It’s an image that best describes the spirit of Taiwan. Immensely popular on social media over the last few days is an Associated Press photograph of 53-year-old Dai, biting into a pork bun, holding onto a twisted umbrella as Typhoon Megi slams Taipei. “ Zan !” (Bravo!), I exclaim — a word that echoes everywhere in a country with people who share her kind of fortitude.
The week I cross the Strait of Formosa, from Hong Kong to Taipei, the light is meridional and the weather, pleasant. Far below on the cerulean waters is the odd Chinese junk, its battened sails symbolic of a time of great sea voyages. As the plane dips, the city, nestled in the Tamsui river valley bordered by gentle slopes awash with tea gardens, glistens.
The 40-km drive from the Taoyuan International Airport is through a network of flyovers that loops past urban sprawl, misty meadows and wooded paths. When the car pulls up at the Palais de Chine Hotel in the heart of Taipei, there’s enough time only to check-in and freshen up with a curious bar of soap shaped like a signature white jade called ‘mutton fat’.
The next few days are a flurry of meetings with ministries that spell out Taiwan’s new Southbound Policy. Aimed at building closer economic and strategic ties with Taiwan’s neighbours in South and Southeast Asia, it also hopes to showcase the country’s natural beauty and culture to tourists.
Taiwan stands at the western rim of the Pacific Ring of Fire, off the coast of the continent, its mountains once home to aboriginal seafarers who travelled even to Polynesia. Head-hunters, they ensured that Taiwan remained a remote hub in the immensity of the ocean till the 13th Century, when the Han Chinese crossed the straits, encouraged by the prosperity of the Ming dynasty. In 1542, when the Portuguese sailed East, they were so taken up by its exceptional beauty that they named Taiwan, Ilha Formosa (beautiful isle). But it was the Dutch who first set up a trading outpost, followed by the Spanish, who established colonial rule for 16 years, only to be expelled by Ming loyalists.
Over the next two centuries, Taiwan enjoyed a tenuous peace under the French, the Qing dynasty and, finally, Japan, as a result of its victory in the First Sino-Japanese War.
Japanese colonisation brought rapid advancements, and Taiwan served as an important naval base during WWII. Taiwan remains a living museum of its past — most government offices function out of gracious red-brick buildings built by the Japanese, quaint railway stations dot the countryside and the wooden boards of tea-houses creak with the weight of history. The long road to democracy in the 1990s was preceded by a century of political strife — the founding of the Republic of China (ROC) on the mainland in 1912, its defeat by the Communists during the Chinese Civil War, its move to Taiwan in 1949 and decades of economic growth that established it as one of the four Asian Tigers.
Taipei’s skyline is pinned in place by the oriental National Palace Museum on one side and the soaring Taipei 101 skyscraper on the other. Between the two, they define the spirit of Taiwan, forged by resilience.
The museum, framed against the mountains on the outskirts of Taipei, was founded in Beijing in 1925, although its treasures were moved to Taiwan over the years, given the volatile relations between China and Japan. An enthusiastic pig-tailed lady guides us through a selection of its nearly 7,00,000 pieces of ancient Chinese artefacts, paintings, ceramics and calligraphy. Hordes of tourists crowd around the jade masterpieces and vibrant Tibetan art, journey through centuries over many halls and interactive displays, and come to rest in the Zhishan Gardens outside, which incorporates elements from Feng Shui and folklore.
Far from the zen of the garden are the crowded alleys of the Raohe Street Night Market. Past the row of buildings with tile roofs and distressed doorways that lead to tree-shaded courtyards rise the tinkle of cycle bells, the hiss of frying fat from roadside food stalls and smell of stinky tofu. It makes my stomach heave, but, funnily, for something that reeks of rotting kitchen scraps, it feels like silk. I wash it down with local tea flavoured with peony blossoms.
The very friendly Taiwanese have ensured that the country tops the list of places for expats to live in, and there are plenty of outsiders sampling exotic fare like baby eel. Mandarin pop music competes with the raucous shouts of mahjong players. At the end of the long road stands the Ciyou temple, its ornate woodwork painted gold, blue, red and green. People wave joss sticks in front of the altar of Mazu, patron goddess of seafarers.
Holding no less a place in Taiwan’s memory is Chiang Kai-shek, political and military leader of ROC. President till his death in 1975, his presence lingers like an uninterred spirit at the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial that celebrates his life and times. At a hall above, reminiscent of the Lincoln Memorial, a massive statue of Chiang gazes impassively into the distance, as people watch the stately changing of the guard every hour. In the floors below, I’m guided by Genoveva Peining, who loves Indian cinema and is thrilled when she discovers I’m from the land of Kaaka Muttai . Genoveva leads me through galleries of photographs from Chiang’s early life in a fishing village in China and his marriage to Soong Mei-ling to his military and political career. His Cadillac gleams under the lights, and there is an Indian connection in the photographs, with references to Mahatma Gandhi and Dr. Dwarkanath Kotnis.
In the afternoon, I travel on the efficient Metro Taipei to zip 508m to the top of Taipei 101, once the world’s tallest building. Shaped like a bamboo stalk, its core is kept stable by a mass damper. The elevator holds a Guinness record for a speed of 1,010 m/minute and the view of the illuminated city from the all-glass observation deck is fabulous. On the ground floor is the popular Din Tai Fung, which serves a mind-boggling variety of dimsums. Tables are set with baskets bearing steaming dumplings best eaten with chopsticks. I struggle to pick up the legendary pork-filled xiaolongbao. From the table to my right, a group of Scots watches amusedly. On my left, a Taiwanese family looks on encouragingly. The dimsum gingerly finds its way to my mouth. It tastes like heaven. “Bravo!” shout the Scots. “ Zan !” I shout back.
(The writer was in Taiwan at the invitation of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Republic of China.)
