Tag Archives: Culture shock Taiwan

Culture Shock

Cultural Differences of Little Consequence

There are lots of chances for culture shock and cultural misunderstandings in expat life. These often revolve around big cultural differences, but not all cultural variance assaults our core ideas. Some are simply quaint. These are the cultural contrasts a vacationer might notice between spa treatments, or might turn up in a high school report. They’re interesting, light, fluffy, and fun.

Generally Taiwanese prefer to shower at night while Westerners prefer to shower in the morning. For the Taiwanese, it’s a time to unwind, shed the day’s cares, and prepare for bed. Apparently Taiwanese people don’t sweat or spit all over themselves in their sleep. Us more messy Western sleepers tend to prefer an invigorating morning shower to wake up, wash away the sleep goo, and get ready to face the day.

Relaxing versus prepping is also a theme in eating soup. At banquets Taiwanese have the soup toward meal’s end, to settle the stomach and aid in digestion after gorging. Clearly they’re wrong—that’s why God invented whiskey and tobacco. In formal dining, Westerners usually have soup at the beginning of the meal, to warm the stomach, and lay the groundwork for the coming meal.

Continuing with the stomach theme, most Westerners are comfortable with a drinks only night out, or inviting friends over and entertaining them with drinks and perhaps light snacks. [See: Starvation Culture]. In Taiwan it is very odd to spend time with friends without talking around a mouthful of food.

Dating has a lot of small cultural differences. Kissing is culturally different, not so much in structure or delivery, as in timing. The kiss is an important part of early dates in the West. Should I? Shouldn’t I? Was that the signal? You have to get through the kiss to get to the good stuff. These things have stages, hence the whole first-base metaphor. Kissing has a less important role in dating in Taiwan. Kissing on the first or even second date is a bit odd, not wrong, possibly even charming, in a hey-I’m-dating-a-foreigner sort of way. It isn’t uncommon to hit a homer before circling around for some of that hot first-base action, which is also charming, in a hey-I’m-dating-a-Taiwanese-woman sort of way.

Yet picking your nose on a first date might be acceptable. There’s definitely an odd tendency towards public nose-picking. The number of times I’ve seen someone engaged in a third-knuckle-deep snoot root on the street, in a bus, at a restaurant is disturbing. Man, woman; old, young; hot, not; high-class or low-class place; it does matter, nothing stands in the way of a good rhinogasm. Oddly despite the fascination with the nostrils, blowing your nose in public is bad form. They’d rather snuffle. Taiwanese nasal culture is opposite to the West’s.

Private space blends with public space in Taiwan in other ways. At the traditional morning market it’d be surprising if you didn’t see women shopping in their pajamas, or old men in their undershirts and—what looks like—boxer shorts. I don’t really mind. We have Walmart, so, you know, there’s no room for aspersions, but it drives my French friends nuts.

As a teacher, one cultural difference I find myself dealing with is that plagiarism is not a mortal sin like in the West. A traditional way of studying in Chinese culture is to copy accepted authorities. Also Taiwanese students tend to be more communal in their study habits; they study together, share their research, and copy each other. It is not so bad here. You look like a raging lunatic if you get too over-the-top morally indignant. Sure you’d have been expelled and blackballed, but what’s that to do with here?

The Taiwanese are generally good savers. Even though I’ve been a part of a Taiwanese family for over a decade I still don’t entirely understand the mechanics of it. My wife seems profligate, yet saves an awesome percentage of her income. My parents-in-law are the same. My wife has me saving/investing 65%+ of my income, and despite doing it, I don’t get how it is happening. [I’m pretty sure I’m suffering]. I’m frugal, but left to my own devices, I’d be lucky to save 15-20%.

It’s always amazed me how often little things are the opposite. We have a 20% off sale, in Chinese it’s a 80% on sale. Which direction does a compass point? North? In ancient Chinese it pointed south. These little cultural differences are interesting, but won’t cause much culture shock or intercultural discomfort. They’re just fun.

Culture Shock

The Benefits of Being Misunderstood

One of the first benefits to the expat lifestyle I discerned was being misunderstood. It doesn’t sound like an advantage, but it has its moments.

I wasn’t here too long before I discovered how much more appealing I am to the opposite sex when they don’t quite understand me. It worked a charm on my social life. I was used to Canadian women examining every word I said fifteen different ways, if a Foucaultian deconstruction didn’t yield results, then it was time for a psycholinguistic or cognitive-linguistic approach. I’m not that deep, and often didn’t fair well in these analyses.

Taiwanese women may have wanted to subject me to that level of interpretation, but they lacked the cultural and linguistic skills. I found it refreshing. My first Taiwanese girlfriend didn’t speak much English, so we relied on my Chinese. Anything I said was pretty basic, and didn’t support much scrutiny. Other women I dated had better English, but not good enough to pretend to find hidden meaning in every word. If my words or actions could be interpreted a couple ways, I got the benefit of the doubt [the opposite to Canada]. Dating is easier when you’re not understood.

It’s good expats weren’t widely understood, because the expat community 20-25 years ago was overwhelmingly male. If you’ve ever been in very isolated male-dominated working and living environments—rig-worker, lumber camp, the navy, etc.—you know that it tends to be unhealthily male—straight-forward, rude, and coarse. Taiwan’s expat community was no exception.

At that time, I’d only been here a year or two, and was hanging out with other newbies. People used English as a tool of obfuscation while working out their culture shock and assimilation issues. The struggle to learn and adapt sometimes took the form of offensive commentary on Taiwanese culture and people, frequently murmured in public, with Taiwanese around, but hidden behind English. Most these expats were decent, broadminded, and culturally sensitive people who have adapted and become productive members of Taiwan. They wouldn’t have wanted to make any Taiwanese uncomfortable, but being an expat is hard, and it isn’t always pretty. They assumed they were speaking behind a cloak of incomprehensibility.

I didn’t hang out with an abnormally rude batch of foreigners. There were many different expats from diverse backgrounds, but this dyspeptic foreigner’s disease afflicted most at some point. It’s universal. I’ve helped several Taiwanese who have moved to the West deal with culture shock and assimilation. They behave the same—classic immigrant stuff.

The other type of private conversation commonly held in English, in public, was commentary on the surrounding pulchritude. It was like taking a men’s locker room and dumping it in the middle of a Taipei street. Again people assumed they were concealed behind English. As I said, the expat community at the time was a sausagefest, so there wasn’t much self-censorship. This has changed, there are more foreign women coming and staying in Taiwan. It has had a salubrious effect on the level of discourse among foreigners. [See: Sex and the Expat Woman]. Also, a rise in general English levels, at least in Taipei, has curbed public rudeness among expats.

I must admit to still assuming an environment of incomprehension and saying things I shouldn’t. I’m not rude towards Taiwanese people, culture, or women, but I do publicly say things not intended for universal consumption. My remarks aren’t terrible, just personal, nothing you’d want broadcast to an entire coffee shop. (I have a clarion voice that cuts through classroom noise and carries to any room’s far corners. I can’t seem to control it). Usually I’m with a Taiwanese person, and they give me a look to remind me that the people around us might understand.

I’ve noticed that many long term expats have no bone in their tongue. My generation of expats, and earlier, spent years living in a verbal free-fire zone, where anything went. It is hard to put that gibbering monkey back in the can, especially as concurrently the aging process drives you to not care. Inappropriateness, thy name is aged expat.

Society & Culture, The Basics

“Hello Fatso” And Other Taiwanese Greetings

To boldly state the obvious, rudeness is culturally defined. I’ve lived most of my life on the wrong side of the cultural norms/rudeness divide; frequently—totally unawares—insulting large groups and individuals alike. It’s a sword that cuts both ways, I have at times been insulted by Taiwanese, who were clearly unaware they’d done anything disparaging. Let’s take greetings and introductions as an example.

When I first came to Taiwan, over twenty years ago, upon being introduced to new Taiwanese people I always knew that three uncomfortable questions were coming. The conversations usually went something like this:

“Darren, I’d like you to meet Jim Lin. Jim, this is Darren, our new teacher.”

Of course, I’d politely say something like, “It’s nice to meet you, Jim.” While cringing on the inside, because I knew Jim would respond with something resembling…

“It’s nice to meet you, Darren. I see you’re fat. How fat are you exactly?” Undeterred by my sputtering, Jim, or the Taiwanese person du jour, could be counted on to blithely continue, “How old are you?” Twenty-nine. “Really!?! My God you look so old!” My spluttering would continue unabated. And Jim, failing to read the room, would persevere, “Well, how much money do you make?”

To which I’d normally make some vague answer, “Oh well, you know, I make enough to get by.”

I could expect the reply, “How much is that exactly?” And, normally there’d be some probing questions about my relationship status. “Are you married Darren?” Nope. “Do you have a Taiwanese girlfriend?” Not really your business, Jim.

This experience was remarkably consistent from person-to-person. I didn’t find it surprising because before coming to Taiwan I’d lived in Thailand. Thai has many more personal pronouns than English, which one you use is based on age, gender, social status, the speakers’ relationship, and the social context of their conversation. So, upon meeting a Thai person they often ask about your age, marital status, income, and if you have children. They’re trying to place you on the social hierarchy in relationship to themselves, so they know how to address you. This is not exactly true in Taiwan. It is, however, why I didn’t find Taiwanese behavior strange.

Taiwanese conversational norms, at that time, can be accounted for by Taiwan’s relatively more hierarchical society, the dissimilitude in privacy norms, and disparities in what was considered rude. Though not nearly as clearly stratified as Thai society, Taiwan, compared to North America was more hierarchical. Some of the questions I faced when meeting Taiwanese may partially be explained as a desire to achieve social clarity, but I doubt this was an important motivator. There was no overriding need to immediately place me within the social hierarchy. Also, in Confucian society my outsider status is my social position.

There are distinct differences in socially acceptable privacy levels between Taiwan and Canada. Taiwanese are much more invasive in their social interactions. In Canada, we’d say they have nose problems. Over the last couple decades, this has become less obvious in Taiwan’s large centers, but can still be experienced in smaller cities and towns.

The cause of these disagreeable greetings, however, was primarily differences in notions of ill-mannered. Traditionally, being a bit fat was not considered a bad thing in Taiwan. It showed that you had a bit of wealth. Older Taiwanese haven’t adapted to new trends, and don’t consider it inurbane to call you fat.

It isn’t just foreigners who find themselves occasionally called Tubby. I once watched an overweight Taiwanese teacher get introduced to an auditorium full of students as 胖胖的陳老師, approximately “our teacher, Fatso Chen.” The teacher clearly understood what was being said and the MC felt comfortable saying it anyway—even in such a formal setting. Fatso Chen, himself, didn’t have any particular negative reaction. He had extremely fine English, along with excellent comprehension of English culture, and when using English he showed feelings of being dispirited by those remarks. When speaking Chinese there wasn’t a hint that such expressions bothered him. If you’re fluent you think in the culture of the language you’re speaking.

Money is another area where Taiwanese and Westerners differ sharply in what is appropriate small talk. In Western Canada, anyway, it is really impolite to say anything at all about money. You’ll either appear nosey, braggadocios, or self-pitying. However, in Taiwan there doesn’t appear to be any prohibitions on talking about money. It is less common nowadays for someone to ask about my salary, but my purchases are fair game. I suppose it is partially because bartering is common, so everyone wants to know what you paid, to see if you got ripped-off. The answer to that question is always yes. That’s usually true, but even if I got the best deal in the world, I can count on my Taiwanese friends to cluck their tongues, shake their heads, and look at me with sad eyes. I don’t know why Taiwanese don’t find that malapropo. It is annoying as hell.

Things have changed over the last couple decades in Taipei. I’m no longer insulted every time I meet a new person. I assume that the spread of Western media, along with the cultural imperialism of fine English teachers, such as myself, has taught Taiwanese not to refer to new (Western) acquaintances as Tub-o-Lard. As for money, people almost never ask how much I earn, despite still asking what I paid for everything. Of course it is possible nothing has changed and I’m just meeting a different class of people.

 

Culture Shock, Humor

“Are You Gay?”: The Untold Tale of My First Night in Taiwan

Twenty years ago I journeyed to Taiwan to live and work. It was not my first trip to Asia, not even my first time to Taiwan. Relative familiarity didn’t stop me from experiencing culture shock of the simple “what is this” variety. (Culture shock has levels ranging from the simple, tourists surprised by things that are not as they assume, food, drink, bathrooms, traffic, whatever, to the more advanced culture shock experienced by long-term residents mostly integrated into their host society. They still experience shocks and discomfort in their more advanced personal and institutional interactions). This is the story of one such elementary case of culture shock.

I immigrated to Taiwan March 17th, 1997. By that time I had lived in Korea for a year and traveled a lot throughout Asia. When I arrived in Taiwan, I was prepared for culture shock, but because of my travel experience, I wasn’t expecting much in the way of the “ewww that food looks disgusting” variety. I had less than most newbies, but I still managed to make some simplistic and idiotic errors.

On my first day in Taipei, after establishing myself in the hostel, I headed out into the city to explore the sights. It was early evening, and after eating, I got myself a few beers, some betel nut and headed to a local park to sit and de-stress from moving my entire life to Taipei. I had arrived, and the nervous tension that surrounds a project when it is decided, but hasn’t begun yet, was already fading. Of course, I had jet lag and a general lassitude from the day and a half of travelling, but I was feeling pretty content to have made it and gotten set up. The hard part, finding a job and beginning to survive, was still in front of me. But, on that day, at that time, I had a real feeling of achievement and contentment.

I sat in that park, by myself, drinking canned Taiwan Beer, chewing betel nut, smoking a Long Life brand cigarette, and enjoying the breezy feeling of the blue rubber flip-flops I had just purchased. (I have a unique ability to immediately determine the lowest common denominator in any society and instantly sink to that level—this is my greatest gift as an international traveler). As I sat, I enjoyed the unfamiliarity of Taipei’s night scene. When the sun goes down, there are virtually no similarities between my hometown, Saskatoon, and Taipei. At night in Saskatoon, most head home, and the city becomes empty and quiet. Of course there are spots of activity, but because of the sprawl of the city in relationship to the population, you need to actively seek out these hotspots. Not true for Taipei, almost every corner of the city is a kaleidoscope of neon and sound after dark.

So, there I was allowing Taipei’s night to wash over me and engulf me in its foreign embrace, slightly squiffy from the beer and the draining of adrenaline. I was enjoying the sounds of Taipei. The city vibrates with activity at night and you can hear the thrum of its heartbeat in the crowds, shops and traffic. Sitting there, listening to the buzz, so different than Saskatoon was the first time I felt that I really was in a foreign country.

Of course I could hear the crowds—the bassline of Taipei. The distant barking of hawkers trying to get pedestrians to stop and look at their wares provided the chorus. The music came from a truck that I could barely make out under its own flashing lights in the distance that was playing the city’s melody, on a constant loop, over and over again, across large loudspeakers obviously wired into the truck. Crowds were gathering around the truck, obviously attracted by the lively tune, and its promise of fun and entertainment. I thought to myself, a street circus—what an awesome city.

Nope. It was a garbage truck calling residents down from their apartments to throw their trash into the truck.

On that night I remained blissfully unaware of reality, and the street circus added to the romance of my first night back in Asia. Another truck began driving around the park, this one was blue, in contrast to the distant yellow truck, it too had loudspeakers. As the truck drove someone was speaking on the loudspeakers.

I concentrated on the sound, to see if I could distinguish what was being said. To my amazement I could understand, to my further shock the speaker on the truck was very clearly and distinctly saying, “Are you gay?” over and over again as the truck drove around the park.

I sat in the park with my mouth agape as the truck drove in a circle around my position, continually repeating in a sing-song voice, “Are you gay?…Are you gay?…Are you gay?…” Randomly, presumably for variety, the voice would occasionally ask, “Have you ever been gay?” The voice elongated the word “are” so the entire melody sounded like, “[loudly] Arrre you gay?…Arrre you gay?…[quietly] Have you ever been gay?…[loudly] Arrre you gay?”

I was dumbfounded and looked around the small park to see who was being addressed. Pedestrians were passing through. I was the only one sitting there. He seemed to be talking to me.

I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea why I’d been singled out, though I suspected it was because most Taiwanese at that time had a preconceived notion that most foreign men are gay. I didn’t know if I was in danger and ought to get up and walk away, or if they wanted to invite me to a party. Eventually the truck drove off leaving me to sit in confusion.

Over the years I would occasionally hear that truck driving around Taipei broadcasting its strange message. I asked many Taiwanese friends what it was, but they could never figure out what I was talking about. It took me over fifteen years, not until I got married, to find out what it is. One day I was walking with my wife on the street when I heard the truck and asked what it was. It was a truck selling toe yo gay (土窰雞), Taiwanese for Kiln Chicken, a popular local food.

That was early in our marriage and I’ll never forget the look on her face—that was the moment she realized what it means to marry a foreigner.