I stood at the podium and looked down on 300 or so attentive Taiwanese businessmen and women. My heart, stomach and sphincter were conspiring against me but this is what I had agreed to do, although I forget why. I felt a bit like a paedophile at a Hanson concert: sweaty, nervous and uncomfortable, yet strangely excited. I took one last gulp of water, inhaled deeply and launched in to my presentation.
I had been invited by the Taiwan Stock Exchange to talk to them about Nasdaq’s new trading system, and this is how I found myself onstage at the Taipei Sheraton. It was an awfully long way to go for a of day, so I decided to extend my stay and go up to China and visit my old school friend Brent in China.
A week before leaving, I discovered that my ‘talk’ with the exchange was in fact a seminar for 300 people, including the deputy Minister of Finance. This really got my arse cheeks clapping, if you know what I mean, but I thought what the hell. The audience wouldn’t be that sophisticated or knowledgeable and I thought it would be good experience. Guang, my Chinese colleague from London, would also be there so I would have some guidance with the natives and their customs.
I had one day in Taipei to chill out (and avoid earthquakes) before the Big Dance. A city tour had been arranged for me, but my mind was primarily on the presentation. I went to the Chaing Kai-Shek Memorial as well as the Palace Museum and several other tourist hotspots. The highlight of the day was a toss-up between the Snake Alley night market (choose the tastiest-looking wriggler and they’ll lop off it’s head and skin it for you) and a big fat (need I say American) tourist that was the absolute spitting image of the older version of Elvis. He had the hair, the muttonchops, the glasses and the waistline. Stick him in a sequined jumpsuit with a fried banana and Quaalude sandwich and I would have put money on it.
The gig didn’t start until the next afternoon, so I had the morning to kill. I tried to memorise my spiel and did my utmost not to spoil the positive energy of my immaculate hotel bathroom (I think it’s called feng shite or something). I nearly succeeded.
I arrived half an hour early to meet with various officials of the Taiwanese exchange, including the chairman and president and assorted board members. We sat down and chatted for a few minutes, and then some guy came in and started taking pictures. It was the press, which was news to me, so to speak. This wasn’t part of the plan. What the hell had I got myself into? If the top boys back at HQ saw my ugly mug being quoted in Taiwanese Trader Today then I would probably be in a spot of bother and have some explaining to do. My stomach felt a bit dodgy, and I had absolutely no choice but to excuse myself and practice more feng shite.
Anyway, I got up and did my thing, and I actually rather enjoyed it. A couple of you suggested that I should try to imagine the audience naked in order to help me relax but thank heavens I didn’t as there were some real ugly bastards staring back at me. They clapped afterwards, but I’m not sure if they knew why. It was over and I could now relax. Well, sort of.
The seminar was followed by a slap-up Chinese dinner. Lord knows what I ate (I was told, but I’ve since forgotten due to reasons made evident very shortly), but there were about 9 courses and lots of wine and whiskey. My colleague Guang informed me that it was traditional to toast each person individually at such meals, so I had to toast my 10 dining partners, who then returned the favour. The chairman began by thanking me and toasted me with a glass of wine, saying ‘gam-bay’ meaning something like ‘clear glass’. This meant I had to pound my drink in one; I thought he was winding me up, but no. Not to do so would be a mark of disrespect to my host, so naturally I obliged. I immediately knew it was going to be a long evening, and I was praying my stomach and head would cooperate.
Within three or four rounds of toasting, I looked up from my empty glass to be faced with 10 smiling drunks with yellowy/crimson complexions. It was like someone had gone mad with the blusher whilst I was concentrating on my drink. These boys were tanked already! I looked up again a few minutes later and there were now 10 glacé cherries playing the harmonica. Each one had both hands to his mouth moving back and forth. I was expecting them to bust into some Larry Adler number, but it turned out that they were using toothpicks to get the bits of snake out from their molars. I toasted myself and had some more duck tongue. (I’ll talk more about my diet in a little while.)
The food eventually stopped appearing on the table and the last of the whiskey was quaffed. We said our goodbyes, bowing and shaking hands incessantly, head spinning, my stomach not comprehending what it had just experienced. But the night was still young. Guang insisted on showing me a bit of the Taipei nightlife, so we hopped in a cab and went to the Red Horse Club. I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. Well, mostly. It was a karaoke bar, but with a difference. We were led into a private room with a big TV and couch, and yet more whiskey. Then some scantily clad women came in and started dancing and singing (but I assure you they kept their skivvies on). I fancied a bit of a sing-song but they had very few English choices. However, I managed to bash out a few, including a bit of John Denver (Take Me Home Country Roads) and Garth Brooks (Friends in Low Places), which seemed rather suitable. I then went back to the hotel. Alone. Honest.
At 6 the next morning I fell out of bed in order to get to the airport. My throat was a little hoarse thanks to John and Garth, but all things considered I really didn’t feel that bad. There are no direct flights to mainland China, so I had to go back to Hong Kong to catch the flight to Hangzhou.
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