I like these people.

I like these people, the Taiwanese. Whether it's Tzu Hui's parents, cousins, uncles, or the strangers who stop to help us, there is an unaffected quality. There seems an absence of suspicion. A generosity in place of grasping, it's deep in the culture, and seems to have seeped into the genetic makeup. There are few Westerners. We see less than a dozen the whole trip. Maybe the Taiwanese are not bored with tourists, or don't see us as a source of income the way it can feel in other places I've visited. If anyone even notices us, it's usually to offer help, a nod, or to try their English, "bye bye" the bus driver says. While teenagers and college students dress like, act like the ones I teach at FIT. I feel at home.

On our first afternoon, Tzu Hui and BongChen, or rather Sabrina and Rainbow, pick us up at our hotel. They have Chinese names and English ones -- names chosen not because they are translations, simply because they like them. Rainbow tells me Monique sounds like the Chinese word for Jasmine. I like it and adopt it for my own. That first afternoon we meet Sabrina's brother Jimmy, and then our waiter's name is Vivid. I can't remember Jimmy's Chinese name. I don't need to. He's more American than I am in conversation. Jed and Jimmy get into a deep discussion about the World Series -- plays, players, possible trades.

Sabrina is at this moment more beautiful than anyone I know. She is radiant with wedding at week's end. She is thinner than in school, and her dark hair shimmers and swings. Rainbow beams. As Jed says, he looks as if he's died and gone to heaven by winning this gorgeous, smart woman. He is warm and funny, intelligent and easy to be with. As we get to know him, he welcomes us to his heart and into his home, the home he shares with Sabrina and right now Jimmy. We settle in on their couch, drink tea and chat comfortably. I am grateful to Sabrina for inviting us along on this adventure. But, Jed made it all happen. Three days before I had been teaching a class. Jed kept the flight numbers, the passports, the lists, got the money, the snacks, repacked the suitcases. I watch him chatting amiably with these people from my life, not his, and I love him for it, for everything. It is going well.

The Market Next to Hotel 73

Our budget hotel sits on a boulevard of street repair and vacant stores, security doors shuttered tight. Then this morning, turning left instead of right, we notice a large, corrugated metal door on one space had lifted, revealing a narrow passageway that reaches from the street, back into the far distance -- a stretch of stalls and activity six or seven blocks wide. As we step into the corridor we can see chickens a sqwaking, cow tongues hanging on hooks, and other offerings not immediately decipherable as to whether they are animal, vegetable or mineral.

Food here is ofen unidentifiable by color, smell, sight, or texture. I defy almost anyone to identify what I have touched to my tongue in the last few days -- such as fruit that may be pig parts, nuts that are probably insects, as well as eggs hatched back when Taiwan was still Formosa -- black and shrunken 100 year old eggs. These I recognize. My friend Tzu Hui had bought me a skewer of three a couple of days before. There are still two hidden in my trench coat pocket that I'd forgotten to toss, probably mating.

Still we love our market. Friendly proprietors ply us with greetings and gifts, pushing greasy scallion and oyster pancakes, fish cookies -- which I hate -- into our hands, and bits and slices of what are most certainly fermented middle earth creatures stewed in ox blood.

"Nee How," "Hello," we chirp. She Sheah," thank you," we chant.

I think about the food I grew up with. Chopped herring, chopped liver, stuffed derma -- cow intestines filled with flour and seasonings, chicken soup and unborn eggs -- p'cha -- calves foot jelly. Mostly innards and extremities -- poor people food from another part of the world. I'd loved it all, except for the p'cha -- p.u. -- my siblings and I had called it. Still do palates develop as selectively for flavor as they do for the ability to say the l in flavor instead of r as my Chinese friend does? Fravor.

In that case, can I in good conscious make fun of Taiwanese food?

At home in Larchmont, I rarely frequent the Starbucks. I think their coffee is bitter and overpriced. Yet, in Taiwan, I surprise myself. I stop in almost every Starbucks I see. And the best breakfast I have the entire trip is the last morning -- at McDonald's.

I'm tangled in my headset and I'm in the wrong seat.

Jed has generously given me his aisle seat next to where he now sits tucked in the middle of the 3-across. He did this, perhaps, to quiet my whimpering. More likely it was love.

A few minutes before, I had seated myself confidently across the aisle from him, and made a bed of the airline blanket, pillow, the new fuzzy neck pillow I'd bought at Whole Foods, my copy of "Real Simple Magazine," my bottle of water in which I'd dissolved an ampule of Airbourne, etc. I'd even stowed my bag and stashed my purse under the seat. I'd just pulled out the cozy socks Cathay Pacific had provided and slipped them over the compression socks I wore for fear of blood clots.

I'd done all this without checking my ticket stub. When the sturdy young couple interrupted my nesting, I was terribly confused. I could not remember where I'd stuffed my boarding pass. Jed had not kept track of my seat number for me. After a long time, I found the stub and realized I'd have to vacate the only home I'd ever known on this jetliner. Oh, bother! I was already wearing the socks that should go to the real occupant of D 35. I'd ripped open the sealed plastic bag with his earphones. Fondled his tiny toothpaste. Lost his toothbrush in the underbrush of my unpacking. Worse, my real seat was an innie. That meant I'd have to climb over Jed every time I visited the restroom.

I began to haul myself across the aisle. The woman on Jed's otherside was looking at me with alarm -- my arms filled with the detritus of only seven or eight minutes on the plane. That's when Jed suggested I take the aisle seat instead of him. I didn't even have to ask. Plus, I knew how difficult it would be for him to bind his knees to his body for the 15 hour and 30 minute flight, to wedge into our economy class seating. Yet, he said, "Here, you take the aisle."

Who wouldn't love this man? I do.

Romance! Danger! Energy! Thank You HSBC.

Stomachs churning, our expectations at a low boil, Jed and I held fast to the back seat of the taxi in the early morning of November 20, as it nosed its way to the airport. Had we forgotten anything? Were we wise to lurch our lives forward toward shark fin fried rice and other untried edibles, when everything was going so smoothly at home? At least, I felt that way. Dominated by end-of-life fears, I'd spent a chunk of the previous evening putting my jewelry (such as it is) in separate plastic bags, designating baubles to particular friends and family, in case of an over-the-ocean demise. This fear is unlike me. I'd never really felt it before about traveling. I can get deathly afraid of leaving toothpaste in the sink -- Jed is neater than I am -- but traveling zillions of miles from home usually did not phase.

This time was different. It was as if I'd completed all the fantasies I'd ever held for myself. Now, traveling to a friend's wedding in Taiwan put me over a precipice. When I tried to picture myself there, all was dark. Had I asked the Holy One for too much? More sober than I can remember, I'd even typed a "good bye" note and left it on the coffee table for my son.

I'd almost shaken this mood when we got to the airport. But, then at the top of the escalator, and later as we left the gate and boarded the plane, inexplicably HSBC bank had plastered a huge 3-panel ad that read, "Romance, Danger, Energy." This is supposed to be a clever way of saying that each of us can view the same situation in very different and personal ways AND that HSBC understands! What! Are they crazy? What idiiot media person places an ad that says "Danger" in gigando letters between the boarding gate and the aircraft? Still, raging about the absurd placement did help replace raging fear with righteous professional judgement. I boarded the plane.

Learning to Upload. Adding a Link.

Today I practiced uploading and linking at the Apple Store.

You can scroll down to see the link I made to our hotel in Tapei.


Jed and I will be staying at hotel 73.



Next are pictures of Sabrina and Rainbow. In Taiwan, couples take extensive photos before the wedding.



I'll be adding more pictures and links in the days ahead.

Pie in the Sky

The best airline dinner I ever had was 1/2 a chocolate fudge, candy cane pie. My friend Anne and I were visiting Minneapolis, and she bought it for the flight back home.

It was a refreshing act of boldness, eating that pie.

Indeed, it was the exhilerating, defying-of-expectation statement of two single mothers who'd met when our kids were in preschool. No more lukewarm chicken breasts in brown sauce with a smattering of green peas rolling about in a plastic tray for us. The kids were grown. It was time for a new slice of life.

Some dreams are pie in the sky -- someday, maybe, kind of things. Others are the kind you actually bite into and taste. This was that second kind -- forbidden, chewy, gooey, delicious, scrumptious -- a turning point.

In time, Anne moved from New York to Colorado and began anew. While, I met and married the comforting-as-chocolate-fudge, exhilerating as a peppermint patty, life partner I'd always wanted.

Packing for Taiwan, I think about that pie. That memory, still so vivid, is what propels me to skip the usual pumpkin this year, for a more exciting adventure.

By the way, I've written a book --

By the way, I've written a book. If you like the blog, I'm sure you'll like it.

Copy and paste the link below to find the book on Amazon.
It's called: "Wanderlust: A Naive Adventurer in Europe & Asia." I believe it's funny and a very good read!

http://www.amazon.com/Wanderlust-Na%C3%AFve-Adventurer-
Europe-Asia/dp/1439211833/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=
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I'm incapable of eating without dribbling.

For most women of small to average cup size, dribbles of food fall past their bazooms, into their laps and onto their napkins. Not so for me. My jutting anatomy stops the free-fall of soup, coffee and sauces, leaving me perenially messy.

At home, I can always eat unrobed and catch stray green beans almondine in my cleavage.

And that's when I'm using spoon, fork and knives -- implements with which I have a lifetime of experience.

But, what will happen in Taiwan when chop sticks meet tofu? I mean, when I have only a few changes of clothing?

Spots. That's what will happen. I dread slippery noodles. Droplets of soy sauce. And roasted scorpions falling off wooden skewers onto my shirt front.

Knowing myself, I am toying with taking a bib.

I am aware that a bib on an adult is a fashion faux pas that most women would never consider.

But, is it such a bad idea? Fashions change. Hats were in. Hats are out. Hems go up. Hems descend. Bibs could catch on. I can't be the only woman who spends much too much money at the dry cleaners. In this economy a bib could make a valuable contribution to one's budget. And I'm not certain that a boldly patterned bib, or maybe a rich metallic, or something sophisticated, by say, DKNY, automatically makes one unattractive.

What a dilemma.

My husband Jed has a floor-length raincoat. I think I'll pack it.

Packing -- Less or More.

In the 19C when people traveled they'd bring along trunks packed with about a gazillion clothes and toiletries.

I suppose it wasn't as easy then to pop out of your hotel and buy whatever you forgot from the same stores (with identical piles of tops and bottoms) that you'd shopped back home. And I know that Taiwan has malls and stalls and racks and stacks of anything I could want.

So this time instead of dredging my closet and drawers for every last sock and undergarment I've never never worn but might be indispensible, I decide to pack light.

To this end, I buy a small, red satchel on wheels and start packing early.

6 weeks early. My goal is to vet each item. Try on. Refold. Shake out. Pair with pants, same purse, shoes. Refine. Jettison.

At an Eddie Bauer Outlet I buy two pair of khaki pants "made for the traveler" with lots of zippers to hold oddities and Kleenex. I love them. I figure I can pair them with short and long tees in brown, tans, and yellow. I'm off to a good start.

Next I buy miniatures of Tide, Oxi-Clean, toothpaste, and hand sanitizer, as well as every other trial size pack sold in America today, including off brands. I read not all public restrooms have toilet tissue. I buy that too.

I need aspirin, acid reducer, and other bodily correctives. If I could find smelling salts I'd pick that up. Figuring the hotel will have shampoo and conditioner, I resist. For anything else, I've decided I will visit a Chinese herbalist.

Rust goes with khaki. Orange goes with khaki. Should I pack those shirts?

Purple goes with khaki. Pink does too. Which jacket? Purple, pink? Jean?? Raincoat?

If I take the purple jacket, maybe I should pick up the fuchsia blouse I saw on sale. As a matter of fact, the fuchsia would also look nice with the pink jacket.

The pink has a little turquoise in it, also gray. I have a long-sleeve gray tee. And a turquoise knit top. Hah! And a turquoise skirt!

Hat. Sunscreen. Sunglasses.

Tasting & Traipsing with Monique S. - Read 1st.

Turkey In Taiwan

Turkey in Taiwan has a nice sound to it. How it will taste is an unnerving unknown. Is turkey even on the menu in Taiwan? That's the dilemma my husband and I find ourselves in after I accept a wedding invitation from my grad school buddy for over the upcoming Thanksgiving break. My name is Monique Stampleman. I teach college sophomores to write advertising copy. To get this job a half-dozen years ago, I needed to go back to school for a Masters. That's where I met Tzu Hui -- or Sabrina. as we knew her.

Sabrina was young, smart, funny and beautiful. She came to the US from Taiwan to get her Masters in Communications -- despite the fact she didn't speak any English at the time.

Sabrina's a quick learner and excelled in class. I'd probably been out of school longer than she'd been in the world. But we paired to do a study of porn on the internet. What we saw was beyond translation. We became fast friends.

So now Jed, my beloved husband of 3 1/2 years, and I have told the relatives that someone else will have to bring the sweet potatoes with tiny melted marshmallows this year. We're flying to Tapei friday morning, November 20. We'll return in time for my 12:00 pm office hour on Monday, November 30.

Why Taiwan? Why now? Sabrina had flown in to New York for our wedding. So although about 17 countries outranked it on our intend-to-visit list, Taiwan -- the former Formosa, "the beautiful island," -- as we learned, jumped to the top.

"Did you know the tallest building in the world is in Taiwan?" I ask Jed. "Did you know two common street snacks are congealed pigs' blood mixed with rice and something called 'stinky tofu'?"

Jed is busy learning Mandarin from Chinese fortune cookies. Already he has mastered the word for watermelon and the phrase How are you -- Ni Haw Ma. "How are you and your watermelon?" I'll ask Sabrina's father first thing!

My knowledge of Taiwan and its particular character are limited. Jed tells me that the movie "Eat, Drink, Man, Woman" is Taiwanese. We watched it together soon after we met, almost seven years ago. As I begin to read about it, Taiwan's reputation as a food destination is confirmed. Sabrina's wedding to Rainbow (his name), will be a traditional Chinese ceremony on the afternoon of November 29. Until then, we can traipse about all week and eat, eat, eat.

"I see Drunken Chicken on several menus," I tell Jed. "Also, Peking duck," I add. These might be good substitutes for turkey, I think. "There are also plenty of restaurants that feature chicken feet," I say. Jed is ignoring me. He is studying the Taiwan MRT subway map. Its almost perpendicular intersecting arms makes navigating Taipei appear simple enough. From looking as indistinct physically and culturally as a big mushy bowl of congee just a few days before, Taiwan is being to take shape in both our minds.

Still the process is different than when you've had a lifetime of selective attention on one destination or another. I have a sense of Bhutan. I've never been but want to and have picked up impressions here and there. It's the same with Bali and Macchu Picchu. The place Taiwan holds in the world is an empty map for me. I'm embarassed to be so ignorant.

There doesn't seem to be much travel literature on it. Perhaps I could write a blog about our trip. I've never written a blog. I've read very few. I 'm not even on FaceBook. I don't know how to twit. However, my 20 something son -- who prefers to remain nameless -- has upped my techno-expertise by teaching me how to text. I leap.