Travel Memoir Story - chapter One

Over a year ago, I began writing a story to document my travels and experiences while living in Taiwan. I worked diligently for about a month, but then lost sight of my initial goal. I am now wanting to focus on my story more, and someday finish it. Maybe I can take a shot at getting published. Here is the first chapter (or part of a chapter?). I appreciate any comments and feedback...I'm always looking to better my writing and constructive criticism is appreciated! ENJOY


Sometimes change can be so consistent and gradual that you don’t even notice it happening until you’ve transformed into someone different and enlightened. Other times it’s so abrupt and sudden that your life is taken by surprise and the world seems to be spinning on different axels. Spending a year in a different country with no one to hold my hand and guide me around made me realize how much change can happen when you allow it to.

I was born to be adventurous. Since I can remember, my parents have told stories of my childhood adventures to everyone from the bagger at the grocery store to the ladies at church.

It was an Indian summer in Michigan, I was four and the little neighbor girl, Shianne, was 3. The day began like any other day, up in my bedroom together playing house or dolls. I had a plastic record player that played all my favorite Disney tunes. Because the door was closed and the music kept playing, my mom assumed our safety and continued to work on her own around the house. Shianne and I decided that it was a beautiful day for an adventure. She was never the brave or audacious one. That’s where my excitement played a vital role.
“My mom knows a queen, and she lives in a castle, and I’ve been there” I promised Shianne.
“There aren’t any castles in Owosso, and you don’t know any queens” she challenged.
“Uh huh. I’ll even show you…we just have to go through the jungle to get there.” My excitement grew with every line I fed my naïve friend.
“There are no castles OR jungles here, just Meijer and corn fields.” Shianne insisted.
“Well I’ll get my gun just in case, and I’ll show you that there are castles, jungles, AND a beautiful queen.” By now Shianne was so intrigued. She wanted to believe me, but was also a little scared. I promised her that nothing could get in our way with my gun, and I would protect her. Of course, she didn’t know that my gun was just a piece of wood with a trigger that made a clicking noise. It’s amazing how much our imaginations can turn simple objects in to extraordinary truths.
We set out behind my house, just us girls, the gun, and a desire to find this queen. It was the odd year for farmers, so that meant that corn was still in the field in late August. Making our way through the now drying stalks gave reason to believe that we were in an enchanted forest. My gun now became a machete to chop down the “vines” in our new backyard jungle. With each step, the corn stalks crunched beneath our flip flop sandals. With our noses burning under the hot August sun, we made our way through the first field. Coming up to the fence row, we were faced with ten feet of densely grown forest. We approached the edge when I spotted a baby fawn in need. To an adult’s eye, I had a half-eaten corn stalk in my arms, but to me and Shianne, we were nursing the fawn back to health after being debilitated by a black bear. Neither of us seemed concern with the temporary set-back. We were concerned about our little fawn’s health. Once it was back up on its feet, we continued on our endeavor. After another field, this time soy beans, we arrived at the Golden Woods Subdivision. The houses of doctors and politicians towered above our awe-stricken eyes. Directly to our left was the castle. It was a beautiful, newly build, light brick house, complete with a circle driveway, professionally landscaped yard. Because of the tinted windows in the BMW, I believed the queen would be home, because her limo was obviously in the driveway. Without any hesitation, we made our way to the queen’s front door. On the step, tea was steeping in the sunshine. I remembered the last time my mom took me to visit her, the tea was so good. I always wished my mom steeped tea in the sunshine, too.
“See, we can even have tea with the queen” I whispered to Shianne.
My mom’s friend, Dianne, came to the door, a puzzled look on her face as she looked down at two near-toddlers smiling up at her like she was the Queen of England.
“Hi, Katie, where is your mom?” Dianne asked, still confused.
“I think she’s at home. We came through the jungle, and even saved a baby deer, cuz I wanted to show Shianne the castle.” I told her, standing proud in front of my earlier-reluctant friend.
“Oh, did you now?” I nodded. “I think I’ll just give your mom a call, you girls wait here.”
I was so excited that she was going to tell my mom about our big adventure. I was sure that she’d be more proud than ever.
I was wrong.
We may have only been two fields away from Dianne’s house, but it was more than a ten minute drive to go through town. By the time my mom pulled in the driveway, she was raging mad. From the stories she’s told, Shianne and I were both in for a big punishment. But, once she arrived, our story was so convincing. She said we were too precious to punish. She simply told us how dangerous our adventure was, and if we were to leave the house again, we needed to ask her first.
Wow, were we ever lucky. As an adult, I look back at that experience and can’t believe how easy we got away with it. Today, a search team would be set out for us, and we would be in a whole heap of trouble.

My desire to truly see the world began in fifth grade, when I realized that I wasn’t going to follow the crowd and be part of the so called norm. I always knew I was different, but when I was younger I thought it was because I was the only redhead in my class. Growing up, I realized the difference was in my heart. I had a desire to do something bigger and go somewhere outside of my small suburban town.

Fifth grade was when I started to realize that my desire was to get out and see the world. It started by changing my name every few days, which luckily my teacher, Mrs. Waters, found amusing and played along. Then I began writing in codes, my own foreign language. Unfortunately, that didn’t go over too well with the teacher. Bobby, the boy that sat next to me, figured I was writing something about him, so he convinced Mrs.
Waters to ban us girls from writing in codes.

It was also that year, a time for changes not only physically, but emotionally too, that I began to find interest in exploring the world. I decided that I was going to open my own bank account and start saving money to be a foreign exchange student. My parents thought this was a great time to start teaching me about the value of a dollar and the rewards of budgeting.

Every year my small town of Owosso holds a historical festival to celebrate a writer, James Oliver Curwood, which resided in Owosso in the 1800’s. People from all around come to the Curwood castle for the education tours, but also the midway rides and over-priced games are a big hit among families with children. Our family was no exception. My Dad was always a frugal man that wanted to instill in us children the value of a dollar, and deterred us from spending frivolously on useless things. The Curwood festival remains in my mind as the biggest financial lesson from my childhood. Dad would give me and my brother, John, each twenty dollars for the weekend of the festival. We were able to enjoy the festival and participate in any attractions that we wanted for the entire weekend. One catch. Dad told us that whatever money we had left on Sunday, after the festival, he would double for us. This would excite both me and my brother, knowing that if we didn’t spend all our money, we would end up with even more money as a reward. John and I both set out with the intentions of saving our money and just enjoying the time of freedom with our friends. I guess once I set foot on festival grounds, the excitement of fair food and midway outweighed my father’s proposition. Before the end of the first day, I had played games a few times each, ordered numerous helping of fries and vinegar, and bargain shopped for useless toys at the flee market section of the festival. I made sure, though, to save enough for Saturday’s ride special. Signs all over town advertised a deal on all-you-can-ride bracelets. My friends and I would spend the entire morning running from hastily assembled rides to the next.
As you can probably deduce from my memories, come Sunday, my wallet was empty. I would not be getting any reward money after all. But John, however, was never temped by the aroma of the fair food, or the games that no one ever won. He simply took the festival as a time to romp around with his buddies, maybe smile at a few girls from his class, and participate in the 3-on-3 basketball tournament. Watching him get another crisp twenty dollar bill on Sunday was enough to make me sick. I couldn’t believe that he spent the same amount of time at the festival as I, but now he has forty dollars in his pockets, while mine are empty. Next year, I would NOT let this happen.

Being so close in age, John and I were always competitive no matter what came about. In school, we always compared report cards, in sports, though John always excelled, we compared statistics, and everything else in life would remain a competition between my older, wiser, and stronger brother. I always strived to be like him; I envied his strength and confidence not only on the field, but also with friends. As you’ll learn later in the story, the money discipline took a turn for the better (for me at least) in our young adult years, and things started to look up for me come college. Still being competitive with my brother, I prided myself with my grades, my financial discipline, and my constant desire to be something better. I won’t say that the competition with my brother was what drove me, but it has always been and will always be a thought in the back of my head.

The fifth grade beginning to my travel interests stuck for a few years, but once boyfriends and extracurricular activities came into the picture, the foreign exchange desire started to wear off. In high school I became the typical bite-off-more-than-you-can-chew teenager. I was balancing advanced classes, cheer leading, a waitress job, and a boyfriend. Add in the stress of being a teenager, and one could imagine how my life quickly became a whirlwind of schedules and commitments.

High school came and went in a blur. I was preparing for college while my high school sweetheart, Brian, was preparing to spend his senior year abroad as a foreign exchange student. Wait a second. Wasn’t that my dream? Spending my senior year abroad completely escaped my mind until Brian brought it up casually during a conversation. I was so disappointed in myself for letting that dream slip through my hands during my busy high school years. Since that moment, I have regretted staying at home and not experiencing the world while I could. The thought of studying abroad in college was always an option, perhaps I would look in to that. That also never worked out. My senior year I evaluated how my life as an adult had gone so far, and where I wanted it to go. So far, I had quite a few I-wish-I-would-haves under my belt. Did I want to go through life always wishing and dreaming only to end up with unfulfilled dreams?

One thing I learned about my mom as an adult was that she had so many wonderful ideas and aspirations, but they rarely transpired. I never really took any thought to this, but I soon realized that my mom had gone through her entire life saying “I wish I would have” or “I never did…” and I wasn’t about to make those same mistakes. This long line of lost dreams was going to stop with me.

I spent hours studying for finals, and thousands of dollars on my college education. Graduation day had finally come, along with the question of “what now?” For most, the reply would consist of finding an apartment, landing a new job, etc… But for me, it was a different story. I chose to travel half way across the world and use my education to teach English to Taiwanese children for my first year out of college. Some would say that this decision was a very brave thing for me to do, but I feel as if it is what I had been called to do, and hopefully could make an impact at a Taiwanese school.

The opportunity came along during a visit to my education advisor at Olivet College. While she finished a meeting, I wondered around the waiting area, glancing at pictures and postings on the bulletin board. There was a ripped out magazine article that advertised in big, bold letters “TEACH IN TAIWAN.” With one look at it, I said in my mind “okay.” I immediately wrote down the website, and soon began the application process. Everything in the beginning went so quickly. I applied, was accepted, and even invited to an orientation.

As I drove an hour to reach the orientation destination, my heart pounded with anticipation. I had so many questions about living abroad. What do I pack? Do I need to get any vaccinations or shots? Where will I live? What is my town like? What is the food like? How many other people from Michigan will be going?

My anticipations quickly dissipated when I arrived at the orientation that was actually intended for area superintendents and principals who were preparing to take a trip to Taiwan to hire teachers to return with them to America. Though it was nice to network with administrators, the meeting ended up leaving me with unanswered questions and a small feeling of doubt.

As I returned home, my parents awaited all the details on the trip that were to come in just a few short months. Disappointed, I told them that I had no answers, but I was very confident that answers and information would come soon. It was only April, and I wasn’t going to leave until August. Over the next few months, my frustrations seem to only build. On the outside, I didn’t give on to my hesitations; my Dad did enough of that for the both of us. He continued saying day after day that this experience was not going to come to fruition, and it would be more beneficial for me to begin looking in Michigan for a teaching job. I hated the idea that this dream had come so close to happening, and then it would end up not happening. I continued to believe and convince others that I was actually moving to Taiwan in a few months.

A few months turned into a few weeks, and still I haven’t heard anything about Taiwan. I was constantly emailing my person of contact, but continued to receive no information. It was the first week of August, and I began to believe my Dad that maybe this wasn’t going to happen. Then the phone rang.

I was working at the time, but decided to answer my phone and take a short break. It was a lady with a thick Chinese accent, saying she was from the Taiwan embassy in Chicago. I had a flight itinerary in exactly 6 days, and I had a lot to get done in the meantime. 6 days? How can I prepare, physically and mentally, to leave the country in only 6 days? The most important thing to get done was applying for an expedited visa. I had gotten my passport weeks before, but still had to get another picture taken, and send my passport overnight to Chicago. My passport took weeks to arrive, in my mind there was no possible way that I would have my passport in hand in 6 days when I was supposed to board a plane for Asia. Somehow, the passport returned from Chicago with a day to spare. Wednesday morning, the FedEx truck arriving in my driveway with a small envelope encasing my passport and new visa was the biggest relief thus far. Now it was time to begin packing. I had never received answers of what to pack. From researching the country, I knew that the climate was very hot and humid. Choosing all my summer clothes only made since, right? Upon arrival in Taiwan, I quickly learned how my wardrobe did not meet Taiwanese standards.

Over the summer, as I thought about Taiwan everyday, I contemplated not only why I wanted this adventure, but also what I wanted to get out of it.

My junior year in college was a major turning point in my life. A few friends that I had gotten very close to and trusted began to go other directions. My best friend was being distant all year, and I wasn’t sure how to approach the situation. My college friendships were beginning to fade already, and my interest in being at college had been gone since the day I moved in for the third time. I didn’t realize it at the time, but for the majority of my junior year, I was walking around depressed, just going from day to day. I couldn’t wait for what was to come next. I became dormant in my room, and only came out for classes and meals. My friends tried to help me, but I was in denial. This caused them to pull even further away from our friendship. By the end of the school year, I had no ambition for finals or a summer job. At the last minute, I applied and interviewed to work as a student worker in the admissions department. The ladies that worked as admissions representatives were always so upbeat and friendly, maybe staying at school for the summer, and being surrounded by positive people, would help me to lift myself out of the slump that had consumed my junior year. My duties were very minimal, and this caused me to watch the minutes go by until my shift was over. I quickly fell into the same routine; I would complete my responsibilities for the day before retorting to my room to sleep or watch tv alone. Even my roommates, who I had not been friends with previously, tried to get me involved and overall happier. It didn’t help that I was having constant problems with my boyfriend. After countless arguments and threats of breaking up, I finally accepted his threat and ended an unhealthy relationship. I thought this would make things better. The loneliness began to consume me, and within days, I had spun into such a deep depression, that I felt hopeless. When my roommates and closer friends saw the impact the breakup had on me, they all began to work very hard to get me back to the Kate they remember from years before. My family all stepped up to help me get over this depressive state of being. Everyone wanted to cheerful, hyper Kate back, including me. After a few weeks, I decided that it was best for me to move home and commute my senior year. It was going to be a busy semester, but I would hopefully get out of my depression and be happy again. It was the next semester when I found the magazine article about teaching in Taiwan. My initial goal was to take a year away from the disappointments I’d creative for myself in life and figure out who I was and what I wanted out of life. If I were to take away the distraction of boys, family drama, and everything else, maybe I could focus on myself for a while. When I made this decision, I compiled a mental list of everything else I wanted to accomplish over the span of a year abroad. Because I assumed my job would not be very difficult, I was hoping to have the opportunity to travel and learn as much about the culture as I could. There was one other major goal for my year away.

My parents divorced while I was in middle school, and I spend my high school years with my Mom, while my brother was on the other side of town with my Dad. During my senior year in high school, I began to re-develop a relationship with my Dad. It was very slow to progress, but soon we became close and I developed a trust in my Dad that I was unable to develop with anyone else. After walking across the stage in cap and gown, I decided to move in with my Dad. Because he was single and had a lot of down time, he was extremely involved in my brother’s life. My moving in was a hard transition for all of us, as he began to balance the attention he gave both me and my older brother. As John moved to back to college, Dad and my relationship began to grow even closer. He was used to being there for anything John had needed, and I relished in the attention and help that my Dad had showered upon me. I soon became pretty dependent on having my Dad there for my every need or desire. Throughout college, he was a call away for anything I needed. Not only was I a “daddy’s girl” but I was so dependent on my Dad, I wondered how I would ever live on my own. I made a pact to myself that I was going to become an independent young woman, without sacrificing the relationship I had developed with my Father. Living in Taiwan was going to help me become independent. Being a half a world away, Dad was no longer just a phone call away. I felt that the “sink-or-swim” method was the only way for me.

On August 16th, I boarded the plane after a tear-filled good-bye to my family. My Dad and step-mom were so supportive in the last week as I rushed around to get everything together. As they watched me walk through security, they waited and waved until they could no longer see me. I remember I had started to tear up, and by the time I was going through security checks, I was crying rather hard. The employee that watched the x-ray screen handed me a box of tissues, and they all seem genuinely concerned about my well-being. I wasn’t sad; really, it was just very hard for me to leave my friends and family for an entire year. But I had made a pact to myself, and I was going to survive this year no matter what came my way.

I was anxious to see what awaited me twelve time zones away. I had no idea then what was to come. Back in April at the orientation, I had met the other young man from Michigan that was to embark on the same journey. We had kept in contact through e mail, and I was looking forward to meeting up with him at the airport. On the short trip from Detroit to Chicago, I anticipated meeting up with the other man, Matthew, and sharing my excitement for the upcoming trip. As soon as I disembarked the aircraft, I began to search for Matthew. My next flight wasn’t for an hour or more, so I had time to look around. Matthew was no where to be seen. As boarding calls began for my flight to Las Angelas, I began to worry that Matthew had missed his flight to Chicago. A small panic started to build within me. Though I did not know Matthew well, he was a familiar face and that gave me comfort in this next step of flying to my new home. Four hours later, I landed in L.A., still with no word from Matthew. Having never flown internationally, I was overwhelmed and confused on what I was supposed to do next. No one was there to tell me where to go or what to do. I walked my entire luggage (2 suitcases weighting 50 lbs, a backpack and a large purse) to an Asian airline. There were so many airlines to choose from and everyone seemed to know what they were doing. I began to hear conversations in more languages than I’d ever dreamed of. I was panicking, my head was spinning. I was lost. Being exhausted from carrying luggage, and very confused, I decided to sit down and catch my breath. Then came my first phone call home. Dad couldn’t rescue me from this, but maybe hearing some familiar voices would help calm me. There was nothing I could do without knowing which airline to go to, so I called home to say that I made it to L.A. safely. Of course, my parents asked me what I was doing, and asked me all about the flights so far. I shared with them how marvelous the west looked from the air. The land was absolutely beautiful. I told them I couldn’t believe how God had created such vast landscapes so close to home. The mountains and valleys of golden clay and limestone definitely caught my interest.

While on the plane, my nose was smooshed up against the window as I stared in awe at the mountains and valleys below. I couldn’t contain my excitement, so I turned to the person (who was sound asleep) with eyes bright as a child on Christmas morning. “Wow! Look out the window! Isn’t that amazing! Is this the grand canyon?” Needless to say, he wasn’t very pleased that I woke him from his airline slumber to look out the window.

Now what was I doing? Well, I told them I was a little lost and confused as of what to do next. Knowing that this was my first challenge of independence, my Dad chuckled and said, well I can’t help you, hun! If only I were to know how many times I would hear this statement throughout the year.

Hanging up the phone, I decided to find the gate with China Airlines, so that I wouldn’t have to cart my luggage around any longer. I knew I had two hours before boarding, but my arms were beyond tired. Somehow, I found where I was supposed to be, only to find out that I had an extra 4 hours until the plane boarded. 6 hours in the airport, and I had already gone through security, so leaving to explore wasn’t an option. 6 hours at the terminal. 6 hours alone. And where was Matthew? I decided to walk into a nearby bar and watch the Olympics. Before I knew it, a handsome Australian introduced himself to me. We shared a drink, and began telling each other stories. He was going back to his family in Australia after visiting family in America. He had been everywhere. I learned about staying in hostels (before this conversation I hadn’t even heard the word “hostel”) and a website called couch surfing. I heard all about backpacking Europe and tap-taps in Haiti. This handsome Australian had opened my eyes to the endless possibilities. He warned me “Once you start traveling, you get the bug, and you’ll never be able to settle.”



My first ten days in Taiwan was spent in a government-funded educational foundation with twenty-four other foreign English teachers. Here we spent ten hours days attending seminars and classes dealing with everything from culture shock to difficulties in teaching. Though some of the classes seemed like more of time fillers than actual useful information, this time was very helpful in regard to adjusting to a foreign lifestyle. I was also able to network with others going through the same situation. As a result, I now have a friend in every county of the country and am able to visit them during my free time.
On the third night of orientation, we were taken as a group down the road into the night market. My mom’s lectures on being careful and protected at all times kept running through my mind. I practically clung to the chaperones clothes as we wove our way through busy streets. Everything seemed so dirty and cheap, why were all the other Americans so excited about this? The smells alone made me want to go back to the dorms. The food did not look like anything for humans. What was I doing here? How was I going to survive this place? The chaperones, four young Taiwanese military boys, led us to a few shops to test our bargaining skills and the few words we had learned during class, and then decided to treat us to a Taiwanese snack. They had all spent time in America so were familiar with our culture. But they couldn’t compare this snack to anything I would recognize. Well, if you can’t tell me what it is, I’m not eating it. Is it fish? Animal? plant? Chemical? The boys seemed to devour their treats…and I just watched, a little disgusted. Finally, that little voice inside of me spoke up “you’re hear to overcome your boundaries, learn new things, and take leaps of faith…it’s just a snack…try it!” So I asked a few more questions, sniffed around (seriously, I sniffed the bowl), and decided to take a little piece. It was like a soft tofu-like substance, which reminded me of flavor-less jello jigglers. Then there were beans (kidney, pinto?) on top and some simple syrup. The toping on this tofu beany cake was a scoop of shaved it. Boy, I was sweating, could I just take the ice? Since I took so long to decide to try it, the ice had melted and now it was more of a tofu beany soup. I took some of the tofu and soupy syrup, and it wasn’t that bad. It was just sugary bean curd…nothing to get so worked up about! Would I have it again? If it was offered, I would be polite, but I think I’ll stick to non-bean desserts.
As we were walking, I noticed several stray, mangy dogs. I kept my distance, who knew what kind of diseases they had. When we were about to head back to the dorms, an awful smell snuck into my nose. I thought my nose hairs would singe off right there. It was the most awful thing I have ever encountered. I looked around. Was in the water running in the street? Some vendor cooking….something? I figured it was a dog that had been homeless, possibly sick, and just finished bathing in a sewer. That was the only logical explanation. It wasn’t long before I found out the source of the smell. Stinky Tofu. Yes, something edible. Think of the most awful smell in the entire world and multiply it by a hundred. Now you have stinky tofu. Take a bite. I learn that it is fermented tofu that goes through a process similar to cheese or yogurt (Chinese people do not use many dairy products so it is hard to compare). Then, it is grilled or deep fried, thus dispersing the stench into the air. To top it all off, a fermented vegetable salad and vinegar substance is usually served on top, making it the trio of stink.

Following the 10 day orientation a representative from the school where I would be teaching picked me up and we made the 3 hour drive south to the small town of Hsin Kang which is in the county of Chiayi, Taiwan. My school placed me with a host family that lives across the street from the school. I was so grateful to have been placed with the Huang family; they has opened their home to me as if I was one of their own. I has my own room and bathroom on a separate floor than their family so I had plenty of privacy. But, they were always present when I need someone to be around.

Because school had not yet started, I wanted to get some initial impressions of the Taiwanese culture. The very first thing I noticed in this foreign land was how everything smells different. This is something that we don’t always consider when traveling; the air, the water, the food, the people. It all took getting used to. The food was definitely not what I expected being a first time traveler. My naivety had me believing that I would have General Tso’s chicken and fried rice for a year. You can’t beat that! The food here is NOTHING like one could imagine. Since landing in Taiwan, I had claimed to be a vegetarian, because sometimes I do not know what I’m eating. I would rather have a vegetable surprise than a meat surprise! And usually the non-vegetarians have their food staring at them, eyeballs and all.

Transportation is the next major shock as a foreigner. Traffic laws are mere suggestions in Taiwan; if you don’t feel like stopping at a red light, don’t! If you get a cell phone call and want to stop in the middle of the road to chat, it is perfectly alright. The police will only pull over a moped driver with no helmet, or a driver that turns right on a red light. Everything else is fair game! (See later story when I am pulled over by a police officer)

Finally, my third major shock is in regards to restroom use. There are traditional western toilets in most new buildings, but in buildings more than ten years old, there is what I like to call a “squatty potty.” I was never informed of this “potty,” and when I first entered a stall with this porcelain hole in the ground, I was terrified. Even now that I am used to this commode, it is still humiliating to use. Also, not all restrooms supply toilet paper, so I must carry tissues at all times. Toilet paper does not come in rolls in Asia; instead, there are bags of tissues that we carry in our purse like a mother has Kleenex during flu season. It is different, but an easy adjustment. Unless I forgot my bag of tissues, then it becomes a little more challenging.