A single photo on a Chinese-language blog was enough to persuade me to go to Tuban (土?) in Taitung County’s Dajen Township (達仁鄉). The picture showed a footbridge over a river. The sky was blue, and the mountains in the background were covered by thick forest. No element by itself was remarkable, but together they made for an enthralling scene.
I was already planning to go to Taitung. Approaching that county from southwestern Taiwan is a scenic treat in its own right. Whether I travel by road or by rail, the moment of emerging from the mountains and catching sight of the Pacific is always a thrill.
There’s very little coastal plain between the village of Dajen, where the cross-mountain route Mandarin-speakers call the “southern loop” (南迴公路) descends almost to sea level, and the hot springs resort of Jhihben (知本). For much of the 51km between these two places, the road is squashed between the ocean and a steep hillside.
Photo: Steven Crook
The “southern loop” is officially designated Highway 9, and it happens to be the longest route in Taiwan, covering 476km from the heart of Taipei to Pingtung County. In the southern part of Taitung, at the mouth of each river, the road passes through or, in the case of Jinlun (金崙), right over a small settlement.
In these places, motorists can stop for a bowl of noodles or a convenience-store coffee, then be on their way without giving a thought to the inland communities that exist further up these valleys. I know, because I’ve been that motorist. I’m now trying to fill the gaps in my knowledge, and color in a bit more of the map.
A motorcycle is the ideal vehicle for exploring this region — but if you’re a much stronger cyclist than I am, you might consider tackling the gradients on a bicycle. I rented a standard 125cc step-through scooter, zipped along Highway 9, then turned inland when I saw a sign for Longsi Railway Station (瀧溪火車站).
Photo: Steven Crook
Failing to find anything of interest in the streets around the railway station, I made my way inland. Local Road 68 (東68) stays a safe height above the Dajhu River (大竹溪). Back when permits were needed to enter certain mountain areas, the police station at the intersection of Local Road 68 and Taiban Industry Road (台?產業道路) presumably controlled access to both Tuban and Taiban (台?). These days, nothing stops casual explorers from continuing along either road, and very soon I was parking outside Taiban Elementary School (which I later learned has a gymnastics program of national renown).
In the Paiwan Austronesian language, Taiban is known as Tjavanaq. The official population is 760 (99 percent of whom are Paiwan), but no doubt many of the working-age adults live elsewhere because jobs in this part of Taiwan are scarce. Murals throughout the village celebrate age-old traditions like hunting, and newer norms such as Christianity.
Just above Taiban, on a mini-plateau, there’s a slightly smaller community called Laliba (拉里吧). It’s part of the Taiban government unit, but separated by a creek, and served by it’s own churches.
Photo: Steven Crook
As a local government division, Tuban (Tjuabal in Paiwan) extends all the way to Taitung’s border with Pingtung County. The populated part, 3.8km inland from the police station, occupies a patch of land that slopes down to the river. This settlement is one of the main venues of the Paiwan community’s quintennial Maljeveq Festival. The next celebration will be in 2023.
One of the community’s totems is a freshwater “hairy” crab species, and in most years, much is made of the springtime crab harvest. Outsiders are welcomed to visit and feast on the crabs. However, the event is sometimes scaled back to prevent unsustainable overexploitation, and community custom dictates that crabs under a certain size be left in the creek.
Just beyond the community, at the 7.5km marker on Local Road 68, I found what I had come for, and I wasn’t disappointed. Tuban Suspension Bridge (土?吊橋) is no longer needed as a river crossing. Right beside it, Local Road 68 goes over the Dajhu River, and onto a place called Sinsing (新興), where one or two families live. But as a tourist attraction, the little bridge works perfectly.
Photo: Steven Crook
There’s been a footbridge here since 1938. A couple of generations back, in addition to making it easier to reach fields and hunting grounds, this was where young lovers would meet for assignations. That the original bridge gradually became unusable isn’t as surprising as the fact that it lasted for more than 70 years. It must have been well built. The typhoons, floods and earthquakes that punctuate life in Taiwan often wreck manmade structures in half that time.
Hopefully the current structure is equally durable. The decorations at both ends integrate Paiwan totems and motifs, and the red metalwork stands out nicely against nature’s blues, greens and browns.
Curious to see if Local Road 68 linked up with Local Road 70 (東70), as shown on some maps, I rode past Sinsing and uphill along a delightfully shaded stretch of road.
I didn’t see any vehicles or people, and after a few switchbacks the tarmac ended, buried beneath dislodged rock and dirt. The original footbridge at Tuban might have survived everything Mother Nature could throw at it, but not this road. Instead of making a long, back-country loop and rejoining Highway 9 at Dawu (大武), I had to ride back the way I’d come. I’d been impressed by the beauty of the valley, so I was absolutely fine with that.
Steven Crook has been writing about travel, culture, and business in Taiwan since 1996. Having recently co-authored A Culinary History of Taipei: Beyond Pork and Ponlai, he is now updating Taiwan: The Bradt Travel Guide.
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