A LOAD OF RUBBISH: MY FIRST NIGHT IN TAIWAN

One of the most memorable experiences of my stay in Taiwan so far took place on my first night here. Although credible, I speak not of views of a red-hot sunset over the mountains, nor am I referring to my experience of tasting an exotic local delicacy from a street vendor in a busy marketplace (although the dumplings my cousin prepared for me on my first night were exemplary, I must add).

No. The event that I speak of takes place not once weekly, nor twice a week, but every night of the week (excluding Sundays, I think). It is not religious ceremony, nor a local gathering (… debatable given the turnout on that particular Friday night). It is not compulsory to attend, nor should it be avoided, as it is important for the upkeep of one’s home. Of course I am talking about refuse collection.

That’s right, you heard me – every day. If, like me, you have lived in the Welsh County of Ceredigion in the last five years you might be a little shell-shocked at the idea of not having to wait two weeks for household rubbish to be collected from your street. But this is not even the most novel thing about refuse collection in this part of the world. The most novel thing about this insanely efficient method of rubbish disposal is that, in the same way that an ice-cream van in the UK plays plinky plonky music to entice small children, here the locals are lured from their homes en masse each night at dusk by tuneful broadcasts that denote the arrival of the trucks in their neighbourhood.

Of course the pitfall of this is that you are expected to stand with your rubbish on your doorstep until the truck arrives on your street, at which point you move in to join the throngs of people also waiting their turn to chuck their bags into the back of the truck. Sometimes the truck stops, sometimes it doesn’t. You’d just better not miss the target – clearly aim is important here, as the limitless outcomes of such a public faux pas do not need to be described here.

And so, this was what I was treated to on my first night in Taiwan. Of course the advice that came with such an activity was to: A.) avoid eye contact with the other waste flingers, and B.) get in line. I can tell you now that I was out of my depth with the ‘line’ concept, i.e.: there wasn’t one (I am British – I know what a real queue should look like). At this point, I hadn’t been exposed to the peculiarity of being considered unusual looking and therefore being the centre of people’s attention (I have come to learn this since). Fortunately, at this particular event I didn’t have to worry about the ‘no eye contact’ rule – my neighbours were entirely focused (as they should be) on the task at hand: chucking their missiles into the moving (musical) target.

So here it is, my first attempt is not likely to be my best, but it was recorded so it is historic now:

(N.B.: If anyone knows the name of this tune, please let me know – it is driving me nuts to hum along but have no idea where I know this musical delight from!)

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