Love River, Zuoying, Kaohsiung, Taiwan

I was originally hired

to teach in Taiwan in 2020, during Covid-19. I had been living in Thailand at the time, living through the shut-down. In order to satisfy the Taiwanese Ministry of Education’s requirement to pass a medical exam at a government hospital only, I flew from Chiang Mai to Bangkok. This meant I could not go to my private hospital with quick processing, fluent-in-English MD’s, and efficient infrastructure. Pity for me.

I endured cruel and unusual punishment in that cattle-call-no-social-distancing government hospital, excess of three hour wait time and still never called to my appointment, spooning random Thai women queuing for our chest x-rays, only to have my visa denied by TECO—Taiwan Economic Cultural Office.

Fast forward to the conclusion of my contract at the Christian high school in Chiang Mai, I decided to pick up the thread of teaching in Taiwan. I was ready for a new challenge, and wanted to expand my boundaries.

Heti Park along Love River.

I landed a teaching job at a buxiban, or cram school.

Students studied at these language centers after a full day of attending their regular school. There would be no 7am-5pm for me, rather, my classes started anywhere from 1:00pm to 7:00pm, and finished at 9pm. Other differences included longer class times. Previously, my classes were fifty minutes, followed by an hour break, followed by a fifty minute class. At this buxiban, my classes were two hours long, with only ten minute breaks in-between.

Luckily, I rented an apartment near the school, located on the other side of Love River. (Thank God I got out alive from that repulsive Airbnb). Youbike, Taiwan’s easily accessible public bikes, became my main mode of transportation. I relished riding through Heti Park, whizzing past animals and people enjoying some exercise.

Evening brings out dogs, after work joggers, cyclists, and qigong groups.

That government hospital check-up:

Unfortunately, the government hospital check-up I successfully completed in Bangkok was not accepted in Taiwan. However, the experience in Taiwan was vastly different. For one, it helped that it wasn’t at the height of Covid-19 and the ensuing chaos that brought. Also, since the parameters were established by Taiwan, getting the check-up in the same country meant hospitals were properly set up and prepared to serve such patients.

After registering at the local government hospital, the registrar directed me to Station 1. There was a large sign with the number “1” across the room. I only waited a couple of minutes before stepping on a scale and having my blood pressure measured. Thankfully, the nurse did not announce my weight to the room, which happened in Bangkok!

The nurse signed my medical check-up form to confirm I had completed Station 1. She sent me onwards to Station 2. Station 2 was easy to find with a large sign hanging above a door. I stepped inside for an eye examination. Eyes: check.

Station 5: I interviewed with a male MD. He listened to my lungs. He asked if I had any current illness or disease? I shook my head. Then he wrapped his hands around my neck. Yikes, I guess he didn’t like my answer.

“Your thyroid feels normal,” he pronounced. Signing my form, he instructed me to go to Station 6.

Station 6: Blood draw. Check.

Station 10: Chest x-ray. Located down the hall, a few patients—two people—stood in front. There would be no spooning in this queue! The radiologist pointed me to the dressing room to change into the medical shirt. When I emerged, he motioned me in for my x-ray. Check.

I turned in my completed health check form to the registration desk. They told me to come back in a week to pick up my certificate, which my school would submit in order to obtain my work permit.

Intricate, detailed work on this temple in Zuoying, Kaohsiung.

From start-to-finish,

the entire ordeal took forty minutes! I waited longer for the bus to take me home! It had been over an hour when I finally spotted my bus. The driver never acknowledged the bus stop to see if there were passengers waiting to board. He never veered two lanes over to pull the bus curb side, instead remaining in the inside lane.

A combination of hubris and experience dealing with busses in San Francisco prompted me to march into the middle of traffic and pound on the glass door. The driver jumped in surprise. He swung the lever to open the door. I stepped aboard flashing him a quizzical expression. His bus was neither out of service nor filled to maximum capacity.

I slumped into a plastic seat, grateful for the air conditioning, and grateful for my urban training. Whether it was the 7-Haight in San Francisco, or the 29E to Kaohsiung Arena, I wouldn’t let my bus pass me by. I scanned the streets as the bus rumbled along, absorbing my new city, my new home.