Hualien: the seaand delicious everyday life

About two hours east of Taipei Station by express train, I arrived in Hualien, a town hemmed in by mountains and the sea. Beyond the shop signs along the street rise mountain ridges wrapped in cloud. Here, majestic mountain scenery is simply part of daily life.

Hualien is also famous as a destination for magnificent nature. Pomelos, durians and longans were piled in front of a fruit shop, and on a rain-washed street a scooter sped past a mural. In the shade of a great tree, a stall had laid out vegetables and jars. It is a lovely city with a calm, rustic atmosphere.

My home this time was a two-story house covered in vines. From here, I set out to taste everyday life in Hualien.

Breakfast began in the kitchen of my lodging. First, I put a knife into a dragon fruit. The star of the morning was zi nuo yumi, purple waxy corn, rarely seen in Japan, with purple and white kernels mixed on the cob. I steamed it, set it on a plate with a Taiwanese sweet potato, and made oolong tea.

One bite, and the texture was astonishingly chewy, nothing like the corn I know from Japan. Only mildly sweet, and I loved it. The Taiwanese sweet potato had a simple sweetness that is easy to get hooked on. It is wonderful, too, that fresh tropical fruit is so easy to come by.

On the window, a red paper charm for 2023 with the character 旺 (prosperity). In the lane behind the house, a tabby cat in the yard was watching me. A cheerful morning in Taiwan.

Out in town, a long line had formed at a stall built around a yellow light truck, and it caught my eye. In a wide pan of oil, the dough puffed up almost at once. Apparently it is a fried scallion pancake with an egg inside.

Fresh from the oil, it was brushed with sauce and wrapped in paper. The crisp, chewy dough gave way to a soft, runny egg, and the garlicky sweet-and-spicy sauce suited it perfectly. Irresistible.

Above the stall, a sign reading 炸彈蔥油餅 (bomb scallion pancake) jutted into the blue sky. I had come because I had heard this was the one thing you must eat in Hualien, and it was truly superb.

On a low hill stands Pine Garden (松園別館), ringed by Ryukyu pines. Passing along a corridor between vine-covered pillars, I came out in front of a two-story building with an arched veranda.

Under Japanese rule, this was a military facility of the Japanese army. Built in 1942, it housed the military affairs office for the port of Hualien. From the second floor, the view opens onto Hualien Port: beyond the red bridge over the river lie the breakwater, a lighthouse and the sea.

Pines more than a century old and a building with a long history pass on the preciousness of peace to the present day. I walked the path in the shade of the pines, looked at the stone marker by the gate, and gazed down on the town beneath towering summer clouds. The pines, the buildings and an air-raid shelter are carefully preserved, and with a café on site, it is now one of the sights of Hualien.

Hualien's specialty, I was told, is bianshi (扁食), and wonton shops line the streets. The long-established favorites were tempting, but I wandered into a shop I happened to pass, under a sign reading 花蓮香. In the kitchen, wontons were boiling in a steaming pot.

These are what we in Japan know as wonton. The bowl arrived with plump dumplings floating in the soup: thin skins packed tight with juicy filling, and a gentle, light broth with a hint of celery that soaked right through me.

Beside the counter, warming pans held side dishes such as braised tofu. Warm and delicious, it soothed me to the core.

Next on Hualien's menu: xiaolongbao. After dark, I walked to neon-lit Gongzheng Street, where bamboo steamers were stacked high at the shopfront and clouds of steam rose into the night. The sight alone was exciting.

The xiaolongbao here at Zhou Jia (周家) have a fluffy dough, more like a steamed bun. One bite and a rich, concentrated meat juice bursts out and soaks into the soft dough. Every mouthful was delicious. I could eat these forever.

A bowl of deep-flavored hot and sour soup calmed me down. Next door hung the sign of Gongzheng Baozi (公正包子店), which has since moved to Renai Street.

When it comes to the pleasures of Taiwan, nothing beats a night market. Hualien has a big one, Dongdamen Night Market, with more than 400 stalls. Through the gate of Indigenous Street (原住民一條街), stalls selling Taiwanese indigenous food lined the way.

Over a charcoal grill sizzled sausages seasoned with maqaw (馬告), a rare spice said to grow wild deep in the mountains where Taiwan's indigenous peoples live. It smells refreshingly of lemongrass. Then bamboo-tube rice (竹筒飯), cooked inside a length of bamboo: split it open, and out came a roll of chewy sticky rice.

The scent of bamboo in the rice and the fresh fragrance of maqaw livened up the hot night. In Taiwan, there is a festive atmosphere in everyday life.

In the morning, stepping out the gate of my lodging, I found its white sign standing in the shade of the trees. A bottle of detergent and a scrubbing brush sat by the outdoor sink, and laundry swayed in the narrow lane. On a shelf in my room stood postcards of Hualien's roads.

This morning, let's have tea at a long-established shop. I headed for Liming Black Tea (黎明紅茶), on the corner of a red-brick building and counted among the four great black-tea shops of Hualien. Out front, a white cat lounged beside the helmets. It is a simple, homely shop facing an alley.

On the griddle, eggs and round golden patties were cooking. The Taiwanese-style macarons in the glass case come in a long, slender shape and are as fluffy as a dacquoise. Sipping sweet black tea with almond milk, I let the gentle air around me settle in. The retro, warm atmosphere soothed my soul.

The road signs pointed to Taroko, Hualien Station and Dongdamen Night Market. I'm curious about the famous Taroko Gorge too, but today I think I'll just relax and look at the sea.

Hualien also has wonderful sea views. Beyond a headland lined with pines, the coastal town and the cloud-wrapped mountains stretched along the shore. A small shrine with an orange tiled roof, a wooden hut jutting out over the cliff above the surf. I walked the road where the mountains crowd the sea, with the ocean at my side.

For lunch, a restaurant overlooking the sea of Hualien. Built on a cliff, Wanghai Banai (望海巴耐) has a dining room with its windows flung open and the ocean stretching endlessly beyond. On the glass door at the entrance, a menu listed indigenous dishes such as free-range chicken, stone-grilled meat, bamboo-tube rice and wild boar.

Since this is a restaurant by the sea, I ordered the recommended seafood fried noodles. In the kitchen, the cook was busy with a large pan. The plate arrived piled with big prawns and clams. The noodles, coated in the rich flavor of seafood stock, were truly delicious, a taste I could keep eating forever.

After the meal I went out to the terrace, leaned on the railing and gazed at the Hualien blue sea. The lemon juice so common in Taiwan came here as passion-fruit lemonade (百香檸檬), with the seeds floating in it. Soothed by Hualien blue and the refreshing lemon juice, I spent a slow, luxurious moment.

If I was in Hualien, there was a shaved-ice shop I had been wanting to visit: Fengchun Ice Shop (豐春冰菓店), near Shoufeng Station, a local ice shop in business since 1949.

With sugarcane ice, you choose two toppings. Sticky taro ice cream and high-quality red bean paste, and then the simple sweetness of traditional sugarcane ice. The taste is created by an ice maker that has been working for over 70 years.

Right after I bought mine, a sold-out sign went up out front. Lucky me.

On the way back I stopped at Anran Xiaohun Stinky Tofu (黯然銷魂臭豆腐), marked by a yellow sign by the road. As a lover of natto, I had long been curious about stinky tofu, another fermented soybean food. The handwritten menu listed stinky tofu, spicy grilled stinky tofu, shishamo, shrimp balls with mayonnaise, salt-fried peanuts and pickled cabbage. Let's buy one and take it home.

Back at the house, a tabby cat on the wall greeted me: "Welcome back." I'm home.

Crispy fried stinky tofu and pickled cabbage (paocai). The smell is strong enough to make you flinch, but the tofu, soaked in a soy-based garlic sauce, has a savory depth all its own, and the fresh cabbage pickle went with it beautifully. I could see why it has such a loyal following. Stinky tofu goes well with non-alcoholic beer.

Night came, and with it the rain. On a rainy evening like this, instant noodles and a non-alcoholic beer taste best. Drawn in by its cute retro packaging, I had bought Wei Lih zhajiangmian (維力炸醬麵), instant noodles with savory bean sauce that are hugely popular in Taiwan. The pack reads "dry noodles with soup, two ways from one pack."

I chopped green onions, brought water to a boil in a frying pan and cooked the noodles. The cooking water goes into the accompanying powdered soup. I tossed the noodles in the sauce, topped them with green onions and a marinated egg I'd bought at a convenience store, and my Taiwanese instant zhajiangmian set was ready. A non-alcoholic beer is essential with soupless noodles.

Itadakimasu. This is really good. I love the sweet and spicy seasoning with its doubanjiang; I have never eaten such delicious instant noodles. Sweet and savory, it's a taste I'm sure everyone in Japan would love.

An old clock on the wall quietly ticked away the night. Enjoying the taste of local people's daily life is, as I expected, really fun.

Light glowed in the windows of the house at night. Thank you, Hualien, Taiwan.