The Night Market
On my second evening in Taipei, my friend Dana suggested we visit a night market. I imagined a few stalls selling snacks, so I was surprised when we turned a corner and saw a street full of lights, smoke and people. The smell of grilled corn and sweet tea was everywhere.
Dana wanted to try everything, and I followed her from stall to stall. We ate small pancakes filled with green onion, a soup with tiny dumplings, and a strange dessert made of ice and beans that I did not expect to like but finished completely. Most sellers spoke very little English, but pointing and smiling worked surprisingly well.
After about an hour, I stopped to take a photo of a man making noodles by hand. When I turned around, Dana was gone. The crowd was so thick that I could not see more than a few metres. My phone battery was almost empty, and I did not remember the name of our hotel, only that it was near a park.
I was starting to panic when an older woman selling fruit asked me, in careful English, if I was lost. I explained that I was looking for my friend. She did not have a phone to lend me, but she gave me a slice of mango, told me to stay next to her stall, and said that people who get lost here always come back to the place where they last saw each other.
She was right. Ten minutes later, Dana appeared, out of breath and laughing. She had been looking for me at the noodle stall. Before we left, I bought a whole bag of mangoes from the woman. Since then, whenever I travel, I write the name and address of my hotel on a piece of paper and keep it in my pocket.