Huang Hong-ying

May 08, 2004

Huang Hong-ying | A September Story |Hugo | China

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It was 4 AM when I flagged down a taxi in front of Spin nightclub on Hoping East Road. As I tumbled in and looked around, I felt a little thrill--I had lucked out and hailed a space-age bachelor cab. The young driver swiveled his pompadoured head around to get my address, then put his white-gloved hands on the wheel, punched the gas and set us flying through the wet and nearly empty neon streets of Taipei. What a ride: finely tuned engine, new car smell, plastic seat covers, Christmas lights and a Buddha on the dashboard. And the music: loud but crystalline, seemingly at odds with the driver's youth and need for speed. Modern easy listening with a soothing Chinese female singer at the fore--a voice so beautiful I forgot the wet streets and the speedometer that was rotating like a second hand...