National Palace Museum

It is often described as the world’s most important collection of Chinese art, and after a three-hour visit I am in no better position to confirm the claim, though it is a serious, civilized place worth the visitor’s time.

The National Palace Museum is tucked away in the green hills north of Taipei, a rolling wilderness filled with place names like the LiRen Twin Waterfall, FenHuang Spring and the Valley of Hell.

Get on the No. 304 bus outside Exit 1 of the Shilin Night Market MRT station. Inside the bus, the only sign in English says “Pay on alighting.” But where to alight? Not to worry. There’s no question when you’ve arrived. The bus driver tells a joke as we pull up. Everybody laughs.

Seems like everyone on the island has decided to visit today. I dive in with them. An extensive calligraphy exhibit leads us into the weeds: “Small seal” and “large seal” scripts. “Cursive,” “running” and “standard” styles. One of the most beautiful things I’ve seen here is people on the subway fingertip-writing on their smartphones. A few graceful strokes produce the shape of a house or a man, and up pops the website they’re looking for. It seems like magic.

The museum's English descriptions of the Qing and Han dynasty writings are sophisticated, skeptical even. Of Zhang Ruitu’s “Six Character Couplet in Running Script,” the sign says: “The lines appear stiff and not quite connected, the ‘flying white’ especially unnatural and suggesting an imitation.” Don’t know what it means, but I trust it.

Picture-taking is strictly forbidden. The flash photographers have ruined it for the rest of us. Guards prowl the galleries carrying “no photography signs.” One girl was asked to delete a photo she’d taken on her phone.

At a special exhibit of paintings featuring fish, enlarged details are broken out on back-lit screens. Very handy. I like knowing what's important.

I can’t take pictures, but I can use my words. In the collection of Chinese bronzes, a snake-hilted spear with a cloud and thunder pattern. An enormous caldron-shaped wine vessel with sheep’s-head reliefs and leopard-spotted shell inlays. A latticed incense burner in the shape of a goose.

In the ceramics section, a double-handled jar with moon-white glaze and purple splashes. A small 15th-century ewer incised with green dragons playing in blue waves. A yellow Qing Dynasty dish with sprays of gardenia, fruits and a hollyhock scroll pattern. A vase, glazed tea-green, with beast-shaped handles. I learned more about Jingdezhen imperial kilns than I ever wanted to know and, eventually, you know, you’ve just had it. “The Splendors of Qing Furniture” will have to wait for another day.

The Taiwanese are a circumspect people, so I’ll say it: The mainland Chinese visitors have a hard time fitting in here. They try to haggle in department stores, loudly barge their way through museum quiet zones, and think nothing of pushing me out of the way to get to that Neolithic jade pitcher. Maybe they were just excited; it is their art after all. But even the guards seemed exasperated.

OK, I can’t resist resisting, and snapped this shot on my way out. Sorry, museum dudes, but you practically make us do it.

Even the gift shop is no-nonsense, almost meditative: spendy reproductions and academic tomes — no refrigerator magnets or oversized novelty pencils.

Ah, back in the fresh air. The grounds are beautiful.

Rather than stand on a crowded bus, I opted to walk back to Shilin, a pleasant 35-minute downhill stroll. Not so pleasant for this moped rider, who got wiped out by a carhead on FuLin Road. He was able to limp back to the sidewalk, thank god. The driver stopped and called an ambulance.

National Palace Museum

Address: No. 221, Sec. 2, Zhishan Road

Hours: 8:30 a.m.-6:30 p.m. every day

Admission: $250NTD

Let's talk about food

Yeah, pretty much. Does anyone eat at home here? Sleeping spaces are tight. Kitchen spaces, too. I tried the frog-egg milk tea but not the milkfish. Had the oyster omelet but not the pork-brain soup. Tonight I'm going out for iron eggs and tube rice pudding, if I can find them. Might even have a chicken cutlet the size of my head.

There is simply not enough time to sample all of Taiwan’s incredible eats, a hodgepodge of dishes from mainland Chinese, Japanese and aboriginal kitchens. But I am not putting stinky tofu in my mouth (I don’t think). Maybe next time.

I'll be honest. For the first 36 hours I ate at Family Mart, staggered by a marathon flight and stricken by a mild case of culture shock. But then, baby steps. First a dumpling. Then a tongful of steamed asparagus flecked with fresh, hot red pepper. A bit of cold red tofu.

One of my most powerful language tools has been "war yeah shyung!" ("I want that, too!"), but hugely promising food opportunities of the city remain off-limits to me. Not for lack of trying. Calm yourself, I'd say. Listen. Watch. But after several minutes, if I couldn't shake that trundling dread, if there was no visual frame of reference or discernible "code," I'd move on. You don't have the game, I conceded. Dumb maybe, but I have my pride.

I started gravitating toward eateries that attracted men of simple means (like me).

My favorite sit-down places look like this from the outside, and the code is fairly simple.

Look for a paper plate near the entrance. Don't hand it at the guy with the big spoon. Hold it yourself. Point at two or three things. Another fella will hand you a a bowl of rice, take your money and make change. Grab some chopsticks and go to town. Bus your own table. Nod on your way out (optional).

My concept of Chinese food has changed. It's spinach with garlic and a dash of soy. A few chunks of wok-fried pumpkin. Tender slivers of sweet carrot scrambled with egg.

The best meal I've had in two weeks came here. The chef worked fast and hot while his helper washed dishes on the floor.

Simple spicy chicken noodles, expertly conceived. Price: $1.60 USD. That was 10 days ago and I still can't get it out of my mind.

Do you need some basic language skills? Well, maybe, but on this day I blanked on the word for "chicken" and actually flapped my elbows and made the "bawk" sound. It delighted them, and they doted on me for the rest of my visit. It's just a few blocks from the Nanjing Fuxing MRT. Like Hansel, I dropped photo crumbs so I can find my way back.

At a hole in the wall next to the Neijiang Hotel, pork, scallions, green beans and a slab of golden fried tofu.

Walk around. Point. Everyone wants to help.

The stand-up places are the easiest. They sell only one thing. This spot in Ximending is super-popular among non-Taiwanese. I think it reminds them of home, wherever on the biggest continent that may be.

Flour noodles, the width of a hatpin, in a fishy sauce. Chunks of squid the size of dice lurk beneath the surface.

My second-favorite meal in Taipei came on the sidewalk. He slides the omelet into a paper bag so you can walk around with it, your mind blown with every bite. The dipping sauces here mean everything: They impart primarily a umami sensation, but they're also a little sweet.

I learned to shop around. It's worth walking a couple of blocks to find the browned, chewy wontons. Same with the savory buns. The pale ones just aren't as satisfying.

OK, sometimes things are a little confounding. Make a mental note and keep walking.

The rolling food stalls are technically illegal but widely tolerated. When word gets out that the cops are coming, they pack up and vanish.

Some people swear by the department-store basement restaurants. Been there. I think that's something visitors tell one another. Wendy and I are having lunch today. Can't wait to taste where we go.

Bees in a blender

In a place that makes more bicycles than anywhere on the planet, it is 125cc scooters that rule the roads. As in Tokyo, the number of stoplights and one-way streets here can wreck your groove. The motoring environment is far more challenging in Seoul, where nobody pays attention to the stoplights and one-way signs, and 650cc motorcycles are the rule. 

The martial music at the end of this clip was part of one of the “national independence” rallies going on Saturday across the city. Not sure what the demonstrators want: I thought most Taiwanese already consider themselves part of an independent state. Maybe it’s a call to the rest of the world to recognize them diplomatically. Currently, only Brunei, Vatican City and handful of other entities do so. [Author's note: Well fuck me. The front page of today's Taipei Times said they were anti-nuclear-power demonstrations.]

Amphitheater of sounds and smells

This list says Taipei's population density trails Seoul's. I refuse to believe it. Taipei is so crowded you can't put your hands on your hips without blocking someone's path. And don't even think of performing hand signals on a bicycle. You could lose an arm.

But it is a photographer's delight. No one cares if you take their picture here. (Well, one guy did.) Just don't be creepy about it.

'Everyone Happy'

In Bangka Park, bookies take bets on a complicated game involving official lottery numbers in Taiwan and Hong Kong. It is called 大家樂, or DaJiaLeh ("Everyone Happy"), and is run by an organized-crime group known as the Celestial Alliance. [HT to Wendy for the explanation!]

Prostitutes and fortunetellers (Longshan Temple)

They share the sidewalks outside Taiwan's most important religious shrine. OK, things got a little Third Worldy today, but in the most unthreatening, mysterious, cutest way possible! A few moments earlier, the dog in the photo above was up to this:



The exterior of Longshang Temple is below. I can't figure this place out. It's ostensibly Buddhist, but there are non-Buddhist deities students pray to, other gods that gangsters pray to. A cafeteria approach. I think this is healthy.

Spiky, intricate eaves.

Worshippers cup two of these wonton-shaped wooden blocks in their hands and toss them on the ground. Pick them up and toss them again. And again.

To this unsophisticated tourist, the effect is hypnotically cryptic. I guess I could Google it, but I'd rather just absorb the strangeness of it all.

A few blocks away is another temple, Qingshan. I stood outside taking pictures and a couple of women waved me in. Taiwan is the friendliest place. The devoted leave offerings to their divine beings. The gods like flowers, bottles of water, and, apparently, Choco Pies.

It's the kind of neighborhood where the alleyways are barely big enough for a man. And each of these lanes has a name.

It's past lunchtime. I pause for a bite to eat here and point to a selection of buns.

"I'd like two," I say, pointing. The man and woman behind the counter smile at each other and shake their head. They want me to try something else. Their hesitancy makes me more insistent. A girl in the back cries, "Meat! Meat!" What secret are they hiding? The buns, please. They comply.

Seems all right to me. Looks good. Tastes good. Some kind of meat inside. I make my goodbyes. Like a toddler, I always say goodbye for some reason. Nobody else does.

I walk another block and realize I'm in Snake Alley. I've read about this place. You can buy snake blood here (to drink, for your health). You don't suppose I just ate two snake buns? I prefer to think I have. I do feel healthier.

Snake Alley is below. A little slow and drowsy in midafternoon. Must be insane at night.

It's such a nice day that I grab a YouBike. I know the Tamshui River is around here somewhere, but there's a giant highway blocking my path. Gotta find a chink. Wait. That doesn't sound right.

Found one! I'm on the western edge of Taipei now. Across the river is Songchang City.

An absent-minded pedestrian knocked down this bicyclist. I saw the whole thing. They have to argue about it a bit to save face. She is pissed but holding it together. I feel like I'm learning an important cultural lesson.

There are so many plants here I have never seen before.

Some say Taipei is ugly. I find its architectural confusion fascinating, charming.

Don't know what's being sold. A laxative? A tea with laxative properties, perhaps. Maybe she ate a snake bun.

Have I mentioned I love this place?

Three blocks from home, I run across the smallest electric bicycle I have ever seen.

My pace quickens. I want to upload these photos so you can see them. And to convince myself today wasn't a dream.

Eccentric orbits

"More, more," said my legs and eyes. So the five of us walked and walked.

228 Peace Park:

A burrito-shaped "pie." Point and hope for the best.

Absolutely no clue. Whatever it is has never before passed my lips. Some kind of pungent turnip? Googling around ... maybe a mugwort paste?

Hopped on a random bus. Got off when the mood struck. Jhenjiang Street:

The honey-glazed fish I picked up at the supermarket is also spiked with cinnamon. Like a fishy french toast.