Sarina Taylor is a 2012 graduate of Wellesley College who majored in art history and East Asian studies. Pursuing her longstanding interest in Chinese art, Sarina is currently in Taipei, Taiwan, on the Wellesley-Yenching Graduate Fellowship at the National Palace Museum. In this position, she is the resident English translator for administration and staff and she also takes tours around the Museum as part of the Education, Exhibitions and Information Services Department. Read on to find out how Sarina is adjusting to the cultural differences between the United States and Taiwan.
In Taiwan, when you have a cold, everybody, from co-workers to cab drivers, has an opinion about how to treat it. Drink more water. Only drink hot water. Drink water with lemon and honey. Wear a scarf. Wear long sleeves. Eat more fruit. Eat more oranges. Don’t eat fruit, only eat guava. Eat pears. Don’t eat sour things. Don’t drink coffee. Don’t drink alcohol… the list goes on and on, often riddled with contradictory advice.
Somewhere along my return trip to Taipei after two weeks at home for the holidays, I managed to contract a nasty sounding cough. I blame the air on the plane, mostly because it was easiest to explain with my limited Mandarin medical vocabulary.
On my first day back at the museum, my coworkers were treated to a symphony of coughing and sniffling worthy of Typhoid Mary. By 10 am, my desk was piled with a mountain of offerings including lozenges, oranges, salted dried plums, a small bag of the dried rinds of something unidentifiable, tea, and face masks (which had become ever so ubiquitous since SARS) among other things. Even people in other departments in my building were privy to my condition. My supervisor went as far as to look up information on hospitals in the area, offering to take the afternoon off to bring me to the doctor. I thanked her for her offer, but said that I would wait a day or two to see if self-medication and rest clear up the cough on its own. I was asked if I was going to the doctor at least 7 more times that day. “I feel fine beside the cough though,” I told them, “no need to make the trip.”
In the US, besides regular check-ups, we rarely ever go to see the doctor. I would characterize the general attitude towards coughs and colds as “if you can stand up and talk, you are fine” or “rub some dirt in it”… something like that. The road to recovery usually doesn’t extend beyond orange juice, chicken soup and rest. However, I began to get suspicious that there was a cultural difference afoot when it came to conquering colds in Taiwan while making my daily coffee trip to 7-Eleven after lunch. The cashier must have heard my coughing when I walked into the store, because after I handed him the money he returned my change, touching only the tiniest bit of the farthest corners of the receipt as he extended his hands in my direction. He then proceeded to wash his entire arms, face and neck in the sink next to the espresso machine.
As it turns out, Yang Ahyi (one of my mother’s three friends who make up the squad of aunties that look after me in Taipei) had heard through the grapevine that I had a cold. Tuesday after work she called me. “I’m on the way to your apartment. We are going to the doctor.” No less than 8 minutes later I was in the backseat of her car, along with her husband and daughter, hurtling along congested side streets towards the office of their family doctor.
The doctors office, located between a FamilyMart and noodle shop, was really just one large and slightly dingy room with a high ceiling. The waiting area was separated from the inspection area by two booths. We marched up to one of the booths where I gave a receptionist (who doubled as a nurse) my name, telephone number and Taiwan health insurance number. Everyone was shocked to find out that this laowai had her own health insurance card. Thirty seconds later I was sitting in the space behind the booths in a brown pleather upholstered chair (some things are the same everywhere) while the doctor questioned me about my symptoms. Is your throat itchy or sore? Do you cough more in the morning or night? etc.
After shining a light in my mouth, ears, and nose, he promptly poked long Q-tips with anti-septic into each of the above mentioned spaces then directed me to a sign on the wall dictating what I should and should not eat. Just as I was getting ready to walk out, the nurse/receptionist shepherded me over to the back of the room and directed me to sit down with my mouth open in front of a machine that could have been R2-D2′s cousin. As the machine sprayed warm vapor down my throat, Yang Ahyi stood helpfully by my side pushing my head closer to the nozzle so I could get the full effect. Hao shufu, she said nodding approvingly. When it ended after about 1 minute (“not enough”), she instructed the nurse to reset the machine for another run. The perks of being a long time client, I suppose.
As I walked out, the woman in the other booth handed me my medicine and cough syrup with instructions of when and how often to take them. The whole experience took about 5 minutes and cost me a grand total of 200 NTD, roughly $7 for the doctor’s visit, treatment, and medicine combined. I finally understood why people in Taiwan didn’t hesitate to see the doctor.
Following the doctor’s visit, the Yang family and I went out for a Taiwanese-Italian pasta dinner during which everyone wrapped their coats around me (so I wouldn’t catch a draft in the nippy 57 degree weather) and my auntie ordered the waiter to refresh my mug of scalding hot water every 5 minutes. A few days later, one of my other aunties called– she had also heard I was sick (I later found out my Popo was to blame for spreading the word) and asked when she could bring over fruit, carefully chosen to match my diagnosis.
Having a cold that lasts from October well through March is not too uncommon at Wellesley, so as much as I laugh about the variety of remedies that were prescribed to me here in Taiwan, I am not laughing so hard anymore. One week and many colorful pills later, I am feeling as good as new.