Taipei, Taiwan—Ready or Not, I’ve Arrived
It’s officially time for me to drop anchor and sit for a spell. With six weeks before school starts, shifting into high gear is imperative. Taipei is considerably less kind to the wallet than its southern cousins. Hotels and Airbnbs are significantly more expensive, and with short-term leases practically nonexistent, I need to find an apartment—and pronto.
During my weeklong respite in Tainan, a good majority of the original listings leasing agent Mark sent me have already been snapped up. Crazy. Housing is in high demand here, especially near Taipei’s two major universities, which means considerably higher rents than in the outlying communities farther from the center of things.
Mark, I find out later, is somewhat surprised that I’m not a heavyset man in my mid-forties. My name tends to throw people for a loop. I could write a novelette about all the craziness that has ensued simply from being named Lary.
I don’t have a clue about the city, know next to nothing about the transportation system, and possess an uncanny lack of directional sense. It is therefore essential that I keep as little distance as possible between me and the Mandarin Training Center. My GPA depends on it.
The first showing is a mere ten-minute walk from my hotel and eight minutes from my school. I know this because I pass the school on my way to meet Mark to check out my first option which is located a block on the other side of the coveted Da’an area.
The upscale neighborhood of Da’an is anchored by Da’an Forest Park, a sprawling sixty-four-acre urban oasis. The area is filled with upscale dining and shopping, intricately woven through a maze of side streets and alleyways. Apartments around Dongmen and Da’an aren’t just scarce—they’re expensive. Even tiny studios routinely rent for $800–$1,000 USD a month, and the good ones disappear almost as soon as they’re listed.
We sign in at the security gate, gain elevator access, and ride to the fifth floor. Mark unlocks the door, and it’s love at first sight. The pink pastel color palette. Three distinct living spaces. Modern appliances. A sparkling bathroom with the washing machine tucked neatly into its own covered nook just outside.
It’s a real-life Barbie Dream House.
“Mark, it’s mine! I want it! How much?”
Then he tells me the price.
Four hundred dollars over my budget.
My heart sinks.
“Maybe I can get the landlord down a couple hundred,” he says.
I chastise myself for showing my hand. Making a living playing Poker for ten years should have given me resting poker face however, the majority of my game play was online, taking physical tells out of the picture.
“You’re going to love this,” Mark tells me as we head to the basement to check out the refuse area.
Whoop de whoop… you’ve seen one trash bin, you’ve seen ’em all.
“This is one of the main draws,” Mark explains. “This apartment takes care of your trash for you.”
In most of Taipei, taking out the trash isn’t a matter of dragging a bin to the curb. You wait for the Für Elise-playing garbage truck to arrive, rush outside with your bags, and hand them over. Miss the truck? Congratulations—you and your trash get another evening together.
This is an amenity I never knew I’d appreciate—and a luxury at that.
Another perk I had no clue I’d value was direct access to the MRT. Living near Taipei’s clean and efficient subway system is a huge selling point. It provides quick, inexpensive access to virtually every corner of the city, making this place even more desirable.
Apparently just as important as immediate access to coffee. Mark tries to gloss over the fact I’d have to cross the street to find a coffee shop. So funny. Especially since I don’t drink the stuff.
If I can just get that price down. I’ve decided this place is mine. I’m willing to meet them halfway. I’ll wait and see what Mark can wheel and deal.
In the meantime, we head to our next appointments.
Walking to the car, I stand right next to Mark, assuming he’s opening the passenger-side door for me.
“Planning on driving?” he says.
WTF. What’s going on here?
We laugh, and I walk to the passenger side. Damn… you’d think after a year I’d have lost my American muscle memory.
Sitting in the car, I’m thinking…Wait a minute…The driver’s side IS on the American side.
In Taiwan, they drive just like Americans do. Oh brother. Now I’ll have to train myself all over again.
The next five apartments, while preferably located are underwhelming. Prime location or not, many of the buildings were considerably older walk-ups. No elevators, no modern appliances, no laundry facilities. Gasp.. No waste management. I’ve now become surprisingly attached to the idea of someone else dealing with my garbage.
My decision is solidified. Nothing else I’ve seen comes close. I’m determined to make that little pink painted palace mine.
“Good news,” Mark says, putting down his phone. “The landlord is willing to split the difference with you.”
“Yes! Let’s do it.”
“Okay, we’ll swing by the office and I’ll grab the forms.”
“Turns out someone else is interested in the place,” he tells me as he gets back into the drivers seat.
Damn. Let’s hop to it then.
Back at the apartment for one last look, I fill out the required forms. Form, I should say.
With no bank information, no address, not even a local telephone number, how will they check my credentials? Isn’t a credit check necessary, past rental history, Social Security number, height, weight, medical history, social media popularity, DNA markers, voting history, and all peculiarities known and otherwise?
Nope.
Alrighty then, how can I make it mine.
Unwritten rule in Taipei… whoever shows the dough first wins. Prepared, I plop down enough money to make a substantial deposit.
Three days later, the lease is signed.
Exactly 365 days to the day I left the United States…
I move into my new home.
🍷 Help me toast my new home with a housewarming glass of wine.
Buy me a housewarming glass 🍷
