Anna L. Horkey's: A Series of Ridiculous Events

It's been a while since I've updated this, and up until now I've been using the excuse that nothing terribly amusing or worth writing about seems to have happened to me lately. Well, last weekend all that changed, as you might imagine from the title. It's the kind of weekend that has caused me to stop and reflect more than once upon what kind of life story I find myself in. No definite conclusions on that one yet, but I don't really expect those results to start coming in for another twenty years or so. But anyway, I hope that for all of you who were getting slightly irritated by my lack of new posts for the last two weeks can forgive my negligence after you read this. Settle in. It’s long, but I’m making two promises: first, it’s worth it; second, I’m not making any of this up.

Last weekend actually had been some time in the making. The principle of CELA, Isabella, announced several weeks ago that her sister had invited the entire CELA staff to visit her and her husband at what we were told was some kind of resort for officers in the Taiwanese military. We were supposed to go a couple weekends ago, but the typhoon of my previous two posts prevented that, and we had to reschedule for last weekend.

I really didn't know what to expect from this little outing. I knew it was going to be interesting since we were going to be staying where officers stay (and those are always nice) and because when Isabella passed around a sheet to put in our order for dinner Saturday night, the options included pigs feet, steak, fish, chicken, and other things that sounded a little higher class than the curry or fried rice dinners that are my usual fare. The other thing that had me excited is that we were going to ride the train to this place, and previous experience in Asia has taught me that good adventures begin with a train ride. Other than that, I was pretty clueless as to what this weekend was going to entail.

But the world belongs to those who show up, so I found myself at the Chiayi train station at 2:00 on Saturday afternoon, waiting to board a train that would bear us on to further adventures. After two hours of watching the Taiwanese countryside pass by (and watching Thomas, the son of one of the teachers at CELA, and James, one of my missionary colleagues, tease each other) we finally arrived. There to meet us was Isabella's sister and Mrs. Zhou, driving a van and a nice SUV. This was getting better already. After fifteen minutes or so, we began to drive parallel to a wall with razor wire along the top. I began to realize that we would be staying on a base, not really a resort, per se, and not really quite what I'd imagined from the vague description we were given. Upon our arrival at the gate, Isabella's sister nodded curtly to the guard and explained that he needn't check our baggage, they're with me. He backed off, and we drove on.

At this point, I'm beginning to wonder just what rank Isabella's brother-in-law has attained in the Taiwanese military. It had to be at least colonel if his wife was telling the guards what was what. My anticipation began to mount. When we pulled up in the parking lot, we were greeted by a man in a khaki green flight suit who was introduced to us as Isabella's brother-in-law. He was very well kept, well-mannered, smiling, and had the air of one who had been thoroughly militarized. His posture was perfectly straight, and as he walked, his arms were slightly out from his sides, and he had a slow, stately gate. “Walk” is probably not the correct verb for how this man moved. Perhaps “strut” would be more appropriate, but it wasn’t cocky like a strut. It was simply the walk of someone with supreme self confidence. Either this man was a total ass or a total bad ass; there could be no in between with that walk. When I saw the glints on his shoulders, I concluded it was definitely the latter. That’s right, one general’s star for each shoulder. They might be heavy, but, oh, how they shine. I also decided later that he was one of a few people in this world who could legitimately wear a cape. So it would be a one-star general showing us around the base this weekend. Things began to fall into place in my mind. This was gonna be good.

We were shown to our quarters, which were in fact on the base, but were very nice. There was one big family sized cabin with at living room for the two teachers who’d brought their kids along. The rest of us each had half a cabin that was equivalent to a hotel room. Two beds, a bathroom, T.V., mini-fridge, etc.

“You want to go swimming,” said the general. Anne, with whom I was rooming, and I couldn’t settle on whether that was a command or an invitation, but we did know that the general said “swim.” Never mind the fact that it’s one of the coolest days I have experienced yet in Taiwan and the sun is going down. Never mind the fact that there is a respectable breeze out of the northwest. Never mind the fact that I’ve lost my voice because I have a cold. Never mind the fact that I would never consider swimming outside on a day like this in the U.S. The general said “swim,” so we suited up, jumped in the pool, and tried not to notice that it was freezing. Once we were in the pool, of course, we noticed that the Americans were pretty much the only ones who had braved getting wet on a cool, windy day. In retrospect, I’m pretty sure the swimming bit was an actual invitation that we were free to turn down and I probably should have taken advantage of that fact. But what fun would that have been?

We had just enough time to clean up before dinner, at which time I wished I had brought something a little nicer to wear. I didn’t worry about it too much since everyone else was basically in the same boat, but the instinct remained none the less. It proved correct when the general showed us to a banquet room where an evening gown on the arm of dress blues would not have been inappropriate. We sat down. I decided to copy Isabella’s every move. Don’t be the first to do anything lest you should commit a faux pas. Don’t drink your tea, even though you’re thirsty, if no one else has touched theirs. Don’t even look at your food until the general has picked up his own fork (no chopsticks at this meal—steak and chopsticks do not mix). They asked me how I wanted my steak. I told them medium, which is apparently a five (on a scale of ten) on the Taiwanese scale of steak ordering.

Then it was time for the traditional giving of gifts to the guests. In Taiwan, hosts give guests gifts. I’m never sure how I feel about this gift giving thing. I always feel like I should have something to give back, but really all I have to do, all I should do in this case, is accept graciously. I once heard someone say that you shouldn’t try to out give a culture that has been giving for millennia. Solid advice. Anyway, they gave us a cap with the IDF (Indigenous Defense Fighter, which was designed, manufactured, and is used only in Taiwan) on it and a nice little clock, also with the IDF on it. We thanked our hosts, and then the food started coming. Not before the general said a short prayer though. I really wish he had prayed in Mandarin so I could have understood it, but alas, you can never speak enough languages, and Taiwanese is not in my repertoire yet. So, I said a prayer of thanks for myself and prepared for some good eats. I was not disappointed. First, they brought an honest to goodness salad, a true rarity in Asia where every vegetable is cooked; next, a plate of French fries for our potato; and last, but hardly least, the steak. That was a good steak, my friends. And they had A-1 steak sauce on the table to boot. Be impressed. A-1 steak sauce does not appear often in Asia. A small cup of vanilla ice cream rounded off the meal quite nicely. Once in a while, it’s good to taste the corn fed beef of home.

After dinner, we were whisked away to the front hall of the officer’s mess, which doubled as a karaoke bar, complete with dance floor. Normally we would have walked there, but they deemed it too windy for walking (although it was apparently perfect for swimming), so they drove us instead, the general in his car, including flags on the front, with the rest of us close behind. Upon arrival, there were no less than eight officers there, standing in the walkway to welcome us, the front three or four practically falling over one another to open the car door for the general. I gladly opened my own door and followed everyone else into the hall. On one end there was a screen where the karaoke videos were projected, and there were couches with a coffee table full of fruit and other goodies in front of each arranged in a square-shaped U facing the screen. The general was already singing as the rest of us were walking in, doing a little dance step to the music all the while. I noted that he appeared to be a snappy dancer and that his voice wasn’t bad either. A true renaissance man. Then again, they don’t just make any old slouch a general. Why wouldn’t he be a fabulous dancer?

No sooner had I taken a seat than the general began to introduce the other officers. “These are my best pilots, good friends, best friends!” he proudly proclaimed. The general called off the names of fifteen or twenty of Taiwan’s finest fighter pilots, each one smiling in his flight suit. Their names and ranks were a blur, but I regarded each one thoughtfully as he was introduced and then sat down. Taiwan is in a delicate state of ambiguity regarding its status as a nation, and these men have committed their lives to defending that ambiguity against a nation with a billion people that’s only a very narrow body of water away. They work with equipment costing millions of dollars every day. They’re fighter pilots. Let’s talk about people with self confidence.

The pilot sitting next to me decided to start making small talk, which I politely started replying to the best I could. At that point, I began to dearly wish that I hadn’t lost my voice, because this guy was determined that I sing a song and enjoy myself. With my voice cracking madly, I tried to explain that normally you can’t get me to shut up, but that tonight a songfest was just not in the cards for me. It got to the point where I could see he was just going to pick out a song and then hand the microphone to me when it came up, and in order to prevent having to sing some obscure English song that someone in Taiwan thinks is popular in America, I eventually settled on “The Sound of Silence” by Simon and Garfunkel. The pilot put in the number as I held my head in my hands, powerless to change the situation. What was next?

Well, next was the pilot holding out his hand and asking me to dance. I have to admit, it took me a minute to process his invitation since no one else was dancing and I don’t really dance. I can’t say that I was really enthusiastic about the prospect since I usually limit myself to square dancing and polkas and this was neither, but there was no explaining that to him. So, after blinking a couple of times in surprise, I accepted with a “what-the-heck” shrug. He lost the beat a couple of times in the beginning, but once he got going he wasn’t bad. I found out that he was forty-three (at which point I was very aware that he was twice my age) and that he is living out his dream of flying in the Taiwanese air force. Considering how few people actually live out their dreams, I think that’s pretty cool. The song ended and we sat down, at which point I realized I didn’t really know this guy’s name.
“What was your name again?” I asked politely.
“Tango.”
Had I heard that right? “I’m sorry?”
“Tango. T-A-N-G-O. Like the dance.”
That’s what I thought I’d heard. I’d just danced with a Taiwanese fighter pilot whose English name was “Tango.” I spent the next couple of minutes rolling that one around in my mind. How do you get a name like Tango? For him does it just take one to Tango? Or does he need the requisite two like everyone else? Does he know how to Tango, or does he do his own Tango?

As I contemplated all the implications of having a name like “Tango,” some of the other pilots were doing their best to make us feel welcome, I guess. Or maybe they were just hitting on us. Unfortunately, “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feelin’” was not on the list of songs we had to choose from (we looked), but it was in my head nonetheless. This whole “Top Gun—Taiwanese style!” thing was just a little too weird. I was pulled from my reverie by a couple of pilots who were making the rounds of all the females in the room. The one pilot, named Dollors, seemed particularly…confident in this endeavor. He toasted both Anne and I as we sat there, telling us that we were very beautiful (well, what can I say?), asking our names, what state we were from, etc., all the while seeming exceedingly interested in each answer. Anne ended up dancing with him at one point, I believe, and observed that he had a tough time keeping the beat and speaking English at the same time. Well, nobody’s perfect. Tango didn’t think much of Dollors. “Be careful of him,” he warned. “He’s not a good guy.” Interesting. You’re warning the ladies about your overly ambitious friend. Bravo, Tango.

Meanwhile, it was time for me to try and croak out my song selection. “Sound of Silence” indeed. I think silence would have been preferable to the sounds that managed to escape from my mouth. Aiyo.

The next to sit down and talk was Major Function. I wondered what his major function was or if he had any major malfunctions. Hard to say. Anywho, he was one of the few who actually talked to me long enough to find out that I speak Chinese. (I typically let people struggle along in their assumption that I can only communicate in one language until the conversation becomes painful enough for me to bust out the Chinese.) His English was actually pretty good, but during the course of the conversation it came out that I had studied in mainland China for a year. That immediately threw me onto a pond of thin ice since the next question is inevitably how Taiwan compares with China, and he didn’t want to let me get away with skating around the question. He’s one of the first Taiwanese people to really try and corner me about my opinions on such things. I chose to be prudent, made a couple of shallow observations about the differences between China and Taiwan (i.e. Taiwan tends to be more clean than China, China’s landmass is much bigger than Taiwan’s, etc.), and that more or less got me off the hook. Thankfully.

At that point, the evening was almost over except for one little episode involving Michael “International Incident” Vogel. The evening’s festivities had just been a little too much for poor Michael, who had decided to take a moment or two in the restroom—resting, I guess. Consequently, he missed the memo when it was time for us all to leave, and we all missed him when we got out to the cars. His absence was greeted with considerable concern, and immediately, every uniform in the place made it his personal mission to find the missing guest. They were securing perimeters, assigning search areas… “I will find him, sir!” I overheard one of the pilots say as he snapped off a salute in the General’s general direction.

Fighter pilots: they’re men of action.

After a few moments of intense searching, a tired, horribly embarrassed Michael was found in all of his rest-taking innocence. Crisis averted; the evening had a happy ending.

Since this blog entry is already quite lengthy, I won’t go into detail about all of Sunday’s activities other than to say they included touring a bit more of the base, including their golf course club house and one of the bunkers where they keep the planes. Those who wanted to even got to sit in the cock pit of one of the IDFs. That was really cool! The general was with us almost the whole time, except that he had to cut lunch a little short to meet with the vice president. The vice president of Taiwan, that is. Yeah. Have a great meeting, catch ya after lunch!

So that was my weekend hobnobbing with some of the higher ups in the Taiwanese military. I don’t know how or why these things happen to me, but one thing I do know is that it certainly keeps life interesting.

Until the next interesting thing,
Peace and Joy