A Man and his Motorcycle Part 1

On Sunday, July 19th, I set out with nothing more than a backpack stuffed with a few t-shirts, one pair of jeans and shorts, fresh sets of socks and underwear, a toothbrush, a hairbrush, an atlas of Taiwan's roads and, most importantly, intrepidity. For on that clear, hot morning, I loaded my bag onto my 125 CC Honda Wolf Motorcycle and took off for an eight day journey around the island. It was to be my first trip on my bike more than a few hours outside of Taipei, and with 1,820 kilometers of open road stretched ahead of me, there was little I could do but wonder- what did this journey have in store for me?

The first stretch of road took me to Ilan, just about two hours outside of Taipei along the East Coast. A simple drive to the Pingling mountains of Southern Taipei County, I arrived in small hot spring village of Jiaosi where I booked a hotel and decided to stay there for the night. That afternoon, I was meeting a group of friends of mine at an aboriginal Rain festival held at a park called Wulaokeng. Dotted with water slides, natural river rafting, pristine walkways, and summer fun, it was an enjoyable location to spend some time with friends on a hot summer afternoon.


The highlight of the celebration was a concert that included a well skilled drumming group from Korea. Their beats were rhythmically tight. It was an astonishing display of musical prowess, precise timing, and energetic perseverance. The Korean drumming group was accompanied by some eloquent, traditional Chinese dances.


Following the concert, my friends returned back to Taipei where I returned back to my hotel in Jaiosi. I stopped for some dumplings and a soup, but they were dry and relatively tasteless. I decided to make it a mission to try soup dumplings wherever I went on this trip and rank them. These dumplings were obviously last place. After dinner, I retired to bed for an early start the next day.

The first real leg of my journey began on the second day out of Ilan. It was an early morning, and the weather was acceptable. I veered off of the coastal route for some mid-island mountain driving. Going down route seven was an easy mountain road to follow for the most part. Sparsely traveled meant I had enormous lengths of excellent driving conditions all to myself. The road began by following a wide valley dotted with numerous cabbage farms. It was a unique blend of blue skies, rocky outcrops, and little green dots lining the road side.


It wasn't long before the farmlands were behind me and the road started to climb. In low gears, I was soon driving through a cold cloud as my elevation rose and rose. Before long, however, the cloud broke away and I was back in the sunlight of Taiwan's pristine weather. However, the scenery changed dramatically at this point. No longer was I in the tropical splendor of southeast Asia, but instead I was biking through some of Taiwan's lesser known alpine climates! It felt as if cool wind from the Alps were blowing against my face rather than typhoon-laced winds of the South Pacific.


Nevertheless, the surroundings were outstanding. Little stands occasionally set up along this road, particularly in the rural villages, were selling freshly picked peaches and plums that would explode on one bite. Then, you could suck out the very juices and embrace the fact that what your eating could not be any more natural, wild or organic even if you tried.

Before long, route seven linked up with route 8, which makes up the eastern corridor of the Central Cross Highway (one of three highways that crosses through the central of the island, the other two being the Northern Cross Highway and the Southern Cross Highway which made up a portion of my trip). This highway was outstanding. The road wound and turned, through clouds and sun, through forests and over cliffs. At times, there was nothing stopping you from making one wrong turn and plummeting into the gorge below. Tunnels were carved right through the rock faces, but these tunnels are not the tunnels we think of today that are nicely finished with concrete and lighting. These were like mining caves that had no smooth finish to them. They were dark as they had no lighting and they leaked with water constantly. Needless to say, driving through one of these tunnels required a calm demeanor and a keen sense so you wouldn't hit the very dark walls.


Eventually, the winding road took course along a very recognizable feature in Taiwan- Taroko Gorge. The majority of tourists start out in Hualien and drive up into the gorge. Not me, I was starting at its source- at its highest elevation where the gorge was youngest and least developed. It was a unique perspective, to watch this gorge deepen as the kilomoters flew past me.


Before long, I was in Taroko Gorge National Park proper, with which we are all very familiar from my previous posts. The river ran like a vein cut deep into the earth with massive waterfalls and tributaries contributing to its impressive glory. The weather turned a bit disagreeable at this point, so I pushed through most of the park quite quickly and into Hualien.


I stopped for some delectable wonton-esque soup called Bianshi. I am not sure how they improve upon it, but they do an excellent job with it. I think they put a little bit of vinegar in it, which explodes the flavor, so now I always add vinegar to all of my wonton experiences. I followed up with some soup dumplings but was again very disappointed.

I hit a local popular bar where I met some very delightful teachers from Korea, chatted with them for some bit, and then hit the sack for an early departure the next day.

From the cabbage farmer of Taiwan, Michael.

好久不見

You'll have to forgive the absence. It's not that I didn't stop thinking about you, or forget that you love to check up on my life. It's merely that sometimes I get so fed up with these technological doodads, and working all day on them means spending an hour or two writing about my life is, quite honestly, the last thing I want to do. So, can you really blame me if, in my spare time, I want to slip away for a month or two?

Not only that, I have been quite busy. Work, while being on overload, has not been the most preoccupying component of my life at the moment. My Chinese classes take the winning spot for that role. Essentially, I went from a lovely old grandmother of a teacher that never gave homework, optional exams that carried no real weight and bought us dinner and presents on occasion to a teacher that assigns us homework every day (the horror!), administers daily quizzes and gives us tests that I am sure would challenge a native speaker. Upon leaving class, I am inundated in Chinese Characters. So, I am sorry, less time for you.

I am sure you're wondering about the weekends. Surely can't a compromise be reach in that department? Well, yes and no. For you see, about three months ago, when I stopped writing about Taiwan consistently, I purchased a new motorcycle after my previous one was so egregiously taken from my possession. In the past three months, I have racked up almost 4,000 kilometers on this new two-wheeler (mind you, I have no commute so this is all done on weekend trips), a feat which can only be accomplished if I have set aside a significant amount of time away from the computer.

The trips have been glorious. Mostly through winding country roads or along charming cliff sides. I have driven to the beach a few times and of course explored some of the stunning mountain tops. These trips have all been splendid, exhilarating, adventurous and fascinating, but not necessarily blog worthy. I have posted plenty on biking and hiking trips around Taipei and these recent months haven't necessarily stood out against my previous journeys.

Thus, I have taken a four pronged-approach in explaining my absence: too much computer time, excessive studying, a new motorcycle and trips not worthy of posting. However, good excuses often make for lousy apologies so I will make a deal with you. I will devote more time to writing if you devote more time to reading. Invite friends along- cook some popcorn and read some of the classic posts I have on my blog out loud to each other. I am sure you'll look crazy doing it, but the only person judging you will be the other person listening. And of course me.

From your out of touch blogger, with his sincerest regret, Michael.

Pimpin da Shrimpin

In America, a first date might consist of something like this. The guy picks up the girl in his parents' Toyota Camry. He drives a little bit faster to show he's cool. They go to a dinner within budget. Most likely Italian. Probably the Olive Garden. Afterwards, they see a movie, hold hands, maybe a move is made, maybe not. Back by 11.

In Taiwan, it's a bit different. The guy picks the girl up on his scooter. He drives way too fast not to impress the girl but probably because he forgot she was on the back. He takes her to a place where you can fish for pre-caught shimp in an indoor pool. Then he makes her cook the caught shrimp on a nearby grill. They eat it together. She's home by 6pm. He gets drunk with friends.


Wait a minute, let's back up there for a minute... fish for shrimp in an indoor pool? Yes, the wonders of shrimp fishing. On Saturday night, a group of friends and I went up to the northern reaches of Taiwan to what can be described as a giant arena. Located within this arena are three man-made pools containing the elusive giant shrimp. These shrimp are pre-caught and stalked in these pools. You are given a rod, some liver as bait and two hours to catch as many shrimp as you possibly can.


Let's set the scene now. I was sitting on the side of a pool, with a Taiwan beer in hand. To one side of my friends was a young couple on a date. To the other side was a beer drinking yokel who obviously considers shrimp fishing to be a professional sport. His beer gut was an indication of years of practice.


We sat, with our bait in the water hoping to get a bite. I got a total of three bites the entire evening, resulting in one shrimp being caught. Obviously this was embarrassing as my friend, sitting next to me, caught six shrimp within the first thirty minutes. I tried to take some lessons from this shrimping expert, but the cause was lost.


Afterward, we threw the giant prawns on the grill and served them up to ourselves for a delicious evening dinner. Actually, I personally hate shrimp, so I didn't eat any. My good friend once put it this way, "I love shrimping. I can go there and fish all day. Drink beer. Be gross. Be a man." Yes, that about sums up the experience.

From your sailor of the high seas on an indoor pool who couldn't catch more than one pre-caught shrimp, Capt. Michael.

Yushan

When one thinks of Taiwan, it's only natural to conjure an image of beautiful beaches, electri- fying cities, or maybe even a factory or two (made in taiwan, anyone?). So when I speak of snow and ice, for example along an alpine ridge, I am sure Taiwan would not be the first place you would guess. Nor with it probably be your tenth. Or really anywhere in the double digits placewise for that matter.


In the final week of March, six intrepid idiots decided to scale Northeast Asia's highest peak: Yushan, or, Jade Mountain. Clocking in at just shy of 4,000 meters, we were to test our spirit and endurance against the toughest of elements. Altitude sickness, landslides, freezing temperatures, and falling to an untimely death were all challenges stacked against us. But I am getting ahead of myself.


Our journey began in the small city of Chaiyi, home to chicken rice. Although I can't necessarily claim they invented this award winning combination, I will have to hand it over to them that they have just about perfected. We were picked up by a friend of a friend and taken to Chaiyi's most famous restaurant serving this dish. The chicken was succulent and served with a delicious brown sauce over freshly cooked rice. That same kindly man that picked us up pressured me to drink this traditional Taiwanese licquor called Gaoliang with him. But I was no fool- it was the foulest tasting alcohol ever known; perhards it's closest neighbor is Korean soju mixed with paint thinner. So it was no surprise that I had to pass, time and time again. After dinner and stacking up on snacks, we boarded a minivan and made the winding, three hour long journey to our base camp at the foot of Yushan.


The alarm went of at 5.30 am indicating an early morning wake up call. Already geared up in our hiking clothes, we proceeded into the main hall where breakfast was being served. A heart hiker's meal consisted of roasted nuts, porridge, ginger, cabbage and tofu. Enough to energize even the weakest hearts, if you ask me.

After breakfast, we geared up, registered at the park headquarters, debriefed on the 8.5 kilomoter trek and then took off on a slow but exhilirating pace. We began in a tropical climate with palm trees and monkeys in abundance. We were even greeted by this distant relative to the human race (though he was treated more like the blacksheep of the family).


The scenery was fantastic. Once we reached the temperate climate, Taiwan took on a different shape. Palm trees gave way to conifers the hot humidity dissipated into a cool, dry climate. The sun was shining against these massive mountain ranges shooting up around us. It was hard to imaging we were already 2,000 meters about sea level considering some of these mountains encapsulating us were still another 2,000 meters above us.


After a gruelling few hours, we finally reached our base camp at 3,500 meters above sea level. Here we would acclimitise to the altitude (thus preventing altitude sickness) and prepare for the assault on the summit in the morning. As we sat there and drank our ginger tea, we watched the sun set into the distance. The overwhelming beauty reminded me of the famous saying "Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, sailor's delight." Well, with a sunset like that, we were bound for great weather the following day. How wrong I was. How wrong I was. Eventually the sun went down leaving something I have never seen in Taipei in all my years here: stars.


The problems began when we went to sleep. We settled down on what could be described as an elongated plank of wood. No pillows made it quite difficult to get comfortable while 30 other snoring Taiwanese made the rumbling snorts unbearable. Then came the headaches. Altitude sickness? I had hoped not. My friend developed the theory that the generator in the back was pumping higher concentrations of carbon monoxide into the cabin giving us the headaches. I had to agree with her because when I left the cabin to use the restroom, the headache went away.

Not quite ready to go back to bed (or lie endlessly awake in that gas chamber) I took a seat at the picnic table a decided to gaze some more at O'Rien's Belt. But what's this? It disappeared. That can't be, it was there before I went to bed. In fact, now all of the stars had disappeared. Well, this could mean only one dangerous truth- a cloud cover had rolled in. But what's more, that at 3,500 meters, we would be hiking in that cloud cover very soon.


With this disheartening realization, I went back to bed (as best I could). At 1.30 am, we were woken up by our aboriginal guides to begin what I like to call the day of a dozen pains.

After breakfast, and in pitch black, we began our treck for the last 500 meters. A much more intense degree of climbing assured us we would be at the top of the mountain by sunrise. A slow but arduous trek, we began to make progress. However, it wasn't long before our pace slowed and out rate of breathing picked up. Even now, heavy gulps of air seemed useless in providing enough oxygen. The air was thin, the body exhausted, and the prized summit seemed ever elusive. At one point I yawned so hard, I strained a jaw muscle. I have never met anyone that has experienced this (basically my jaw muscle cramps up when I yawn very hard) but it is very painful. It also seems to be doubly painful when it happens when you're climbing a mountain.


At 3,750 meters from the top, things took a drastic change for the worst when our alpine climate delivered us snow and ice. So now, I was gassed, exhausted, suffering from altitude sickness, cramping, and to top it off: freezing. Let me set the scene: we are along the edge of a cliff, in the middle of the dark, covered in ice and snow, scrambling up loose rocks 3,750 meters above sea level (with those palm trees and monkeys). We were being served insanity for breakfast. Eventually, the sun rose revealing that one wrong step would send us plummeting over the edge to our untimely death. This was not comforting as the loose rocks were giving way and the ice was undermining each step we took. I used to joke that, at 4,000 meters, Yushan was about half the size of Mt. Everest. Therefore, by climbing up the mountain and then climbing back down it would be like climbing Everest. What I didn't expect was, that with all the ice and snow, it would actually be like climbing Everest!


There have been a few times in my life where I wasn't sure if I would make it out alive- swimming with Bull Sharks in Thailand, camping on an active volcano in the Philippines. This was, by far, the closest meeting with the end I have thus encountered. It finally got to the point where our guide turned to us and said: ok, it's too dangerous, we need to turn around. Well, a whole host of emotions surged through me. Relief we were going back. Anger we didn't make it to the top. Excitement that I was in a situation that required us to "turn back". Blinding fear that I was in a situation that required us to "turn back". Slow and steady steps ensured we wouldn't fall over the edge as we paced our way back to the base of the mountain.

The return was long and tiresome. Our legs wanted to give out, but we pushed on. Eventually, we arrived back at the camp, greated by our bus and tour guides with delicious fruit and instant noodles, and made our long ride back to Taipei. From your mountaineering adventurer of certain death: Michael.

Korea Korea Korea!

The weekend I had to sight-see kept me mainly in the vicinity of the Palace District. The tour began, actually, with my accommodations. Opting to forgo the traditional hotel or hostel, I went for the more traditional hanok style guest house. A hanok is an old traditional styled Korean house, one floor, and is the epitome of charming. Entering the wooden structure is like stepping back in in time. The sliding wooden doors are like an example of your imagination of the East. But the most unique aspect of a hanok was how it's heated. Going oldschool at this point, the structure is heated by gentle flames under the floor. Sounds a bit dangerous, but considering this structure has been around for some time, I figured the owner knew what he was doing. Not to mention there is no better feeling in the world than to wake up and step on a nice, warm wooden floor to send a shot of happiness and contentment through your entire body.


That warmth soon departed, however, when you stepped outside for the first time. The air as a great reminder that it was still winter in Korea and a warm jacke
I arrived just in time for the changing of the guard ceremony. A bit more pomp than the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in the United States, it was still an agreeable affair to behold. The ceremony began with a parade of the band and new soldiers to replace those currently on duty. Dressed in magnificent colors really offset these guards from the drab (though sunny) Korean winter.t and scarf were necessary components to enjoying the day. My first sight was not too far from my hanok. I bounded over, with the thrill of a tourist, to the largest palace complex in Seoul- Gyeongbok Palace. Built in the fifteenth century, this palace was the main residence of the King (or emporer... not sure here).


Following the ceremony, I entered the palace and was awed by the architectural masterpieces and craftmanship. Truly an astounding piece of heritage to be found in South Korea if I have ever seen it. The palace was dotted with traditional Korean heritage including the throne room with the royal throne, dish-shaped sun dials evidence of a strong astrological and scientific program in ancient Korea, lavish gardens and well cared for Korean buildings.


The most exciting part of the day, however, was when I got to dress up, for free, as a traditional Korean Guard. Putting on the royal colors, I wore the same robes used by the guards in the changing of the guard ceremony. Enjoy these pictures, but remember that's me in the outfit, not a cardboard cutout. Koreans wouldn't ruin their palace with that kind of schtick.


For all its magnificence, this palace is surprisingly not listed on the UNESCO World Heritage list. That distinction, in fact, goes to the smaller but equally impressive second palace five minutes down the road called Gyeongdeokgung.


Only acsessible via tour guide, this palace was like an abandoned oasis from it's monstrous brother down the road. Quaint yet impressive, this palace had quite a few features of worth. Most notably, this palace was the official palace for almost 200 years (I think...) when the main palace caught fire and required reconstruction (I guess those underfloor heaters aren't idiot proof). This means tat Gyeongdeokgung has more traditional architecture while Geyonbukgong has more recontruction. I assume this is why the little brother gets the emminent position as a world heritage site.

At the back of the palace is a secret garden with a quaint and almost magical feel to it.


After my royal tours, I strolled down along Insadong, the artistic and cultural center of Seoul and coincidentally right near the palaces. Good dinner, shopping, and tea houses made for a scrumptious and sophisticated afternoon.


Towards sunset, I found myself heading up the cable car to the N-Seoul Tower, previously known as the Seoul Tower and changed for whatever reason unknown. The view was bitterly cold but gave one an excellent appreciation of just how massive Seoul is. This view only encompasses one view of Seoul because the N-Seoul tower is in the middle of Seoul and the city stretches around it. So like I said, here is just a tasting of Seoul.


That night was an interesting night. Near insadong, I snacked on street snacks and tried different delicacies. The best was an ingenious creation of western cuisine, actually. One lady took a hotdog, placed it into a crepe-like pancake and stuffed it with coleslaw, mustard and ketchup. The sweet with the salty made it an excellent combination. The worst was the silk worm larvae. A bowl of larvae soaking in a sauce made the entire experience unappealing. But it was new and customary, and at this point I've had partially developed duck fetuses and bull testicles- how much could this hurt. The answer- alot. It was by far one of the worst tastes I have ever encountered. It tasted like an insect flew into my mouth and I was eating it against my will. This particulary dish comes highly unrecommended by me. I finished the night at a hof (Korean bar) in happening portion of town filled o the brim with energetic college students and business men looking to have a good time.


Sunday was less exciting. I boarded the MRT with the intention of heading to Suwon to see a fortress. But as luck would have it, I got on the wrong train and found myself in Incheon. Not to be dismayed, I decided to take a ferry to one of the Western islands. I popped into the tourist center for directions and they gave me a list of busses to take around Korea to get to my destination-Ganghwa. Three to four hours later, after a one hour ride already to Incheon, I finally arrived in Ganghwa ready to see some ancient tombs and a unique glimpse of North Korea.

I looked in my wallet and noticed I had only 5,000 Korean Won left which is really only less than five bucks. I went to the ATM, but the machine did not accept my card. I went to another machine and again was shot down. I had plenty of foreign currency, but it was Sunday and everything was closed. Essentially, I couldn't get what I needed to get. I returned back to the ticket counter, broken hearted, and with the money I had left purchased a ticket back to Seoul without seeing any of the things I had wanted to see.

When I returned back to Seoul, I treated myself to a nice BBQ dinner followed by a relaxing soak in a Sauna (a must try for anyone in Korea). In the Itaewon district, I went to this massive four story complex of a sauna. The basement with the pools were separated by gender. However, the top three floors, where you wore special pajamas, was open to both sexes to mingle and integrate. On these floors were dry saunas, restaurants, cafes, movie theaters, massages, bedrooms... you name it, they had it! It's a great place for families to come and just relax.


After the sauna, feeling holistically renewed, I made my way back to my Hanock and nestled into a deep slumber while the flames below gently rose and rocked me to sleep.

From your gamsa hamnida Korea guy, Michael.

A Little Heart and Seoul

On Tuesday afternoon, my boss called me up on the phone and asked if I would like to go to Korea tomorrow. Without thinking it through, I replied with an affirmative. He then went to book the tickets as I thought about all the preparation I had to do in the next twenty four hours to prepare for this trip. Who would take care of my bird? When could I go pick up a guide? Where can I purchase some traveler's cheques? How will I make up for lost time at my Chinese Class. Eventually, it all worked out fine and I was on my way, twenty four hours later, to the land of Hanguel-speaking natives.

I won't bore you too much with the specifics of the first forty-eight hours. Essentially, my boss and I met with each of our clients independently in Korea, learning more about their schools and devising ways in which we could help them. In the evenings, we sprinkled in a bit of tourism and culinary experimentation.


I would say that the single most enthralling element about Korea is their food. My boss recently admitted, much to both of our chagrin, that he actually preferred Korean food to Taiwanese food. I would not have such blasphemy present before me. I have sworn by Taiwanese food and I will continue to argue that Taiwanese food is Asian food at the zenith of its possibility. Except of stinky tofu. And maybe chicken butts. But regardless, this was a bold admission from a man who has devoted so much praise to our little island. This could only suggest that my taste buds were in for something quite extraordinary.


His hype was unnecessary- the food spoke for itself. While I will not say it surpasses a good beef noodle soup in Taiwan, I will say Korean's can be very proud of what they eat. Essentially, our dining experience revolved around one basic concept: grilling. A man's fantasy: sit around at your kitchen table with some burning charcoals in the middle barbecuing up some fresh meat. While the food was sumptuous, the sides contributed greatly to the feast. When ordering a rack of pork ribs or some braised beef, it always comes with a healthy portion of kimchee, salad, sauces, and countless other dishes to complement the central fan fare.


Every morning we woke up, after a night of gorging, made us regret eating so much meat and swearing off anything that oinks or moos for the rest of our lives. However, like men who don't learn from their hangovers, we were right back in the barbecues each night trying some chicken, spicy meat, and other delicious tenderloins. The grills were, quite possibly, the greatest things one could ever hope to find in their lives.


During dinner, naturally, we often gravitated toward a certain topic of discussion: would a restaurant like this actually survive in the United States? Would people enjoy cooking their own food? Would the restaurant be liable for someone who undercooked their meat and suffered food poisoning? I will say our estimation of the American psyche found them unprepared for this sort of cuisine, but we can hope that one day the states will be ready.

After dinner one night, my boss and I went to a local Hof, which is essentially a traditional Korean Bar. A small bar in th Bundang region just south a Seoul, this was full of hanguel speaking masters with little Engish ability. For example, when asking where the toilet was, I was given the bill instead. However, our ability to point got us what we wanted and our mastery of one Korean word, Dongdongju, whetted our whistle. Dongdongju is a traditional creamy rice wine. Usually served in a kettle and then poured into a wooden bowl (our bowls were metal as we were in a very local place not fit for tourists) it is a very strange drink. I almost felt like a kid again, sneaking a sip of my father's beer again. At first it was strange and revolting, but the taste lingered and suddenly there was new beauty in this very adult taste. Dongdongju has a tarty zing to it, almost as if it were carbonated. Ordering a squid pancake to go along with this drink (I picked around the squid), my boss and I drank up and rode the subway back to our hotel.


The following day, Saturday, found me left in Seoul while my boss went back to Taiwan. I wanted to get some sightseeing in at this point. I had already seen the Great East Gate, called Dongdamuen. Interestingly, the Korean language stems greatly from the Chinese Language. In the 15th century (it seems like everything happened in the 15th century for Korea, by the way) the scholards of the time possesed great power because they were literate and the commoners were not. Much of the writing was done in Chinese Characters, making much of the knowledge innaccessible to most. The Great East Gate is actually based on Chinese Characters 東 大 門, or Dong Da Men. Maybe I could pick up some Korean after Chinese study... Most likely not.


To be continued..., Michael.

The Din Tai Fung Club

Din Tai Fung is a restaurant. No, actually, Din Tai Fung is an institution. Always a cue, always profess- ional service, always the best night out to dinner in Taiwan.

I was first attracted there when I had a dream about Xiao Long Bao, or pork steamed dumplings. Not long afterwards, I flipped through my little Taiwan guide to come across Din Tai Fung as highly recommended. After my first class, I went there for dinner. The dumplings were so good, I went again the next night. And the next night. And the next.

Pretty soon I was known around the restaurant almost as well as their famous dish, the steamed dumplings. I befriended most of the waitresses, most noticibly so Singing (who has a fantastic command of the English language and the beginning signs of an Australian accent). Over the weeks of eating there, the owner if Din Tai Fung began to take notice of my patronage.

One Wednesday night, after I helped myself to two baskets of dumplings, containing 10 each, Singing came up to me and asked if I wanted to join the owner for a private dinner that evening. Although I just stuffed myself silly on the dumplings, I enthusiastically accepted.

Abut 30 minutes prior to the start of the Dinner, the owner, Mr. Yang, joined me upstairs and we chatted for a little bit. I used what Chinese vocabulary I had and he used what English vocabulary he had to introduce ourselves.

It wasn't long before 10 o'clock rolled around and Mr. Yang's friends started to join us- doctors, lawyers, high society and Taipei's elite were sitting around a table at an exclusive dinner gathering at one of the most famous restaurants in Asia (with locations in Japan, China, Korea, Indonesia, Australia, USA, Hong Kong, etc). Politics, sports, and general ideas were naturally discussed. People were cerainly interested in where I came from. Surprisingly, nearly all of them had studied in Boston at one time or another.

The food was delicious, and consequently, not on the menu. The conversations evolved into comraderie and with the excellent french wine served (nothing outside Bordeaux and nothing under ten years of age). Soon enough, Mr. Yang told me that I was like his brother and that I was invited to all of their Wednesday evening gatherings and to the global Din Tai Fung corporate party on April 8th. Obviously, I was very honored. He even gave me VIP status, precluding me from the wait at the restaurant. This means that, on heavy trafficked weekends when the queue can last over 100 people, I will automatically be bumped to the front.

So now, I join Mr. Yang and his social circle every Wednesday night for good food, excellent taste in wine, and a tempered display of happiness and joyful dining. I have even joined Mr. Yang on private lunches around Taipei to glorious Thai restaurants with his family and other Chinese restaurants that have garnered fame (it's interesting to see where the owner of the most famous restaurant in Asia eats out).

Until next time, your VIP carrying Xia Long Bao loving, Din Tai Fung idolizing, new friend found revelling, Michael.