Notes on the corners
of the world
At Songshan’s departure gates, aircraft bound for Haneda, Gimpo, and Hongqiao sit among domestic flights, while the city continues around a runway in its middle. The airport occupies a rare piece of central Taipei—and keeps shaping the space above it.
At the bottom of Nu Sentral, travelers still dragging suitcases from the KLIA Express encounter a plate of flooded curry, a child-sized roti tisu, and a glass of teh tarik. The shop is an ordinary, often overpriced chain by local standards, yet it sits at a precise threshold between the cold station and Kuala Lumpur outside.
On the approach to Taipei Songshan Airport, apartment rooftops, laundry, and balcony railings appear just beyond the aircraft window as the runway follows the bends of the Keelung River. A few minutes after landing, passengers can be in the city center—beside a runway that also serves a military base.
Beneath the Petronas Twin Towers, a semi-outdoor hall stays busy with rice, curry, fried chicken and sweet tea long after the offices and shops around it have gone quiet. At Nasi Kandar Pelita, the skyline suggests one Kuala Lumpur while the plate and the people around it belong to another rhythm.
In Taiwan, a steamed dumpling can sit beside xiaolongbao, pan-fried dumplings, and noodles without ever earning a shop of its own. The bamboo steamer is familiar; the sign above the door is missing.
At a nasi kandar counter, the food is arranged less like a menu than a brown range of curries, fried chicken, fish, and vegetables. A customer points, and the plate only takes shape when several sauces are poured over it.
At a Taiwanese breakfast shop, the careful order is iced soy milk with half sugar. Nearby, black tea soy milk waits in a metal container already mixed, chilled, and fully sweetened, leaving no room to negotiate with the cup.
At a Taiwanese breakfast shop, xiaolongbao arrive in the same bamboo baskets as soy milk and steamed buns, their wrappers puffed and bread-soft rather than thin enough to show the soup inside. They look less like delicate dim sum than something meant to be carried out the door before work.
At a Taiwan breakfast counter, asking for soy milk can bring either a cold, sweet glass or a hot bowl of vinegar-curdled curds with fried dough, shrimp, and scallions. They share a name, but one behaves like a drink and the other like a soup.
