Oolong in Formosa
Taipei, the capital of Taiwan, has finally allowed me to fit a place to
a name. At University, tea-tasting parties
were a fad in which I indulged. One of the
weird and wonderful teas to which I was youthfully
introduced was 'formosa oolong', a smoky green tea which to neophyte students
was an amusing adventure. I have memories
of sitting in tiny university residence bedrooms
gingerly sipping the strange green-brown
brew to the accompaniment of the latest Christian
choruses played by the hosts, who were invariably
providing a non-alcoholic alternative for
newly arrived students. This evening in Taipei,
I am once again drinking oolong and listening
to choruses. But this time I am on the island
of Formosa (the old name for Taiwan) and
the music is being played by a charming lounge
bar pianist who has clearly realised that
no-one minds what western music she plays
on the piano as long as it is flowing and
sublime.
So much of my experience of China has seemed
strangely familiar that it is almost no surprise
to have this experience 6,000 miles from
home in the lounge of the Far Eastern Plaza Hotel. Listening to Chinese conversation I have
to keep reminding myself that I do not understand
what I am hearing, so familiar is the intonation
and gesture in what is said. In some ways,
Taipei seems like an American-influenced
mid-point between China and Japan. It is
incredibly densely populated, with 22 million
people on an island 300km long. The city
seems filled with trees, though, unlike the
utilitarian concrete and modernist glass
of today's Beijing (and, it must be said,
Tokyo).
The buildings reflect ongoing life and investment
and gently shout hope, unlike the atmosphere
of Shanghai which seemed in some ways frozen
at the end of colonial occupation (like other
former colonies I have visited such as Harare).
Much here reflects a greater wealth, unlike
Beijing. Brand and style are common elements
of every store I have seen, and fashion seems
something of a fetish. People work impossibly
long hours, and the streets are completely
full of vehicles, from luxury cars down to
a vast array of motor cycles
. Whereas the Beijing rush hour was clogged
with bicycles, Taipei's has a starting-grid
feeling as acres of mopeds and small motor-cycles
jostle for space at each road junction and
as every available inch of pavement is used
to stand them. The traffic is so heavy that
crossing town often takes a very long time,
and I am amazed that none of the taxis I
have taken so far here or on the mainland
has actually hit anything - no journey would
be complete without swerves, stops and a
horn accompaniment.
If the physicists are right and time is a
tree of forking possibilities, Beijing and
Taipei offer the rare chance to visit and
compare two alternative branches of time
and reality. On the mainland, the choice was made for a communist ideology,
for central planning, for group wisdom. The
result is a grey, morose uniformity that
mocks the millennia of exquisite culture
and innovation that China created, perfected
and often exported to an adoring world. On
the island of Formosa there are trees, variety
and enthusiasm everywhere, engendered by
the capitalist culture chosen by the people's
rulers. One cannot judge which is better,
but it's not hard to know which is easier
for a westerner to embrace.
(Taipei, 1 March 2001)
