Before I came to Taiwan, my friend told me that Taipei was so safe that you could walk around with hundred-dollar bills taped to your clothes and nobody would mess with you. Well, I’ve found that Kaohsiung is no different.
I was walking back to my scooter one evening in downtown Kaohsiung and I saw one of those sights that you dream about. An armored car had turned over. There were bags of money strewn about, and bills covering the street. The crazy part was no-one was doing anything about it; they were just minding their own business. I figured it was because there were cops there, but the closer I got to the scene I could see that there wasn’t a police officer in sight.
Well, I didn’t waste any time hoisting the closest undamaged bag onto my shoulder. That bastard was heavy. It reminded me of carrying a dead body. I started hustling toward my scooter but I quickly realized that I couldn’t ride with my new windfall, it was too big.
Then fate shone her torch brightly. I saw the sculpture marking the Central Park Kaohsiung Mass Rapid Transit (KMRT) station. The sight was uplifting. The bold architecture held my gaze tightly, and while I stared, a plan quickly formed in my mind.
Of course! Try to blend in and pretend like I was carrying something innocuous like fresh-roasted coffee beans or something.
I walked around to the KMRT entrance and was greeted by a phalanx of yellow pinwheel daisies jumping out through the air at me. The color was intense enough to make me feel like the star of a psychedelic laundry commercial with flashbacks guaranteed. I felt a little dizzy as I got off the escalator.
I arrived at the underground level and a nice young woman in a transit uniform helped me with the ticket machine. I looked around to see if I was attracting attention with my bundle of cash, but nobody was eyeing me askance. It seemed that it wasn’t even slightly out of the ordinary for a guy to be getting on a train with a huge canvas bag–even a bag with a goddamn bank logo on the side.
The Kaohsiung MRT token vendors are a snap to use. I hesitated though because of my nervousness, and a guard sauntered over and stood next to me without saying anything. “Gangshan South,” I told him pointing at the conveniently-located station map on the machine. He frowned and shook his head no. I panicked. He was going to arrest me, I knew it.
My knees began to shake. I prepared for the shame of being led out of the MRT station in handcuffs. Then he smiled. He explained in extremely curt English that the Gangshan South station was out of service, but I could go to Ciaotou instead, one stop before that. I thanked him profusely, bought a token for 50 NT, and made my way to the turnstiles.
The MRT in Kaohsiung has been operating since March. Passengers can ride the Red line, which extends more than twenty-eight kilometers from Siaogang to Gangshan South. The Orange line, which travels approximately 14 kilometers from Sizihwan to Daliao, opened in September. The stations and the trains are very user-friendly, and you don’t need to speak or read any Mandarin to have a successful trip.
I sat down on the bench and parked the bag between my feet. The ride in the subway car was pleasantly smooth, almost dreamy. I listened to the recorded announcements calling out each stop in multiple languages, including very clear English. In a flash, we were passing the Zuoying station. This train is really fast, I thought. I might just get away with this after all.
Just past the World Games stop, an elderly woman got on my car, and I relinquished my seat showing my well-trained mass-transit manners. The rest of the passengers in the car smiled at me. There still hadn’t been any alarm or anything. That was a little unnerving. I set my jaw even firmer, held on to the nearest pole and stood perfectly still as we sped north.
Then the fucking bag exploded. There was a paint grenade inside that I hadn’t anticipated. Now everyone in the car, including the old lady, was covered with blue splotches. And there was cash all over the car in piles. Nobody even freaked out. In fact, they began to gingerly push the money back toward me. One passenger had an empty plastic trash bag that he unrolled and handed to me, and soon I had all the money bagged up again.
We passed the Ciaotou Sugar Refinery. One more stop to go. The names of the various stations are concise and logical. It must also be said that they lack a certain sense of poetry. There must have been a better choice than Nanzih Export Processing Zone. Do I really want to get off in a “zone”? Or maybe they should reconsider the name Oil Refinery Elementary School. I’m picturing kids covered in black goo trying to do their homework with their eyes closed.
Finally I arrived at the Ciaotou station. My new friends and I got off the train. The trip from Central Park had taken about 25 minutes. Try that in a car at rush hour. I admired the huge art installation at Ciaotou. For the most part the art in the stations is quite well-conceived and tasteful, but occasionally it drifts to garish and tacky. The current slogan “Spring Comes from Kaohsiung” was everywhere and was accompanied by pastel artwork that would look right at home on an Erasure album cover.
I stashed the money in some bushes, but I really didn’t worry about it too much. Judging by the day’s events, I could be pretty certain that nobody was going to tamper with my new fortune. I nonchalantly walked to the nearest mini-mart and bought a can of beer. I sat on a park bench, took a big sip, and pondered the sheer awesomeness of the new Kaohsiung Mass Rapid Transit system.
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