At 509 metres high, Taipei 101 is the tallest building in East Asia, and for a few years held the title of tallest in the world.
In an otherwise low-rise city, it stands in splendid isolation as the city’s premier landmark. Its vertical rhythm differentiates it from other tall buildings, and is intended to suggest the form of a bamboo plant.
While Taipei 101 has now fallen to number 3 in the world height rankings, it retains a number of records, including the world’s fastest elevator.
Travelling at a speed of over 1 km per minute, it whisked us to the 89th-floor observation deck in double-quick time. Although there was no real impression of speed inside the lift car, there was a helpful illuminated display to let us know how high we were and how fast we were going.
The 91st-floor outdoor observation deck was closed today (no explanation was given) so we viewed the city through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the indoor observation deck. Taipei tends to be very hazy, limiting the visibility of more distant areas, but there was a great view of the area of the city closer to the tower.
World Trade Center
Dr Sun Yat-Sen Memorial
The 2 General MacArthur bridges over the Keelung River, and Yang Ming Shan mountain in the background
At the heart of Taipei 101, a huge metal ball forms part of a tuned mass damper, protecting the building from excessive movement in high winds and earthquakes.
This ball is 5.5 metres in diameter and weighs hundreds of tonnes. It is the biggest of its kind in the world, and the only one open to view by the public.
The lower floors of Taipei 101 are given over to an upscale shopping mall. The exposed structural elements of this atrium seem to combine a 19th-century Industrial Revolution aesthetic with a science-fiction sensibility.
After visiting Taipei 101, we hopped on the metro for a visit to Astoria Café. Astoria was founded by a Russian exile in 1949, and was the first western-style bakery and café in Taiwan. The White Russians, who had formed a community in Shanghai having fled the Russian revolution, were forced to flee yet another Communist revolution in 1949 and found themselves in Taiwan.
When we arrived, we were asked if we wanted “lunch or café”. As it was a bit too early for lunch, we opted for café. The menu had an extensive range of coffees and teas. The prices were very high, especially by Taiwan standards ($180 for a cup of coffee, equivalent to around €4.50). I chose a Russian blend coffee and Yuko went for a cold longan tea. (Longan is a delicious local fruit, quite similar to lychee.)
The menu didn’t feature any cake, only drinks. We wondered if we were supposed to buy cakes from the bakery downstairs and bring them up. But we asked the waiter and he brought us a cake menu. The cakes were good value at $50 per slice (€1.25). Yuko had a millefeuille and I had a coffee cake.
The décor is charmingly old-fashioned, with various significant items on display including old photos, samovars and a collection of matryoshka dolls.
The old-world style of the Astoria stands in delicious contrast to the Temple of the City God on the other side of the narrow street. This was the view from the window seat as I sipped my Russian coffee and nibbled my cake.
In just a few short days, Taipei has become one of my favourite places. It’s a wonderfully manageable city and very easy to get around. This is largely thanks to the MRT metro system, which has a dense network of underground lines in the city centre and extends all the way to the distant suburbs. The service is very frequent and easy to use; we haven’t had to wait for more than a couple of minutes for a train. Fares are $20 to $30 (about €0.50 to €0.75) which is extremely reasonable.
When we arrived in Taipei on Monday, we each bought an EasyCard and loaded it up with $500 worth of value (approx €12.50). This can be used on buses, metro, suburban rail and the Maokong gondola (which is not a boat but a cable car).
The “Hello Kitty”-themed cabins fail to make the ride any less terrifying
The main advantage of the EasyCard is that it makes it much more convenient to hop on and off buses and metro, since you don’t have to buy a ticket each time. You buy it (and top it up) from a machine at any metro station, and then when it’s time to leave Taipei, we can return the EasyCard and they will give us back any money that we haven’t used.
The EasyCard can also be used to hire a bike from the “YouBike” service. This did not work for me, however, as the registration process requires a mobile phone number and it would not accept my Irish phone number. However I was able to hire a bike at the kiosk using my credit card.
Cycling turns out to be a very enjoyable way to get around Taipei. The streets don’t have cycle lanes as such, but cyclists are well catered for, and there are dedicated cycle ways along all the city’s river banks. The one thing to be careful of is drivers (including taxi drivers) turning right without indicating.
One of the major sights in central Taipei is the Chiang Kai-Shek memorial, dedicated to the memory of the former president of the Republic of China.
In front of the central monument, which houses a huge statue of CKS at the top of a steep flight of steps, there is a paved area flanked by two impressive public buildings (a library and a museum) built in the form of temples. On a more human scale, there are also attractive gardens north and south, with trees, ponds and wildlife.
Another impressive building in Taipei is the Presidential Palace (formerly the Governor General’s office).
Ximending is an area of youth culture, and I stopped to watch this band rehearsing on an outdoor stage at the “red house”, an octagonal red-brick converted warehouse building in Ximen. Here’s a short video.
I got thirsty cycling around in the heat, so I bought a can of Hey Song Sarsaparilla from a vending machine. I was curious, because we don’t have sarsaparilla drinks in Ireland. I liked it. I also liked the fact that the drinks in the vending machine only cost $20 (€0.50).
The Osaka mint dates back to the 1870s, a time when Japan was opening up to outside influence after centuries of self-imposed isolation. There is an Irish connection – some of the buildings were designed by an Irishman called Thomas Waters, including this elegant reception hall, the Senpuukan, which was built for the visit of the Meiji emperor, who came here in 1872.
The tradition of toorinuke (cherry-blossom viewing at the mint) dates back almost as far – for 140 years people have come here in mid-April to “pass through” the tunnel of cherry trees when they are in full bloom. This is called 通り抜け toorinuke (from a verb meaning to pass through).
The cherry-blossom route is around 500 metres long, and comprises hundreds of carefully-tended trees of over 100 different varieties. They are osoizakura—late-blossoming cherries; while the cherry trees in the various parks around Osaka reached their brief moment of glory 2 weeks ago and have since shed their flowers in a flurry of pinkish petals, at the mint the cherry trees are only now in full bloom.
Yuko suggested that we should get up early to beat the crowds, and she was right. Even at 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning, we were among hundreds making our way from the metro station to the entrance gate.
The toorinuke operates as a one-way system (south to north), with staff-members with megaphones constantly exhorting people to keep moving along the route and not to stop.
However, only the first 100 metres or so of the route was congested, after which it freed up a lot and it was possible to enjoy the experience in a more relaxed way.
Carved into a rock alongside the route is a short poem about the toorinuke:
大阪に 花の里あり 通り抜け
oosaka ni hana no sato ari toorinuke
In Osaka is found the home of flowers—toorinuke
During the toorinuke, the Mint museum and buildings are closed to the public. However I would like to come back here another time to visit them.
I don’t really mind long flights. The packing, the travel to and from the airport, the check-in, the security checks, those are exhausting. But once on the plane, the fact of sitting quietly in a seat for 11 hours doesn’t bother me. If anything, it offers a rare opportunity to slow down, to read a book or watch a film, or just do nothing at all, while every so often people come and bring you food and drink.
Pro tip: I find a gin and tonic at the start of the flight is a very good way of getting into the right frame of mind.
Business class is a nicer experience, of course. But while you can usually get an economy class ticket for between €800 and €900 return, the business class fare is more like €2500. For two people, that amounts to an extra €3000, which would buy you an awful lot of comfort on the ground. As in, you could stay in a luxurious hotel for 2 weeks for that price. For that money, I will happily put up with the economy class experience for 11 hours. Hell, for that money I would spend the flight in a cage in the cargo hold with the animals. Or tied up face down on the floor with an hourly kicking from the cabin crew.
Anyway, when we arrived in Japan we went out to the supermarket to get something for lunch. I got sushi.
This sushi selection, freshly made this morning, cost 410 yen. That’s about €3. For a selection of 10 delicious nigiri-zushi.
For dinner, we decided to go to a local ramen place: Tiger and Dragon.
They do “Hakata-style” ramen noodles, with a fatty, almost silky broth made with pork bones.
The sign below says that you can help yourself to fiery-hot (chili) mustard greens, sesame mustard greens or benishouga (red pickled ginger). I had to look up the word for mustard greens: 高菜 takana, as I wasn’t able to read it. Or rather, I was able to read it but wasn’t sure how to pronounce it or what vegetable it referred to. If that makes any sense. Such are the vagaries of the Japanese writing system.
Benishouga is a typical accompaniment to Hakata ramen. And by the way, the fiery-hot mustard greens really are.
How many countries have you visited? These days, with more people travelling to exotic destinations, taking a year out to travel, or going on cruise holidays in the Caribbean or the Mediterranean, it’s not unusual to have a few dozen countries under your belt.
A few dedicated travellers set themselves a more ambitious goal, such as to visit 100 countries (a Finnish woman I know devoted a year of her life to achieving this total) or even to visit them all, like Norwegian Gunnar Garfors, the youngest hobby traveller to visit all the world’s countries.
For most of us, it’s fairly straightforward. You go to Spain for a week, that’s one country. You live and work in Australia for a year, that’s another. Last week, thanks to a wonderful opportunity to visit Istanbul, I added a new country (Turkey) to my list for the first time in 7 years, and will add one more next month. But once you start keeping score, you are quickly faced with two questions that turn out to be not so straightforward as they seem:
- What counts as a country? and
- What counts as a visit?
Gunnar Garfors explains his criteria as follows:
There are 193 UN member countries in the world. I count all of them.
There are 2 UN observers. I count both the Vatican and Palestine.
3 additional countries are recognized by a fair number of the 195 above. I therefore also count Kosovo, Western Sahara and Taiwan.
But what constitutes a visit to a country? I must have done something there and have a story to tell.It isn’t necessary to stay overnight, but I have to leave the airport or train/bus station. To merely step across the border doesn’t count.
Both of his criteria are necessarily arbitrary, and there will always be borderline cases and room for disagreement. For example, there are still many places in the world which are not themselves sovereign nations but are nonetheless legally distinct from the country to which they “belong”. How should we count Gibraltar, for example, which is not part of the United Kingdom but is a British Overseas Territory? Should someone who has visited Aruba tick the box for “Netherlands” even if they have never been to Europe? Ultimately, you have to figure it out for yourself.
This website is one of many that allow you to display your visited countries on a map of the world. It allows you to select territories of all kinds, in addition to the 198 countries on Gunnar Garfors’s list. For example, the Åland Islands are treated separately from Finland proper; Greenland and the Faroe Islands separately from Denmark.
Similarly, Guam and the Isle of Man, while not sovereign countries, are treated as separate “countries” by the geocaching.com website.
Sporting bodies such as FIFA and the International Olympic Committee each operate their own lists, which may for historical reasons include countries such as Northern Ireland, Wales or Puerto Rico.
Anyway, in today’s blog, rather than talk about countries that I have visited, I thought it would be interesting to mention some places that I’ve seen, but never visited. In this “so near, yet so far” category, we have:
1) Albania (from Corfu, Greece). In 1989, I travelled around Europe by train with my friend, Conor. The furthest point of our travels was a campsite in the north of Corfu. This Greek island is separated by a narrow stretch of water from the coast of Albania.
Albania was the hermit kingdom of its day, isolated even from its communist neighbours, and our perception of (and fascination with) Albania was similar to that of North Korea today. Seen from Corfu, the Albanian side appeared empty and deserted. At that time it was rare and difficult for tourists to gain entry.
2) Morocco (from Spain). Mainland Spain and Morocco are only about 15km apart, separated by the Strait of Gibraltar, and the hills and coastline of Morocco are clearly visible from large areas of southern Spain. I visited Spain as a teenager, and was captivated by the thought that that place on the horizon, just over there, was Africa, with all that that entailed.
3) Greenland (from the air). All my life I have had a huge, almost obsessive, interest in reading about the Arctic regions, the vast emptiness of the High Arctic and the few human settlements at the margins. Greenland in particular fascinates me, to the point of appearing in my dreams. In waking life, however, I have not yet visited.
Flights from Ireland to the west coast of the USA route over Greenland, and during that portion of the flight you will find me with my face pressed against the tiny window pane of the aircraft, peering through the twilight at the frozen landscape below.
4) South Korea. This is a marginal case in the “what counts as a visit?” department. Although I don’t consider that I have visited South Korea, I did actually go through immigration, leave the airport and walk around for a short while on the island on which Incheon International Airport is situated. I didn’t see anything interesting.
5) Russia (from Lithuania). The Lithuanian town of Nida is situated on the Curonian Spit, an interesting geographical feature in its own right. It’s a place of great character and beauty. A short distance south of Nida is the border with Kaliningrad, an exclave of the Russian Federation. I seem to remember the last few hundred metres is off limits, but you can look past the border post into Russian territory. Unfortunately you can’t cross on impulse; a visa is required to enter Russia, and it’s quite a time-consuming and bureaucratic (not to mention expensive) undertaking.
Wooden carvings in Raganų kalnas (The Hill of Witches) on the Curonian spit
6) Belarus (also from Lithuania). The highest point in Lithuania is the summit of an unassuming hill called Aukštojas kalnas, only 294 metres high. This lies south-east of Vilnius, just off the road to Minsk. The summit is only a couple of kilometres from the Belarusian border and the eastern margin of the European Union. Standing at the top of Aukštojas and the neighbouring Juozapinė Hill (292 m), we had an unobstructed view into Belarus, but did not venture across.
Lithuania’s highest point (294 metres)
You need fire and ambulance service? Choose one.
In July 2012, a 2-seater light aircraft landed in a ditch, short of the runway at Newcastle Airfield, Co. Wicklow, Ireland. Fuel spilled into the ditch, but fortunately did not ignite. Although the plane was destroyed, the occupants were uninjured. If you’re interested, you can read the accident report here.
When the understandably distressed pilot called the number for the emergency services and was asked which service he required, he said “everything”. Not unreasonably, he felt that police, fire and ambulance services were all needed at the scene. Urgently.
When forced to choose, he requested an ambulance and the call was put through to the ambulance service.
25 minutes later, someone at the airfield made a second emergency call, this time requesting “Garda and Fire brigade”. Again, the caller was forced to choose, was put through to the gardaí, and was advised to tell them that a fire service was required.
Meanwhile, around half an hour after the accident Dublin Fire Brigade finally received notification of the crash by unofficial means (someone at the airfield contacted an acquaintance in a local fire station, and that person contacted Dublin). Dublin Fire Brigade mobilised a response, which arrived 20 minutes later. If there had been a fire, it would presumably have burned itself out by then, incinerating the aircraft and any unfortunate person trapped inside.
It seems incredible that such a flawed system continues to operate. If a plane crashes in a field somewhere, a single phone call should suffice to mobilise the immediate dispatch of ambulance and fire service to the scene.
The air accident investigation unit made a single recommendation:
[...]the Emergency Call Answering Service service
provider and the emergency services to consider putting procedures
in place which ensure that emergency calls related to air accidents are
notified immediately to all of the emergency services.
Unless and until that happens, an injured person trapped in a burning aircraft will be faced with the difficult choice, “which service do you require?”