How the Tainan Museum of Archaeology challenged my approach to criticism

As you approach the Museum of Archaeology in Tainan Science Park, you might not notice its dark exterior of stacked bricks.  This unassumingly natural edifice almost seems to rise out of the grasses, bushes and flowers around it, as though they are part of it and it of them. Even the paved areas have different textures of stone, with the main entrance at the end of a long outdoor passage that cuts open at various intervals, as though giving you a glimpse of the world here, and here, and there.  Throughout the exterior, more modern elements in metal and glass bring the building into the future. 

The easy symbolism here is "melding the ancient and modern", but I think that's too simplistic. The dark, low stacked stone of the exterior recalls Rukai Indigenous stacked-slate housebuilding techniques. The cuts in the entrance hall remind you that we only view moments in history as a cutting-in, and must use our imaginations to fill in the details. 

Once inside, natural wood benches and a large atrium allow families to keep children occupied while someone stands in line for tickets. As you ascend the escalators, an interior side of the facade comes into view: the Rukai slate-house colors are still there, but now they're designed as geological layers, complete with replica fossils that come into view as you rise. 



The Archaeology Museum took quite awhile to build, having been first conceived when priceless finds were discovered when developing the science park, from Indigenous settlements dating back thousands of years. (There are some shards of modern pottery and even "figurines of foreigners" from the Dutch era, too). 

Tainan has built on its reputation as a historical and cultural capital with its Taiwan-focused museums: the Tainan Fine Art Museum, housed in two buildings, one vintage and one modern; the National Museum of Taiwan History which offers a bracing definition of "who is Taiwanese" alongside a building-size timeline of the country's history with (mostly replica) artifacts; and the Museum of Archaeology, understated and elegant, displaying the real deal -- including treasures like a carved deer antler knife handle, centuries-old dice, and millenia-old pottery, tools and jewelry. 

There is more to love about this museum, despite its distance from the city center -- there's probably a bus, but I recommend a car to get there. We went with a local friend. But first, I want to talk about a particular effect it had on me.



It's no secret that I'm not a big fan of the National Palace Museum. Sometimes when subjugationists sneer that if Taiwan wants to be independent so much, why doesn't it just give back all the treasures they carted over from China?

I usually retort: "Sure, you can have your junk back. Guaranteed freedom matter more."

I don't really mean this -- well, I would be in favor of sending most of it back across the strait, but I don't get a say. Regardless, that was never a serious proposition. Rather, I know perfectly well that it's not "junk". It's a museum in an ugly building full of priceless foreign artifacts, displayed in the most unengaging manner possible -- bland rooms of vases and scrolls, with very little context offered to tell you why each one matters in its own way. You are supposed to gape at it and agree that it matters, without getting a real feel for anything. (Some items, like the carved ivory or the colorful porcelains of the Empress Dowager Cixi do indeed stand out on their own). 

I tell visitors that it's worth going if you are specifically interested in Chinese history, but you won't learn much about Taiwan beyond a better understanding of all the loot the retreating ROC hauled over here. 

Otherwise, though, it's just kind of there, in its ugly building, expecting your admiration and thinking it owes you not one jot of engagement that you don't bring to the visit yourself. A shrine to a foreign country, a lost war, an enforced identity that couldn't even be enforced very well once Taiwanese people were actually given a say.

In other words, it's easy to take a big ol' dump on the National Palace Museum. Criticism is easy. "This thing sucks!" "I don't like that!" "Most. Uninsightful. Song-Ming Blue and White Porcelain Display. Ever!" I could do that all day. 

What's harder is offering a positive alternative: try this place instead. This is cool. This is a hidden gem. This truly captures a tiny piece of the soul of Taiwan. This other museum is small but really captures a poignant moment of Taiwanese history. 

The Tainan and Taipei Fine Arts Museums are just such museums. Do not miss the exhibit of vintage Taiwanese paintings from the Japanese era, including the original Dihua Street market scene by Kuo Hseuh-hu (郭雪湖), ending in two weeks. The Taipei Museum of Contemporary Art too, but recent scandals have soured me on it a tad. The Shunye Museum of Formosan Aborigines is across the street from the National Palace Museum and is a more edifying visit if you are actually interested in Taiwan. The Nylon Deng Memorial Museum deserves to be in this list, though it's difficult to access in English. The 228 Museum, the National Prehistory Museum (temporarily closed for renovation), Jingmei Human Rights Museum and Green Island's White Terror Memorial Park and so many more -- too many, in fact, to list -- not only offer deeper, more intimate and more local understandings of Taiwan. 

And that's just the short list. 

All of these museums utilize design concepts to offer engaging museums with experiences beyond we built this Chinese-lookin' cement thing and put all our stuff in it, people will come because of its obviously superior cultural refinement. Even the museums that were once prisons have options to discuss what you are seeing with a former inmate who'd been imprisoned there.

But again, it's easy to criticize that old dinosaur up in Shilin.

Instead, let the design elements of places like the Tainan Museum of Archaeology wash over you and perhaps spur you to think a little more deeply about the subtler elements. 

Coming here helped me remember: it's easy to criticize. It's easy to say the National Palace Museum pushes a (mostly fabricated) narrative of Chinese history "preserved" by "free China" in Taiwan.



It's difficult to offer a positive alternative. It's even harder to offer that alternative simply, for its own sake, without a specific agenda. Or rather, if there is an agenda, it's simply to get more people to go to museums about Taiwan when they visit Taiwan. 

There's a lot to like about the place: when you enter, one of the first things you come across is a timeline of who exactly lived in this part of Tainan when. 

Ya think the vast majority of Taiwanese history is Han? Think again, mofos:



Some objects (which may be replicas) are even presented in ways that show how archaeological digs actually look -- there's an entire glass-floored room where you can walk over what would be the roped-off grid on a dig. I have a friend who's an archaeologist and I came away with a fresh appreciation for how she could look at, say, a specific shape of stone and identify it as a tool rather than just an interesting rock. One floor has dioramas -- along with real artifacts found in places that might have hosted scenes like these -- of how the people who used these items lived. You access each floor by going down a gentle ramp, as though you're descending through layers of the earth. The floors themselves are often made of materials meant to mimic a semi-natural, semi-industrial look. It is in a science park, after all, and the metal beams holding up all that glass on the way to the top remind visitors of that.

As you do, square windows offer odd light from a bright yellow courtyard. They're all at different heights and sizes, seemingly sprinkled down the hall. The effect is once again of peeking through at different levels of visibility, the way a reconstructed pot or a carved knife-handle might allow you to have a peek through a tiny window about lives lived in the distant past. 




The courtyard itself is where all these windows converge, sunny-hued in even the cloudiest of weather. A single bench, a single beautiful tree, and several stories of viewpoints peering down at balanced but irregular intervals.

It's small and difficult to get to, but this is a museum worth visiting. This is a museum that incorporates its mission into its very structure, which attempts to reach out and engage you. This is a museum about Taiwan. 

So what did I learn? Don't dwell so much on what is wrong -- though you can, if it's merited. Spend perhaps even a little of that time talking about what is right.

Gorgeous Views (and the KMT Sucks): Our Green Island Vacation

The Three Sisters on Green Island: it was said that when inmates reached shore and saw the Three Sisters, walking under the natural stone bridge near them, that they would know where they were going: the infamous political prison. Over time, they have become something of a symbol of the need for transitional justice from the Martial Law era.

Just before the pandemic came to Taiwan for real, I was lucky enough to have taken a weeklong vacation to the East Rift Valley, Taitung City and Green Island. Because everything else is doomsday news about the escalating case numbers, I thought a peaceful retreat into one of the most beautiful parts of Ilha Formosa was in order, to calm ourselves and think of days ahead. 

I don't post about every trip in Taiwan, because I don't always have something to say (what more is there to cover from yet another weekend getaway to Tainan?). But when I do, I try to focus on a particular thing -- usually history, geography, old houses, or itineraries. 

This time, my only real focus is on just how hard the KMT sucks, because Green Island is home to their infamous White Terror-era political prison.

In a future post, I'll offer up more photos with an emphasis on food and cafe recommendations for the southern portion of the East Rift Valley -- stay tuned. 

So, please enjoy. I hope these will transport you away from your worries for a moment:

While on Green Island, we stayed at Waiting Here B&B. It's in a funky little house off the main road sandwiched between what looks to be a fancier (but not open) hotel, and a banquet-style restaurant for local tour groups. Some rooms have no windows, but they're decorated in a kitschy retro style. Ours was a "no window" room but indeed there was one window; it was high on the wall and afforded little light. However, this helps to keep the rooms cool and I didn't mind. They have a friendly dog named Shu-fen and the owners are lovely people. There are seats and a water machine with coffee, tea and candies in the common room and a refrigerator for guests' use on the 2nd floor. There's an additional, very reasonable fee for breakfast, which is always a unique combination. I liked it! 

The owners can help you rent a car if you don't want to rent scooters, and will meet you at the airport or ferry terminal where you can also pick up or drop off your vehicle. 

Though the B&B itself has no view, it's right by the sea wall. Walk up the sea wall steps. Bring your morning coffee, but do this before 8am by which time it's too hot -- and enjoy your breakfast drink of choice with a sweeping view of the Three Sisters (the cover photo for this post). 

The guesthouse with the best view is probably Green #32 Houses, but we didn't stay here, so I can't review it. It's not near town, so you'd have to drive to get just about anywhere.

For food, we recommend 只有海 Our Ocean Restaurant, which is on the scenic side of the island and serves up excellent sashimi and don (Japanese rice bowls). Make reservations several days in advance -- they're very responsive on Facebook.

We also liked maunmaun 漫漫, hidden down a path from past some construction from the main road -- it's impossible to see from the road, you'll simply have to park and walk, and the sign pointing to the correct path is easy to miss. They have great fresh fruit smoothies, creative cocktails, an artsy-youth oasis in the jungle vibe, and good food (although only the green curry was available when we went). Nearby, you can grab a snack at SeeSea Toast, which has a friendly cat and sea views on the top floor. Our preferred cafe is right next to the airport, and is connected to a hostel (you don't have to stay at the hostel to stop at the cafe). 

What else is there to do on Green Island? Mostly drive around and look at scenery. The Taiwan-facing side of the island is developed, and the open ocean side is the 'scenic' side, offering many viewpoints where you can stop and enjoy the volcanic rock formations, cliffs and vast ocean scenes. In particular, the scenery around the prison, the two pagodas at the "Little Great Wall" (emphasis on "little") are worth your time, as is the viewing platform and grassy field above Zhaori Hot Springs (closed for renovation when we visited, but friends speak well of them), Youzihu 柚子湖 and the road that leads to the Sika Deer Ecological Park. The park itself was closed when we visited, but the road affords some lovely views. The area around Dabaisha 大白沙 is also stunning. Guanyin Cave isn't much on its own, although it is a good place to stop for some shade, bathrooms and cool drinks. Butterflies and lizards abound here, and there's also a gift shop. 

In fact, there are clean public bathrooms scattered along the circular island road, so you're never too far from one. 

There is a cool story about a shipwreck on Green Island that I'd like to tell you here.

In 1937, the SS President Hoover was diverted from Hong Kong to Shanghai to evacuate US nationals living there during the Sino-Japanese war. Despite draping a massive US flag draped across the deck to identify to both sides that they were a neutral US ship (they were at war with neither side as of 1937), the ROC air force mistook them for a Japanese ship and bombed them, wounding 8 and killing 1. The ship aborted the mission and returned to San Francisco for repairs. The Americans were evacuated by other ships, as this Transatlantic Accent Guy will tell you.

Wondering who could be so stupid as to bomb the President Hoover, Chiang Kai-shek vowed to execute whomever had given the order. Apparently, this wasn't because it was a US ship so much as that it was owned by Dollar Lines, and Chiang had known Robert Dollar. This was strictly a "you hurt my dead rich friend's toy, and I am also rich!" sort of anger. 

Robert Dollar, by the way, not only seems like he looked and acted just like a robber baron, but here's a quote for you:

He travelled himself all over the Orient, seeking products to take back to the US in empty timber ships. In doing so, he made friends with all the key people in business and politics. One observer said that the ordinary people of China idolised him and that on one of his trips a three hour procession of thousands of men and women passed by his hotel to honour him! “A power in his own land, he was all but a god in the Orient”.

BARF. 

Anyway, it turned out that the person who gave the order was Claire Lee Chennault, who had been hired by Chiang's wife Soong Mei-ling just months prior. So, instead he paid him a bonus! My opinion of Soong is highly unfavorable, but instead of harping on how bad she was for Taiwan, let's take a look at how unqualified Chennault was instead:

Poor health (deafness and chronic bronchitis), disputes with superiors, and the fact that he was passed over as unqualified for promotion led Chennault to resign from the military on April 30, 1937; he separated from the service at the rank of major. As a civilian, he was recruited to go to China and join a small group of American civilians training Chinese airmen.

It seems he got a little better at his job later on, but at this point he was basically a dude who bumbled into his job and mucked it up. But "well, my wife hired you, so here's ten thousand dollars" was just how Chiang rolled. Seriously: instead of executing him, Chiang paid Chennault a $10,000 bonus. That was 10 months' worth of his regular salary!

Anyone who thinks a guy like Chiang was a brilliant military strategist against the Communists is sorely mistaken.

Anyway, the President Hoover returned to Asia and was headed to Manila for business reasons later that year. Due to the Sino-Japanese War, they avoided the Taiwan Strait and coast of China, instead sailing down the unfamiliar east coast of Taiwan.

There was a heavy mist and monsoon wind, and the Japanese had turned off the lighthouses due to the war. The Hoover struck a reef about 500 meters off Chungliao Bay (where the main town is located). Attempts to right the ship and get people to shore included offloading cargo -- but the cargo was oil, so that just covered the beaches in oil. Great thinking, Captain Yardley! 

Reports are that two lifeboats capsized more or less due to the incompetence of the crew. Nobody died, but many passengers suffered from hypothermia. 

Fortunately, the US and Japan were not at war yet, so the Japanese and local villagers assisted the evacuating Americans (a German ship was also nearby but couldn't get close enough). While this was happening, please enjoy this little tidbit from Wikipedia:

According to Time, while the passengers were being taken ashore a small number of the crewmen aboard President Hoover plundered the ship's liquor supply.

According to Dr. Claude Conrad, a missionary official of Washington, D. C.: "A majority of the ship's crew came into camp more or less incapacitated and abusive from the effects of free indulgence in the ship's liquor stores. Out of control of officers partially in the same condition, many of the crew men continued most of the night terrorizing passengers and natives." However, when the liquored seamen began hunting for women passengers sleeping in scattered houses ashore, some officers and other passengers formed a vigilante group to protect them. There was no actual molestation. There would have been no disturbance at all ashore, said some of the passengers, if the Hoover's officers had been permitted by Japanese police to land with their guns."

Other witnesses reported that some of the passengers also got drunk.

Heh. Liquored Seamen.

Anyway, the passengers were evacuated, the ship was torn up for scrap and by the time it had been fully broken down, Dollar Lines had ceased to exist. 

Other popular Green Island activities include snorkeling or diving, which you are advised to do in groups, as the waters are treacherous and the currents deadly. We didn't go on any of these excursions, as I'm used to snorkeling in calm waters in Southeast Asia on my own. The last time I tried in Taiwan, on Orchid Island, I got seasick from the choppy waves and a fellow snorkeler kept whacking me in the face with her fin, oblivious to my attempts to get her attention. I was happy to give it a miss this time. 

Overall, I prefer Orchid Island for its scenery, size and unique local culture. I haven't been in almost a decade but when I visited, there was far less tourist infrastructure than Green Island. That's probably changed, but I hope not too much (even as I admit I am just such a tourist). 

It is a shame, however, that Green Island was also once home to Indigenous people: a group of Amis, who called the island Samasana. By the time the Japanese came to Taiwan, however, reports are that the island was entirely Han. How many Amis were massacred and how many married into Han families? I have no idea. 

However, Green Island boasts one thing Orchid Island does not: no, not the political prison, though it has that too. We'll get to that in a moment. 

It offers safe places to get in the water, even if you aren't going snorkeling.

At Dabaisha, if you arrive at high tide (this can be Googled), the water just about touches the rough white sand. There are flat sandstone boulders at the surf line, as well, and you can sit on these and enjoy the ocean safely. There's also a walk out to the edge of the shallows where you can stick your feet in regardless of the tide. It washes over a little at high tide, however. In low tide, pools of clear water to one side of the walk can be snorkeled without a guide, but you'd need your own equipment (no fins necessary). I do not recommend actually attempting to swim at high tide, as the currents are worse than ever. 

You can also get in the water at Youzihu, which is down a winding road off the main circular road (there is parking, but it's quite rough). Here, a natural inlet allows ocean water to come into a shallow, rocky pool but protects you from the deadly currents. It isn't very deep, but you can feel like you've actually reached the sea.

I also hear there are shallows at the lighthouse, but we didn't make it there. 

Now, it's time to talk about the prison. 

Just north of the main town, near the Three Sisters, the prison is free to visitors and pamphlets in a number of languages are available. There's a small shop just beyond, mostly selling books. It's now a human rights memorial and pulls no punches in clarifying how horrible -- how unforgivably vicious, cruel and authoritarian -- the KMT were. 

The "Oasis Villa" and "New Life Correction Center" -- named as a form of doublespeak to make it sound like the political inmates jailed there were oh-so-benevolently cared for by the KMT dictatorship, helped to re-shape their thinking and put them on the "correct" path to a better life as a docile supplicant to their brutal regime -- are infamous in Taiwanese political history and older activist circles. 

After arriving on Green Island, prisoners were not only subject to brainwashing sessions (and surrounded with pro-ROC political slogans), but routinely tortured. Stories abound of the "Great Wall" (not the same as the "Little Great Wall" viewing platforms mentioned earlier), a series of coral-stone squats that prisoners had to build for themselves, "water cells" at the sea line where chained prisoners suffered under the sun at low tide, skin burning and cracking, and then could barely lift their heads out of the water enough to breathe at high tide. One torture, called "ants on a tree", had guards pouring sweet syrup over inmates so that ants would swarm over them. They were pushed into forced labor and "voluntarily" received tattoos of anti-communist slogans. 

Although a robust black market grew and prisoners traded everything from cigarettes to writing materials, many were not allowed to talk freely during the brief exercise time they were allotted twice a day.

Cells ranged in size -- we guessed the larger ones were likely for sharing -- and quality. The prison had many solitary confinement cells which some prisoners found themselves in for years at a time. Many of these were padded, used for prisoners that the regime felt would attempt suicide by bashing their heads against the wall. Such cells had almost no natural light.

In the fictional novel Green Island, this is the kind of cell that the protagonist's father spent ten years in. 

The prison was in operation until the end of the White Terror, and was the site where writer Bo Yang was held. The Malaysian guide I met at the Jingmei Human Rights Museum is also mentioned in the informational placards. 

It is no exaggeration to say that there was probably not a single person imprisoned here who deserved to be (not that I think anyone deserves that kind of treatment, but most were political prisoners who, in a just world, would not have been punished in any way). 





This is the kind of Chiang Kai-shek bust that can and should stay where it is: it's at the entrance to an old prison block, and serves as a historical reminder. Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall on the other hand? Time to remove his statue and re-purpose the space for something better suited to the needs of a democratic nation free of his literal reign of terror. 

Two things stay with me after visiting these sites. 

First, to anyone who makes the argument that we need to keep statues honoring Chiang Kai-shek around, or that the China-centric names of Taipei streets should remain "so we can remember history" or "to avoid erasing the past": 

Fuck you. 

No, sincerely. Fuck you. 

There are many ways to remember the past. Books are good. Preserving historical sites -- not honorary statues or hagiographic "memorial halls" -- are also a good way to accomplish this. 

Anyone who visits this prison, the Jingmei Human Rights Museum, the 228 Museum, the statue park and tomb of Chiang Kai-shek at Cihhu, the old execution ground at Machangding, or any of the other numerous sites where the horrors of Taiwan's past can be remembered, can see that you don't need a statue honoring a soulless power-hungry mass murderer that his surviving victims and their descendants have to look at on, say, their commute to work to remember the past. 

You have all of these actual historical sites for that. They are informative, they are imbued with sadness, and they ground you in the real places where these events happen. 

Not only is nobody suggesting we do away with these, the intent is to preserve them, so as not to erase history. And by doing so, we ensure that we don't need some goddamn statue of a goddamn massacre-happy maniac in the middle of goddamn Taipei to do it. 

You know this, and yet you make your disingenous bullshit arguments again and again and again and again. You keep making them as though repetition will breathe sense into them. It will not.

It's almost like you don't actually care about "not erasing history". You just want to...I dunno. Score points? Stall change? Whitewash history by twisting an argument about 'historical preservation' around to defend a statue meant to honor a butcher and destroyer of human lives? 

Your argument is bad, and you should feel bad. 

Back to the prison.





The second thing I came away with was a renewed sense of just how impossible it is to ever truly forgive the KMT for their history. 

I often hear the argument that what they did was "in the past". They're a party competing in a democratic system now, and the White Terror is over. The government apologized (which Lee Teng-hui did do, at least on behalf of the government, though I can't find evidence that he specifically apologized on behalf of the KMT as a party).  Let it go, these voices seem to say. Move on.

I'm not Taiwanese. My ancestors barely survived a genocide that the government of their homeland still refuses to recognize, however, so I understand why burying the hatchet is not so easy. I completely empathize with the victims and their descendants refusing to bow down to those who want them to forget their history because it is inconvenient to some. 

But the KMT remains corrupt. They continue to attempt to undermine the core Taiwanese belief that Taiwanese identity, history and heritage are very real and quite distinct from China. They fight transitional justice at every turn despite insisting they will confront history "honestly". They're slow to open records. They try to keep money they stole generations ago by plundering Taiwan's resources and diverting it all to their pockets or patronage networks.

And they still let their members get away with saying White Terror-reminiscent crap like allowing one of their city councilors to call for Health Minister Chen Shih-chung to be executed. 

I see no reason at all to forgive them. I won't, and if I had family affected by their actions, I certainly wouldn't. As far as I'm concerned, the only just path forward is for them to become so unpopular as to be rendered irrelevant in Taiwanese politics, and for new, better opposition to the DPP to take their place, preferably in a more multi-party environment.

In other words, their history is so brutally unforgivable that I think it would be better if the KMT simply ceased to exist as a political entity. There is nothing they could possibly do to come back from their past. They committed these atrocities, and they knew what they were doing. 

I don't mean ban them. I mean abandon them. That is what they deserve. Not the execution block -- the trash bin.

There is more to say about the prison itself: the "defeat the communists, reclaim the mainland" graffiti, the murals, the Bagua Building, the art installations that evoke memory through creative expression. The many placards (all in English) about the history and inmates there. 

You also get a sense of why the prison was on Green Island at all. Think about the choppy boat ride most people take to get there from the Taiwan mainland. Could you imagine trying to swim that and surviving?

However, I recommend that you go see it for yourself. 

One of the strangest things about Green Island, however, is the number of prison-themed entertainment venues. In the main town of Chungliao, I counted at least for establishments -- some bars, at least one a shaved ice shop -- with this theme. At least the shaved ice shop offered something of a pun (冰, or ice, sounds like 兵, or soldier), and had some localized flair -- those cartoon guards have KMT sun symbols on their helmets.

People and cultures process trauma in different ways, including using humor, so I'm not going to pass judgment on this. But I skipped these establishments. 

I don't want to end this post on a sad note, as it's been a week of bad news. So I'll end with this: 

One might land on Green Island and immediately turn their nose up at how touristy it is. And it is! Almost all of the businesses on the island are geared towards tourism. Every third storefront is a dive shop or restaurant for tour groups. 

But here's the thing: this isn't for foreign backpacker crowds, though some foreigners do come. Taiwanese built this tourism infrastructure for themselves. Most of the tourists there are local, not foreign. This isn't like a Thai island. This isn't Palau (though I've heard it jokingly referred to as "Budget Palau"). It doesn't seem to have the same foreigner contingent as Kenting.

This is a beautiful part of Taiwan, developed so Taiwanese could enjoy their own country. Foreigners are welcome as well, but it's not for them.

I like that.

Now, some information.

I strongly recommend you visit Green Island in the shoulder season -- just before or just after summer vacation, when it gets packed. Don't go on a weekend, plan a weekday trip instead. It won't be hard to get accommodation or avoid tourist crowds on, say, a Wednesday in April, May or September. Even though we did just that, however, there were still several tours and diving groups about. 

This not only gives you a more chilled-out vacation with less traffic and fewer crowds, but enables business owners on the island to earn more money outside peak season. However, I'd advise aiming for spring rather than fall, as September is still typhoon season and many travelers' Green Island trips have been cancelled for just that reason. 

There are two ways to get there: plane and boat. The plane takes about ten minutes, and can be booked in advance through Daily Air. It's a ten-minute flight on a positively tiny craft. It's also prone to cancellation -- our flight was cancelled due to a rainstorm, and we had to take the boat the next day (fortunately it is fairly easy to refund half of a round-trip ticket). 

The boat can also be reserved in advance, and most accommodation on Green Island will help you do so. It takes about 50 minutes, and leaves throughout the day. These also get cancelled in rough seas sometimes. 

I recommend you hit up a local pharmacy in Taitung and tell them you plan to take the boat to Green Island. They'll give you the strongest anti-seasick pills you've ever had. Mine knocked me right out and I slept through the trip. Although we sailed on fairly smooth waters and it didn't seem as though many people puked, they provide generous barf bags and expats have dubbed it the Green Island Vomit Comet for a reason.

How long you should to spend there depends on what you want to do. If you like just chilling out around great scenery, you could spend days here. If you want to check out the main sights and maybe go diving, one full day or two days will be sufficient. 

Either way, I do recommend you go. Just not at peak season.

Temples, Rebuilt and Abandoned: A Luermen (鹿耳門) Day Trip

When I was young, my parents would take long Sunday drives, often stopping off at areas of historical significance. Dad was interested in wars and their associated geography; Mom, old houses and mansions. I was bored witless. I had no appreciation for that kind of history in my youth, and while the old houses could sometimes be intriguing — I’ve always been into cool structures and antique objects — the geographical locations themselves were generally quite bland. It honestly did not matter to me that “George Washington had a meeting here”. 

Taiwan, however, has kindled some interest in historical locations for their own sake. 

Enter Luermen (鹿耳門), where Cheng Cheng-kung/Koxinga (鄭成功/國姓爺) first landed in Taiwan. I’d been interested in the area since reading Tonio Andrade’s Lost Colony despite knowing that there was no longer a “landing site” per se, as the entire area had silted in through the intervening three centuries. 

I hadn’t prioritized a trip to the area in part because bus service is spotty: you can take a bus out to the park at the Koxinga landing site from Tainan City, but there isn’t much there other than a decrepit park, and the trip will take you between 1.5-3.5 hours despite it being just 15 kilometers northwest of central Tainan — about a half-hour drive. There are other things to see but they either require walking, or are simply too far away. I’d also heard that there just wasn’t a lot going on there, hardly worth organizing an excursion. 

We went with a local friend from Tainan, whose ancestors came to China with Cheng Cheng-kung and, having recently moved back to Tainan, was interested in finding the spot for her own heritage-related reasons. It certainly helped that she speaks fluent Taiwanese as you won’t find many people who prefer Mandarin in these parts. 

While it’s true that there’s “not a lot going on” in this corner of Tainan, if you have access to a car and some free time, I actually recommend taking a trip out that way. From temples of historical significance to a truly isolated beach and some cool old houses within driving distance, you can easily fill up a day out here. 

Oh yes, and you can visit what I believe to be Taiwan’s most scenic bathroom.

We began our journey at La Belle Maison in the back lanes of Anping, in a building that I’d rather confidently place as Art Deco/Streamline, though I didn’t ask. La Belle Maison is run by a friendly Frenchman and has excellent meals and coffee, luscious desserts (the tiramisu is the size of a baby’s head!) and is decorated in a sort of botanical-vintage style. See if you can find the partially-hidden Chiang Kai-shek bust. Then it was time to hit the road. 

Beishanwei Matsu Temple / Luermen Tianhou Palace (北汕尾媽祖宮/鹿耳門天后宮)

This temple was our first stop. At first I was impressed by the size of the place, but aesthetically it isn’t particularly unique: it has that late-70s red granite and orange roof look common to many temples across Taiwan. This rather boring facade hides a fair amount of history, however. 

Although it’s impossible to tell from the current structure, Beishanwei Matsu Temple was founded in 1661; the temple’s website states that this was done by Koxinga himself, as he had prayed to Matsu at that spot for a successful siege against the Dutch at his first arrival. Over time, the temple expanded with added gates and banyan trees, and in 1719, funds were donated to turn it into “Tianhou Palace” (天后宮). A flash flood in 1871 destroyed the temple, although the Matsu idol was saved. The idol itself is still ensconced in this temple and according to the website, is in fact the original, made of fine wood with emeralds set in her robe — not that one can get close enough to admire all this. 

The temple was rebuilt in 1977, which is why it looks as it does now. Nearby, attractive Luermen Mansion (鹿耳門公館) is a restored heritage building, though it appeared closed when we popped by. 

At the time Beishanwei Temple was located at the south end of Luermen Harbor, on a bit of land that sure does look like it was once a tail (尾) stretching into the water. I'm not sure of the reason for using "shan" (汕) in the place name, but this post names the area Bexianwei 北線尾 or "north thread tail", which makes sense if you look at the included map. Don't quote me on any etymology, though. I also think this is the island Andrade calls "Baxemboy", as that sounds like it would be about right in Minnanyu -- but don't quote me on that either. 

There had been a small Dutch fort on Beishanwei guarding Luermen (鹿耳門 the Deers' Ear Gap), but it had been destroyed in a massive 1656 typhoon. I don't know exactly where it was, but it couldn't have been far from where the Matsu temple now stands. The destruction of that fort is one reason Koxinga was able to sail through.

In addition to slow sedimentation in the years after Koxinga drove out the Dutch, a flash flood caused by a typhoon in 1823 silted in much of the Taijiang “Inner Sea” (台江內海). This was the wide, shallow body of water separated from the Taiwan Strait by a series of sandbars, called the seven "kunshen" (鯤鯓) which now form several place names along the coast. That sea once stretched from the front of Chikan Tower in central Tainan to Xigang 西港 in the north, down to the northern edge of Kaohsiung County. Roughly, anyway: the sandbars and edges of the inland bay shifted frequently due to storms, floods and sedimentation.

I haven't seen a place name like this before and thought it might perhaps be derived from an Indigenous language, as with Chikan Tower (赤崁樓), named after the Siraya village of Saccam that once existed in the area, and some people are quite upset by the characters chosen to depict it. It's not, however: a kun 鯤 is a mythical sea monster or massive fish, like a whale, and a shen 鯓 is its back rising out of the sea.

Due to these geographical changes, the Taijiang area went from being navigable -- albeit dangerous -- by sea to being slowly silted up, with the old "sea monster's back" forming the coast. Now Beishanwei Matsu Temple is surrounded by dry land, shallow waterways and fish farms. 

There is another reason to stop at Beishanwei Matsu Temple: if you want to make a wish on a wooden plaque as close as possible to an area of great historical significance, this is the closest you’re going to get as the other nearby Matsu temple doesn’t have wishing plaques. I always wish for Taiwan independence (台灣獨立) and although I’m an atheist, it felt significant to make that particular wish at a temple founded by a man who was not the “hero” the ROC wants to portray him as, but still historically important to Taiwan. 

Luermen Matsu Temple （正統鹿耳門聖母廟)

This “orthodox” (正統) Matsu temple a few kilometers north of the Beishanwei Matsu Temple has a confusingly similar name, but the Chinese names help differentiate them. This is the closest temple to the actual Koxinga landing site.

People working/hanging out there (it’s hard to tell with temples sometimes) told us that Koxinga had passed by this spot on the way to the site of his first proper ‘landing’ and again prayed to Matsu. A related website also states that in 1661, Koxinga funded the reconstruction of the temple that once stood here as he prayed in this spot as well.

Temple rivalries are fairly common, so it could be that these temples disagree on which one the story relates to. However, it’s not inconceivable that he prayed at both places and ordered the founding of two Matsu temples in the same year to thank the sea goddess for her help in his victory over the Dutch. 

This temple was destroyed in 1831 by yet another Zengwen River flood, and its Matsu idols relocated to the Sanjiao Hai’an Temple (三郊海安宮) and Water Fairy Temple (水仙宮), both still in existence (the former seems to have undergone its own 20th century renovation, the latter still boasts an older structure, in the middle of a bustling market). It’s not clear if the idols are still in those temples or have been re-ensconced in the rebuilt Luermen Matsu Temple.

The site lay dormant until 1913, when a King Boat from Quanzhou’s Fumei Temple — the same type as the one they burn to Wang Ye in Donggang every three years — was found drifting near the site. Apparently, was pushed out to sea several times and floated back each time. People felt this was a good reason to rebuild the temple, although that structure doesn't seem to exist anymore, either. The current structure dates from 1981. 

According to this blog, that same boat can be found on display at the temple, but we didn't see it (that place is huge and we didn't know it was there).

So why visit? In addition to having reported historical ties to Koxinga, this temple boasts of being the “largest Matsu temple in the world”, though other sources merely state it's the largest in Taiwan. It is indeed massive, dwarfing the Beishanwei Matsu Temple, which is itself quite large. There’s also a bustling night market that sets up here, and two massive statues of Matsu’s guardians, Thousand Mile Eyes (千里眼) and Ears Hearing on the Wind (順風耳), which are apparently the largest statues of their type in the world.

Cheng Cheng-kung Memorial Park (鄭成功紀念公園)

A short drive from the Luermen Matsu Temple, you’ll come to what might well be the most underwhelming part of a day driving around the area: the actual landing site of Cheng Chenggong. There is a park here, with a cute vintage-y arch and a stone monolith. It’s poorly-maintained and usually empty; the only people you’re likely to encounter in the park itself are the folks watering the plants. There is a restroom here, but no promises on how well it actually works. 

It's worth revisiting the story of Koxinga's landing, as most summaries don't do it justice. To face the Dutch, Koxinga needed to get into Taijiang. But with Fort Zeelandia guarding the deeper channel into the Taijiang Inner Sea, Luermen was the only suitable alternative. The channel was far more shallow and full of shifting sandbars. Andrade notes that maps differed quite a bit, in part because the geography kept changing, but some clearly show a set of islands in this area that do indeed look like two deers' ears. 

Koxinga did not just successfully navigate this treacherous channel, he used strategy to do it. He braved foggy rain on the way from Penghu in order to reach the area by the new moon, when tides would be high. That higher tide allowed his deep-cutting ships to pass through an area that would have otherwise destroyed his fleet.

Anyway, back to the park.

Enjoy the middle-of-nowhere decrepitude for awhile, and meditate on how this spot used to be on the water — now completely silted in and well inland. Then, poke around behind the park, where a small road (which turns off just before you reach the park and runs behind it as a country lane) reveals a few rundown houses on the edge of yet another milkfish farm. A friendly guy who once trained in Hawai’i as an athlete for Taiwan — I think he said he’d played rugby — owns the small house back here, inherited from his parents. He doesn’t live there full time (honestly nobody would want to), but he sometimes pops around on the weekends to hang out and tend to his garden. He told us he always enjoys making new friends, and gave us some passionfruit from his garden. 

He also let us know about Luermen’s best-kept secret, a wide, clean beach at the end of a mangrove estuary, which you’ll probably have all to yourself. While you can take a bus out to the temples and park above, at this point driving is necessary.

The quiet beach

Here’s how to get there: drive towards the coast on the main road (Chengxi Street 城西街) that passes by the Memorial Park, to the very end. When you hit the T-junction, turn left. Keep going along the Zengwen River, do not turn back inland. Stop and walk up the concrete embankment to get a view of the river if you feel like it, though we didn’t. Take this embankment road all the way to the end, where there’s a small parking lot. In fact, it is possible to continue driving as the road you’ll be walking to the very end is passable by car and scooter, but it’s a pleasant walk through woods and mangroves. 

It’s perhaps another ten-minute walk to the beach; you’ll know it when you see it. You can continue along the path away from the beach, but we didn’t. 

When we went, the area was completely deserted and peaceful. We weren’t dressed for swimming or even going barefoot — I had socks and sneakers on — so we didn’t go in the water, but you absolutely could. Just be careful as there is literally no one around to save you if you get into trouble. It’s just you, the sand, the sun, the sea and lots of oyster shells. Perhaps a fisherman, but likely not even that. 

Nanching/Lady Tsai Temple (南清宮/蔡姑娘廟) and Taiwan’s most scenic bathroom

After the beach, it was time to take a pit stop. I have no idea how our friend found this small temple in the middle of miles of fish farms, but she did. We pulled up, asked about a bathroom — most temples have them — and were directed out back. 

I wish I’d stopped to ask the locals hanging out what the history of this temple was, but we were so focused on a bathroom that it slipped our minds. This website says that Lady Tsai would sail between Taiwan and Fujian in the jewelry business, and seeing all the corpses from shipwrecks in this area — remember, it was once a shallow harbor full of deadly sandbars — had a temple founded there, though it’s obviously been rebuilt many times since, and the current structure has a 1980s look to it. 

Anyway, I didn’t get a picture, but climb the stairs from the big metal structure in front of the temple to the raised dirt path out back, and enjoy the view across the fish farms! There’s even a picturesque palm tree swaying in the wind coming off the flat land transformed into a series of ponds and farms. The actual toilet is in a building with no view, but if you have the right parts, the open-air urinal will allow you to feel the country breeze on your cheeks (your other cheeks) as you relieve yourself. 

You're welcome! 

Abandoned Ji Gong Temple (Wansheng Temple) (萬聖宮/濟公廟)

On the road to the deserted beach, you’ll pass by an oddly-shaped temple structure topped with a huge Ji Gong statue. Ji Gong was a 12th century monk known for his tattered robes and proclivity for meat and wine, which got him kicked out of the monastery. He is commonly said to appear to spirit mediums, and has a strong presence in Yi Guan Dao (一貫道), a modern religious group with some fairly conservative strictures on practice. 

Curious, we pulled in just to see what the place was like. Though it’s not obvious from the road, it is indeed abandoned and locked tight, although one of the automatic lights at the entrance blinked on while we were there. I don’t know why this temple was abandoned, nor anything about it, but whatever happened, it occurred sometime after 2013, when a blogger was able to go inside and the temple still seemed to be active. 

The spot is quiet and slightly creepy, as the building itself appears to be in good condition but there’s nobody around. 

Heritage Houses (古厝)

From here, we looked into stopping at the black-faced spoonbill sanctuary, but the viewing platform closes in the late afternoon, and we wouldn’t have made it.

Instead, I keyed  “heritage homes” (古厝) into Google Maps and found a few that, while not in Luermen exactly, were within driving distance. My best guess for why Luermen lacks historic buildings? For the same reason the temples keep getting rebuilt: the area had once been a bay and was prone to rapid geographical change, flash flood, and sedimentation. I wouldn't have built a house there, either. 

I’ve gone "old house hunting" before; this is how I found the Liu Family House in Liucuo (the town’s name is literally Liu House, so it’s kind of a big deal), itself not far from Luermen. 

However, unlike the Liu Family House, which isn’t inhabited full-time, some of these other houses are, or at least the owners tend to be home on the weekend. The Liu house can be viewed from the road, so it’s worth stopping even if you can’t enter, whereas the houses we visited are set back from the road; to see them, you have to trespass on private property. 

The good news is that the owners of both houses we visited are friendly people all too willing to let some random historic house enthusiasts take a look at their courtyard (one even invited us into the family shrine). One family included a centenarian grandmother who was married in that same house at age 18 and her son — himself grandfather-age — watering the beautiful garden, and told us the inscription on the entranceway referenced the family’s original hometown in China some centuries ago. The other boasted gorgeous original paintings on wood; the ones on the outer doors are in dire need of restoration but it’s an expensive proposition. The painted panels in the family shrine are in far better condition, and the shrine itself boasts pristine original Majolica tiles. 

But, because people actually live in these residences, I don’t feel comfortable sharing exactly which ones I visited. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for a trickle of visitors to people who will be hospitable if you drop by, but probably don’t want their lives interrupted that much. In any case, there are lots of options in the area: just find some near your chosen day trip route and go hunting. You don’t need me. 

I will, however, offer some photos: 

There is a lot we didn’t see on this trip. Historic houses and nature sanctuaries we didn’t get to and at least one seafood restaurant that looks excellent. There’s plenty to do in the area if you’re willing to go hunting. 

Because night fell while visiting the second historic house, we decided it was time to head back to Tainan. Our friend knew a good place in the East District near National Cheng-kung University called 鯤島xSoshow.

There's that sea monster 鯤 again: this should be a clue that KundaoxSoshow takes an interest in Taiwanese history, geography and agricultural products.

This restaurant specializes in traditional Taiwanese ingredients are used to make entirely new fusion-style dishes and boasts an excellent cocktail bar. I had a drink made with pomelo, tea, flower petals and gin, and another topped with egg white and served in a traditional steamed rice cake (碗粿) bowl — white with a cerulean rim, which could have passed for a steamed rice cake itself. It was delicious!