

“Daxi is a magical place.”

It was not my first time hearing this. But even as someone who grew up in Daxi (大溪), I had a hard time appreciating what exactly was so magical about my hometown. That was the question on my mind when I joined a day trip to Daxi organized by my friend Alysa Chiu, who leads a small group of volunteers working on cultural revival in the Taoyuan region, just south of Taipei.

Daxi is a small town tucked away along the upper reaches of the Dahan River, at the crossroads between the plains to the west, and sharp Hsuehshan Mountains to the east. Going north down the river, you will pass Sanxia before reaching the ports of Dadaocheng and Tamsui in Taipei. Southward will take you to Longtan and Beipu, important Hakka settlements along the foothills of northwestern Taiwan. Go past the Shihmen Reservoir, and you’ll immediately be in indigenous Atayal lands.

Of course, growing up, my world was much smaller. My house was a rather typical row house in an alleyway, with not much of a view to speak of. The traditional street market was a 10 minute walk away, and my elementary school was on the other side of a pedestrian bridge. While I don’t remember frolicking in the rice fields as a kid, I do remember things like a particular eatery with very crunchy fried pork chops, going to my friend’s house after school, and watching American TV shows like MacGuyver on Saturday nights. Needless to say, my life had very little to do with the grand histories or traditions of Daxi.

Except, my father would take me to “hike” an old mountain trail near my home. Paved with stone, it was a short but steep descent down to the riverbanks. I knew the trail was old—it passes by a bunker that was used as shelter from American B-2 bombings during World War II, and also the Taoyuan Canal, a 100 year old irrigation channel that actually tunnels through the mountains. To me at the time, they were simply markers on my life, covered in moss, shaded by the overgrowth of palms and ferns.

When I was ten years old, I traded the lush hills of Daxi for the skyscrapers of New York. It was not until another ten years before I returned and started rediscovering Taiwan for myself. I continued to visit Taiwan about once a year, and stayed in Daxi at night while hanging out with my friends in Taipei during the day. After walking the streets of New York, Tokyo, London, and Taipei, Daxi was nothing but a sleepy little town—“make sure you come home by 8 o’clock, or there will be no place open for dinner.” The place with the crunchy pork chop rice had closed shop many years ago.

But something about the place still pulls at me, and Alysa and I decided to take a group of friends to Daxi for a visit. For me, it was not just to “show my friends around town.” It was an opportunity to see my own past through the eyes of others.

It was a warm, sunny day. I arrived early at the Taoyuan High Speed Rail Station. It was only my second time there; it of course did not exist when I was small. I sat in the Mos Burger shop inside the station, and my late grandfather’s favorite hymn “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” plays softly in the background. Looking outside the floor to ceiling glass window, I saw a few lonely residential high rises, and rows after rows of ads for new developments, named after cheesy Chinese puns. First impression: this was not even my own past, but it felt more like traveling somewhere new.