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There’s nothing like being shown around by someone who both speaks your language well, and knows the area like the back of his or her hand. But even in Taiwan, where locals often go out of their way to greet and help visitors from afar, you’re unlikely to meet such a person by chance. Fortunately for tourists, walking tours are catching on. One organization which has taken it upon itself to organize regular pedestrian excursions is My Tainan Tour, backed by Tainan City Government.
For more than two centuries until the 1880s, Tainan served as Taiwan’s administrative capital. It retains a stupendous density of historical and cultural attractions: When Tainan natives say, ‘there's a major temple every five steps, a minor shrine every three,’ they’re hardly exaggerating.
My Tainan Tour currently offers two walks. The ‘Classic Tour’ takes explorers to the city’s sublime Confucius Temple, what’s now the National Museum of Taiwan Literature, and then the Altar of Heaven (aka Tiantan), a lively place of worship. The fourth and final stops represent, respectively, the Qing era and the Japanese period. The former is the early 19th-century Wu Garden. The latter is Hayashi Department Store. An always-bustling emporium which exudes traditional Japanese refinement, it has three features probably no other department store in the world can boast - an elevator with a mosaic floor, a restored rooftop Shinto shrine [shown above] and scars from World War II air raids.
The 'Local Life Tour' is less concerned with relics and more with how Tainan folk go about their lives. It's a stroll through a cluster of narrow thoroughfares around 700m northwest of Hayashi Department Store. The most famous of these is Shennong Street, much-loved and -photographed on account of its antique appearance. Largely intact traditional two-story houses with tiled roofs and wooden upper floors line both sides of the street.
Both tours last around two hours, depending on how fast you walk, how many questions you ask, and how many detours you make.
The most important and expensive museum project for a long time - certainly since the National Museum of Taiwan History - the Southern Branch of the National Palace Museum (國立故宮博物院南部院區) finally opened its doors to the public a few days before the end of last year. I say ‘finally’ because the opening came several years later than originally scheduled. Among the various delays and controversies which dogged the project was the first architect quitting back several years ago.
Some have questioned the purpose of the museum, which according to Taiwan’s Executive Yuan (Cabinet Office) is to be ‘a world-class museum of Asian art and culture’. Famously, the NPM in Taipei has far more artefacts than it can display at any one time, but rather than provide additional exhibition space so more of these treasures can be shown to the public, the Southern Branch casts its net far beyond Greater China. A few people have wondered if this policy was part of efforts by President Chen Shui-bian (who gave the museum the green light in 2001) to water down Taiwan’s Han Chinese heritage, and thus build a distinctive and pro-independence Taiwanese identity. If this was the case, it’s surprising this aspect of the project wasn’t modified by President Ma Ying-jeou well before opening.
Daily visitor numbers are being capped, and reservations must be made in advance via the museum’s website, so getting into the Southern Branch isn’t easy. But thanks to my reporting background, I managed to jump the queue and pay a visit.
I took the high-speed railway to Chiayi because Chiayi HSR Station is much nearer to the museum in Taibao City (嘉義縣太保市, a city with a mere 37,200 inhabitants!) than Chiayi’s conventional train station. Rather than walk 4.6km on a damp day, I hopped aboard a minibus which stops at the museum before proceeding to Zhecheng Cultural Park (蔗埕文化園區), which is better known as Suantou Sugar Factory (蒜頭糖廠). There’s a bus every half hour (adults pay NT$24 one way). I was the only passenger.
The museum bus stop is 530m from the entrance, and none of the car parks are significantly closer, so visitors get a good look at the 70ha grounds before stepping inside. At the time of my visit, after some heavy rain, there seemed to be as much mud as grass. But I’m sure, within a few years when the trees have grown, these parklands will look marvelous.
In terms of providing barrier-free access for the elderly, pregnant and disabled, Taiwan is doing much better than a decade ago. I was pleased to see, at the visitors centre near the bus stop, golf carts available to take people to the door of the museum (NT$50 per person). At the same spot, bicycles can be rented (NT$100 for the whole day).
Opening hours are 9am to 5pm, Tuesday to Sunday, and getting into the museum costs most people NT$250. Until June 30 this year, residents of Yunlin and Chiayi counties and Tainan and Chiayi cities can get in for free, so long as they’ve made a reservation and they’re ROC citizens. Like the NPM in Taipei, the Southern Branch of the NPM is one of a handful of institutions which doesn’t believe in extending to tax-paying foreign residents of Taiwan the same benefits given to local citizens. Disappointing…
So is the museum worth the time and trouble? Externally, it’s striking but far from beautiful. I agree with those who’ve compare it to a giant black slug. It doesn’t come close to the Lanyang Museum, the landmark which made architect Kris Yao (姚仁喜) justly famous.
And inside? The Southern Branch has five permanent exhibitions, among them a multimedia gallery where three videos introducing Asian art play in rotation. As far as I could tell, none of the three has English subtitles. There’s also a brief and mostly monolingual look at the history of Chiayi. This focuses on folk beliefs, and displays some original documents relating to the suppression of Lin Shuang-wen’s rebellion.
Far better, in my opinion, are the sections on tea culture in East Asia, and on Buddhist artefacts drawn from the NPM’s collection. In the former I learned that steeping tea leaves in hot water is a relatively modern method of preparing the drink. The highlight of the latter is a kangyur (a compilation of Buddha’s sayings) in Tibetan script created for the Emperor Kangxi in 1669. Although the individual pages are quite plain, the boards made to protect and separate parts of the canon are quite fabulous, and made me think of the illuminated manuscripts drawn by Christian monks in medieval Europe.
Of the temporary exhibitions, one greatly impressed me: Treasures from Across the Kunlun Mountains: Islamic Jades in the NPM Collection will be here until October 12 this year. Among the dozens of items were lustrous tea cups, spittoons, Quran stands, and other prized exhibits fashioned from nephrite or jadeite. Several of the non-Chinese pieces are inlaid with precious stones or gold thread.
Jade art is often thought of as quintessentially Chinese, but here were exquisite objets d’art from Mughal India or the westernmost provinces of the Ottoman Empire. Some of the former were gifted to Emperor Qianlong (reigned 1735 to 1796), who believed these imports were better than any produced by Chinese artists.
For me, the Southern Branch’s lack of paintings and other two-dimensional arts makes it currently less interesting than its big sister in Taipei. I’ll be back, no doubt, but not very soon.
(The photo is taken from the museum's Chinese-language Wikipedia page.)
The Alishan area has an abundance of short but exceptionally pleasant hiking paths. One I hadn't tackled until recently – but which I'll be adding to the guidebook next time around – is the 2.3km-long Mihu Trail (迷糊步道), not far from the indigenous village of Dabang (達邦) and the Hakka hamlet of Dinghu (頂湖).
Most tourists arrive by car or motorcycle, and park at km66.4 on Highway 18. There are toilets here, but none along the path. The trail follows the Miyang Creek as it plunges toward the Zengwen River (曾文溪), but for the most part you hear rather than see the waters. The path is is well designed and well maintained. The concrete steps have been textured to resemble timber; there are wooden railings where necessary, as well as thatched pavilions where visitors can rest in the shade. In fact, thanks to the trees and bamboo, hikers are seldom exposed to direct sunlight. It's really worthwhile scanning the forest, and not only for the numerous birds that can be spotted. We saw lizards, and this bug, which reminded me of a moose...
Just be careful of the 'biting cat' nettles! At the end of the trail, you have three options. Like most people, we climbed back up to the car park at km66.4. If we'd had more time, and someone to pick us up there, we would've continued along the 1.88km-long Fushan Historic Trail (福山古道) to the village it's named after, and then to km68.6 on Highway 18. Alternatively, one could tramp along Road 169 to Dabang, from where a few buses each day head to Chiayi City. That would be time consuming, but very scenic.
I'm not a food blogger, and many international visitors to Taiwan tell me they want to try as many local dishes and delicacies as possible. So why am I writing about burgers served in a swanky hotel? Because W Taipei has put a fresh and distinctly Taiwanese spin on this Western staple: The hotel's Woobar and kitchen table (no part of the latter restaurant's name is capitalized, it seems) now offer what they call a DIY Burger, and among the protein options are local pulled black pork, three-cup chicken, and stinky tofu.
As someone who adores the deep-fried, crunchy variant of stinky tofu, I felt compelled to go for the soy option. When this arrived at my table – in a charcoal bun, topped with coleslaw, bacon, a Portabella mushroom, and Swiss cheese – the first surprise was the smell. There wasn't any. Usually when I eat stinky tofu, I'm surrounded by what I regard as a mouth-watering bouquet even before I take a seat. (Non-fans might describe it as a nauseating stench.) This is because, in a night market, the tofu is fried or stewed in full view. W Taipei's burgers are, of course, cooked and plated in a kitchen the other side of at least one door. That said, as soon as I cut into the burger, I could detect the familiar aroma. For some stinky-tofu addicts, the flavour might not be strong enough, but I enjoyed both the mild taste and the crumbly texture.
I dug out the toppings and tried each in isolation. The slaw was especially good. If I go back, I'll likely try kim chi; in Taiwanese night markets, stinky tofu is often served with zesty pickled cabbage. And rather than beer-battered onion rings, I'd go for a salad on the side. There are too many options to list all of them here: Eight proteins, 20 toppings (you can choose up to three), eight cheeses, seven types of bun, 14 different sauces, nine side dishes, plus a few other options (notably pan-seared rouge duck foie gras) for which you need to pay extra. The basic set is NTD385 plus 10% service charge; this includes a soft drink.
W Taipei is within walking distance of Taipei City Hall MRT Station on the Blue Line, and thus in the same part of the capital as Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall and Songshan Cultural and Creative Park.
There are at least four reasons for Taiwan's bicycling renaissance. Firstly, now that two-day weekends are the norm, Taiwanese have more free time than ever before. Secondly, as in other parts of the world where eating well and being sedentary is the default lifestyle, many citizens are concerned about their waistlines.
The third reason is that good, affordable bicycles for all demographics are available. Taiwan has long been a major manufacturer of bicycles. In recent years, as labour and other costs have risen, local bike makers like Giant and Merida have moved up market. Their efforts to produce high-quality bicycles and bike accessories have met with great success. In 2014, Taiwan exported almost US$2.8 billion worth of complete bikes and bicycle components.
Finally, the government has done its bit. The authorities pro-bicycle initiatives have come in for some criticism, but at least taking bikes on trains is now easier. In both Taipei and Kaohsiung, bike enthusiasts can take their 'iron horses' (鐵馬, which is how many Taiwanese refer to their bicycles) on certain MRT trains, opening up those metropolises and their hinterlands for exploration. Assisting cyclists with tea and drinking water, as well as directions, has been added to the police’s duties.
International interest in Taiwan as a cycling destination has been building, thanks to magazine articles, TV reports, and at least one movie. The 2014 romance Nanpu (Riding the Breeze has inspired some moviegoers to bike around Tamsui, Jiufen, and other places featured in this Taiwanese-Japanese co-production.
Anyone touring Taiwan during the summer is likely to run into clusters of cyclists going all the way around the island. The total distance depends on the precise route, but is often over 1,200km. Huandao (環島, 'round the island') bike journeys have become both a rite of passage and an expression of Taiwanese identity. While it's possible to camp in many places, some riders prefer to travel light, carrying nothing other than a change of clothing and money to buy accommodation and food.
Bike-rental businesses are boon for both foreign tourists and Taiwanese. Giant Bicycles’ rental operation can supply bikes and other items suitable even for tall Westerners; these can be collected at one location and returned at another - perfect for those on short visits to Taiwan who wish to bike from, say, Hualien to Taitung.
Both cities face the Pacific Ocean in Taiwan’s unspoiled east, and nowhere are the often-quoted words of Giant’s founder, King Liu (劉金標) - 'Driving is too fast. Walking is too slow. Riding is the best way to enjoy the most beautiful scenes of life' - more apt. Liu, who was born in 1934, still cycles every day.
It's just about possible for a fit, dedicated cyclist to see both coastal and high-altitude marvels in a single day. The distance from Dapeng Bay on the southwest coast to Wutai, a stunningly scenic township deep in the mountains, is just 65km, but involves ascending to 1,000m above sea level. Even steeper climbs exist: Taiwan's toughest bike challenge is undoubtedly the 'King of the Mountains' route, from the shores of the Pacific to an altitude of 3,275m within Taroko National Park (where the photo above was taken; its from Wikimedia Commons). This webpage has a detailed description of the ups and downs of the 105km-long KOM route; it's a regular highway and thus open to cyclists every day of the year, unless there's a blockage caused by a landslide.
Experienced bikers say that, before starting any long downhill sections, it's a good idea to lower saddle, to reduce the risk of going over the handlebars in the event of a sudden stop. And it goes without saying that cyclists should always wear helmets - Taiwan's roads, unfortunately, aren't as safe as the Netherlands'. In the countryside, aggressive dogs are sometimes a problem.
If this talk of high mountains and long distances is off putting, be reassured that one needn't be an Olympic-level athlete to enjoy cycling in Taiwan. There are plenty of family-friendly bicycle trails suitable for those who haven't been on a bike since childhood. Two of the most attractive are in Greater Taichung; known as the Houfeng and Dongfeng bike paths, they can be completed in a single day.
Over at Forbes.com, my friend Ralph Jennings gives some sound advice for places (and categories of places) visitors to Taiwan should avoid if they dislike crowds, going beyond the obvious duo of night markets and temple festivals. He’s right in saying that around Yongkang Street (a foodie neighbourhood that’s become so popular the authorities have begun deleting any mention of it from official guides) and Taipei Main Station, there are always huge numbers of people, and finding a spot to sit down and have a relaxing coffee isn't easy. However, if you head into the capital’s backstreets, it isn’t difficult to find cafes where you can enjoy a bit of peace and quiet. Digital nomads are good at sniffing out such places.
I’ve never been to Yangmingshan National Park during flower season or when the cherry blossoms are out, and I’ve no intention of going. At weekends and on public holidays, the traffic in and out - not to mention the queues for buses and the lack of seats once you’re one - is bad enough. Yet in the middle of the week, the park is wonderful; get a copy of Richard Saunders’ book if you plan to do any serious exploring.
I’m not the only person who believes the allure of Kenting National Park is often overstated. The beaches aren’t that great, and the accommodation is overpriced. Go to Taitung, or the indigenous communities in the mountains of Pingtung, instead.
Number four on his list is the Danshui boardwalk on weekend afternoons. In my opinion, Danshui’s history always makes it worth visiting, and it’s near enough to Taipei you can leave the moment you feel bored. It’s not even necessary to return to the capital the way you came. If time allows, you can set off on a loop around the north coast, as I explain in this article.
Jennings finishes up with a warning anyone thinking of going to Taitung or Hualien should heed. Between Friday afternoon and late Sunday night, eastbound trains are often booked solid. To get tickets, try at least a week in advance. Go midweek if you can, because both the Kaohsiung-Taitung and Taipei-Hualien railroads provide varied and always interesting views.
Among places I’d add to the list: The Pingxi Branch Railway during the summer; the old heart of Anping on sunny weekends; and pretty much everywhere during the Lunar New Year holidays.
Dajia (大甲), now part of Greater Taichung, is synonymous with the cult of Mazu, the sea goddess revered by the Fujianese migrants who arrived in this region in the 17th and 18th centuries. Their principal house of worship is Jenn Lann Temple, founded in 1732.
Of course, humans were living in Dajia long before those settlers arrived. It's said the toponym Dajia derives from the name of the lowland aboriginal tribe that once dominated the area, the Taokas (道卡斯). Like Taiwan’s other indigenous groups, the Taokas were of Austronesian origin and spoke a language very different to Mandarin or Taiwanese, but somewhat similar to the Maori tongues of New Zealand. As a distinct tribe, they disappeared long ago, but some of their culture lives on in certain local traditions.
One location where the influence of aboriginal beliefs on local religious practices is still apparent is on the outskirts of Dajia, in Waipu District’s Xincuo (外埔區新厝). There, childless couples hoping for a baby pray to a 30cm-high rock known as the Baogong Stone (包公石). This object of veneration has a crudely phallic appearance, but - if you look closely- you’ll notice what could be eyes and other facial features.
Until 2010, the stone was kept in a land-god shrine. Because its apparent ability to cure infertility was drawing a lot of media coverage, there were fears it could be stolen. (From time to time, efficacious icons are snatched from Taiwanese temples.) It was thus moved to its current location, the front room of a private home in the neighbourhood. The family who look after the stone keep a list of couples who report pregnancies after coming here, and the stone is credited with three or four successes per month.
Taiwan's birthrate is no longer the lowest in the world, but it remains well below replacement level.
A couple's chances of conceiving are greater, it's claimed, if both visit and pray to the Baogong Stone. If only one can attend, he or she should bring some of his/her spouse's clothing, and rub the garments on the stone's tip. When telling a friend about this place, he asked: "Would rubbing underwear against the stone work better than, say, a sweater?"
It's a good question, and I wish I knew the answer.
