American in Taiwan: monkey see, monkey do.

Brooke Robbins
Aug 22, 2017 · 6 min read

I spent Sunday morning with a bunch of animals — literally. Shoushan mountain, more commonly known as “monkey mountain,” sits on the far west hand side of Kaohsiung City. Given its nickname, I knew leading up to my trip that I’d probably see a monkey or two somewhere along the hike. What I didn’t know was just how many I would encounter, just how close they could (and would) get, or just how terrified I’d feel in their presence.

Part I: Monkeys are scary

Allow me to start by saying that some of this fear was justified. The monkeys at this mountain are pretty much known for being vicious when they want to be, and stories about monkeys grabbing this or that from hikers — a Gucci purse here, a water bottle there — abound around here. But I’d be lying if I said my discomfort came entirely from a rational fear of attack or injury. Rather, a sizable part of my anxiety around the monkeys came from their uncannily human-esque behaviors. I mean, most of us learn about evolution in school and come to understand, in an intellectual way, that humans and monkeys share a common ancestor, that monkeys have opposable thumbs and breastfeed their babies just like us, et cetera, et cetera. And yes, I’ve seen the evolution room in the Museum of Natural History, many times. But to see these animals interact with humans so nonchalantly, in real time — to see them breastfeeding their children, and staring at me point blank, and grabbing ice cubes out of my coffee cup — there was something very uncanny about that.

Monkey pulling ice cubes out of a coffee cup that I frantically dropped so as not to get attacked as the monkeys descended from their tree. (For the record, we waited until they were done to recollect the trash and ensure that we didn’t leave a trace.)

As a matter of fact, my encounter with the monkeys of Shoushan Mountain reminded me quite a bit of the “uncanny valley” hypothesis, an idea that I encountered only peripherally in college, thanks to a fellow student who once brought it up in a linguistics class. I am no expert on the subject, but my understanding of the uncanny valley hypothesis is as follows: originating in the 1970s alongside rising interest in the possibility of robots, the uncanny valley hypothesis posits that human replicas which appear almost but not exactly like real human beings can elicit feelings of eeriness and revulsion (a.k.a. uncanniness) among some human observers. If you’ve ever seen an animated film that goes a little too far on the realism spectrum (Polar Express, anyone?), or seen depictions of robots that straddle the boundary between human and computer, you may know the feeling.

Source: http://www.therobotsvoice.com/2011/03/7_films_that_got_stuck_in_the_uncanny_valley.php

The idea is that in general, we feel increasingly empathetic toward subjects or characters as they approach likeness to a “real person” — but that just before the peak (i.e. how we feel toward actual human beings) there is a valley (which causes us to feel repulsed and even freaked out by subjects that we qualify as being close-but-no-cigar human.)

The uncanny valley idea has mainly focused on things like animations and robots: non-human entities that parade, to a certain extent, as humans. To be clear, my reaction to these monkeys isn’t a true example of the uncanny valley hypothesis. Monkeys are not humans — they are a species of their own, and their resemblance to humans comes nowhere close to that of any character in SIMS or Polar Express. But in a non-scientific, anecdotal way, the feeling of uncanny similarity was most certainly there.

My friends Jasmine and Serena, who accompanied me on this journey, didn’t seem to share my anxiety, but they were laudably patient with my monkey-induced fears — especially when the monkeys came down from the trees and waltzed right into our walking path. I, leading the group at this point, stopped frozen in my tracks. “Uh…hm,” I said, pathetically. I could just imagine Mama Monkey grabbing my arm with those impressively human-looking fingers. What would happen if she scratched me? Is rabies a thing? Where was the nearest hospital?

Thankfully Serena, a fellow Fulbright ETA (who also happens to be an incredibly compassionate, very passionate nature lover), saved me from my internal monologue rabbit hole. “OK let’s go back, they can sense your fear,” she laughed. I laughed back at myself and we went merrily on our way, in the opposite direction.

Part II: The Taiwanese are the kindest people in the world, part three.

Eventually, we made it to a rest stop of sorts: filtered water and hot tea, all free. “Huānyíng lái dào táiwān (歡迎來到台灣),” said an adorable older woman, decked out in full-on hiking gear. I don’t yet speak Chinese, but I could figure from context what she was saying. “Welcome to Taiwan.” She gestured to the tea and water, and Jasmine, Serena and I took a much-needed rest. We wondered aloud who funded the tea making, and who volunteered to hike up daily to ensure that it was ready and available to the public. (I still haven’t found out.)

Serena, Jasmine and I on the mountain just before the rest stop, the city of Kaohsiung behind us.

And then came the real question: how would we get back down? Turns out, we had actually (inadvertently) traversed to the other side of the mountain. Getting back to our original entry point was pretty much out of the question, as it was already 1pm and our stomachs were growling. But we could tell from the map that there was another way out, by the zoo — the “dòngwùyuán” (動物園). Jasmine, who has a far greater command over the Chinese language than I do, led the way, asking the woman in Chinese for directions. Just then, an old man popped up from behind us. From what I could understand, he was interjecting to say that he was on his way to the zoo. He’d lead us there.

Lead us there he did. Despite being more than twice our ages, and wearing a woven-type pair of sandals that were a far cry from the Nike Sneakers and Trekking boots that the three of us dawned, this man was booking it down the mountain. On our journey down together, we learned (with the help of Jasmine’s translations) that our guide had been coming to this mountain twice a week for 27 years.

Our “guide,” literally in business pants and sandals, making his way much faster than us down the mountain. Jasmine was a stellar translator!

Finally, we made it to the zoo, and to the exit of the mountain. Our guide took us down to get something to eat, and then insisted on buying us all food (tea eggs). I am still unaccustomed to the showering of kindness that is so par-for-the-course in this country. We tried to refuse a few times, but ultimately caved, and thanked him with broad smiles and many xièxiè nǐs.

It is now the fourth or fifth time I’ve had this experience in Taiwan, of genuinely selfless, go-out-of-your-way-to-help kindness. It is truly unparalleled, for me. As much as I love New York, and as much as I adored my time in Paris, I really can’t picture a New Yorker or a Parisian going to the lengths that Michael, my flight-mate, or this mountain “guide” did, just to make me feel comfortable and at home. Unbelievably, the pattern continues. Tomorrow, a Columbia alum who lives in Kaohsiung has offered to pick me up from school and take me (on her membership) to Costco, to stock up on Western essentials.

It is these inconvenient kindnesses — the help one is willing to give when it requires them to go out of their own way — that has truly distinguished my time here, so far, from my experiences in other countries. This part of Taiwanese culture is one I’ll certainly try to emulate as best I can while I am here, and that I hope to take back with me, to New York, when I go.

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Brooke Robbins

Written by

24 // adventure-prone and loves a challenge.

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