“Get back in the car!” the masked people shouted at me. “Get back in!”
It was near midnight. My taxi just pulled into the parking lot where I was greeted by three masked people. They were dressed in heavy protective gear, goggles, gloves, face mask and medical gowns.
One person raised a sign saying: Do not get out of the car, please show your health questionnaire and passport. I couldn’t find mine. I panicked, asking my driver if he had it. He asked if it was in my luggage in the back trunk, and went to open the back trunk. I stepped out too, freaked out that I had just lost my passport. I was tired, lost and really hungry.
Photo: Reuters
That was how I was greeted upon arrival at a centralized quarantine center in Taiwan.
I had arrived in Taiwan to start my new job, but with the stress of moving, I’d come down with a cold. Unfortunately, I still had a cough by the time I flew to Taiwan. As a result, I was taken upon arrival to the quarantine center rather than the quarantine hotel I’d booked.
Taiwan has been lauded around the world as a COVID-19 success story. It’s 160km off the coast of China, and because of the economic and cultural relations with China, where the virus outbreak first surfaced, many feared Taiwan would be hit hard.
But more than eight months after the outbreak, the nation has only had seven deaths from COVID-19 and 488 confirmed cases. How was Taiwan able to keep the numbers so low? I got to see for myself.
On my flight to Taipei, each passenger had a separate row. Flight attendants wore medical gowns, goggles, face masks and gloves. No food was served.
Because I’d showed up at the border with a cough, health authorities also took a throat swab test. Before I could get into my CDC-assigned taxi to be taken to the centralized center, I got sprayed from shoulder downwards with disinfectant. The taxi driver, decked out in protective gear, maintained a distance.
“I don’t have COVID!” I wanted to say to him. But it seemed a moot point.
I felt only anxiety. Just 10 hours ago I was eating Nepali food with friends in a restaurant in Shanghai. Now I was being treated as a contaminant.
I’d rushed back to Beijing in early February, before China shut its borders and instituted a strict centralized quarantine for all arrivals. Life had in many ways returned to normal in the last few months. Beijing, the capital city where I had been living for two years, was as busy as ever with traffic jams and fewer and fewer people wearing masks. Offices had reopened, and I could gather with friends in restaurants and bars without fear.
But now I was crossing a border, an uncertain undertaking at a time like this.
My experience, while jarring, was understandable to me. Many nations, my own US included, have seemingly moved away from stringent efforts against COVID-19. The pandemic is still raging in many places, still killing people and leaving others with long-term health effects. The road ahead is long and uncertain.
After getting back into the taxi, I checked my bookbag. My passport and all my documents were in there. From that moment, everything proceeded smoothly. The next day I got my test result. It was negative. I was permitted to leave the quarantine center for my hotel, where I would finish my isolation.
There is no politician today more colorful than Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) legislator Hsu Chiao-hsin (徐巧芯). The recall vote against her on July 26 will test the limits of her unique style, making it one of the most fascinating to watch. Taiwan has a long history of larger-than-life, controversial and theatrical politicians. As far back as 1988, lawmaker Chu Kao-cheng (朱高正) was the first to brawl and — legend has it — was the first to use the most foul Taiwanese Hokkien curse on the floor of the legislature. Current Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) lawmaker Wang Shih-chien (王世堅) has become famous
July 14 to July 20 When Lin Tzu-tzeng (林資曾) arrived in Sansia (三峽) in 1830, he found the local conditions ideal for indigo dyeing. Settlers had already planted indigo across the nearby hills, the area’s water was clean and low in minerals and the river offered direct transport to the bustling port of Bangka (艋舺, modern-day Wanhua District in Taipei). Lin hailed from Anxi (安溪) in Fujian Province, which was known for its dyeing traditions. He was well-versed in the craft, and became wealthy after opening the first dyeing workshop in town. Today, the sign for the Lin Mao Hsing (林茂興) Dye
Xu Pengcheng looks over his shoulder and, after confirming the coast is clear, helps his crew of urban adventurers climb through the broken window of an abandoned building. Long popular in the West, urban exploration, or “urbex” for short, sees city-dwelling thrill-seekers explore dilapidated, closed-off buildings and areas — often skirting the law in the process. And it is growing in popularity in China, where a years-long property sector crisis has left many cities dotted with empty buildings. Xu, a 29-year-old tech worker from the eastern city of Qingdao, has amassed hundreds of thousands of followers for his photos of rundown schools and
At times, it almost seems that former president Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) is out to sabotage the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT). As if on cue, with the recall campaigns against KMT lawmakers in full swing, Ma thought it would be a good time to lead a delegation of students to China and attend the 17th Straits Forum (海峽論壇) and meet with Wang Huning (王滬寧), the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) Politburo member entrusted by Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平) to be his second in command on Taiwan policy and to run the United Front Work Department (UFWD) in charge of subverting enemies,