Mrs Huang was in charge of our rubbish brigade. This is not an official position. She was under five feet tall, with a fine head of silver hair set off by nicotined teeth. She had a natural authority recognised by the group. She nodded to regulars as they straggled in, clutching misshapen bags of rubbish.
Different countries have different ways of disposing of their rubbish. In northern Europe it is typical to throw refuse into a wheelie bin, which is rolled to the kerbside on the designated day for collection in that location. There are varying levels of sophistication as to the sorting required, often with differently coloured bins for plastics and paper. This is not what happens in Taiwan.
Taiwan is a tropical country. It is hot and wet. In this climate rubbish left outside quickly becomes offensive and attracts vermin. So it is collected five evenings a week. However, it is the householder’s duty to take his or her rubbish to a designated pickup point at a designated time. My neighbour told me the nearest pickup spot – about a 10-minute walk away – and the designated time: 5.20pm.
I was there early. The neighbour had told me that household waste had to go in special blue plastic bags that could be bought at any convenience store. In Taiwan there seems to be a convenience store every 500m, so this is no big ask. I had assumed that paper and plastics should be separated and, to be on the safe side, had put bottles in a separate bag. It was 5.10pm. I could see I was in the right place for there was already a small group of people, including Mrs Huang. I was a newbie and a foreigner. The greeting was not unfriendly, but I could sense anxiety that I might let the team down. I introduced myself and explained that I had just moved into a flat round the corner. There was a palpable sense of relief that the foreigner could speak some Chinese. I felt like a performing seal.
“That won’t do.” My rubbish was receiving intense scrutiny. A number of items which I had thought to be paper were redesignated as plastic. My carrier bag with an admittedly large selection of wine bottles was, I felt, receiving particular opprobrium. “I’m from Europe,” I said, like an idiot, as though this explained it. “And I have had some guests staying,” I added, as a lame afterthought.
“They have a separate bag in the lorry for bottles. Cans too.” My Heineken empty had been spotted, nestled among the selection of old and new world wines. I looked at my watch. 5:15pm.
I have had a long painful exposure to British railways (a shout-out here to Virgin X-Country), where trains travelling from A to B on a route exclusively reserved for them often fail to arrive on time. So the chance of the timely arrival of rubbish trucks travelling through an urban centre at rush hour seemed slim. I engaged Mrs Huang in conversation. Her son was studying abroad. I elicited from the proud mother both college (USC) and discipline (computer science – of course). In reciprocating the information that I had studied classical Chinese at Oxford was received with widespread surprise and admiration from the growing crowd.
Suddenly the strains of Fur Elise could be heard, and there was a susurration of preparation. It is one of life’s mysteries that all waste disposal trucks in Taiwan play this Beethoven favourite. In England it is favoured by ice-cream vans, but here it heralds a convoy of rubbish trucks. In the vanguard comes the truck for household waste. I watched Mrs Huang’s form as she made the ceremonial first throw. She swung the blue plastic bag a couple of times to gather momentum, before releasing it to follow a parabolic arc into the refuse van’s maw.
My effort was okay, I thought. Clearly I needed to improve my wrist-work, but it was effective. Then I had to scuttle to the following truck where operatives instructed me what to put in which sack. The instructions carried an air of exasperation. “Don’t put that there” (subtext: are you a complete idiot?) “put it there” (where everyone else is throwing bottles, dunderhead).
The trucks moved away into the tropical night, accompanied by the strains of the world’s finest classical composer. There was a sense of a job well done among the rubbish brigade, a civic duty fulfilled. We split up with a smattering of “good nights” and “see you tomorrows”.
Rubbish collection in Taiwan serves a social function. I got to know Mrs Huang quite well. I even wrote a recommendation letter for her son. She passed away some time ago, but I often think of her when I go to throw away my rubbish.
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