Wooden houses wedged between concrete, crumbling brick facades with roofs gaping to the sky, and tiled art deco buildings down narrow alleyways: Taichung Central District’s (中區) aging architecture reveals both the allure and reality of the old downtown.
From Indigenous settlement to capital under Qing Dynasty rule through to Japanese colonization, Taichung’s Central District holds a long and layered history. The bygone beauty of its streets once earned it the nickname “Little Kyoto.” Since the late eighties, however, the shifting of economic and government centers westward signaled a gradual decline in the area’s evolving fortunes.
With the regeneration of the once polluted waters of the Luchuan and Liuchuan canals and reclaiming of historic buildings like the Miyahara ophthalmology clinic, the former hub is beginning to see investment return. Organizations and individuals committed to urban renewal have sought to revitalize the area and highlight its rich history.
Photo: Kayt Bronnimann
The checkerboard street pattern of Central Taichung is cited as one of the earliest examples of urban planning and during Japanese occupation the colonial government established five traditional markets, one of the more famous being the Second Market (臺中市第二市場) on Sanmin Road.
Known by many names during its century long tenure it was initially known as the Shintomicho Market. Built in 1917, it was colloquially referred to as the Japanese Market, or Rich People’s Market, due to its sale of luxury goods and the high-class clientele that frequented it.
Today the market is a warren of food stalls, raw and dry food stuffs and other small businesses. Numerous stores are family affairs, spanning multiple generations, with some stretching back to the market’s first days.
Photo: Kayt Bronnimann
Many of the proprietors are now elderly and former businesses have since closed shop due to dwindling customer numbers. Others though, have felt compelled to return, to forge a link between past and present.
Tony “Fish” Tsai (蔡岳達) grew up in the Second Market, where his parents ran a grocery store. He was recently drawn back to his childhood home, this time with his own family. It’s a place engrained in his memories.
While renovating his house and that of his elderly neighbors, who cared for him as a boy, he said “my deep feelings for the neighborhood began to emerge.”
Photo: Kayt Bronnimann
This pushed him to establish the Shitomicho Regional Revitalization Association (新富町地方創生協會) and he has since spearheaded projects that document the community and culture of the historic market.
Working with Tunghai University’s Urban and Regional Development Research Center, he created a short documentary and digital archive to honor the life of Master Wang (王亭), his neighbor and the tailor behind the Zhongxing Suit (中興西服) store. He also collaborated on a series of children’s picture books centered on the sights, sounds and businesses of the Market.
Other groups around the Central District are encouraging a new era of growth that preserves the area’s history and architecture. The Downtown Renaissance Association (中城再生文化協會) is run by local businesspeople, architects, creatives and professors, promoting urban regeneration of the “old city” through events and exhibitions and sharing narrative histories of noteworthy residents.
Photo: Kayt Bronnimann
They also match fledgling businesses with unoccupied buildings, in order to prevent their destruction and maintain the district’s distinct character.
Buildings such as the Central Bookstore (中央書局), restored to its former glory after its closure in 1998. First established in 1927, it was the largest Chinese language bookstore during Japanese colonial rule and became a magnet for intellectuals, literary figures and anti-nationalist activists.
But not every attempt at renewal has been successful. This is the case with the towering remains of Qianyue Department Store (千越百貨), which spans a whole block near the train station. In its heyday as a mixed commercial and residential building it housed an ice rink, revolving restaurant and multiple KTV halls and nightclubs. After being gutted by a fire 2005, it was largely left empty.
Graffiti artist group Escape Plan X recognized the space as part of a collective memory and partially occupied the building from 2017 to 2021. They established artist studios and held events which invited the public to reimagine new possibilities for the future of the space.
Today, all the entrances are boarded up. The broken windows and overgrown rooftops lie in stark contrast to the ever popular Miyahara ice cream store opposite. Despite the promises of previous governments, the Qianyue building has not been revived.
Yet even unused buildings hold purpose. That is the belief of Artqpie, a roving library and art gallery. Under the mantra of “Old houses never die!” they have documented occupied and disused spaces in the self-published zine 25+25 A Walking Tour of Taiwan. This collection of 50 historical houses, storefronts and retail spaces showcases the aesthetic and architectural spirit of the Central District.
Artqpie believes that “the end of one space is the beginning of another era” and through occupying three idle buildings over the last 15 years have lived by this motto. But none are immune to the often indiscriminate push for redevelopment and the nomadic library’s original home is now a ubiquitous corrugated covered lot waiting for its next era.
A recent post by the chair of the Downtown Renaissance Association lamented the destruction of old houses in the Central District. Complicated regulations often mean it is easier for families to be granted loans for new builds rather than for refurbishment, resulting in the demise of many historically significant buildings.
Tony Tsai hopes that grassroots effort and collaboration between government and academia can provide the necessary resources for innovation while preserving the area’s traditional value — “allowing its history and culture to be discovered through fresh presentations.”
Finding a way forward with feet firmly planted in the past.
The canonical shot of an East Asian city is a night skyline studded with towering apartment and office buildings, bright with neon and plastic signage, a landscape of energy and modernity. Another classic image is the same city seen from above, in which identical apartment towers march across the city, spilling out over nearby geography, like stylized soldiers colonizing new territory in a board game. Densely populated dynamic conurbations of money, technological innovation and convenience, it is hard to see the cities of East Asia as what they truly are: necropolises. Why is this? The East Asian development model, with
June 16 to June 22 The following flyer appeared on the streets of Hsinchu on June 12, 1895: “Taipei has already fallen to the Japanese barbarians, who have brought great misery to our land and people. We heard that the Japanese occupiers will tax our gardens, our houses, our bodies, and even our chickens, dogs, cows and pigs. They wear their hair wild, carve their teeth, tattoo their foreheads, wear strange clothes and speak a strange language. How can we be ruled by such people?” Posted by civilian militia leader Wu Tang-hsing (吳湯興), it was a call to arms to retake
This is a deeply unsettling period in Taiwan. Uncertainties are everywhere while everyone waits for a small army of other shoes to drop on nearly every front. During challenging times, interesting political changes can happen, yet all three major political parties are beset with scandals, strife and self-inflicted wounds. As the ruling party, the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) is held accountable for not only the challenges to the party, but also the nation. Taiwan is geopolitically and economically under threat. Domestically, the administration is under siege by the opposition-controlled legislature and growing discontent with what opponents characterize as arrogant, autocratic
When Lisa, 20, laces into her ultra-high heels for her shift at a strip club in Ukraine’s Kharkiv, she knows that aside from dancing, she will have to comfort traumatized soldiers. Since Russia’s 2022 invasion, exhausted troops are the main clientele of the Flash Dancers club in the center of the northeastern city, just 20 kilometers from Russian forces. For some customers, it provides an “escape” from the war, said Valerya Zavatska — a 25-year-old law graduate who runs the club with her mother, an ex-dancer. But many are not there just for the show. They “want to talk about what hurts,” she
RSS