November 14, 2025

The day does not look particularly promising, even though it was scheduled to be partially cloudy. For the duration of the entire morning, the sky remains heavily overcast, although there is no trace of rain.

Today I would like to visit the towns of Daxi and Waiao to the south of Fulong. Reviewing my plans for the next few days, it turns out that I will be continuing south a considerable distance tomorrow to Hualien, and will only have today to explore the region I am currently in. But then no matter how much time you begin with, you will run out …

Prior to embarking on the excursion to the communities south of Fulong, I would like to explore more of the town, effectively retracing my walk yesterday evening to Fulong beach. But first, the Starbucks next to the luxury Fullon hotel! The road from the train station crosses the coastal highway, continuing as a narrow paved road weaving past mouldering buildings, dubious public art, a parking area adjoining the Fullon hotel and the neighboring landscaped space, past a garbage-filled canal and dilapidated kayak and dive shops.

Along the walkway to the Starbucks, I can see that the coffee shop is the only construction in the entire area that has clean lines and whose vicinity is actually maintained and clean. Enjoying my coffee in the spacious interior, I gaze through the wall of windows to the sea, the froth of the low surf white against the gunmetal sky.

And now into town, across the canal, and along the narrow, paved paths weaving through the mangrove and padanus, the immediate trail redolent in character. Broaching the beach reveals a different view, that of garbage mixed into the rotting scrub strewn across the beach. Sure, we did just experience a massive storm, which could account for a lot of the rotting vegetation, but it has obviously been decaying here for some time, and ditto the garbage.

It doesn’t say much for Fulong, given that the beach is the town’s star attraction — and access to the other, larger beach that extends along the lengthy spit from Blue Bay Park to the north is blocked and privately held by the Fullon hotel, although the riverside separating the promontory from the mainland is garbage-strewn as well.

Reaching the plaza on which the Dongxing temple is set, I continue to the pier at the far end to witness the full brunt of the surf crashing against the wall of tetrapods set against the pier. Watching the huge waves rolling in, even to the untrained eye, it is fascinating how each wave can different, from its height, girth, steepness, its frequency, where a wave breaks, and whether the wave breaks multiple times.

With my camera I try to capture waves just at the moment they break, although what may seem clear to the eye isn’t necessarily that easy to lock down in a well-composed photo. While there are a few fisherman trying their luck on the pier, there are no boats on the water, which is far from surprising, given how rough the water is.

The walk back to the train station is predictable, although the vistas shrouded yesterday evening in a modicum of mystery are now exposed in the light of day with additional detail — and some of the establishments that were shuttered yesterday evening are now open, such as the taqueria, where I enjoy an excellent taco al pastor in a very unlikely setting as a cordon of transport trucks hurtles by.

At the train station, I need only embark on the next local train running to Hualien. Given my desire to visit several communities to the south, I should be attentive to the onward travel times and manage the time in each locale accordingly. As well pull out of Fulong, the train is only momentarily ensconced in a green valley before disappearing into the darkness of an extended tunnel. When we reemerge from the tunnel, the train has reached the south coast of the Sandiao Cape, and is now proceeding along the coast to the southwest. The landscape is dramatic, with blue mountains rearing inland toward the sky and the sea on the other side filtered through a fleeting screen of trees. We descend through several communities before reaching my immediate destination of Daxi.

The town of Daxi spreads to the south of the train station along the coastal road that hugs a wide bay. A paved promenade arcs along the waterfront with stellar views of the rollers sliding inland toward the beach and the verdant hillsides above. Daxi is apparently a big surfing destination, although that would hardly be obvious from the state of abandonment of the promenade that makes up one of the primary arteries of the village and the beachfront below. The weather thus far has been quite changeable, but the sun does manage to break through the persistent cloud cover, the rain holding off altogether.

The rainbow trappings of a small Taoist temple provide a dramatic visual contrast to the solid palette of green resonating from the steep hills against which Daxi is couched. The waterfront is mostly loose rock, although the focal area of the bay is a broad crescent of coarse gravel mixed with fine rock. The vista of the sea set against the rugged hillsides is stunning, a far more compelling aesthetic than Fulong can muster, although the latter does have extensive beachfront with good sand — but most of the beach is effectively inaccessible.

Closer to the bay, the waterfront promenade dissipates and is reduced to a scrappy trail. Along the trail, stray dogs linger, and the feeling I get from them isn’t particularly inviting. While you do run into stray dogs in Taiwan, they aren’t typically a problem, but here as in other countries, they exercise far greater bravado in rural settings. So walk slowly and given them a wide berth …

Along the seaside promenade, the shoreline consists of a bed of loose rock, rotting seaweed, and driftwood, further along evolving to a shallow crescent of coarse, dark sand. While the environment has a sense of wild beauty, it isn’t very inviting from the perspective of lounging at the beach, the water too rough, the sand unappealing, and the general setting not lending itself to the experience.

The low surf rolls toward the shore, the waves crashing onto the numerous rocks littered in the shallows across the harbour. Notably, Taiwan has nowhere near the regimented and controlling culture that I experienced around the beaches in South Korea. But no matter: the setting is spectacular, and much more beautiful than Fulong, although it is also far quieter, with presumably far less to do.

Walking slowly back to the train station, I take in the visual elixir around me, the lush forest cascading over the steep hillsides immediately inland, the hypnotic waves sliding towards land and erupting along the shore in a cacophony of white froth, the train line running adjacent the seaside promenade leading to the clutch of houses in the distance.

At the station, I don’t have to wait too long for the next local train to the south; once onboard, the dramatic coastal landscape passes by, the steep green slopes on one side and the narrow bands of pale sand set against the open sea on the other.

Waiao is similar to Daxi, a small, modest village set in the relatively remote corner of Taiwan’s northeastern coast, although as I am about to see, the town has attracted money and fashionable developments with it, unlike Daxi or Fulong.

The waterfront promenade leading from the train station passes along a broad crescent of beach as well, but the sand stretches a considerable distance before reaching calmer waters. The town is larger, houses strung along the waterfront promenade for much of its length, and also extending several blocks inland toward the eastern island highway. The diminutive size and untamed natural environment in this region is certainly not remotely mirrored on the heavily-populated western coast of Taiwan!

Abutting the promenade is a narrow, landscaped park with covered benches and shrubbery, a continuous trickle of pedestrians in evidence, unlike the far quieter Daxi. Along the walkway, fashionable modern two- to three-story glass-fronted townhouses are interspersed with trendy restaurants whose pedigree is diametrically opposed to the plebian sensibilities of Fulong.

The beach may be deeper and the sand finer, but it is far from a tropical paradise beach, thanks to the dark colour; at least the cloud cover seems to be dissipating somewhat to reveal traces of blue sky. At the end of the promenade, a sprawling pastel yellow modernist construction dedicated entirely to a fashionable, upscale diner; lush subtropical forest spreads unabatedly over the mountainsides behind the town, the deep sand beach sprawling far into the distance before reaching the water’s edge.

Despite the pedigree of the environs, the dark sand is littered with garbage. A handful of straggling visitors gradually make their way back to the village, a lone guardian now keeping watch presumably to ensure that no one enters the water as dusk closes in. I remain seated on the lone log facing the water, taking in the serenity of the place and the last moments of the late afternoon’s muted light, thankful that the environment is not as rigidly controlled as it would be in South Korea.

Back in Fulong, I find the area around the train station swamped with cyclists in matching tight lycra clothing, cookie cutter racing bikes in tow, each group clustered around their designated van. I had initially though that these are recreational cyclists going on the local bike trails for an activity that has become hugely popular in the country over the last few decades, but there are simply too many cyclists, in what appears to be a highly orchestrated effort, such as a competition.

While roads here are all paved and in good shape, I am not sure what comfort level the narrow coastal highway with its miniscule shoulder and heavy truck traffic would afford cyclists. At least that road is relatively level — cycling inland would require serious prowess, considering how steep the mountains are.

The eateries around the train station are already shuttered, even though it is still dinnertime, but the lively array of neon lights on the north side of the intersection leading to the station beckons. When I walked by here yesterday, all businesses were shuttered, but a few more seem to be open now.

The burger establishment at the end of the block with its large glass wall and fashionable presentation is inviting, particularly given that there are few other options. The prices are commensurate with what I would pay at home for a fancy burger, and yet a great alternative to local food that I would prefer to not have to ingest too much of. The young daughter of the owner throws herself into ecstatic dancing to the danceable soul rock playing on the sound system, which reminds me momentarily of an incongruous episode working as a movie extra decades ago, in a club dance scene of a Jackie Chan movie.

I weave through the throngs of cyclists back to the hostel, finding a young Portuguese in my room and the arrival of a somewhat incongruous couple, a portly older bald Asian man with his dreadlocked Indo-American consort. He is slated to stay in our room, and judging his build, I can just imagine how loud it will get at night — never mind that he begins coughing loudly and continuously. I make my sentiments known, and when I finish writing for the evening and return to the room, he is nowhere to be seen …