Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears

Moist it again, and frame some feeling line

That may discover such integrity

William Shakespeare, “The Two Gentlemen of Verona”

In this chapter, I…

• Return to dating in Taipei
• Get told “I love you” for the first time
• Sink into longing, rejection, and end-of-trip blues
• Lose my motivation to meet people or sightsee
• Visit an art settlement, a Martian-like rock geopark, and an abandoned UFO village
• Try a spicy duck blood hot pot, nearly vomit and pass out

List of volunteers at the hostel:

• (19yo, Canada) a reserved girl with blonde hair and blue eyes who likes to make bracelets.
• (23yo, South Korea) a pretty girl with doll-like features who studies Chinese in Taipei.
• (27yo, Brazil) a funky guy with an afro, glasses, and tattoos, who likes to read manga.
• (29yo, South Korea) a remote translator with wavy hair, round spectacles, and tanned skin, who drinks coffee and works out religiously.
• Brother Neal, 75, a dubious Taiwanese volunteer who we call Big Brother Neal. Looks and acts like the Taiwanese version of Argus Filch.

28 March 2024

• 11:00-12:00 shift

Successful Date #1

Today after my shift I met Luciano, a 22-year-old cinephile and student of Italian. He had short bangs, rectangular frames, and large features that gave him a cute appearance.

We grabbed papaya milk from Ximen’s movie street and broke into an avid discussion of cinema. He loved movies so much, that he’d watched every one by his favourite directors. Swedish masterpieces, French new wave, classic Hollywood… it took me time to recall names of movies I adored from that era, because it had been years since I’d met someone who knew them. Who in my life nodded in immediate agreement to 1940’s black-and-white Italian neorealism?

It felt refreshing and nostalgic to be around Luciano. He had been interning at Taiwanese film festivals, and last month, attended the Berlin Film Festival.

We walked to Longshan riverside park. This was quite complicated, as the highway to New Taipei City blocked our access. It took us forever to find a staircase that allowed one to cross to the riverbank. Once we settled on a bench, a cacophony of motorcycles was screeching behind us, while cars were vrooming on Zhongxing bridge.

The weather was hot. The sun was beating down on us. We quoted lines from beloved movies and TV shows. He shared a few anecdotes: birds frequently pooped on him, and last month, a drunk guy had slapped him in Berlin en route from the airport.

“Your life could make a great comedy film,” I joked. He was like the male, Taiwanese version of Fleabag.

Flying fish were leaping out of the river. Joggers, walkers, and cyclists were passing us. (When was the last time I’d seen men run shirtless? An oddity in the East.) I moved toward Luciano. Even though I was exhausted, I tried to seem alert. We spoke with our faces close and eyes gazing into each other’s.

Then we shut them. He buried his head in the side of mine, nuzzling my cheek. It was cushiony, slow, and delicate. Sometimes the tips of our noses would touch, or our stubbles would scrape.

Despite all the noise and picturesque scenery, touch was my sense most activated by this scene. Nothing existed in the world at the moment, apart from the coarseness of his five o’clock shadow against mine, or the softness of his flat nose against mine. I felt like we hadn’t just met.

The sun set. The park grew cosy and breezy. This weather felt to me as perfect as this moment.

After four hours together, I had to return to Ximen. It was yet another example of my rule: “I knew that, from now on, if a date extended over four hours, it would be life-changing.” (February 14, “Falling for Valentine”)

Then I took the MRT to Zhongxiao Dunhua station, Taipei’s quiet and upscale shopping district, for dinner at a local Taiwanese restaurant.

Peter was a 27-year-old Taiwanese who seemed completely Japanese to me. His eyes; his shoulder-length hair; his sense of style. Denim-on-denim was not an outfit usually seen here. Even his politeness and urbane smiles went beyond Taiwanese to me.

He was a project designer studying for his architecture exam. We talked about his foreign exchange studies in Germany. He preferred cooking to eating boring German food. It hit me for the first time after a year in the East: no table contained salt and pepper shakers here. Always in the West, where people fixed the seasoning whenever they pleased.

At night, I met Jake, whom I’d gone out with in Taichung. He’d come to Taipei for the weekend. We met for drinks at the Red House, where he beamed upon seeing me.

After his lethargy in Taichung, he seemed more enthusiastic tonight, fully immersed in the conversation. I exulted in the way he’d opened up to me. We discussed nightlife in Japan versus Taiwan. It was practically a guarantee that we’d go out to Shinjuku once I moved to Tokyo and he flew for a visit.

When I learned that his usual hotel in Ximen was where Eres and I had had coffee in the lobby, I blinked back tears.

Today’s highlights: Longshan Riverside Park with Luciano; Red House with Jake.

29 March 2024

• 11:00-11:45 shift

Successful Date #2

Today after my shift I met Raven, who had taken a bus all the way from the mountains in Nantou to visit me.

Ever since we’d met in Taichung, he’d been trying to reunite with me. He wanted to come to Taipei, and I wanted to see him – yet I couldn’t afford to arrange this trip for him. I was volunteering to save money on accommodation.

As someone too many years his senior, I felt like a failure.

Still, he came. We met at Taipei Bus Station at 16:00, since crossing Taipei alone to Ximen unnerved him. He was from a tiny, aboriginal village in the mountains.

Last time, I’d noticed his features resembled more Filipino than Han Chinese. Now, his outfit seemed quintessentially Taiwanese: a grey hoodie, black sports shorts, ankle-high white Nike socks, and crocs.

We wandered around Ximen. Seeing him in person reminded me of my appreciation toward him. His speech was endearingly sluggish, as if he was translating the Chinese in his head to English. At the same time, he felt more comfortable approaching a foreigner he didn’t know in English than chatting with someone Taiwanese in his first language.

As we walked without knowing where to go or what to do, we stumbled upon a private movie theatre in Ximen. Like Japan’s internet cafés, where one got a booth with a computer to play games, except a small room with its own projection screen. I had no idea Taiwan had that.

I found myself paying too much for us. Infatuation always made me forget that budgets existed. We watched Pitch Perfect, a comedy we both loved, without really watching it.

“I love you,” he said halfway into the movie.

“What?” I blurted.

He repeated his sentiment.

“Shut up,” I said, trying to suppress my startlement. “No you don’t.”

“I love you,” he said.

It was the first time a date had told me this.

He kept saying that he wanted me to be his. He was worried I’d be in a relationship by the time I returned to Taiwan. I wondered if he grasped the gravity of his words – if it was possible to love someone after one meeting – if he understood things that I didn’t.

In the evening, we walked to 228 peace park. Middle-aged men were standing near a toilet, scanning the vicinity. This was the most famous gay cruising spot in Taiwan. I’d never come here at dark.

Disgusted, Raven and I found a bench on the other side of the park. He continued to talk about the day I would come back for a visit. I wished I could afford to do so soon, or better, to to just stay here. I wished I could afford a trip to Nantou. The least I could do was treat him to dumplings for dinner.

At 23:00, I walked him to Ximen station. Despite my initial plan, I didn’t go clubbing, even though it was a Friday. I had enough for one day.

Today’s highlights: private movie screening with Raven; dumplings for dinner.

30 March 2024

• 11:00-12:00 shift

The Friends and Dates that Stood Me Up

I wrote all day today after my shift. Tourist attractions on my list no longer spoke to me. After returning from the successful and memorable Taroko trip, all I could think about was the clock ticking.

My family was counting the hours in excitement. I was dreading it. One week left to my trip, and I didn’t want to sightsee, I didn’t want to meet new people, I just wanted to spend my last few days of freedom with those I missed on a daily basis.

Except I couldn’t. Just like in Japan and Korea.                           

Even with a friend. Not just by dating. My longing was partially platonic. I kept calling out in my head, pricking up my ears for an answer. But those people didn’t want to be around me.

I felt so disappointed by this ending.

At 23:00, I went with the middle-aged Taiwanese staff member from the hostel to our favourite bar in Ximen. We’d bonded a lot over my month and a half here, reaching a point where we discussed our love lives and shared private jokes. I promised him we’d go out again before my departure.

Last time at that bar, on a Tuesday in mid-February, I’d met the Australian flight attendants, and spent an unforgettable night with the Thai guy. The bar was packed and kinky; I’d found myself experimenting in ways new to me. Yet tonight, on a Saturday in spring, the bar felt completely boring to me.

There was nothing, or anyone, interesting. I tried to make a few conversations that I soon regretted. The vibe was off no matter who I approached, which worsened my reluctance to mingle.

We left at 2:00. I wrote in bed until 4:00. My eyelids were dropping with every word I was typing, but writing engaged me more than the bar.

Today’s highlight: writing, by default.

31 March 2024

• 11:00-12:30 shift
• 15:00-15:10 Ximen station to Gongguan station MRT (Songshan-Xindian line)
• Treasure Hill (1h)
• 17:00-27:10 Gongguan station to Ximen station MRT (Songshan-Xindian line)
• Dinner @ Ximen

Treasure Hill

Today after my shift I visited Treasure Hill, an illegal-settlement-turned-art-village in south Taipei. It started with one of the oldest temples in the city, from the Qing Dynasty, overlooking Xindian river.

The settlement seemed like the smaller, greyer version of Busan’s Gamcheon Village. Dense, old houses huddled on a hill. There were exposed brick walls and noise from the highway. It was overcast and humid. Blusters were blowing hurricanes of leaves.

A maze of alleys led to residences that had been transformed into contemporary galleries. An empty house with leaves piled on the floor and ribbons hanging from the ceiling; a dark basement with a golden baby Buddha crowned by a skull; rooms with projections of flowers on the walls. Fortune CooKiss was a funny sculpture of two such cookies almost kissing.

After half an hour, a downpour erupted. Many galleries were closed, even on a weekend. I didn’t stay for the light festival in the evening. Art in Taiwan always disappointed me.

I took refuge in the temple, now atmospheric in the deluge, and journalled on the floor. I appreciated this scene more than the art itself.

Successful Date #3

At 18:00, I met Luciano in Ximen. Taipei was raining cats and dogs. One couldn’t sightsee like this. And I didn’t even want to.

We ate dinner at two popular eateries. At the first, the oyster omelette was half the size and taste of Feungyuan’s. The braised pork rice wasn’t as fatty or finely chopped as in Sun Moon Lake. The food in Taipei didn’t hold a candle to the countryside. But the atmosphere did, because Luciano and I didn’t stop holding hands, even when using chopsticks. We sat side-by-side at a counter, close to one another, basking in each other’s warmth, staring into each other’s eyes.

The latter point could not be stressed enough. He didn’t stop staring at me. The entire time. I could feel his gaze even with my face diverted.

In return, I didn’t let go of his hand.

Our hands had been conjoined ever since we’d met. It occurred to me that with every person, dating felt different. I had never yearned to interlock fingers as much as with him. Sometimes even on both hands.

Dessert was shaved ice from across the street. I picked the most Taiwanese variant on the menu: frozen tea ice cream with tapioca balls. It was like eating ice cold boba tea, rather than drinking it.

Then we found a shop selling Ximen’s famous penis cakes. As full as I was, I couldn’t refuse this. Yet another reason to love Ximen.

He helped me buy clothes for my family at Uniqlo. This was quite the ordeal. Even when it carried on and on, he stuck by me.

Goodbye seemed to be a trial he kept postponing. A feeling well known to me. So I invited him to rest at the lobby of my hostel, where we could continue to chat and interlock fingers. Despite my fatigue, I couldn’t say good night, either. Only at midnight did I resign myself to the idea of going to bed.

Today’s highlights: Treasure Hill Temple; dinner with Luciano; tapioca and tea ice cream; penis cake.

1 April 2024

• 11:00-12:30 shift

End of Trip Blues

Another day with zero motivation to do anything. Only writing assuaged me.

Every leg of my trip had lifted me to new heights, only to drop me to new lows. Taiwan had rewarded me even more than Japan, because, despite my ability to talk to Japanese people, their indirect communication had often hindered things. Here, I experienced a country with an open-minded attitude for the first time, where it was normal to be myself. Dating had never felt smoother.

I wasn’t at the point of turning around and leaving Taiwan yet. But thoughts about the end were already stifling. My old life in Israel could never feel nostalgic.

Both Japan and Korea had waned into defeat, when I’d counted the days until my departure. Now, in Taiwan – this was how the best year of my life would culminate?

No. I texted Eres for the first time since mid-February. I ached to reconnect with him, Hope, and Heron. But I knew the latter two would just continue to ignore me.

Then I took the MRT to Nanshijao station in New Taipei City, where I returned with boba tea to the Taiwanese couple’s fried chicken deli.

“The last few days I was a bit depressed,” I translated, “but I knew that I would have a good time if I came to visit.”

They enjoyed my presence so much, and treated me to so much food, and gifted me hot spring bath powders imported from Japan, and gave a doggy bag to share with the volunteers, that even when relying on translation apps, I reveled in their friendship.

Today’s highlight: dinner with the Taiwanese couple.

2 April 2024

• 10:50-12:25 Taipei bus station (exit M2) to Yehliu Geopark bus number 1815
• Yehliu Geopark (2h)
• Lunch @ 魚村活海鮮
• Camel’s Hump Rock (30m)
• 16:20-16:25 東澳to Feicui bay bus number 953
• UFO village (20m)
• 16:55-18:15 bus number 1815 to main station

Yehliu Geopark

Last night, it had taken me forever to doze off. I’d woke again and again from nightmares and bizarre dreams. Thoughts had besieged my sleep.

I napped while on the long-distance bus with Luciano up north. We held hands; he stared at me. It was remarkable how we could communicate silently.  

We reached Yehliu Geopark, known for its sandstones shaped into heads with necks by salt weathering and erosion. This small promontory was hailed as the most Martian-looking place on Earth: holes punctured the rocks like on the moon, and some were even fissured at the centre. Ironically, the rocks famously resembled mushrooms, hearts, candles, and even a queen’s head.

Lush green cliffs and vivid blue water complemented this otherworldly scenery. Stones covered in moss lined a beach. Faint orange, purple, and brown lines streaked passages eroded by water. Tectonic uplifts had stranded marine caves (formed by wave erosion) above the beach, after the sea level had fallen.

It was a scorching summer day. Beads of sweat were dripping down my torso and eye sockets. My shirt grew damp. Korean tour groups outnumbered Taiwanese locals so much that I felt déjà vu to summer in Korea, with mossy stones in Jeju Island and shirts as wet as bathing suits.

“Why am I seeing so many Koreans lately?” I wondered aloud. Plenty of Korean guests at the hostel as well. “I feel like hopping on a plane there.”

Luciano and I snacked on sun cakes, a Taichung specialty. This was his hometown, and he had brought me some after I had spent six days there without ever hearing of this pancake. A travesty, because both variants were delicious – malt sugar with flaky crust, one with the original pig fat recipe, another vegan based on maple syrup (sweeter and less oily). Like the lighter version of a European puff pastry.

We climbed a hill to a lighthouse and a cave. The trail was empty of all hoards of visitors by the rocks. The scene grew hotter and quietter. Large, monochromatic butterflies were fluttering around us. Blocks of rocks in the sea seemed so perpendicular, that it was a marvel they weren’t humanmade.

Lunch was seafood fried rice and barley tea at a restaurant with fish tanks at the entrance, just like in Korea.

In the afternoon, we walked to the nearby Camel’s Hump Rock, a seaside cliff with fishermen. We sat on the edge, me leaning on his lap, his eyes looking down into mine. I shut mine and listened to the waves.

Wanli UFO Village

Finally, we took the bus to Wanli UFO village, an abandoned settlement by the ocean. The houses, shaped like spaceships, were all derelict, full of trash and graffiti. Defunct fridges, rusty ovens, dirty bathrooms, and dusty straw hats. I loved it.

The Perfect Time for a Spicy Duck Blood Hot Pot is 2 AM

Back in Taipei, I had dinner with Peter. I was too tired and dispassionate to feign interest.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said. “I love your chill personality and the fact that I can talk to you. Last time our dinner was great, I couldn’t wait to see you again.”

Yet the vibe felt off, at least on my end. I couldn’t tell why. He was objectively great.

Guilt-ridden, I returned to Ximen. But I couldn’t afford to fall asleep. At 1:30, the Taiwanese couple from Nanshijao picked me after closing their shop.

There was nothing like racing through a city on a motorcycle in the dead of night. They’d been talking about eating spicy duck blood hotpot for a while. The lavish restaurant, near Kangle Park, was open until 5 AM.

Even at the end of my trip, I experienced new cultural shocks. There were unlimited side dishes, sauces, tea, and ice cream. We ate strawberry ice cream while the hot pot was boiling.

Then I tried duck blood. It was slimy and metallic. I smiled at the couple, who loved this dish, and almost vomited.

The soups were delicious. One white and creamy, another red and labelled “extreme” on the menu’s scale of spiciness. They included strips of tender pig neck; Chinese cabbage; thin rice cakes like flat tteokbokki; beef tendon; tofu; and fried dough sticks.

My mouth wasn’t just on fire. It felt as if someone was sticking a lighter to the tip of my tongue. That area stung so sharply, all at once, that I was moaning, panting, wincing, on the verge of tears. My head grew dizzy.

Milk tea had never tasted as good as when chugging it to extinguish burning. Yet even it couldn’t alleviate my palate. Tonight tied my dinner with the hanok owner in Sinchon, Seoul as my spiciest meal.

At 3:30, the Taiwanese couple dropped me off in Ximen with two doggy bags full of soups. My stomach was bursting, my mouth was tingling, and I was exhausted beyond normalcy. It was the best way to go to sleep.

A few hours later, a magnitude 7.5 earthquake woke me.

Today’s highlights: Yehliu Geopark with Luciano; suncake; Camel’s Hump Rock; the UFO village; spicy hot pot at 2 AM with the Taiwanese couple.