It’s the last Thursday of November, and I’ve signed up for Thanksgiving lunch at Maokong, the major tea-producing area of Taipei located in the rugged foothills southeast of the city. I stuff the direction sheet into my shoulder bag and start the ten-minute jaunt from the Taipei Royalty apartment building at 9:30 to the Liuzhangli stop on Taipei’s Metro Rapid Transit (MRT) Brown Line. The last station at Taipei Zoo shouldn’t take more than 15 minutes, the scheduled time for meeting my group from the American Institute in Taiwan before we take the gondola ride to the tea house.
When I arrive at the metro station, I take the up escalator, insert my MRT card in the card reader to ensure I have sufficient New Taiwan Dollars (NT$) on it, then brush through the turnstile and wait for one of the cars to rumble to a stop before boarding. It’s six stops before the end of the line, but I check the flashing signs, in both Chinese and English, and pay attention to the broadcast Mandarin voice. Since it’s mid-morning, the cars are occupied by only the retired or mothers with young children going to the zoo. Fifteen minutes later we reach the end of the line and shuffle toward the doors.
I hike two blocks past McDonald’s to the gondola station, where I meet part of the group that hasn’t already taken the upward ride. Katya, who’s in charge, shepherds me and the other stragglers into the gondola line, where the attendants see that we’re Americans and pair us off together. The gondolas accommodate four passengers, but since we’re Americans we’re divided into five, if necessary. After a five-minute wait, we sit side by side, facing each other in our gondola and lurching through treetops for 10 minutes. Vegetation growing everywhere in the rich volcanic soil reminds me again that Taiwan is an island.
After disembarking, we start the half-mile uphill hike on the narrow tar road to the tea house. Katya encourages, “It’s only a little further.” Around a corner we spot a disabled car’s windshield painted with a cat, in silhouette, advertising their tea house. This same cat is indicated as a landmark on our direction sheet.
“There it is,” we shout in unison.
“No, that’s the tea house just before the one we want,” Katya announces.
Invigorated, the younger ones in our crowd sprint to the next tea house. I stick with Katya, since she’s in charge. Besides, she’s married to Todd, a fellow North Denverite – one generation separating us.
“No, no, we’re upstairs,” Katya admonishes those who have already found seating on the ground floor.
When we reach the last step and take a look at the second floor, we understand Katya’s insistence on reserving this area. Those who arrive first grab the corner table with the most commanding views through the treetops. Not to worry, Todd takes the next-best table, and I head in his direction. Joining our table are Vanessa and Alex, an Air Force NonCom and her retired Army husband, and the Assistant Agriculture Attache and his Japanese-born wife, Don and Takako.
Our group of 24 is seated around four tables. The loud voice of a TBA (Taiwanese born in America) fills the air. I notice that mostly Taiwanese are sitting at the table where she expounds on the origins of Thanksgiving. “When the Pilgrims came to America,” she starts. “When was that?” a voice pipes up. “I don’t know the exact year, but they had a hard time getting settled – planting crops, building shelters and living off the land. When harvest-time came, they prepared a feast to celebrate, and neighboring Indians contributed their food. That’s how turkeys and corn became part of the meal.” I want to tell TBA the real reason for Thanksgiving: In gratitude to God for their survival, the Pilgrims prepared the feast to thank Him. The Indians were invited for their part in that survival.
Todd is the veteran of our group, having been initiated in all things Taiwanese during his one-year Mandarin course before being let loose to take over as second-in-command of consular duties. He opens a hermetically-sealed bag of oolong tea leaves, places six spoonsful of leaves into a china teapot, then pours boiling water over the leaves from the metal teapot set over a charcoal fire. “You have to wash the leaves first before letting them steep,” Todd explains while emptying the “wash” water onto a handy metal tray with holes, and commences filling the china pot with boiling water again. The menus – in Chinese – arrive, and Todd orders, after determining that there are no vegetarians at our table. Katya agrees that the “tea leaves fried rice” at this tea house is exceptional. After the tea has steeped, Todd pours each of us a cup.
Glancing at the vegetarian table next to us and seeing everything green, I’m glad that our sweet and sour fish provide some color. I push my small bowl to Katya, who serves. “I’d like a couple spoons of rice with a small portion of fish,” I tell her. My chopsticks keep the fish corralled on top of the rice. The fish smell evaporates soon after it’s served since the tea house has no windows, only clear plastic coverings that can be drawn to keep out rain.
Todd, assisted by Katya, continues to make tea. The help staff bring tofu and gong bao chicken, and I take a small portion of each. I’m no fan of tofu, but recognize its health benefits. And the chicken – well, I prefer the fish. I wonder why the Taiwanese have to serve everything with a sesame-garlic-ginger-hot pepper sauce – heavy on the sauce. I’m ready for the fried sweet potatoes with sweet spices. Red bean cakes with sesame seeds finish off the meal. We all agree that food tastes better in the open air.
Because of the low cloud cover, we catch only occasional glimpses of the 101 building in downtown Taipei. LEED (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design) certified, it was the world’s tallest building at 1,667 feet from its opening in 2004 until 2010 when Dubai’s Burj Khalifa took the record at 2,722 feet.
Katya muses, “Whenever I want to escape the noise of downtown Taipei, I take the MRT and gondola up here. It reminds me of the mountains and streams of my native Bulgaria.”
Vanessa and Alex are newlyweds, and don’t say much – they just gaze at each other. They’re as inexperienced with chopsticks as I.
Don, who met Takako while he was stationed in Japan, is an expert at chopsticks. His Colorado connection comes out when he volunteers that he has a brother who lives in Niwot who had a high-tech job until the downturn of 2008. “He ridiculed my government salary, but now he envies my position,” Don reports.
The other tables have cleared out. Those with children have gone to the zoo. I join three other singles for the downward gondola journey – this time we have a glass floor. I examine each tiny plot of land that’s crammed with tea, corn, carrots, bok choy and other leafy greens. Even chickens. Taiwan, like its Korean, Japanese and Chinese neighbors, utilizes every inch of arable space.
When I return to my apartment, I remember that it’s Thanksgiving. With a grateful heart, I silently offer a prayer for the gong bao chicken that substituted for turkey, and for friends from Bulgaria, Ecuador, Japan, Taiwan and distant parts of America that substituted for family. Ultimately, my heart swells when thanking God for this adventure called life.
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Daisy Jackson is a native Coloradan who retired from the Foreign Service after being assigned to eight overseas posts. Retirement proved to be too tame, so she joined the Peace Corps and subsequently worked as a contractor with the Department of State in hardship posts in Africa and Southeast Asia.
