Ruefang

As part of an ongoing problem with panic attacks, and possible agoraphobia I am honour bound to accept each and every invitation to leave the safe haven of home, even when every inch of me is screaming this is a bad idea.
‘Have you heard of Jinguashi?’ said Anita that Sunday morning. We were laid in bed reading the Sunday papers. I find this an incredibly disappointing experience, as the Taipei Times takes all of fifteen minutes, while she’s often still wading through her wigwam of news until late evening. The next day.
‘No, I’ve never hear-,’ I started, before realizing that the very article I was reading was actually about a POW who endured torture at the hands of the Japanese down a mine in… Jinguashi. ‘Actually, yes – terrible place. They tortured people there. Down a mine.’
‘Huh?’
‘Yes, in the Second World W– oh never mind.’
‘We will go there today.’
‘Well, it sounds a bit … brutal. How will we get there?’
‘Fifty –minute train from Main Station, then forty-minute bus from Ruefang. Then back to Ruefang to see Old street and eat snacks.’
‘Ooh no, that’s too much transport, I’ll probably…die,’ I finished weakly, aware that I was probably losing this argument.
‘Get ready, we’re going twenty minutes later.’
Twenty minutes later we went.

You can’t deny the beauty of the Taiwanese coastline – I know, I’ve tried – but it just can’t be done. As the bus twisted and turned towards Jinguashi proper, we passed the imposing hillock of ‘Teapot Mountain’ and the ocean revealed itself. Serene, blue and seemingly infinite. Just about everything I wasn’t, being trapped in the middle of the immense gaggle of tourists somehow smushed into the bus.
‘Help,’ I gasped towards Anita, but she was having her own problems. She had recently been on an expedition to climb Jade Mountain, Taiwan’s highest peak, and now the sight of anything over a few feet was apt to send her into shuddering flashbacks of doom.
‘Teapot…’ she pointed out the window. ‘Don’t make me climb the teapot.’
I gave up trying to get her attention, and decided to focus on my breathing techniques and trust the relaxing scenery to get me through until we got there. Eventually we did get there, and whether I ‘got through’ is anyone’s guess, but at least I didn’t throw up, soil myself or kick the bucket.
‘Gold Ecological Park!’ said Anita, as if this was the moment our whole lives had been waiting for.
‘Right, good,’ I said, trying to walk off my queasy. ‘What is there to do here?’
‘Use our ticket!’
She held up the tickets we’d bought at the station – a tourist deal that allowed us a combination of four things in the area, including bus rides and entrance fees. We’d already used one on the bus, so this was number two. After the exciting transaction, we queued up outside ‘The Living Environment Museum’ or some such thing for ten minutes. Once inside, we packed into a small theatre, where they showed a history of this small, Japanese style, house. It had ‘seen the glories and vicissitudes of life over the last 80 years’ which sounded vaguely saucy and ‘witnessed the beautiful relics and glorious landscapes left behind when the mines closed down’. It occurred to me that if only the North East of England could see it like that, we might have been alright.
Next they showed us old photos of the Taiwan Metal Company workers, explaining their living conditions and concluding that their lives were very, very simple’ while showing a picture of a group of women.
‘Is this implying that their wives were retarded?’ I whispered to Anita.
‘That’s not funny.’
‘You sound surprised – you’ve been with me almost five years, you should be prepared for ‘not funny’ by now.’
‘Shhh.’
The presentation ended by telling us that this little building ‘will be a space for the use of people in the future’, which is about as meaningless as it gets, but at least it was ten minutes when I didn’t have to be back on that bus.
The most interesting thing about Gold Ecological Park, apart from the overall air of quiet calm, and a great view of the ocean, is the Museum. It was in the museum that I got to touch the largest Gold Bar in the world, which at 220 kilos is almost a whole Rick Monday. We then had to troop past various things made of gold, including the motherboard for a laptop. At this, Anita’s money-based instincts immediately kicked in.
‘Gold! In our computer!’
‘Yes, but only tiny amounts – just plating, really.’
‘It not matter – still more than on my wedding ring!’
‘Yes, but your wedding ring is plated with love.’
‘Hmph!’ she said and stalked off to look at some POW memorabilia.
After we’d exhausted all the museum’s possibilities we traipsed outside and she tried to convince me to have some taro ice-cream, which the area is apparently famous for.
‘I don’t want any.’
‘Why? Huh? Today you are a lousy husband.’
‘I am not a lousy husband, I’m just… difficult. I don’t want one because (a) it seems like almost everywhere we go is famous for taro ice-cream, or something. (b) it’s about fifteen degrees, and in Taiwan that’s practically sub-zero.’
She hmphed again and we went off to investigate the bus timetables back to Ruefeng.

Imagine more people than you’ve ever seen in your whole life crammed into an alley no wider than a dwarf’s anal crack. Now imagine that crammed into each side of that vertically challenged person’s dirtbox driveway are a variety of people trying to sell multifaceted crap to all of those people. You’ve just imagined Ruefeng Old Street, well done you.
On the plus side, some of that crap is actually quite palatable, and they do sell that thing where they wrap ice cream, peanut brittle and coriander in a warm crepe. I usually hate coriander, but here it’s strange out-of-place-ness gives me a perverse thrill, like finding old photos of Great Aunt Ethel in a bikini.
‘Is this crepe thing famous?’ I asked Anita, while hoping she wouldn’t notice that, despite my previous protestations, I was now eating ice-cream.
‘Yes! Very famous.’
No surprise there, just about every conceivable kind of Taiwanese food is ‘famous’. This is mainly because of all the programmes reviewing night market food. If I see one more shot of a preternaturally perky girl talking with her mouth full, I’m going to buy a Subway franchise.
After about ten minutes, despite the fact that they also sold hot crisps on a stick, I began to hate the Old Street. There were just too many people, and it was getting increasingly difficult to see anything, pause anywhere or move my arms.
‘This is getting ridiculous,’ I said.
‘Help,’ said Anita, as she became trapped in a confusion of people and transported towards a hot-pot shop.
‘Do you want to go to that hot pot shop?’ I asked.
‘Not really!’ she was starting to panic.
I barged forward, grabbed her hand and extricated her, but a few moments later everything ground to a halt. This was the first human traffic jam I’d ever seen outside of a queue.
‘We’re not moving!’ I said.
‘I know – help!’
‘We’re not moving!!’
‘Help!!’
My legs were starting to get shaky and I could feel the first twitterings of a panic attack starting to build.
‘I have to get out of here!’
‘Me too –help!’
Things were getting worse, I was now experiencing a rush of blood to the head and the floating, otherworldly feeling that usually preceded catastrophe.
A mother and her four children thrust past us, her shrieking something about making way for small children. Anita, usually the most considerate person you could meet wanted to take advantage of this.
‘Go with her!’
I started to follow her.
‘Hey! Take me with you!’
Oops. I grabbed Anita’s arm and we forced into the woman’s path.
‘等待一分鐘,’ screamed the woman.
‘等待一分鐘 yourself,’ I screamed back, as we escaped into an empty side street.

Just in front of the Train Station, Ruefang Town Square is populated by the kind of men who, if you got in a taxi and saw them driving, you’d get out again. Then call the police. These men were making an afternoon activity out of coughing, spitting, sneezing and just being generally foul. Despite the company, we decided to take a rest on one of the benches to collect our wits.
‘What did you think of today’s trip?’ asked Anita.
‘Well…’ I considered this carefully. ‘Before today, I had some problems with anxiety, but now I think I’ve got Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.’