8/28/10 Shilin Night Market

We made a brief stop at “Alleycats”, a blues bar with live music (that night featured a South African blues singer who sounded like he came from the American South).  Then, with a sufficient dose of liquid courage we departed for Taipei’s largest night market, Shilin.  The plan was simple, first and foremost, don’t lose track of one another.  The market is a sea of people and it’s quite easy to get lost.  Turn your back for one second and you’ll get swept away in the rush of people never to see your friends or loved ones again.  To make the night more interesting, a transformation was in order.  We would take advantage of the cheap clothing on offer to create our alter egos, buying sunglasses, a hat, and most importantly, a shirt with poor to unintelligible English writing on it.

I was overwhelmed by the number of people in the market, but even so, Jim told me that it was a quiet night.  To the Taiwanese, money is king and shopping is a sport.  The night market gives them a chance to flex their muscles though fierce bargaining and throwing sharp elbows to get to the next shop.



Nice wings

Before I left on my trip I was told many times to “be careful”.  For some strange reason, a lot of people had suddenly turned into my mother.  “Don’t get into trouble” was another one I heard more than once.  Although I firmly said “no” to both, I did promise one thing…to stay out of jail, and that would be easy since Space told me that Taiwan has the most ineffectual police force on the planet.  Pleas for my safety from friends and family were in mind when I came across the perfect glasses.  They looked like safety glasses that you would wear while working with power tools.  Yellow lenses with side protection…perfect.  Safety first, don’t you know.

 

The shirt came next.  “I SHOOT PEOPLE” below a camera with wings.  Size “large” was a bit tight on me – I’m a giant over here.

The hat would have to wait until much later in the evening because I couldn’t find one to fit my unusually large head (by Taiwanese standards).  Every one that I put on was perched on my cranium like a doughnut on a basketball.

Meanwhile, the widespread availability of alcohol was paying off.  7-Eleven and Family Mart had plenty of cheap beer and screw-cap wine, but even the mightiest of vessels must be drained every once in a while.  With excitement and the buzz of the street all around me I realized one of the biggest drawbacks of the night market, no public bathrooms.  Confession time (likely shared with many people who won’t admit it)… While out hiking I enjoy peeing outdoors, there’s just something liberating about the quiet and solitude of the forest.  What Jim had in mind was the polar opposite of the quiet forest.  He assured me that a side street off a busy roundabout was a good place to “go” despite the fact that the front door to the police station was 100 metres away.  Jim used his knowledge of Taiwanese culture to his advantage.  He explained that even if caught mid-stream, no local would ever say anything for fear of embarrassing the urinator or the witness.  So under the soft glow of a streetlamp I let loose.

Tension gone, it was time to resume the mission.  There was a hat for me somewhere in the market, I just had to find it!  And find it I did; a satiny white and black pinstripe number that was half classy, half fun, and perfect for the occasion.  Combined with the sunglasses and shirt I would make a striking tourist.  At least I thought I would.

Like Voltron assembling from its parts (you might have to look that one up) I began to change.  I took my shirt off and immediately heard an “Ooooohhhh” from inside one of the stores.  I turned to meet the eyes of a male admirer and was relieved when he didn’t ask me if my name was Jeff.



With the three of us in uniform, the night took a twist, we began to take pictures with the people on the street who would smile at us; fortunately they were all women.  Problematically, they were of indeterminate age since most Asians, and especially the pampered younger generations, age so slowly.  Iris, who herself could pass for 18, assured me that I was on safe ground.

One store employee began to speak English to me, perhaps to practice the language that she had studied in school.  She was smiling brightly and then suddenly stopped mid-sentence and said “You have such big eyes!”  It seems that no matter where I go in the world people notice the enormity of my eyes.  In fact, I’m convinced that it’s the size of my eyes that makes my arms look so skinny, an optical illusion if you will.



"Big Eyes" girl between Jim and I



Terrified Elmos trapped in a glass box

As we continued our walk through the market a horrible smell hit me like a punch in the face.  The attack was relentless and seemed to be coming from all angles.  There was no escape.  Although I had been warned, nothing could have prepared me for the “aroma” of stinky tofu.  It’s self-descriptive.  I mean, how bad does something have to smell for people to actually put the word “stinky” in the name?  The philosophy of yes would have to get stronger for me to take on this challenge, and I promised myself that I would eventually eat some of this national obsession during my stay.  Instead I opted for a snack of duck hearts and duck tongues.  The duck hearts, while sounding strange, were nothing new.  The non food loser crowd in Canada has likely eaten and enjoyed chicken hearts and gizzards, these tasted similar.

The tongues were a different story.  No matter how good they tasted there is no way to get over the texture.  There’s a meaty bit that is part tongue and part esophagus, and then there’s a couple of spiny crunchy bits that I didn’t know ducks had.  But then again, how much time have I ever spent looking at duck tongues?  Fuck!  You could have called them little dragon tongues and I wouldn’t have been suspicious.  They were a tough chew and an even tougher swallow, but they were still good and I would (and did) get them again.  Space disagreed and said that once was enough, the crunchy spiny bits and the way they scraped the insides of your throat on the way down was just a bit too much.



Duck Tongues



Tongue...meet teeth!

Our night market adventures had come to a close, we bid Jim farewell and he was promptly sucked back into the vortex of the dwindling crowd.  It had been another great night and Jim had proved me wrong.  While friendships originate from proximity, proximity merely provides the introduction to good people, you still need to create the adventure.