Taiwan Today

In the late 1800s, Tamsui, now a district of New Taipei City in northern Taiwan, was the country’s most international metropolis, complete with British customs officers, a foreign enclave and communities of immigrants from coastal regions of mainland China. Back then, the town’s port was the gateway to natural resources found upstream along the Tamsui River, as well as the region’s seaward connection to the world. Intensive agriculture along the river eventually caused silt to build up near the port, however, and roads and railways replaced water-borne travel, all of which caused Tamsui to slide into maritime obscurity.

More recently, local groups have battled to preserve Tamsui’s many architectural treasures. “Tainan and Taipei actually have more listed historic sites, but Tamsui is unique because so many are concentrated in the Puding and Old Street areas,” says Liao Wen-chin, (廖文卿), director of the Tamsui Historical Museum (THM).

Tamsui Culture Foundation (TCF) chairman James Hui-ming Hsu (許慧明), who was born in Tamsui and is now 57 years old, discusses the town’s history while seated in a coffee shop at the Shell Tamsui Warehouse, one of the success stories of the TCF and other local preservation groups. Long-time residents still refer to the spot as the “stinky oil stack,” as the Royal Dutch Shell Co. built storage tanks and warehouses for its kerosene import business there in 1907. The last European tanker delivered its load of the fuel in 1941. World War II came to the Pacific shortly thereafter, however, and Allied planes blew the tanks to smithereens on October 12, 1944. Tamsui elders remember the warehouse burning for three days. Today, the facility has been restored and serves as a multi-purpose complex that includes coffee shops, a community college and museum, attracting a horde of Tamsui antiquarians and curious Taipei day trippers each weekend.

“My grandfather worked here,” Hsu recalls of the area, adding that his forebear was an administrator for Shell, perhaps as late as the 1960s. “When I was little, he would teach me English. To me, Tamsui seemed like a worldly, international place.”

Behind the Shell Tamsui Warehouse is the water’s edge, and it is from here that the challenge confronting local preservationists becomes apparent. Developers, for example, have built a parade of 20-story apartment towers that now marches north from Guandu, which lies just up the river, to the southern outskirts of Tamsui. Across the river from the warehouse, new real estate developments can be seen along the base of Guanyin Mountain, a 616-meter-high scenic peak, while the hills that rise above Tamsui to the north and east hold another tangle of high-rises. Nearer the sea lies an ominous grid of as-yet unused roads and sewers that have been laid for Tamhai New Town, a suburban development with a projected population of 300,000.

So far, Tamsui has retained a cultural identity distinct from that of Taipei, the skyline of which looms to the south, but preservationists must make hard choices in the decades ahead. “Tamsui faces a dilemma,” Hsu says. “Should it embark on Hong Kong-style urbanization, or should it be a cultural city?”

The layout of old Tamsui has changed little since the latter part of the Qing dynasty’s rule over Taiwan (1684–1895), when Western clipper ships transported opium up the river. In fact, an otherwise unguided visitor can still easily locate the architectural vestiges of this earlier era equipped with nothing more than an 1880s map and a pair of comfortable shoes.

The best-known historical relic in Tamsui is Fort San Domingo, the original structure of which was built by the Spanish in 1629. The fort was destroyed and rebuilt twice, the second time by the Dutch after they expelled the Spanish in 1642. Locals know the structure as Hongmaocheng, or “fort of the red hairs,” as the locks of many of the former Dutch occupants were that color. After the Dutch were expelled by Ming dynasty (1368–1644) loyalist Zheng Cheng-gong (鄭成功, aka Koxinga, 1624–1662), Fort San Domingo fell into disrepair but continued to serve as a navigational landmark for ships entering Tamsui’s harbor.

Tamsui, or Hobe as it was formerly known in Taiwanese, grew up around Fuyou Temple, which was built in 1796. The town’s first street—now named Chongjian Street—was built along the ridge above the temple. Hobe’s population grew rapidly, and goods from upriver piled up at the wharf in front of the temple. A second road came later, wrapping along the waterfront, and merchants built shops along it. The thoroughfare, which eventually became known as Old Street, would remain the heart of Tamsui’s glittering downtown for generations. Today, the street bears the official name of Zhongzheng Road, but its former name is still used in signs directing tourists to the area.

The 1860s brought the return of Westerners, this time the British, who used Fort San Domingo as a trade consulate, while the flat, surrounding hilltop became home to a generation of Western merchants and missionaries. Of the latter, Canadian Presbyterian George Leslie Mackay (1844–1901) left the most indelible mark, both on Tamsui and on Taiwan. Mackay arrived in Tamsui to preach the Gospel in 1872 and by 1879, his efforts had helped to build Taiwan’s first Western medical facility, the aptly named Mackay Hospital (the hospital was moved to Taipei City and renamed Mackay Memorial Hospital in 1912). In 1882, Mackay founded and taught at Tamsui Oxford College, which took its name from his birthplace in Oxford County in Ontario, Canada. Today, Tamsui locals refer to the neighborhood surrounding this former Western enclave as Puding.

By the time Taiwan became a Japanese colony in 1895, Tamsui’s glory days as a port had already passed. When the Japanese departed at the end of World War II, most of Tamsui’s architectural heritage was still intact, as photographs from the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s reveal a town that looks little different from that of earlier times. While Tamsui remained much the same, other parts of Taiwan had been changing, however, and Tamsui lost its status as Taiwan’s most modern city. What was worse, many of the town’s architectural treasures had fallen into a state of disrepair.

Defense and economic security were the key concerns of the Republic of China (ROC) government in the decades following World War II, and historic preservation was at best an afterthought. Decisions regarding historical preservation were imposed from the top down, at the national level, and local governments had little or no input on the process. As late as the 1990s, only seven sites in Tamsui—Fort San Domingo, Hobe Fort, the Mackay Family Cemetery and four major temples—were officially listed as historical sites and thus accorded a degree of protection.

A Modern Idea

“Historical preservation is a modern idea,” says Chiou Bor-shuenn (邱博舜), an associate professor in the Graduate Institute of Architecture and Cultural Heritage at Taipei National University of the Arts. Chiou spent six years as a graduate student in the United Kingdom and holds a Ph.D. in architecture from the University of Edinburgh. While historical preservation is often assumed to be a return to tradition, the current vogue of restoring old farmsteads, factory buildings or private homes is actually a recent phenomenon, he says.

Interest in preservation is also relatively new to ethnic Chinese societies, Chiou says. “Traditionally, Chinese like to collect art—curios—but don’t value old buildings,” he says. “The fundamental view is to renew and to replace the old with the new. There’s a Chinese saying [that] means ‘Replace the door lintels, bring honor on the ancestors.’” For ethnic Chinese societies, the goal of preservation was to expand and rebuild family property.

Yet the preservation “cult” took root in Taiwan in the 1970s as local elites, especially those returning from studies in the West, expressed concern for the country’s cultural heritage and promoted its awareness, Chiou says. Taiwan’s historical preservation movement grew slowly, with initial efforts made at the grassroots level.

Little happened at the national level until 1982, when the Cultural Heritage Preservation Act was promulgated. Chiou calls this the first milestone for Taiwan’s preservation movement. The second milestone came nearly two decades later, when a devastating earthquake struck central Taiwan on September 21, 1999. The effects of the 921 Earthquake, as it became known, were widespread and tragic. For central and local government agencies with a cultural mandate, however, the fate of damaged historical buildings was a classic wakeup call. Under the original act, only what were broadly termed “ancient relics” were protected. After the quake, the act was amended to include “historical buildings,” a category that fell under the jurisdiction of local governments. As a result, the number of officially designated historical buildings in Taiwan skyrocketed.

Tamsui was largely unscathed by the 921 Earthquake, as the temblor’s epicenter lay far to the south. Instead, a different sort of disaster struck the town, and it was entirely of human origin. In 1993, Taipei County Government (now New Taipei City Government) announced a plan to widen Old Street to make it easier for automobiles and pedestrians to pass. To accomplish this goal, 1.5 meters would be lopped off storefronts. Preservationists were up in arms, as many of the structures had stood there, largely intact, since the Qing dynasty. “Tamsui’s Old Street was a ‘museum of architecture,’” says the TCF’s Hsu, quoting a local academic. “Every era in Tamsui’s history was represented, from the Qing to the Japanese Taisho and Showa periods. But almost all of [those buildings] were torn down in 1999.”

The Bitter End

The TCF and preservationist allies such as the Hobe Work Group, Tamsui District Work Group and Tamsui Historical Field Studies Group, among others, fought the urban renewal project from 1993 until the bitter end in 1999. Chen Hsin-hsiung (陳信雄), proprietor of Bao An Tang, a traditional Chinese pharmacy on Old Street, was among the property owners who fought to preserve their homes. Chen was born in 1943 to a family that had settled in the hills above Tamsui more than two centuries earlier. His ancestors had been farmers before one enrolled as an apprentice at Bao An Tang. Eventually, the Chen family took over the business.

Chen feels a deep connection with Tamsui’s past. He is an avid collector of Taiwanese antiques, for example, and displayed his collection at the Tamsui Art Gallery in September 2012. After all efforts to preserve Old Street had failed, Chen decided the best course of action was to tear down his family’s two-story building and replaced it with a six-story structure built of reinforced concrete. The facade of the new building reflects the architectural style that was once common along Old Street, however, and customers can still find the old apothecary counter and traditional display cases inside.

“It’s a pity, and there are regrets,” he says of the destruction wrought on Old Street. “But times change, and a new era arrives. Some things can be preserved, but others must change.”

Businesses along Old Street have also changed. “You don’t see the millinery shops and the clock stores—nobody wants those things anymore,” Chen says, adding that traditional Chinese pharmacies like his face new competition from Western-style dispensaries.

The TCF’s Hsu also bears the scars of the battle over Old Street. Asked if the joint effort to preserve the storefronts was a failure, Hsu winces. When “limited success” is suggested as an alternative, Hsu agrees, saying that extracting concessions from urban planners led to a sense of empowerment and media attention that increased awareness of the value of cultural heritage.

“Total success,” however, would be an apt description of the outcome of a second battle that took place less than a kilometer from Old Street. There, situated on a bluff in the Puding area, is the Tamsui Customs Officer’s Residence, a structure locals call the “little white house” due to its color. The residence is the only surviving remnant of a trio of dwellings built for British customs employees on land purchased by the British government in 1866 and 1875. One building was destroyed during the Sino-French War (1884–1885) and another torn down after World War II. The remaining structure fell into such neglect that local school children believed it was haunted.

The residence was largely forgotten until the Ministry of Finance, which held title to the property, announced a plan to tear it down and replace it with an employee dormitory in 1995. But this time the forces of preservation won the day, as Tamsui residents, along with advocacy groups such as the TCF, formed a coalition called Rescue the Little White House and fought their cause in the media. In 1997, the central government withdrew the dormitory plan, and the property was soon transferred to the Ministry of the Interior. A restoration effort began and the Tamsui Customs Officer’s Residence was opened to the public in 2005. It is now a popular tourist site and serves as the setting for countless wedding photos.

Gesture of Friendship

The THM was founded in 2005 and is headquartered in a modern building that sits on the flank of a hill near the entrance to the New Tamsui Golf Course. Below sweeps a grand view of the river, where ferries carry tourists back and forth between Tamsui’s dock and the far shore at Bali. Upriver, in the middle distance, an ROC flag flutters atop the parapet of Fort San Domingo. Directly below the THM is Tamsui’s Peace Park, in which the Tamsui Itteki Memorial House can be found in a shaded glen. The 100-year-old traditional Japanese home was transported to Tamsui and reassembled in 2011 as a gesture of friendship between Japan and Taiwan. On a hilltop to the west is Hobe Fort, which was completed in 1889. The fort overlooks a beach where local Qing soldiers, backed by troops from other parts of China, fended off an invasion by the French some 130 years ago.

The THM’s headquarters is not open to the public. Instead, the organization manages a collection of restored sites that lie scattered around Tamsui. “Right now we administer 32 sites,” Liao says. “And there could be more to come—we have a 10-member committee that evaluates potential additions.”

The THM is one of the first museums in Taiwan to take this approach. Liao believes the THM’s management of so many sites could further the cause of preservationists who are calling for the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) to designate Tamsui as a world heritage site. While such status would be a boon for Tamsui and for Taiwan, gaining it would not be easy, as the ROC withdrew from the UN in 1971. Still, if there is anything that Tamsui’s history teaches, it is that times and perceptions change. The future will continue to bring changes, and it is possible that such shifts would make bestowing world heritage status on Tamsui an obvious thing to do.

Tamsui would benefit from such status in many ways. “Recognition would bring business opportunities for the local community,” Liao says. “Psychologically, people could say, ‘We are part of world heritage,’ and that would be passed down through the generations.” For preservationists, there would also be practical benefits. “Once listed among UNESCO sites, Tamsui could receive scholarly advice and technical expertise, not to mention funds to help preserve local sites,” he says. With or without world heritage status, Tamsui is more focused on preserving its past than ever before, and that gives preservationists hope for the future.

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Glenn Smith is a freelance writer based in Taipei.

Copyright © 2013 by Glenn Smith