My wife’s ancestors, both paternal and maternal, came from a small village in Canton (now more accurately called Guangdong) province in southern China.
Sometime at the beginning of the 1900s they emigrated to what used to be called Burma and is now called Myanmar, in southeast Asia.
(If you think that there are a lot of Chinese people living in the west, that's nothing compared to southeast Asia. In countries like Thailand and Malaysia ethnic Chinese make up a huge chunk of the the total population. It's the so-called Chinese diaspora.)
It's in Myanmar's capital Yangon (formerly Rangoon) that the apple of my eye was born. When she was five the whole family emigrated to Taiwan.
When they arrived there her parents spoke very little Mandarin, and her and her sister none at all. To this day, when my parents-in-law talk between themselves it's a mix of Mandarin and Burmese.
(When you're riding in my father-in-law's car, there's a good chance the stereo will be playing some 1970s heartbreaking Burmese romantic ballad about unrequited love. Brings a tear to your eye, let me tell ya.)
My wife’s Chinese name means scent of chrysanthemum. Aww… And her sister's name means scent of bamboo. Aww… (There's a couple of guys at work that, if they were Chinese, would probably be called scent of armpits. Aww...)
But when she’s in Taiwan her parents call her Mikkai, a Burmese name that means strong-willed. And if strong-willed is a euphemism for stubborn, then they've got it spot-on.
Quick digression. The Nachers come from a town that used to be called Bielitz, in what used to be eastern Prussia, but it's now called Bielsko-Biała and it's in southern Poland. (In that part of Europe borders have moved back and forth several times throughout history. Quite difficult to keep up, really.)
Sometime in the late 1800s an officer in the Austro-Hungarian army called Moritz Nacher was sent to Ancona, in Italy. He liked what he saw, left the army and never looked back. (Can't blame him. Ancona is a nice place.)
The Italian Nachers continued to practice Judaism up until my grandfather, who converted to Christianity as an adult. And then, in 2015, his grandson Marco renounced Christianity and all bronze-age beliefs altogether.
Back to Taiwan. The same way you can be forgiven if you think that Kansas City is in Kansas (it's not, it's in Missouri, don't ask me why), you can be forgiven if, when you see the name Republic of China, you think it means China. It doesn't. It means Taiwan. As opposed to People's Republic of China, which means China. I know, it's a bit confusing.
Going to Taiwan (or, as the Portuguese used to call it, Ilha Formosa, the beautiful island) for the first time can be a bit of a culture shock. The first three things you notice are:
1. The population density.
Taiwan is busy. Lots of people, everywhere. Always rushing around, 24/7. You get used to it after a while.
2. The signs.
It’s an explosion of street signs, shop signs and advertisements.
Chinese writing never ceases to amaze me. It's almost like an alien writing from a distant planet. The fact that people memorize thousands of different characters which, for the most part, give little or no indication as to their meaning or pronunciation, I still find it mind-boggling. It’s so wonderfully impractical I absolutely love it.
3. The food.
Places to eat are everywhere, and everyone seems to be eating out all the time.
When it comes to food, Taiwanese people have a simple rule: follow the crowd. If they see a long line of people queuing up in front of a little food stall in a street corner, they'll join the queue. It's like a magnet to them. On the other hand, if a noodle bar is empty they'll avoid it. As simple as that. They also go to great lengths for food. Literally. If they hear about a place that sells very good ramen they'll travel miles to try them.
The food in Taiwan is mouth-watering. A word of caution, though. Chinese people will eat pretty much anything that won’t kill you (and they’re flexible on the mildly poisoning).
Their motto is: if it moves, eat it, and if it doesn’t move, eat it on the side. I’ve been tricked a few times when I’m there:
- What’s this?
- Try it.
- What is it?
- You’ll like it.
- But what is it? Is it meat? Veg? A human finger? What?
- It’s good for you.
Sometimes it’s best not to know what’s on your plate (or bowl, in this case).
I think Taiwan is a place well worth visiting. But not in the summer. In most countries summer is a good thing. Not in Taiwan. Taiwan gives the words hot and humid a whole new meaning. And don’t get me started on the insects. Mosquitoes, cockroaches, centipedes, you name it. Lots of them. (Not many spiders, though, funny enough.)
