Scooter Blues.

I cannot drive a scooter yet. This is lame.

I don't know how to ride a bike. This is also lame. Last but not least, my car driving abilities leave something to be desired, and while I do have my boating license, that isn't going to help me much here. The chosen mode of transportation is the zippy little scooter. I am terrified of it. Everything about it makes me ache inside. I am horrified of what I might do to myself or, more importantly, to society as a whole, whilst driving one of those things. Sadly, what this has meant for me thus far is a slight restriction of my freedom, considering that I have been condemned to walk or taxi everywhere or to be at the mercy of my roomate or any other person who might wish to give me a ride. Sometimes while I walk, and I am the only one walking, I look around me at the hoards of people flying by on their scooters and they look like little ants. I feel like an outcast.

These are but a few of the things that have or could happen to a person on a scooter. I'm not saying that I have done all of these things, only some.

1. One could, while trying to learn how to ride it, crash it into a row of parked scooters and knock them all over. Also into a parked car. Oops.
2. One could drive into a wall. This was not me. This was Rachel.
3. One could ride with a very cute but not sober enough boy, turn the corner, and wipe out, ending up crushed underneath his scooter.
4. One could only but mildly avert a collision with a stray black dog (ironically, the name of my favorite bar here...) only to slam on one's brakes and be thrown off, losing multiple chunks of skin in the process. Also Rachel.
5. One could come face to face with the side of a giant truck that turned the corner when it didn't have the right of way and didn't care that your little self was in the way.
6. After said encounter with giant scary truck one could run out of gas on the side of the road and have to walk one's scooter to the nearest gas station, crossing through an incredibly large and frightening intersection.
7. All jokes aside, serious things can happen. Riding a scooter can be dangerous if you're not careful and don't have your wits about you. 

With regards to number 6: Rachel's gas gage is f**d, despite the fact that she got it fixed, or so she thought. She has run out of gas while driving three times, which is no fun if you don't know where a gas station is and don't speak chinese well enough to ask for one. The other night, on our way home from the movies, we again heard the "put..put..put.....shiiiit" sound with which we had become too familiar. Not knowing where to find a gas station, we did what any other sensible girl would do: we walked to a nearby bar where our friends were congregated, had a few beers and a caesar salad, bought a water bottle, and Rachel had a friend give her a lift to a gas station where she filled the bottle up with petrol and then rode back to her bike and filled it up while I stayed at the bar and chatted with a cute boy. Everything works out in the end, doesn't it?

I never thought, in a million years, that I would miss OC Transpo and the STCUM the way I do now.

I wear my sunglasses at night.

Kenting, November 2007.

We work 6 days a week. This might sound horrifying, but in all essence, it's not that bad, save for the fact that it makes exploring Taiwan a wee bit difficult. For the most part, one needs a few days to really make a little trip worth it - the word "express" in "express bus" is often deceiving.

This being the case, we decided anyway to head to Kenting (pronounced KenDING) after work last weekend. At 6:05 we were out the door of Kojen and headed to the bus station. At 6:20 we had boarded what we were assured was the express bus and eagerly anticipating a solid 24 hours of beachy goodness. We had several Taiwan beers in our bags and were just about to crack them in celebration of a day off work when we discovered that the bathroom on the bus was indeed locked and therefore this might not be the greatest idea. Almost three hours later it didn't matter if we had have consumed those beers or not...as the bus jolted to a stop every ten feet to let one or two people on or off, I was sure I was going to pee all over myself, or perhaps Rachel.

The bladder control project was worth it though - Kenting is Taiwan's resort town, on the southernmost tip of the island, and it is beautiful. We arrived at around 930 pm and headed straight to meet the rest of our friends at our hostel, otherwise known as the Kenting Dive Center, and then for dinner and drinks. We took a brief break from glorious overconsumption of all goods to purchase silly sunglasses, which we wore all night - from the restaurant, to the German owned pub where we were served by the cute Taiwanese surfer dude who played his Roxette CD for us to our hearts' contents, to the beach, where we sat until the wee hours of the morning singing girly campfire songs designed to accompany our illicit campfire. I don't think we were supposed to be on the beach period, and we were especially not supposed to be lighting fires next to flammable nature, but we feigned ignorance when the floral-shirt-clad security guard came to tell us to move our fire closer to the water. ("No Chinese," we insisted, even though we had Alfie and Lars, two of our Taiwanese friends, with us.)

Sara and Rachel

Lyndsey and Me - his dog wore shades too.

After hitting the hay around 5 am, I was abruptly awakened at 630 am by my friend's puppy eating my face, but fell quickly back into my peaceful slumber. We woke up later and lazily wandered down to South Bay Beach after a traditional American breakfast of toast, eggs, and daiquiris, and spent the day making new friends, exploring, and being pelted by sand. After the most delicious Thai meal I'd ever had, we reluctantly got back on the bus to head back to reality and back to Kaohsiung. I like Kaohsiung, don't get me wrong, but it is nothing compared to the turquoise waters and fresh air and kitschy tourism of Kenting. I can't wait to go back.

Nanwan.