My grandfather, mother, and I were three generations of Chinese exploring Taipei, Taiwan.  Nine years ago, we visited Beijing, China, so I expected Taipei to have the same 热闹 hot energy: horns blaring, bicycles whizzing past, 人山人海mountains of people, 一股香味a dizzying concoction of sizzling meat and sweat hanging in the air.  However, people 排队neatly filed along the escalator (no one tried to elbow past), the streets were surprisingly quiet (no cacophony of horns or banter), and every surface was impressively clean (back in China, I can still hear my mom warning me against running my hands along 不干不净 public bannisters).  Only under the neon lights at night markets could I observe clusters of vendors and crowds of foodies sampling 风味小吃 traditional snacks.  The infrastructure is an eclectic mix of 现代化 ultramodern structures juxtaposed by 80’s pastel facades, hole-in-the-wall restaurants serving 牛肉面beef noodle soup, and a temple nestled into the patchwork of buildings.  Compared to China’s 王府井 Wangfujing district, Taipei’s skyscrapers are not as glossy, but the Taiwanese 生活lifestyle is heavily dipped in Westernized 影响 influence.  Residents surf the Internet unhindered by The Great Firewall, arrange their food into aesthetically-pleasing Instagrams, shop in 洋气trendy clothing markets, and feature a colorful variety of sports stars on Adidas advertisements.  In China, I’ve only seen advertisements featuring pale faces, and must enable my VPN whenever I check social media or American news.  Living in China for the past four weeks, I’ve noticed the Chinese have created an independent online society mirroring the applications of the Western world: “DiDi” is Uber, “Taobao” is Ebay, “Alibaba” is Amazon, and “WeChat” is Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter rolled into one platform.  Spending a week in Taiwan has made the transition to living in China more fluid, since Taiwan strikes the perfect balance between Chinese history and Western convenience.