November 3, 2025

I slept relatively well, the apartment quite peaceful, and despite the lingering smell of cigarette smoke, am grateful for the amount of space available in the place. Outside, the day looks very drab and uninviting, but I can hardly complain – it is the late Fall, after all.

Onto the street, the weather dreary and overcast on this late morning, but at least the main roads busy with traffic and pedestrians. I am on the lookout for an eating establishment that could provide a satisfactory breakfast-style meal at not too high a price, although I have little idea what kind of food I can expect to find here. Across the street from the hotel I spot a bakery making American-style German bread, not quite what I had in mind, but definitely not what I would have expected, and probably indicative of a far wider choice of food that the area may have to offer. Regarding a suitable place to eat breakfast, the employees points me down a narrow hutong radiating from the other side of the street and shows me a picture of the front of the establishment on her phone.

Sure enough, half a block into the hutong, the glass-fronted contemporary diner serves every permutation of classic American breakfast fare with many optional side dishes. And for NT$130 for a full breakfast, I can hardly complain, although the wait is a bit lengthy and the food a bit bland, probably because it isn’t permeated with bacon and sausage grease. Even better, a small, trendy cafe awaits across the alley with excellent espresso, the place also offering something like ten different pour over coffees. This is definitely a great introduction into a far more interesting gastronomic landscape than I had expected — or certainly envisioned in this neighborhood.

But what lies further afield? On the map, I see that there are numerous small parks, and to the east, a river — but what does the rest of the Sanchong neighborhood really look like? The narrow arcaded passages along the main road are lined with motor scooters, a popular form of transport, and certainly a lot more viable for navigating the tiny hutongs that radiate from the principal roads. The slender trees whose trunks are barren other than their wide, fluted canopies provide a visual respite from the urban grime and ubiquitous concrete. The hutongs are somewhat unruly, but only somewhat, the retail, commercial and residential storefronts with universally slender footprints, the cladding on the housefronts a mix of rudimentary materials and with varying states of repair.

Motor scooters, cars, and other possessions are parked along the sides of the alleys, leaving a narrow roadbed for vehicles to pass through, although it would only take one poorly positioned motorcycle to block traffic. What isn’t clear to me is whether these alleys are single directional — I can’t imagine how cars could pass through if they weren’t! Despite the confined space, the hutongs sprout all manner of plants, shrubs and small trees, some intentional, some not!

Amidst the drab backdrop are occasional trendy coffee shops and eateries outfitted according to some theme, often a busy melange of different sensibilities, creating a unique look and feel that is familiar to me from the trendier urban areas in Malaysia. Stately banyans line the pavement on broader avenues, their contorted trunks enveloped by aerial roots, lending an unequivocally tropical feel to the urban environment and a counterpoint to the dense concrete labyrinth. The parks are a surprise, places of calm repose, landscaped with large deciduous and palm trees, artfully-arranged flagstone walkways lined with benches, the occasional elderly local immersed in some newspaper. In the alleys, small Buddhist shrines are packed with the requisite iconographic detailing and colour.

Airplanes fly quite low overhead, and from what I can see, not particularly large jets. They must be traveling to and from Songshan airport, immediately to the east of the Sanchong district. I walk along the bulwark supporting highway #1 running overhead, the narrow footpath on ground level lined with shrubs, some of the walls of the modest apartment buildings adorned with shoddy but colourful murals, regularly-spaced small trees covered in pink plastic flowers offering respite from the relentless concrete. Back on the main road, a spacious liquor store selling exclusive Bordeaux and Burgundy wines as well as rare boutique Scotches seems wildly out of place in the neighborhood.

There are many foreign tourists at the Lungshan temple in the Wanhua neighborhood, which is a surprise, and will certainly turn out to be rarity, considering how few foreigners I will see elsewhere in the country. The temple presents an onslaught of colourful detail, making it difficult for the eye to discern specifics of any particular portion of a building, certainly in the low light of the day. But the endless flow of tourists makes the experience for the large number of worshippers fairly regrettable, and my attempts to take unobstructed photos of the architecture leave me equally frustrated. There is nothing like tourists for spending excessive amounts of time blocking an important sightline.

The gate is an introduction to the lavish embellishment of typical Taiwanese Buddhist temples, from the seething, intertwined carved dragons that line the lintel to the brilliantly-coloured mythical world adorning the swallowtail roof ridge, crested with more colourful dragons. On the inside, the intricate spiderweb of the caisson roof, a densely intertwined octagonal structure that rises, canopy-style, and below, supplicants kneeling on the benches facing the adjacent altar lined with offerings and vases of brilliant purple orchids, throwing crescent-shaped jiaobei moon blocks onto the ground in their quest for divination.

Beyond the altar, a covered shining brass vessel used to hold burning incense joss sticks, followed by the principal shrine, relatively compact but the amount of detailing can’t be overemphasized, from the elaborate dragon pillars to the carved and painted assembly of rafters and struts supporting the double-eaved roof. The swallowtail ends to roof ridges culminate in ornately carved dragons, while intricately painted lanterns suspended from the rafters running along the side and back of the shrine sway in the breeze.

At the front of the temple lot, a pool with a rock fountain, water gushing from the mouth of a contorted gold dragon wrapped around the raw black stone; on the other side of the lot, waterfalls cascade along the walls of the compound. A brilliantly-lit seated gilt Buddha is the centrepiece of the shrine, flanked by gilt, elaborately carved columns, seated inside a set of concentric square frames, also dripping in gold and sculptural detail. The rear wall of the temple features a set of alcoves with altars containing sacred figures and devotional objects, including the tall, circular Guangming Deng blessing light towers.

From Wikipedia: “There is a specific order for devotees to follow, beginning at the front hall, where a prayer to three Buddhist bodhisattavas (Avalokiteshvara, Manjushri, and Samantabhadra) in the main hall can be made and offerings placed. Next is the main hall, where a prayer is made first to the central Guanyin statue, following which supplicants turn around to face the front hall and pray to the Jade Emperor in the sky. Upon finishing with the main hall area, one can visit the rear hall and pray to a deity of choice, each ‘specialised’ in their specific fields, including Yue Lao, known for granting wishes related to romantic life and matchmaking. There are five main structures dedicated to specific Chinese deities, including the Hall of Hua Tuo (deity of medicine and physicians), Temple of Emperor Wenchang (deity of literature and taking exams), Temple of Tianshang Shengmu, and the Hall of Yue Lao.”

Along the dreary roads running to the north of the Lungshan temple, the mood of the late afternoon is far from welcoming, darkness rapidly approaching with the uninterrupted heavy cloud cover and cool drizzle. The streets are largely deserted, other than a trickle of locals and tourists; shops are mostly shuttered, the few open establishments selling devotional objects to the faithful and interested tourists. The area otherwise isn’t particularly interesting, although the experience could be significantly different if it was earlier and the weather more compelling.

The Bangka Qingshan temple is another sacred space in the Wanhua district that should command the attention of visitors — well, for the faithful, it would probably be better that the tourists stay elsewhere — but this place is virtually abandoned, with only a few locals in attendance in addition to some men who may be employed by the temple. As 5 pm approaches , I wonder whether the Buddhist temples in Taiwan shutter at a certain time, as they did in the tourist areas of Japan.

The facade of the Bangka Qingshan temple is quite narrow, but the complex has some depth and spans several stories. The swallowtail ridges on the double-eaved roof culminate in carved dragons, the span of the roof ridge cluttered with elaborately carved dragons and mythical figures. Life-size fierce-looking figures flank the inner sanctum, clad in extravagant costumes and ornate, bejeweled headdresses. A small rectangular pool holds a set of koi, guarded by a wooden crane about to take flight, and to the rear of the main floor, vitrines contain seated figures, perhaps bodhisattvas. Flanking the main altar are figures sacred to the temple, clad in embroidered golden finery and circular Guangming Deng blessing light cylinders, the altar itself consumed by intricate carved detail.

“Taipei’s Bangka Qingshan Temple is one of several Qingshan temples built in honor of Zhang Gun, the Three Kingdoms general serving the Duke Sun Quan. Due to his capable administration of Hui’an in Quanzhou, Fujian, Zhang was deified as ‘Qingshan Wang’ or ‘Ling’an Zunwang’. Since that time, Qingshan Wang has been worshipped as a god with the power to dispel disease and a divine authority of justice, rewarding virtue and punishing evil. He is revered along with the Eight Justice deities, including General Jia and General Suo.” (from www.travel.taipei/en/attraction/details/493)

The last temple that was on my itinerary in the Wanhua area was the Bangka Qingshan, although it is already nighttime, it is rainy and triste, and my compulsion to see temples has dissipated for the day. I would happily just eat something, then return back to my hotel, in and of itself another challenge. Conveniently, I pass a stall on whose side is pasted a set of Michelin stickers, each bearing a bygone year. I observe the lengthy line of locals and foreigners who looked like they don’t know the least about Chinese gastronomy and roll my eyes, but join in the line — this is probably the most convenient and immediate option, although the wait is considerable, thanks to whatever indecision or other challenges some of the Caucasians face.

When my turn comes, I order the most expensive item on the menu, which amounts to some stewed pork ribs on rice with boiled vegetables. While the meal is relatively filling and doesn’t represent much risk of making me sick, it would be hard to think of what I am eating beyond an unsuccessful home cooking experiment, but even that would be generous —essentially a slightly spicy, cinnamon-tinged slop that eludes comprehension — why would anyone prepare these ingredients in this manner? Never mind how it could be possible that Michelin could award such food any kind of consideration. I suspect that it may be stellar for Taiwanese street food, which may in and of itself be substantially worse than anything I could have imagined.

Observing the Taiwanese on the metro, it seems that they are not quite as formally dressed as the Japanese, and certainly a lot less so than the Koreans, who tend to adhere to strict dress codes. That said, it would be hard to make an objective observation of the Japanese in the big cities since so many people in the public environment are visitors rather than locals.

An elderly woman in a long trench coat is slumped in the seat across from me, with two wheeled carts stacked with bags of what are presumably her personal possessions, one of the bags full of empty bottles. Her presentation is very clean and neat, but when she looks up enough for her face to be visible from underneath the brim of her floppy hat, her black eye is clearly visible, the bruise spreading across a wide portion of her face. I try to imagine momentarily how she could have gotten the injury by falling, but there are no scrapes that you would expect with the severity of her injury. This is not the kind of thing you ever see in the societies in Northeast Asia, at least not publicly, and it must be horrifying for her in terms of the physical experience and equally, if not worse, the shame. A group of young women tentatively sit down on the bench next to her, but upon seeing her face are mortified, and when seats further away become free, they are gone.

Walking through the Sanchong area from the metro station, many of the storefronts are still open, small, modest eateries, shops, formal restaurants, stores selling various types of goods, the physical spaces consistent in size, the food far from alluring, but the effort to prepare the dishes resonating with the passers-by …

It feels good to be back in my room, alone for its size and comfort. I am not sure any of the supposed ‘ozonation’ I had been told about was performed, but the smell of cigarette smoke is not as intense now as it was yesterday evening. But later in the evening, cigarette smoke again pours through the ventilation system. Great, just what I wanted! I suspect it must be coming from the neighboring room …