In September 2024, I left behind the rugged coastline of Gansbaai, a small fishing village in South Africa, and began a new chapter of my life in Wuqi, Taichung, Taiwan. The decision to move across continents to teach English was not one I made lightly. This move was not merely a change in GPS coordinates; it was a transition from the "Rainbow Nation" to the "Heart of Asia." It meant leaving behind very tight family ties, familiar landscapes, and the steady rhythm of small-town life. It also meant stepping into a journey with challenges and a new sense of discovery.
As a South African teacher, my journey from Gansbaai to Wuqi is one that has been shaped by four defining experiences. The most common is the teaching in a new cultural context. Secondly was the complete makeover of adjusting to local life. Thirdly was the unknown of embracing unfamiliar food that was sometimes overly influenced by media that provided a preconceived idea of what was waiting for me on the other side. The fourth is the art of exploring the island through travel. The majestic simplicity of public transport that is ever lacking in a country like South Africa.
This story explores the multifaceted life of a South African educator navigating the classrooms of Taichung, the culinary shocks of the night markets, the logistical marvels of local life, and the island-wide adventures that have defined this new chapter. 
Understanding the classroom through a cultural lens
Teaching English in Taiwan is a far cry from the educational landscape of South Africa. In Gansbaai, the pace of life is dictated by the tides; in Taiwan, it is dictated by the school bell and the relentless pursuit of academic excellence.
Teaching has always been more than just a job to me; it is a calling. In South Africa, education is diverse and often challenging, shaped by a complex history and wide social differences. Coming from a small village like Gansbaai, community played a central role in schooling. Parents knew teachers personally, and classrooms reflected the tight-knit environment of a small town. Respect was important, but so was warmth and humor. Students were expressive, energetic, and unafraid to speak their minds.
Arriving in Wuqi, I quickly realized that teaching English in Taiwan would require both adaptation and humility. Taiwanese students are raised within a culture that places a strong emphasis on respect for authority, academic excellence, and discipline. From the first day in the classroom, I noticed how attentive and orderly my students were. They stood to greet me in unison. They listened carefully. They completed homework with precision.
There was a structured rhythm to the classroom that differed from the often-spontaneous energy I was used to in South Africa. But there is a massive hurdle that foreign teachers need to overcome and that is breaking through the wall of silence. Taiwanese students are often quiet, observing a hierarchy of respect that dates back to Confucius. This lack of confidence for speaking is a cultural phenomenon for the fear of making mistakes. To overcome this hurdle, you require a blend of South African warmth and Taiwanese patience. You likely find yourself using a lot of "Total Physical Response" (TPR) and humor to bridge the gap. Over time, I introduced more communicative activities into the classroom: role-plays, storytelling, games, and open discussions. At first, some students were shy. Gradually, as trust developed, I watched them grow in confidence. The moment a quiet student volunteers a full sentence in English for the first time is deeply rewarding.
Language, of course, was the core of my work. English education in Taiwan is highly valued, seen as a gateway to global opportunity. Parents invest significantly in their children’s language development, often enrolling them in additional classes after regular school hours. As a foreign teacher, I was both an instructor and a cultural ambassador. Sharing stories of my hometown became a way to connect language learning with real-life experiences. By adapting and overcoming hurdles, my overall teaching in Wuqi has expanded my professional identity and strengthened my adaptability.
From open to everything, everywhere
Life in Gansbaai was defined by the ocean. The smell of salt in the air, fishing boats returning at dawn, and seagulls calling overhead shaped my daily experience. The pace was slow. People greeted each other by name at the local shop. Time seemed to move according to the tides.
Wuqi, while also coastal, feels entirely different. It is not the "tourist capital" of Taiwan from the Taipei 101 brochures. As part of the greater Taichung area, it is connected to a larger urban network. It is a working-class, industrial, and coastal hub. Scooters weave through traffic. Convenience stores glow brightly on nearly every corner. Night markets hum with activity. The population density alone was an adjustment.
In Gansbaai, open space was abundant. In Wuqi, buildings stand close together, and life unfolds in vertical layers of apartments and offices. For someone from Gansbaai, there is a strange familiarity in the wind. Wuqi is notoriously one of the windiest places in Taiwan due to the coastal drafts. However, the similarities end there.
One of the most striking differences is the rhythm of daily life. In Taiwan, efficiency is deeply embedded in society. Public transportation runs with precision. Services are streamlined. At the same time, strong traditions remain visible through temples, festivals, and family-centered gatherings.
From Braaivleis to Stinky Tofu
Food has been one of the most profound aspects of my adaptation. South African cuisine reflects a blend of indigenous traditions and colonial influences. The Braai is a sacred social ritual. The smell of camelthorn wood and lamb chops is the scent of home. South African meals are often hearty: grilled meats, maize-based dishes, stews, and freshly baked bread. In my hometown, seafood was central—fresh fish prepared simply and enjoyed communally.
In Taiwan, however, food is everywhere. Street vendors, family-run restaurants, and night markets create a constant celebration of flavor. Rice and noodles replace bread-heavy meals. Flavors balance sweet, salty, sour, and umami elements. Breakfast itself is different—often savory rather than sweet. At first, I missed familiar tastes. Over time, my palate adapted, and I learned to appreciate new textures and ingredients.
Food culture in South Africa is skewed around social interactions and is nothing more comforting than have a couple of friends over at your home and sharing a meal. The biggest adaptation was that Taiwanese people do not socialize at their homes. They meet for dinner or at a café for a hot beverage. Which for a South African can be difficult to comprehend as it is second nature for us to socialize in a more home-based environment.
Night markets became places of exploration. The vibrant atmosphere, sizzling sounds, and colorful displays turned eating into a cultural experience. Food here is affordable, and deeply connected to identity. The best advice I received, has been to try. If you are provided with some form of food or drink, be polite and try. Showing respect for the culture is much more appreciated than you can comprehend.
Sights to see with convenience
One of the greatest joys of moving to Taiwan in September 2024 has been the ease of travel. South Africa is a country of "Long Hauls"—where a weekend trip involves six hours of driving through the Karoo. Towns are 50+ kilometers apart and there is no public transport as streamlined in Taiwan.
The Taiwan High-Speed Rail (HSR) is nothing short of magic for someone used to the logistics of the Western Cape. From Taichung, you can reach the northern tip of Taipei or the southern beaches of Kenting in under an hour. The efficiency and punctuality (measured in seconds, not minutes) are a constant source of wonder.
Taiwan’s compact size makes travel accessible and exciting. From Wuqi, mountains, beaches, and cities are only hours away. Efficient transport systems allow for spontaneous weekend trips. Exploring the island has revealed dramatic landscapes, historic temples, modern skylines, and vibrant communities.
Travel has helped me to see Taiwan not only as a workplace but as a new home away from home. Each journey reinforces the value of stepping outside one’s comfort zone. Compared to South Africa’s vast distances, Taiwan feels condensed yet diverse, offering endless opportunities for discovery.
To conclude
Living in Wuqi as a South African teacher is an exercise in "Identity Synthesis." You are no longer just a South African, nor are you a local Taiwanese. You are something in between—a person who can appreciate a braai but also craves scallion pancakes for breakfast.
My move from Gansbaai to Wuqi in September 2024 marked a defining turning point in my life. You have learned that silence in a classroom isn't a lack of knowledge, but a sign of respect. You have learned that a "convenience store" can be a sanctuary. You have learned that the same wind that whips through Gansbaai also rattles the windows of Wuqi, reminding you that despite the 12,000 kilometers of ocean between them, the world is smaller than it seems.
Teaching in Taiwan has deepened my cultural awareness and strengthened my professional skills. Local life has reshaped my understanding of community and efficiency. Food has broadened my tastes and appreciation for cultural expression. Travel has expanded my worldview.
Though I remain proudly South African at heart, Taiwan has become a place of growth and transformation. From the shores of my small fishing village to the vibrant streets of Wuqi, this journey continues to shape who I am—both as a teacher and as a global citizen.
I am a bridge between the Atlantic and the Pacific, one lesson, one scooter ride, and one stinky tofu at a time.
