TRIAL BY FIRE, FURY, AND THE FRENCH: EPICNESS DEFINED

NOTES FROM TAIWAN #8: PART TWO

 

June 7th, 2008

TRIAL BY FIRE, FURY, AND THE FRENCH: EPICNESS DEFINED

 

After the stress of the last five days, not a single one us had trouble draining our drink of choice. The Mr. Beam was treating me especially well, and it was apparent that everyone else was becoming quite jolly, too. After exchanging bottles until their were kaput, we made haste to our first destination of a night what would become one of the most ridiculous nights of my life.

In our newly loosened spirits, we boarded the bus bound for Barcode, and famous bar/hangout in Taiwan. We were told this is where a lot of Taiwanese celebrities congregated. But before we arrived at Barcode, we had to first endure the bus ride. Or rather, it had to endure us. After a week of little sleep, hours at our jobs, and late nights in the city, we were a little punchy to say the least. Anything anyone in our group said was the funniest thing we had ever heard, sending us all into a loud fit of laughter. The other patrons on the bus, however, did not share our humor. Actually, most noise at all is forbidden on the buses and subways in Taiwan. We had been yelled at several times throughout the week for merely holding an audible conversation. Some people held their bus time in high regard, and it was incredibly difficult to oblige them this on this night. F*** Americans.

The bus ride was mercilessly short, and we exited at our stop. Not yet knowing how to say "sorry" in Mandarin, I instead avoided eye contact with the disapproving bus patrons and instead chose to appear fascinated with the craftsmanship of this bus's ceiling. Back in the thick air of Taipei, we were free to let loose again. We entered the large shopping building which housed the infamous Barcode in its upper echelons. Before stepping inside its elusive doors, however, we made a pit stop at the bathrooms. As I relieved myself, I noticed a small sign on the wall directly in front of me. It said nothing but this: COME CLOSER PLEASE. I still to this day can't exactly describe what I felt at this exact moment. A mix of uncontrollable laughter (the image of a bunch of men in a bathroom being instructed to "COME CLOSER PLEASE" still makes me chuckle) as well as drunk paranoia (where THEY watching me? how close exactly was I to come? and why were they being so damn polite about it?) sorta sums it up. No one else in the bathroom seemed to find this funny, so I made my exit after washing my hands and drying them in an a blow dryer of jet-liner proportions. Seriously, the people in Taiwan must have the dryest hands on the planet with these things.

The seven of us met up with Jeanie and Chris, and made our way through the doors of Barcode. I could see why a place like Barcode would be considered one of the top places for the hip and cool to hang out. Fugly modern architecture, cushy sofas and chairs huddled around glass tables covered in bottles of classy alcohol. Plus all the creepy old men you could ever dream of. It seems no matter where you travel on this planet, you'll still be able to find a sub-culture of creepy old men who refuse to let go of their youth by hanging out at bars with 20-somethings. I'm sad to say that most of these men were of the American and European nationalities. After witnessing far too many fat, balding men in skeezy clothes  hitting on a groups of Taiwanese girls, I turned my attention to my Beam.

For the next hour or so, we sat on a couch/bed/thing that looked more at home on a beach in Fiji than at the top of a skyscraper in Taiwan. Some of us bought drinks, some of us didn't. And some of us made a quick trip down to the 7/11 on the bottom floor to reload our supply of Happy Juice. One Beam just wasn't enough. I was extremely surprised to find that the bar employees and bouncers didn't seem to care at all as we had the drinks we brought instead of buying from the bar.

The night wore on, and getting the dancin' itch, we left the young, hip socialites (and their 40 year old friends) to their conversations and Martinis to go get our dance on. The night provided a small spritz of rain to cool of our sweating bodies as we made our way to the MRT. At the end of the line awaited our nightlife heaven: Luxy. If Barcode is considered a must-see Taiwanese night stop, words can't even describe what Luxy is. Noted in every guidebook, and by every local, as THE Taipei night life location. I had heard tales of its epicness and grandeur. I would soon find out that those tales hadn't even come close to describing it.

I suppose I should mention that at this point in the evening, my ability to recollect the specifics of certain events is a little... hazy. Two flasks of Jim Beam has the ability to do that. The insanity that would ensue is forever etched in my brain, mind you. But I can only tell you what has stuck. As I like to call it, The Spiral, had begun...

We walked (or stumbled, rather), from the MRT to the club. The elevator doors opened. We paid admission (a little steep, but it came with two free drink coupons, so yay). We were marked with stamp. And we walked down the black marble floor to the club entrance.

As the door opened, I was blasted by a sound and fury that I have experience on very few occasions. Techno music absolutely blasted from monolithic speakers and mixed with the screams of hundreds, if not thousands, of screaming Asians to create a beautiful symphony of noise that crushed my eardrums and shook me to the core. Coupled by the dance of laser and strobe light, plus the warm embrace of Jim Beam, I felt as if I had entered a new plane of existence and self-awareness. The rapture.

Our blob of people squeezed its way to the heart of the dance floor. It was immediately apparent that we had made an entrance, as throngs of youngins turned to witness the Americans part the seas and take their place in the club. We stepped up onto a sort of mini glass dance stage, emitting changing colors from its base. And got freaky. I don't think that the rest of the club had ever seen people dance the way we are accustomed to in the States. Light by the glow of the stage, we danced.

Groups of young Taiwanese couples would walk by, see us, and gawk as if we were animals at the zoo. The boyfriends would push their girlfriends onstage to dance with us. Every time she would try to escape, he would push her back up onto the stage laughing hysterically as she would blush and giggle. Eventually she would become consumed by the American blob, sandwiched between a mass of of good ole sweaty USA. They probably weren't accustomed to this sort of thing, as they would turn bright red and couldn't stop giggling. The boyfriends would be laughing even more hysterically as they watched their girls become initiated into American culture as if it were a rite of passage.

One of these groups beckoned me to follow them. I obliged, and followed them up the stairs to the second floor of the club, where half of the drinking tables were located. I tried to ask them their names. They spoke almost no English. I only knew how to tell them my name and that I was an American. This was all they needed to know, as they proceeded to give me drink after drink, seemingly impressed by the fortitude of my American liver. Conversations were attempted on several occasions, but after a time we all just decided to laugh at each other. I kept giving them the thumbs up, which they enthusiastically returned. I was drinking at a table of a dozen Taiwanese college kids, not knowing how to speak to any of them. But it didn't matter. They had welcomed me into their circle, my Asian harem.

I chilled with my new friends for a long while, taking a few moments to look out onto the chaos below. The dance floor looked like a sea, flowing and bobbing. Lights flashed across the massive crowd, all having the times of their lives. It was easy to spot my USC friends, pale skin reflected by the lights, perched atop the small, glowing stage. I returned to hanging out with the Taiwanese students, listening to them chat loudly in Mandarin as I sampled the dozens of bottles littering their table.

Then, I heard dozens of loud screams erupt from the dance floor and saw a flash of orange light reflect off the walls. I rushed to the balcony of the second floor and looked down. What I saw is something Prometheus would have been proud of. Standing on top of the large bar, a bartender had lit a full bottle of alcohol and was tossing and flipping it an impressive show of hand-eye-coordination. All the lights of the club had been killed, and the club was now light by only this single flame. The bartender passed the bottle to a friend, who showed of his own bottle-juggling skills. Everyone watched as he tossed the bottle blindly behind his back, took a swig from a separate bottle, and spewed flame above the heads of the crowds, receiving deafening applause. The lights returned, and scantily clad female bartenders hopped up onto the bar and started pouring fountains of liquor into the eagerly awaiting mouths in the crowd. Rejuvenated by this brilliant show, I followed the college students down the stairs and back onto the floor. As I passed by the bar, one of the bartenders saw me and, without giving me enough time to position myself for the incoming fountain, proceeded to empty half of the bottle on me. I had always thought the drink was supposed to go in the mouth, not on your clothes. Apparently not in Taiwan, as I could now maintain my buzz for the rest of the night by sucking on my shirt.

I parted ways from my Taiwanese group, drenching them all in vodka as I gave them good-bye and thank you hugs, and rejoined my USC family, still holding down the stage. But it was time to move on.

The small stage was only a warm up. I forget exactly who's idea it was, but for whatever reason, we walked from the mini-stage we had marked as ours up to the massive stage at the front of the club. The stage where the throbbing speakers sat. The stage that sat beneath all the lasers and strobes. The stage erected as an alter to all things awesome and epic. The stage that became ours.

As we ascended the steps and took our place on Mount Olympus, every single head of the thousand-strong club turned towards us, and a deafening roar of cheers emitted from the crowd. I had never felt like so much of a rockstar. Feeling obligated to live up to such a welcoming reception, we to danced on stage in front of thousands of approving Taiwanese clubbers. I remember at on point flipping up my shirt behind my head, walking out on top of one of the ten-foot tall speakers, and sending out the Devil Horns, the universal sign of rock, to the crowd, receiving another resounding wave of cheers. You know that scene from 8-Mile, where he stands on stage and bobs with the packed club? Picture that, times 100, plus deafening techno music and blinding laser lights. At this point the people below began to hand their drinks to us onstage. What did we do to deserve such treatment? Nobody needed to spend another NT on a drink for the rest of the night.

I will forever smile everytime I think of that image: a group of 8 boozed up Americans and one completely sober Taiwanese girl, smack dab in a club in Taipei, Taiwan, dancing freaky on top of a massive, glowing stage, as throngs of Asian club goers watch in wonder, and even try a few of our moves on for themselves. Good times, good times. I'll never forget it.

Drenched in sweat, we made our exit from the stage, receiving one final roar of applause for bringing a taste of America to tiny Taiwan. We made our way back to the smaller stage for the rest of the night. We met a few more kids, eager and happy to join our group and practice their newly learned dance moves. It was a happy time.

But the night was not out of surprises yet. As I stand talking with Ben and Craig, the music stops, and a loud boom echoes from the large stage. We turn to see a dozen hott Taiwanese girls jump up onto stage and begin a choreographed dance. As if our jaws couldn't drop any lower, they then tore off most of their clothes within ten seconds of the dance's start, leaving only skimpy skirts and jackets. The crowd approved with a roar that dwarfed the one we had received earlier. Needless to say, our time in the limelight had been thoroughly upstaged.

The night wore on into the early morning hours, our family, forged together by a deep friendship that had been formed in merely a week of new experiences, dancing away every care in the world. Our group continued to grow throughout the night, many of the club goers anxious to share a turn dancing with one of the crazy American girls or guys.

Most of the group decided to leave, but I stayed behind with one other, not quite finished with the night. After dancing for a few more hours, I made my exit, drenched. The exhaustion earned from a night of insanity hit me as I stepped onto the streets of Taipei, still hot and humid even at this 5 o'clock hour.

Now, I hadn't exactly been paying attention to where the club was when we had first arrived, nor had I been in the sharpest state of mind to take note even if I had. So when I stepped outside into the damp, early morning air, I had no idea where I was. I walked around for a while, trying to get my bearings. I wasn't at all worried about my safety in this unknown part of town at this hour, as the city of Taipei is notoriously safe (seriously, you'd have to really search just to find a bit of graffiti). But my body had grown weary from the night, and I wanted to get home and sleep. So I hailed a cab.

Instead of hopping in the back, I jumped into the shotgun seat (no, I don't know why), which seemed to surprise the driver right of the bat. Then I turned to him and said "Erin Hotel". He stared blankly at me for a time, then a confused look crossed his face, and he shrugged at me. "Erin?" "Oui oui!" "Erin?" "Oui!"

Not only did my cab driver speak no English, nor did he know where the Erin Hotel was, nor did I speak any Mandarin, nor did I have any idea how to get there from our current location, but I had started to speak in a French accent. I have no idea why. Well, actually I do: after working in an office for 50+ hours this week where almost all of the English I would ever hear was in Cedric's thick French accent, I had begun to forget what American English sounded like. Helped along by the drinks of the evening, I had assumed the identity of a French exchange student. So instead of saying "yes", I said "oui". Instead of introducing myself as "Jeffrey", I introduced myself as "Joffrai". No, I couldn't make this up if I tried.

So there I am, in the front seat of this cab, drunk and lost in Taipei at five in the morning. As we drive around aimlessly, seeing as he has no idea where to take me, we held a very engaging conversation in which he would say something to me in Mandarin, I would agree excitedly in French, and then I would take a turn speaking to him in a ridiculously heavy French accent, after which he would laugh loudly. God knows the things we talked about, but I haven't had a conversation as deep as that in a long while.

Somewhere in the course of this conversation, we stumbled upon a word we both understood: Taipei 101. We both started yelling "Taipei 101! Taipei 101!" back at eachother, as if we had just stumbled upon the meaning of life. This continued for a while, two men driving down a lonely road in Taipei, screaming "Taipei 101" at each other.

We arrived at Taipei 101, both of us issuing another set of jovial shouts at each other. Having some semblance of an idea how to get to the hotel from here. As we drove, he continued to tell me about... something. And I told him about my wonderful life in France. It was a lovely moment.

The cab finally made it to the hotel an hour later, with a tab of NT 300. That's still pretty cheap for a cab ride ($10). But understand that it took the group that left earlier just NT100 to find their way back home. I thought I had explored the city pretty well before this night. But for as long as that cab ride was, I saw every square inch of Taipei. Seriously.

I bid adeiu to my friend, gave him one last thumbs up as I said "Merci beaucoup," and retired to my hotel room as the sun rose at 6:30am. Somehow I had survived.

I awoke in the morning staring at the legs of the chair. Confused, I got my bearings: I was lying on the floor. Despite the bed taking up more than 80% of the hotel room, I had somehow managed to avoid it in favor of making the floor my home for the night (it's times like those that keep my ego and self-esteem in check). That's how you know you had a great night. Booyah, Taiwan. That was one for the books.

Up next: PROM