We shot this commercial on a SATURDAY AFTERNOON in Ximending. Let’s just say the set was filled with city-madness, in every good way possible. Check it out, and I promise to post the blooper reel and the hilarious stories about pedestrians on the set in my next post!
If you are in the Taipei area, come check out The Aroma, the Coffee Shop Church my friends and I are a part of here. We serve homemade muffins, sandwiches, soup and ….starting up again in April… COLD PASTA!
“Stop the bus!”
Now, because of language and linguistic issues, this isn’t EXACTLY what I end up yelling in the Mandarin language, but I’ve had to make this cry more than once. I’ll never forget the first time the bus didn’t stop, even after I had hit the “get off the bus bell” button. (That’s literally what it is in Chinese, get off the bus bell.)
Since then, I’ve learned that I need to make quite the show, especially if the bus crowded and nobody is going where I am going, to ensure I alight at my desired destination. There are certain stops where practically the entire bus unloads, so of course on these occasions bus drivers are obligated to wait. But I tell you, some of those bus drivers are EAGER to get going! This is where my problem comes in. (I’ve seen it happen to other people as well.)
I was extremely upset the first time the bus didn’t stop even when I pressed the button. So I’ve taken action since then. But I still have my pride. I maintain this pride (under ideal conditions) by sitting in my seat (when I have one) until that very moment I get off the bus. I see no need to be like those other people, pushing their way to the front, shoving their bodies up against complete strangers, 3 blocks before their bus stop! I am also extremely annoyed by people who assume nobody else is getting off at their stop, so they feel the need to push past me, EVEN THOUGH I HIT THE BUTTON AND AM STANDING NEAR THE DOOR ALREADY.
I have my pride. (I wouldn’t be writing this blog if that were not true.)
So now, this is the scenario. I’m sitting in the back of the bus. People are crowding the walkway, because they would rather stand than sit. My stop is coming up. I hit the button. I remain sitting, especially considering the bus is at an intersection waiting for a green light. The bus reaches my destination. There are too many people in my way! AND I’M THE ONE WHO PRESSED THE BUTTON! Stupid other passengers! The bus is pulling away from my stop, so I scream, “BUS DRIVER, I STILL NEED TO GET OFF THE BUS!”
I’ve started doing this for other people as well. And they’ve definitely been grateful. One time, when I was riding the bus with a friend. We watched a whole group of people trying to make their way to front of the bus so they could pay and get off. The bus driver started to pull away before they even had chance to get off. I came to the rescue by yelling, “Bus driver, people still want to get off the bus!” The bus came to a halt.
You’re welcome.
Moral of the story: help your fellow passenger get off the bus. It will make all of our pesdetrial lives so much easier.
The big city near my hometown was Seattle, Washington. But even in the suburban developments of Washington State eye-contact with strangers became an early intimidation factor.
The neighborhood I grew up in had a community park. Goth teenagers would hang out there with their black eye-liner and sharp mohawks and illegal cigarrettes. I swear they existed to scare the living daylights out of elementary children, because that’s exactly what they did to me. I wouldn’t dare look at them.
Even in Everett or Seattle or infront of the local department or grocery store, looking at someone in the eye would evoke some kind of harsh-sounding response like
“What?!?”
“What are YOU looking at?”
“You wanna piece of me?!”
or
death glare/creepy molester expression
You just didn’t do it. Eye-contact with strangers was simply out of the question.
HERE IN TAIPEI, however, it’s apparently a different story! I get stared at all the time! And I hate it. People just LOOK at me. I can feel their eyes follow me as I walk past car windows, restaurants, other pedestrians. They don’t even try to hide. Necks are turning and craning to get an eye-full of… what?
All of this shameless staring has forced me to reciprocate – and by that I mean give back to society, of course. So as I pedest along to my destinations via sidewalk or bus, I have begun to stare back. I’m relentless. I’ve stared some locals down until their red in the face. I’ve stared some adolescents into embarrassment (their embarrassment, not mine). I’ve had some interesting matches with old people. They don’t let up easily. It’s like playing chicken with your eyes.
I still hate it, though, because if I’m perfectly honest with myself, no connection whatsoever is being made with these “visual transactions.” It’s just a game of offense and defense. I’m on the offensive, and what I’m assuming to be offensive could really just be mere curiosity.
So, I felt incredibly refreshed and validated as a human being by a kind female stranger on the bus the other day. We made eye contact through her fashionable shades and after barely 5 seconds had gone by, she smiled at me. We both looked away – satisfied.
I now make it a point to conclude all my “chicken matches” with a smile. It’s good to feel human again.
It’s fun riding the bus with friends – not as a general way to all go somewhere for fun together, but for commuting together. Literally waving to your friend as he or she gets on the bus and joins you in the back because your both heading in the same direction for work.
While I was growing up, my dad worked in Seattle, Washington, which is 45 minutes north of the town I grew up in. He took the bus. I remember when I went with him to work one day because of “Take Your Daughter to Work Day.” On the bus, he was saying hi to all these people! He explained to me that they were also commuters that rode the same 6:15 bus with him every morning. I remember thinking my dad was so cool.
Now, that gets to be my experience! Among other things, of course…
This morning, I was headed to an annual meeting for work. So were my friends who also live in Ximending and teach English for the same company. I hopped on bus 235 at my regular stop, only a five minute walk (if I hit the green crosswalk lights all the way through) from the entrance of my apartment building. At the next stop, my friend Michael hopped on at the stop that’s basically infront of his apartment. And then, at the very next stop, we picked up Chris, Jamie and Belinda at the stop down the sidewalk from their apartment. We were hoping to pick up another fellow teacher at the next bus stop, but we found out later he was running a little late that morning.
Sometimes, especially when it comes to commuting, it really is the little things. The commute this morning was not without disaster, though, of course. After all, this blog is a confession.
I made myself some tea with my to-go tea bottle I bought in Hong Kong before I headed out the door. On the bus, as I was scanning my Easy Card, I dropped this bottle onto the bus floor. Initially, I was under the impression that this was going to be like any other incident of dropping a bottled beverage on the floor: I was going to bend over and pick it up, no damage done. Worst case scenario? The bottle breaks.
Well, I got something in between. Please remember, I am on a moving bus while all of this is happening. As soon as I looked down, I saw that the bottle was leaking, and I was still in the process of scanning my card and putting it away. The leak was serious; quite a bit of tea had been spilled out all across the floor right infront of the door. I found myself repeating the words “Oh no, Oh no.” A fellow bus patron gave me this “that sucks, sorry but not really” look. Another patron – bless her heart! – handed me a small pile of tissues.
Then Michael got on the bus and of course he noticed the spill. When he saw me I immediately confessed my sin. Then Belinda made a comment as she was boarding with Chris and Jamie. She thought it was juice.
Welcome to Bus 235, everybody. I was here. Want some tea?!? I’m honestly just thankful for that lady who handed me the tissues. At least she sympathized with my plight. And I was riding the bus with friends! AND (this is probably the most important thing of all) I still had plenty of tea left.
Count your blessings, people, count your blessings. A friend dared me to do that one time and it changed my life. Moral of the story #2: Don’t cry over spilled tea.
I found myself on two wheels today. It started with helping a friend carry a bike downstairs. It then spiraled into me simply hopping on the bike, and telling the friend that I would get it to their house later.
What happened next was an adventure through pedestrian central and an intriguing study of the pedestrial reactions to bikes that suddenly invade their territory. This time, I was the one on wheels.
I literally biked with my friend through the Ximending Pedestrian area on one of the most pedestrian-heavy days of the week: Sunday. (My friend was walking.)
As I biked, I conversed with my friend about life and the weather. I also noticed all the other precarious bikers making their way through all the people on a Sunday afternoon. Mind you I was biking ALONGSIDE my friend.
It was interesting, observing the reactionary behavior my mode of transportation would evoke. People would stop and then decide their next move. People would YIELD TO ME! It was an amazing feeling. One time, this guy literally ran into my bike. I wasn’t even moving. He noticed it too late, I guess.
I was also surprised how easy I found it to carve a path through all the foot traffic. I focused on my friend, who happens to be a good weaver, and didn’t run over a soul! I enjoyed myself. I think I went into the whole thing with the right attitude.
And while I’m on two wheels, let me just take this paragraph to say thank you to an extremely friendly biker of Taipei. One afternoon, this same friend and I were out for a bike ride on the river and suddenly needed to turn around because the person we were meeting up with was behind us. This friendly biker noticed our abrupt change of direction and stopped to see if were lost. It was extremely kind of him. His kindness outweighed all the unhelpful behavior I’ve encountered in the city. So thank you, kind stranger on a bike.
As far as making this a regular thing, probably not. But I like biking, and it’s good to know there is space for the two-wheel-way in the pedestrial world.
Traveling is always good for broadening the perspective. And that is exactly what has been happening to me the last two weeks: perspective-broadening.
I left the island country of Taiwan on Saturday morning, Feb 2, and didn’t return until Friday morning, Feb 15. In that time, I rubbed shoulders with, bumped the heads of, and knocked over pedestrians of many types. And I realized I might need to give the pedestrians of Taipei a break. Only a break in the sense that they’re not the craziest ones out there. Or the slowest ones. Or the most ridiculous ones.
During my travels, I ended up spending time in places that follow British traffic laws. That was new for me. Two weeks in the world of favoring the left when walking and driving and riding. Steering wheels were on the right side of vehicles. It was a new experience. I would found myself being the idiot pedestrian getting in everyone’s way.
Please keep left in Hong Kong
People in Hong Kong can be just as pushy and obnoxious on the subways as people in Taipei can. However, I must give people in HK this: THEY SAT DOWN WHEN THERE WAS AN EMPTY SEAT! I respected this so much that I even got up a few times to give my seat to an elder.
People in HK don’t clog the walkways. That was very nice. They do a rather good job of keeping to the left, as well. I wish Taipei could just pick a side and stick to it. Enough of these groups of five people spreading themselves out all across the sidewalk as they walk arm-in-arm to a tea shop together.
I also spent some time in Indonesia. Here, I began to crave the relatively safe and friendly streets of Taipei. There are no crosswalks in Indonesia. Ok, there are, but they’re actually not in operation all 24 hours of the day! Crossing the street is a game of frogger that Indonesians have become experts in. It’s called being your own traffic cop. And let me not fail to mention that Jakarta is the fourth largest city in the world – full of people, cars, and other vehicular forms (not to mention the people selling things from car to car in heavy traffic) congesting the streets. It takes FOREVER to get anywhere in that city on wheels – it doesn’t matter how much you’re paying for your wheels – during rush hour. And rush hour lasts for a while.
Experiencing the pedestrial culture of other places was healthy for me. I walk out onto the streets of Taipei feeling a little more optimistic about all the other people pedesting around me. Boarding and alighting a bus in a developed city feels like child play. Now I just need to watch out for snakes.
The sidewalks of much of Taipei are rather wide. They’re designed to make space for both biker and pedestrian. Some of the sidewalks even have markers for the division. It’s incredibly how rarely these things are attended to, much to the peril of people traveling on foot.
I have lost track of all the times some punk on a bike has nearly ran into me from behind. Or was suddenly WHEELING on my heels! I see the bell on your handlebars, man. RING IT! Or say something! And the incredible thing is that these “punks” are not little kids fooling around on their bikes. (That happened one time, and my friend who I happened to be with reminded me that they were probably 12 and already obnoxious by nature.) THEY’RE GROWN ADULTS, traversing the city via two wheels, creeping carelessly close to crushing my ankles!
It’s like these bikers think they have the right of way. It’s like they think I have eyes in the back of my head and should have seen them coming. It’s like they don’t see the pedestrians populating the sidewalks upon which they bike!
I’ve started yelling at the bikers who dare to perilously pass me. I feel like they would keep on biking after they’ve knocked me to the ground. I’ll call things out in Chinese like, “You didn’t say anything!” “Be careful!” Mostly, “YOU DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING!” Because you cannot expect me to see you coming when wait till you’re biking on my heels to suddenly spurt out an “excuse me.” It’s ridiculous.
One time, there was an older lady on a bike who almost hit me. You know what she said??!!? She freaking said, “Be careful!” You know what I called back? “YOU be careful!!!!” To this she appropriately responded, “Pie-say,” which means sorry in Taiwanese. (Not Mandarin, Taiwanese. There IS a difference.)
I’ve begun to be extremely verbal in my pedestrial attacks against these bikers. And I should really write a letter to the Taipei government demanding some serious overhaul in their pedestrial education program. And a biker’s safety course that teaches trivial things like STAY ON THE BIKE PATH, IDIOT, AND ALERT OTHERS OF YOUR PRESENCE WITH THAT DAMN BELL I KNOW YOUR BIKE HAS! And if they don’t know how to ring it… well, then that should be included in the course as well.
I will survive.
There is something that happens on buses here that really makes me angry. It seriously riles me up, rubs me the wrong away, causes steam to come out of my ears. I’ve actually mentioned this in an earlier post. It’s when people on the bus idiotically stand in the most inconvenient and crowded spot INSTEAD of sitting in one of the FIVE empty seats in the back.
My positive mantra for this? SIT DOWN! BE A PART OF THE SOLUTION!
This where you might think the bus driver comes in handy. What is the bus driver’s role, after all? Is it not to manage the passengers on the bus, seeing that they all scan their MRT cards either upon boarding or alighting, and assuring the atmosphere within the bus is a safe and peaceful one for all?
Some bus drivers are really good at this. Other bus drivers are speaking Taiwanese INTO THE INTERCOM FOR ALL TO HEAR with an old lady seated in the front of bus. Some bus drivers play classical music for their passengers. Some bus drivers don’t even stop even when the alighting request light has been activated! (I’ve experienced this before.)
Some bus drivers say the same super nice thing to all of the boarding passengers and then say something else just as nice to the passengers when they alight. And then during the bus ride, they wish all of the passengers safety, help and happiness.
Starting around December 15 every year, all the bus drivers wear Santa suits.
Snuck this one of the driver while I was boarding the bus.
After all my years of experience as a pedestrian here in Taipei, I’ve really come to appreciate the good bus drivers. The bus drivers who remind passengers to move the back of the bus to make space. The bus drivers who acknowledge my existence when I get on and when I get off. The bus drivers who properly manage their bus. The bus drivers who DON’T slam on the brakes and nearly hit some pedestrian crossing the road or another vehicle.
You get to know bus drivers after a while, especially when you become regular foreigner passenger. They are always doing the same thing everyday, just like anybody else working a run-of-the-mill job.
When you’re walking around a big city, you might notice a lot of people with things either in their ears over covering their ears. This is not dangerous. This is a really good idea. I’d like to call this pedestrial sanity maintenance. And as I have recently learned, music can make all the difference.
Without music: Everyone and their mother is coming at you in cruel and meaningless attack and you can get past anybody without experiencing some level of frustration and pain.
With music: A drove of dancers on the street are weaving in and out of each other’s path in pedestrial choreography, and you are one of the lucky ones talented and coordinated enough to be a part of this number.
Without music: The street and all the cars and scooters and traffic cops it houses is the noisiest place in the world.
With music: You’re watching street-dance at its finest, with all the vehicles rhythmically zooming past, the traffic cops magically waving their orange wands, the pedestrians dancing along the sidewalk at varying tempos, and the scooter-drivers ambitiously performing tricks when the music gets climactic.
Without music: The crosswalk never freaking waits for you, and you always end up stuck waiting out the next light, contemplating a risky round of frogger as you watch the time.
With music: We were meant to RUN! And LAUGH with the world when we barley make it to the other side!
Without music: Waving down the bus, running after the bus, racing past the closing MRT doors…isn’t public transportation supposed to be working for you? Why does it feel like a race against time EVERY time. Now I’m going to be late for my meeting again…
With music: All of humanity, ALL OF US, are trapped within the walls of an industrial system that that moves at an unnatural pace. If any of us are to survive, we must keep up.
See what I mean?
For much too long I allowed myself to go without headphones. I had lost both pairs (iPhone earphones and AKG headphones). It was very sad. I was hoping they would turn up, so my commutes went music-less for a while. It was very sad.
So one day, before getting on bus #235 like I always do, I took a scenic and found myself a little electronic store full of headphones and earphones and such. It’s completely changed everything.
Remember: music makes all the difference.
And now for the prologue, or rather an initial retrospection of sorts. When I first started out as a pedestrian in this city, I was literally a lost soul. I was constantly getting on the wrong buses, falling asleep on the MRT and missing my stops, wandering streets until I was so turned around that my final hope was a cab ride home. This was the beginning. I have come a long way and now my neighborhood of Ximending like the back of my hand.
Then I learned the ways of briskly walking through the MRT stations, catching buses to every part of the city, even running for the bus when the time came. I rather enjoyed it. It was fun pedesting throughout the city, my headphones pumping the soundtrack of my life into my ears as I scanned the faces moving all about me. All the faces. The slow, MOVING faces.
I would race past all of them. On the escalator, on the crosswalk, in the MRT stations, on the sidewalks. And then it felt like they stopped moving, and I was the only one who ever wanted to get anywhere in a hurry. Like I was the only one ever running late. And then I was the only one on the bus ever interested in finding a seat on the bus or MRT and actually sitting down.
Suddenly, moving and sitting became a fight. The questions was, would I fight it? SHOULD I fight it?
There are certain cultural codes that dictate the etiquette of a society. Here on the buses in Taipei, one of these codes is priority seating. The dark blue or red seats go to disabled, pregnant, and elderly passengers FIRST. The problem is, these PRIORITIZED passengers don’t always want to sit! Then what is one supposed to do?
I start by politely telling people to sit or giving up my seat. I was rarely successful. I didn’t understand. So I started sitting. And this is when I realized it was more than just the PRIORITIZED passengers who didn’t want to sit.
IT WAS ALL OF THEM. All of them actually PREFERRED to stand on a crowded bus, smashed up against EACH OTHER rather than occupy one of the MANY empty seats that surrounded them. That in fact were ALL OVER the bus.
It was astounding. And becoming extremely obnoxious. So I began to fight…to get past all the people blocking my way to the empty seats in the back of the bus!
My fight took on other forms as well. I started loudly declaring IN CHINESE that everyone should move their rear ends to the bus’s rear end. This was to no avail. Sometimes the bus driver would side with me and announce it over the intercom. This helped some. Then I started saying IN CHINESE that it is WAY too crowded on the bus for you NOT take that empty seat RIGHT NEXT to you. If the fellow passenger still refused, I took the seat. This was nonsense. Nonsensical nonsense.
And as an angry pedestrian, it was getting more and more difficult NOT to fight.
confessions of an angry pedestrian 