I recently had an accident on the streets of Paris causing one of the health issues I’ve alluded to in my blog. On my first day in Paris I fell and broke my hip. The next five days were a blur of ambulances and hospitals, broken by the monotony of days in a hotel bed. My Parisienne experience was capped by an untimely return flight and surprise surgery hours after landing. I’ve been recovering ever since. Piddling through Taipei via wheelchair, walker, then crutches and finally a cane has given me a chance to observe a different side of Taiwan. My debilitated state noticeably changed Taiwanese people’s interactions with me.

First, a bit about my physical presence, which may explain some stiltedness in my interactions with the Taiwanese. It’s possible the average person here might find me intimidating. I feel only slightly more menacing than a pink marshmallow, but I guess I understand how a stranger might be unnerved. I’m tall: an unslumped 6’3”to 6‘4“ and generally just kinda big—broad. I suffer from resting bitch face. I have a bit of a dead-eyed stare, or sometimes I wear aviator sunglasses, neither of which soften my face. I look more displeased with the world than I am. I have a man-bun that lends my countenance enough attitude to intimate a willingness to go rogue. Add in my extreme foreignness—blonde hair, blue eyes, and either white-white or sunburned-sunburned skin—and you have a disturbingly Caucasian dude roaming Taiwan. I can see how I might catch a Taiwanese person off-guard and cause a fear of the unknown.

The default setting on the streets of Taiwan is one of friendliness and relative willingness to engage with strangers. I particularly notice it because I’m Canadian. In case you didn’t know it—the only people who don’t know it are Canadians—we are often perceived as aloof. It’s a combination of the cold climate and not wanting to be regarded as a pushy braggadocious American. Cold climates seem to discourage random friendliness. Ultimately we’re just trying to get around without the frozen air giving us an auto-nippledectomy. Ever walked down snow-filled streets, in -40 degree weather, anywhere in the world? It’s an endless stream of dour faces.

This is not the feel of a Taiwanese street. Strangers are generally friendly, willing to smile and nod, maybe exchange a few words. I’ve grown accustomed to it. I sometimes run into problems back in Canada. Those damn Canadians don’t take kindly to a stranger sidling up and starting a conversation. Canadian-me wouldn’t, but Taiwanese-me does. What can I say? I’m often intrigued by the possibilities of an English conversation and lack normal Canadian restraint. I’ve freaked out many.

Despite Taiwan’s general friendliness, if I’m alone—unaccompanied by my Taiwanese wife and permanent arm-candy [she made me say that]—there is a noticeable reserve. I suppose it’s society’s normal reticence towards solitary dudes. The change in society’s treatment towards me was stunning when I married. I assume society is even less displeased by your (male) existence if you’re on the streets with your young child. I once watched a documentary about bull elephants. Apparently, single male elephants are expelled from their home community upon reaching sexual maturity, and must find a new community where they can mate. Ultimately they are feared by the new community. They live on the outer fringes of the new society—spurned—until they manage to mate. It seems kind of sad, but I feel ya big buddy.

Not only do I have a penis, there’s the added fear-factor of being a foreigner—hence strange and unpredictable. No one likes a strange and unpredictable penis. Frankly, I rarely notice the suspicion associated with being a white man on the streets of Taiwan. That casual unprovoked distress doesn’t really dent my armor anymore. The last time I remember being annoyed by random fear was years ago. I was walking home from the MRT late one night after work, when I turned into the dead-end alley my home was on, and the woman in front of me turned around, evidently to confront me, obviously assuming I was following her. Much to her amazement, I avoided her, walked past, pulled out my keys, and entered the building where I lived. I didn’t realize she’d been scared until I thought about it later—because, you know, I don’t automatically assume myself to be a predator. That’s the last time I can remember having to deal with other’s anxiety caused by my existence. Of course, on a daily basis, there are the wary glances and physical tension being a solitary foreign guy on the street inspires in others, but that’s just the background hum of an expat guy’s life. I stopped noticing it, until I found myself a cripple on the streets of Taipei and was surprised by the difference.

Logically, women’s discomfiture melted away when they saw my walker and realized I couldn’t chase them, or whatever the fear had been. Women in general became much more helpful—much less cold and standoffish. Nicer. Truly kind-hearted and helpful—it was weird. But pleasant. Several times women approached me to offer unsolicited help. I was taken aback.

If I needed assistance—the Taiwanese were there—male or female, old or young, strangers or friends. I don’t think that would have been nearly as true where I come from. One of my friends here broke his leg; compound fracture, surgery, pins—the whole deal. His roommate was a Western woman. One day he struggled into the apartment on his crutches, to find a mop and bucket leaning against his bedroom door. When he pointed out that he was incapable of mopping, his roommate went off: “You just don’t understand my stress. Life. I just can’t deal. It’s so hard”. The refrain rang through the apartment as he slip-slid around the room, crutches akimbo, trying to mop one-handed, while avoiding further injury and simultaneously acknowledging the difficulty of being her. With the Taiwanese, break a bone and the shittier aspects of being a foreign guy fall away. Most my friends are Taiwanese. If I needed anything, they were there—even suggesting things I might need. Bone soup? OK… I didn’t know I needed that, but sure.

The wider society became friendlier, even when not specifically offering aid. More outgoing than usual, a lot of Taiwanese guys would randomly chat with me. Even though Taiwanese are friendly, you’re still dealing with a small group who want to engage with a foreigner. In my experience that group has less males, apparently men are more scared of speaking English than women are of being raped. If you find yourself an obvious cripple, even Taiwanese men will initiate contact. I liked it.

More surprisingly, old people also came up to me and started conversations. When zooming the streets in an electric wheelchair, I’d sometimes get approached by octogenarians, who just wanted to kick the tires, and pass some time talking about the new XJR-10 wheelchair with hydraulic seat lift and a top end of 20+ km/h. [No shit! It’s scary as hell.] It’s odd for older Taiwanese to willingly put themselves through the ordeal of interacting with a foreigner. Suddenly, we were brothers-in-immobility, united in our shared battle with Taipei‘s unwheelchair friendly sidewalks. Even now that I’m walking without a mobility aid, I still get approached by various seniors who remember the good ol’ days sitting in the wheelchair corner of the park. They’re very encouraging: “Hey, you’re looking good. Making real progress. Great job!” It catches me off-guard, but it’s great, if random.

Low-context cultures, generally Western cultures,  emphasize the sanctity of the individual, placing importance on the right and privilege each person has to be independent and care for themselves. [There is a bit more on this topic in the context of elder care here: The Care and Feeding of the Elderly]. It’s part of that rugged individualism so honored in many Western countries. There’s a priority on not belittling others with the implication they aren’t competent to care for themselves. So, many in low-context cultures are stingy about offering a helping hand. They don’t want to give the impression of presuming you’re incapable. But as one who has been there, I can tell you begging for help is not pleasant. It’s much nicer—and easier to accept—when assistance is offered genuinely and naturally.

I’m currently off the crutches and cane, weaker and more unstable, but mobile.