She comes to the balcony and slips into my room through the screen door. She moves quietly to the bed and finds me sleeping still. With feathery caresses, she begins to tease me awake. Delightful.

But her mood soon turns tempestuous. She wails. She overturns the wastebasket, knocks over the ironing board. She lifts and drops the panels of the ceiling, showering me with dust.

Her name is Bilis, the first typhoon of the season.

Sadistic TV newsroom producers have already selected their youngest, most petite reporters and dispatched them to the coasts, each with a camera crew and a NT$35 disposable plastic poncho from 7-11. There, the cameraman will lash himself to the satellite van while the reporter, eager to prove her mettle, will cling for dear life to a lamppost, shrieking incomprehensibly into her microphone as howling squalls threaten to snatch her from the ground and throw her to the hungry tides.

At lunchtime, I will cross the street and enjoy the televised entertainment over a warm bowl of Fragrant Spicy Tiger Noodles. I can hardly wait.

Map stolen from http://www.cwb.gov.tw/