Taipei Water Park

It’s been terribly hot in the mornings the last few days. “Sweltering” would be a more accurate word. (One of the Taiwan blogs I regularly read, The View from Taiwan, summed it up beautifully:

That rain last week induced seasonal affective disorder. Glad its gone and we are now in the sit-in-the-house-and-sweat season.

Ah, but he’s in Taichung and I’m in Taipei, where we have the sewage water treatment-cum-water park, The Taipei Water Park! (link takes you to a map of the park)

I couldn’t return home without a day frolicking in the crystal clear, and wonderfully cold, water. It’s a great little park, there are about 4 slides, several water cannons, big buckets dumping water on your head, those little spray things for the kids, all in a pool about the size (I’d estimate) of an olympic swimming pool, but only about 1-1.5 feet deep.

And it’s a screaming deal at NT$ 50 per person for all day! (That’s US$ 1.52 at today’s exchange rate!) If that isn’t enough, you get admission to the Museum of Drinking Water, too!

We went on Friday, thinking that, since school is still in session that it might not be crowded. Wrong. Several school classes were on field trips there. Apparently it was for schools specializing in English, (are there any others in Taipei, anymore?) because several of the teachers were waiguoren.

There’s a story here that’s not about having a lot of fun at the water park on a sunny day.

It has to do with not really grasping the customs of another culture. For example, the kids, who were all kindergarten or maybe first-grade age were dressing next to the pool. More specifically, they were dressing and undressing. That in itself is jarringly out of place to my western perspective. I certainly wouldn’t let my Michelle, at age 5, be stark naked at the water park and don’t expect it from others.

Remember, also that in Taiwan, it’s really not uncommon to see women in the men’s restrooms. They’re in there cleaning, or helping their sons learn to urinate or whatever. Many restrooms aren’t exactly “uni-sex”, but they blur the line considerably. The attitude about what is “permissible” public exposure is hard to grasp. I prefer to stick to my own prudish upbringing.

That said, as we entered the place, the signs for men and women directed everyone to the same room, which looked like what I’d call a locker room. It had lockers, seats, mirrors and hair dryers. It looked all the world like a changing area except for the fact that it was filled with women.

I asked Irene, “surely this isn’t the changing room?”

She replied, “I think you go into the actual bathroom and change.”

The men’s bathroom was a tiny room with one urinal, one sink and a stall. That didn’t seem adequate to a bunch of guys changing their clothes, but what other options did I have? The stall was a squat toilet. What does that mean? It means the floor was awash in urine.

As I attempt to find a way to change into my swimming trunks without soaking my street clothes in someone else’s urine, a crowd of kids arrives in the bathroom. To my surprise, I hear one of the kids say (in quite good English), “I need to use the toilet!”

The other kids are talking English, too, but the first voice repeats himself. Finally, I hear an adult. “What’s the problem?”

“I need to use the toilet.”

“Go ahead, then.”

“There’s someone in there.”

“Who is it?”

Then there’s a bit of a commotion and I begin to see the top of this kid’s head trying to wiggle under the toilet door.

Adult (more amused than aghast): “Don’t stick your head under there! Just ask who’s in there!”

I’m glad that endeavour was stopped quickly, I was at that moment, standing with one foot on my sandal, the other kind of propped on the garbage pail while trying to get my pants off without touching the floor.

Kid: “Who’s in the toilet?”

Me: “No one you know.”

Adult (to kid): “Who’s in there?”

Kid: “I think it’s Teacher Stan.”

Adult: “Oh, you’ll just have to wait.”

Me: “I promise, it’s not Teacher Stan.”

Kid: “Yes, it’s Teacher Stan.”

At this point I’ve finally finished and have to make my exit. I step out and there’s about 8 Taiwanese kids crammed into this 4’X 6′ bathroom and a foreign teacher. His expression was amusing because clearly he was expecting Teacher Stan (who obviously has a sense of humor) and not an unknown foreigner. It’s probably the last thing he expected to see that day.

So, was I supposed to change in the stall? No. There were changing room/showers outside next to the pool, but we couldn’t see them until we were outside. And thereby is the moral of this story. If this had been back home, I would have continued to search until I found changing area because I know there must be one, but in Taiwan, it’s too easy to assume (wrongly)(even my wife did it) that things are done half-assed.

The park itself isn’t half-assed, and, apart from the obvious insurance liability, I don’t understand why we don’t have a lot more water play areas like this back home.

Playing in the water in Taiwan does have a dark side, though.

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