was at the Experimental Theater. If it had a reserved seat number, then it was at the Recital Hall. I looked and saw no seat number. Phew!

I rushed up to the door of the Experimental Theater and handed over my ticket. Then I got into the elevator and went up to the third floor. I’d been to this theater a number of times, and this was all very familiar to me. However, when I stepped out of the elevator, I became disoriented. It was very dark up there, and I was confused about where to go. I started down a narrow and dark hallway, but then an usher called me back. She showed me with a flashlight the proper way to go. The reason for my confusion became apparent when I emerged into the theater itself. The seating had been rearranged completely. Instead of one large bank of seats facing a stage, there were two banks of seats, each on one side of a narrow stage running down the middle like a landing strip.

There were hardly any seats left, and I made my way to an empty block of seats at the far end on the top. I sat there and got comfortable. Then a young Taiwanese man sat down beside me. I started up a conversation and I found out that he was the director of the piece. He encouraged me strongly to move to a better seat – one that was more central. I resisted, but he insisted, and he even pointed out that there was one seat still empty right in the middle. It was even an aisle seat, which made it perfect for me. I gave in and moved to that seat, and I ended up being very glad that I did. The director was right, and I would have seen very little from my original seat. My new seat gave me a perfect view of the play.

The performance was a bit disappointing for me in that there was a lot more speaking and a lot less music than I expected. Since I don’t speak Chinese, I had no idea what anyone was saying. However, I still found a lot to enjoy. There were, I believe, 12 actors playing up to 42 different characters. These characters came onto the stage at one end of the long landing strip and made their way slowly to the far end interacting with other characters along the way. Once there, they would, presumably, make their way backstage to the starting point, change their costume and emerge as a different character and begin the long walk again. Characters not participating in the main scene or action would walk along in a stately and slow manner. They would continue to act – often facing audience members directly – but would do so in a very quiet and unobtrusive way. The characters who enjoyed the spotlight at any one time would move and speak at a normal pace. Occasionally, there would be a long set piece – more like a normal play or skit. One was a long scene with up to eight or nine characters meeting to have drinks at a bar. Another featured a fortuneteller scamming customers. There was a lot of humor in the skits, even though I didn’t get the jokes. As I told someone later, I felt a bit like Spock – I could identify all the emotions around me, but since I didn’t understand what people were saying, I couldn’t feel the emotions myself. I knew that something was funny based on how the lines were delivered and how everyone around me laughed. I had the knowledge about humor, but I wasn’t experiencing it myself as an emotion.

Honestly, I didn’t really mind not understanding the words of the play. I was thinking about this, and I realized that in many movies and books that I’ve enjoyed, I might quickly forget the plot. I don’t remember exactly what happened in this or that book or this or that movie from long ago. However, I do still remember the characters. They live on strongly in my mind. When I don’t understand the language at all – as in this case – I am transported instantly to that end state where I know nothing of the plot and focus entirely on the characters. And in this play, there were 42 characters to focus on. And their faces and voices were all very distinct and memorable. The women were almost all quite attractive and that added some interest to the night as well.

When the performance was over, I got into the MRT system and rode it down to Qhisang Station, where I transferred to the short branch line going to Xiaobitan Station. A coworker was leaving the company and leaving the country, and there was an informal going-away party at an all-you-can-eat-and-drink barbecue place there called Beer Frog B.B.Q or Wine Frog B.B.Q or Water Frog B.B.Q. I guess the name was different depending on which all-you-can-eat package you bought. This place had just about everything going against it for me. It was very far away. And on this cold and rainy night, it was a real chore to get there. I was very close to not bothering at all. I also have little use for all-you-can-eat places. I don’t eat that much, so it is never a good deal for me. I can’t drink that much, either. I also find the very concept somewhat offensive and crude. There is this inevitable atmosphere of cramming as much stuff into your gullet as possible so that you feel that you have gotten your money’s worth. People also try to double down on the most expensive items to get as much value for their money as possible. It feels wasteful and vulgar. Finally, I have little use for barbecue places. I don’t even cook at home, so why would I go to a restaurant where I have to cook my own food? I’m a far worse cook than any restaurant cook. I prefer to leave the cooking in the hands of experts.

I actually hadn’t eaten any dinner, so I could have taken advantage of the all-you-can-eat deal, but I wasn’t sure if there would still be food available. I wasn’t even sure that anyone would still be there. It was quite late by the time I got there after the play. So after I arrived at the Xiaobitan MRT station and started walking along the street, I popped into a 7-11 and got a couple of sandwiches. I wanted to sit down with a cup of coffee, in fact, and mull over the performance I’d just seen. But I soldiered on while munching on my sandwiches and eventually arrived at the Frog.

It was an interesting place – a vast place – a few dozen large tables grouped somewhat in the open air under a massive tent roof. I could see this place being crazy busy and somewhat fun in the summertime when it is warmer. On this rainy and cold Sunday night it was almost entirely empty. It was probably fuller earlier on, but this was already after 10 o’clock, and only two or three of the tables were occupied.

My coworkers were easy to spot sitting at a table near the entrance. There was a rush of confusion upon my entrance because it turned out that there was no option to just buy a beer and sit down – as I would have preferred to do. You had to go for the all-you-can-eat option or nothing. I took one look at the barbecue array on their table and mentally opted for the nothing option. I didn’t want to mess around with barbecuing shrimp or whatever else was on the menu. I chatted with folks for a while. The highlight for me was an impromptu joke-telling session. (“That’s not a hairy fish.”)

My goal was to just stay for a short while and be sure to catch the MRT home. I wasn’t thinking that clearly, though, and I didn’t actually hit the road until 11:50. I guess I had it in my mind that I still had plenty of time. I know the MRT in Taipei shuts down at midnight, but I keep getting trains at various stations long after midnight, so I wasn’t that worried about it. This time, though, I got caught. It turns out that the closing at midnight thing does apply to some MRT stations – the terminal stations, where the last train starts from – and Xiaobitan is a terminal station.

As I left the Frog, it occurred to me just how late it was, how miserable the weather was, and how far away I was from my home. I broke into a run and ran most of the way back to the MRT station. That wasn’t very easy as it turned out. My legs and feet very heavy and sluggish and I rumbled along like an overweight and aging hippo. Of course, I’m not hippoish at all right now. I’m a very thin – almost skeletal – 170 pounds. But when you never actually run in your day-to-day life, suddenly breaking into a run is a real shock to the body. I could feel my knees threatening to go on strike within the first few strides. My heart and lungs also began protesting within a very short time. I’m not a big believer in running as a form of exercise. I have this idea that it damages your joints needlessly. However, it might be a good idea to try to do some running from time to time just to keep in form and keep the joints and everything limbered up.

The not-so-surprising ending to this story is that I missed the last train. And I just missed it by a few seconds. The Xiaobitan Station is quite a large station and the distance from the entrance to the platform is very long. There is also some construction going on and while I was navigating the super-long escalators and making my way through endless twisting and turning tunnels, I heard the sound of an MRT train departing. That sound was the last train departing. When I got to the ticket area, I saw that all the green lights on the turnstiles had turned to red. Normally, the turnstiles are color-coded. Some of them are green to indicate that you go through them – whether you are entering or exiting. The ones lit up with a red X are for people going the other way. In this case, I was looking at a long row of bright red Xs. Sometimes there is an entirely separate bank of turnstiles for exiting or entering, but I didn’t see one. There was a man still in the ticket booth, and I knocked on the glass to get his attention. He, very apologetically, told me in English that the last train had just left. I was on my own.

When I was still at the Frog and saying my goodbyes, other people had said something about wanting to catch the last MRT train as well. And it was this general mood of departure that delayed me. It seemed that everyone was getting ready to go, and it felt weird to suddenly leave on my own. So I hung out. And then it was too late. Now that I was standing at the MRT station having missed the last train, I was kicking myself. It was going to be an expensive proposition for me to get home.

Well, I walked around until I found a bathroom and then walked onto the main street where I remembered seeing some taxis. Taipei is great for that – taxis everywhere and the taxi drivers are the best. I flagged down a brand new and very luxurious taxi and asked the driver if he could take me back to my neighborhood in downtown Taipei. I wasn’t entirely sure that taxi drivers wanted to go that far. He said okay, but he also said something about having to call his wife. He said something about going to Taoyuan since he was going all the way to my place. But he had to call his wife. He said, “A customer has to make money.” I have no idea what that meant, but I seemed to be on my way home. He indicated that he was going to turn right at the corner, which meant, I figured, that he was going to take the elevated highway along the river. He wanted to tell me that, I assume, because going at high speed costs more than going at city speed. If he went through the city, the fare might be lower for me. He was asking if it was okay with me that we take the highways. That was fine with me. I was all in favor of whatever got me home the fastest. I did get a bit worried along the way, though. Being dark and rainy and following these elevated highways, I was completely lost. I had no idea where we were and I could see nothing around me. For all I knew, he had misunderstood where I wanted to go and was taking me to Taoyuan. But he had said to me “The police station?” when I told him to take me to the corner of Nanjing and Zhongshan. And there is a large police station right on that corner. So he seemed to know exactly where I wanted to go.

We turned off the riverside highway onto a city street. Then we were suddenly up on an elevated highway again. I was really starting to wonder where we were. But then he turned left onto an exit ramp and we were right back in familiar territory and within a block or two we were at the corner of Jianguo and Nanjing. By taking me this route, we had gone a little out of our way, which would have increased the fare, but we had gotten there much, much faster. So I was happy. The meter was reading NT$320 and I had to pay the NT$20 late night fee. So it was an expensive proposition. It was about fourteen times more expensive than taking the MRT. All because I wasn’t thinking. Oh, well.

 

Tags: Experimental Theater, MRT, Taipei, train