Having spent centuries shrouded in mystery, Taipei has emerged as a global incubator for technology, design and cuisine. Even so, the Taiwanese capital still has plenty of surprises for those willing to explore.
Author Orion Ray-Jones Photography Shane McCauley
DAY THREE | Though it is an island unto itself, Taiwan takes pride in its dual Chinese and Japanese heritages. You can see this demonstrated in the sleek, understated design of the Shangri-La Far Eastern Plaza, which employs elements of both cultures—a red lantern here, a delicate screen there—and in its renowned Chinese and Japanese restaurants.
After watching the sunrise from the rooftop hot tub, you head up to the ShilinDistrict in Taipei’s northern quarter to explore one of the world’s great collections of Chinese arts and crafts. With nearly 700,000 pieces spanning 8,000 years, it’s tough to do the National Palace Museum in one visit—you could spend a week in the main hall alone. Along with the Neolithic ceramics, jade sculptures and traditional calligraphy, there’s an area devoted to new media, which includes a huge “animated painting”—a screen that brings a classical landscape to life via the magic of digital technology.
Fifty years of Japanese rule left Taiwan with a taste for raw seafood, so for lunch, you go for sushi at Addiction Aquatic Development. At the entrance of this popular eatery is a fish market with a score of large, open-top aquariums full of the creatures about to be served in the complex’s five eating areas. You grab a seat on the third floor, then start grinding your own wasabi from a large root, which gives a kick to the beautifully fresh sashimi, raw oysters and nigiri piled before you. The restaurant boasts an enviable collection of French wines and sakes, but you opt for a ginseng–goji berry tea, which your waiter suggests for its healing powers.
A short subway ride takes you to the Beitou District, a resort area notable for the kinds of bathhouses favored by the Japanese. You stop at Villa 32, known for having some of the swankiest hot springs in town, and complete a circuit of the eight indoor and outdoor baths, each a different temperature. On the way out, you pause to lay hands on a chunk of hokutolite, a white radioactive rock that an employee says is the world’s second largest and can heal any number of ailments. When he produces a Geiger counter to demonstrate the rock’s potency, it’s time to leave.
Aglow (as it were), you head higher up Beitou’s mountains to the Grand View Resort, a brand new five-star hotel designed by Taipei 101 architect C.Y. Lee. The angular property takes inspiration from the surrounding greenery, its walls and floors a mixture of cedar, bamboo and pine, along with earthy marble and Guanyin rock. After a meditative moment on your private balcony, you head down for an oolong tea on the deck, which seemingly hovers above Danfeng Mountain and the buildings in the valley below.
Time is getting on, so you take the subway a few stops to Shilin Night Market and your final gastronomic adventure. The market’s many forking alleys are chock-a-block with carnival games and clothing shops blasting K-pop, but that’s not what people come for. Taipei’s night markets are where most of the city’s big culinary trends start, and Shilin is the biggest and trendiest of the lot.
Everywhere you look, exotic foods are being fried, barbecued, skewered or scooped into plastic bags. Many stalls sell potato snacks—roasted spuds, fried spirals covered in curry, wedges boiled in syrup. You get spicy sweet-potato balls, followed by a platter of the notorious stinky tofu. By the time the fermented cubes of soybean paste are deep-fried, smeared in hot sauce, soy sauce and scallions and topped with pickled cabbage, only a hint of stink remains, and you happily gobble the street treat. Courage stoked, you head to a stand selling “frog eggs” and are quietly relieved to discover the lime drink you’re given is filled with gooey rice tapioca rather than actual spawn.
On the way back to the Grand View, you resist the temptation to hit the noisy, neon-lit bars, heading instead to your rooftop deck, where a spring-fed hot tub awaits. You lean back with a glass of warm plum wine and gaze up at the sparkling sky, the mountain air swirling around you, the rustling leaves combining with the hum of distant traffic. If you crane your neck, you can see down to the flickering lights of Taipei—a once-hidden city that, happily, seems to have found itself.
Orion Ray-Jones is a writer who lives in hotels around the globe. He took a hiatus from his vegetarian diet to report this story, and has since decided that geese are a vegetable.