Fresh Perspectives, New Routines, and Some Firsts

One of the great things about moving to a new country is that you see the world with fresh eyes. Everyday things are simply surprising. The streets here alternate between tree-lined boulevards with chic modern buildings and shabby alleys where laundry flaps from sooty, cement balconies. The grungy garbage truck plays Beethoven’s Fűr Elise to signal its arrival--think Dukes of Hazzard car horn here not gentle melodic strains. Women wearing Prada high-heels and carrying Louis Vitton purses (likely the real things, not the knock-offs from Shanghai) zip down the street on their exhaust-spewing motor scooters. I love the incongruities, the surprises I discover on a daily basis. I laugh (usually) that I sometimes head out to complete a normal task like going to buy sliced sandwich bread and instead return with a baguette, a half-dozen cookies and a loaf of what turns out to be some sort of raisin toast.

As you can imagine, setting up our home and our daily routines has been different as well. Things are still a bit bare since we are still awaiting our shipment from the US, but we are slowly adding a few personal touches to the apartment. Our very first house warming gift was a lovely plant from McLeod’s corporate office. I was excited to hear there were flowers in the lobby for us but a bit overwhelmed when the house plant turned out to be a 3ft tall arrangement of purple orchids. These absolutely gorgeous flowers are indigenous to Southeast Asia so perhaps no more uncommon here than a peace lily or a rose bush in the States. But never in my life have I cared for something so exotic. I Googled “orchids” and also asked a neighbor for advice. The general consensus seems to be to leave them alone as much as possible and they will be fine.

We have now moved the flowers to the perfect spot in our bedroom--partly so that little hands would stop pulling off the blooms. I truly love waking up to see my very first “pet” orchids greeting me each morning. I then stumble to the kitchen to microwave some water for what we call “Fakee” (instant Hazelnut Latte flavored coffee) since our coffee pot is still somewhere over the Pacific. Fortified by this bland drink, I make sure Barret is dressed for school and then head downstairs for continental breakfast (and a cup of real coffee). It’s a new routine, but I like it—especially the breakfast provided by the apartment each day. I don't really care what they are serving as long as I wasn't the one who had to get up early to fix it. Kernal corn and chicken with cucumbers on the side? Dried pork "floss" with milky rice porridge? Yep, right next to the Frosted Flakes and hard-boiled eggs.

Barret’s biggest change in routine has been school. Going everyday, eating in the lunchroom, having PE and library time—it truly is real school a year earlier than we’d planned. But he is loving it, especially the trip on the school bus each morning. Riding on a school bus has been one of his life-long dreams, and when we found out that the 4-year-old kindergarten has their own exclusive bus complete with a kindly bus monitor named Mrs. Pang, we decided to let him start riding in the mornings. So each morning after breakfast, we walk him out to the sidewalk in front of the building where we wait with another classmate and her family. At 8:00 a.m. the bus rounds the corner while Barret and his friend both yell, “It’s the bus! It’s the bus!” The doors open and Mrs. Pang hops down to help the two children load up quickly and safely. However, the first morning I didn’t realize that Mrs. Pang would load him up quite so quickly. I didn’t really get to say goodbye before he was whisked away. I returned to my apartment and sat by the phone for awhile just in case the school called to say a sobbing Barret hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to his mommy. The telephone didn’t ring, of course, and when I walked up to the school for pickup time, Barret’s first question was, “Why can’t I ride the bus home in the afternoons?” Just to reiterate, he really, really likes riding the bus and going to his big-kid school, and I am really, really learning to let go and let him enjoy it!

To Market, To Market...
Another “first” for me has been shopping at the open market behind our building. The wet market—called this because it sells predominately fresh food items instead of clothes or other dry goods—is located in a nearby alley between adjoining six-to-ten storey buildings. This is good because the buildings keep things from getting too warm and stinky. I didn’t even know this market existed until one of the nannies in the building mentioned that she was going to buy vegetables at the market for her employer and asked if I'd like to accompany her. Pushing our strollers, we wove our way through the taxis, scooters, and subcompact cars that slowly motor through the back lanes. I think the smell of fresh fish was my first clue that we had arrived. I looked around a bit and laughed to see a padded-bra-stacked table sandwiched between a dried nut-and-bean display and a vegetable stand. I wasn’t quite ready to buy off the street yet—fish and raw meat at 8am was a bit daunting—but glad to at least know the market was here.


The next day I returned on my own to make my first purchase. I made up my mind to buy bananas and set out with Caroline once more in her stroller. As I approached the alley, I spied a very blonde woman examining framed prints at a table where the padded bras had been the day before. We struck up a conversation over the Joseph Miro paintings, and I learned she was the wife of the Nicaraguan ambassador and that they lived in our building. She gave me good advice, “If you see something you like on the street, run and get your money to buy it immediately. These people are here one moment and then disappear.” So I did—I hot-footed it home, grabbed a few extra thousand New Taiwan dollars and returned to purchase four prints for the apartment walls. That done, I bought the bananas. Then, I was feeling so brave and excited that I splurged on 1kg of purple grapes that turned out to taste exactly like the tangy-sweet wild muscadine grapes I picked in the woods as a child. It was a banner day for me! We have since returned to the wet market every three or four days to buy produce and even a few goodies such as new princess shoes for Caroline. I still haven’t worked up the courage to purchase meat or fish, but who knows? That will be another first for me to try.


Survival Chinese
We have not begun our language lessons in Mandarin Chinese yet, but this hasn't stopped us from trying out a few words here and there. At this point, my vocab is limited to Thank You, Hello and three all-important Taxi Chinese phrases: Right Turn, Left Turn and Stop. I was recently amazed, though, when Barret leaned forward over the cab driver's seat and told him "Zho Dwan then Ting" (Left Turn then Stop!) in his cheerful Texas twang. The cabbie and I both burst out laughing at both the mostly-Chinese phrase he'd uttered and the fact that he'd given the correct instructions to our apartment building. Encouraged by his success, Barret now asks his school friends to teach him new words in Chinese so he can try them out. The latest phrase, courtesy of a cute, “older” six-year old girl, is the one for “Excuse me/I’m sorry.” Unfortunately, this turned into the “Dui Bu Chee” game – he and his friend began to intentionally bump into people on the sidewalk and then say, “Dui Bu Chee!” before being overcome by fits of giggling. Caroline, not to be outdone by Barret, has also picked up a few words. I swelled with parental pride the other day as she said, “Shay shay” (thank you) to a young sales clerk who had given her a treat. But when the woman walked away, Caroline turned to me and asked, “Where Shay Shay going?” Not sure, honey, but if she makes a Zho Dwan (left turn) or a Yo Dwan (right turn), we’ll be sure to let you know!