Taipei days

Anthony Dennis lands in the electronically charged Taiwanese capital wondering why he's there – and leaves wondering how soon he can return.

I've just arrived at Taipei's Taoyuan International Airport, having been confronted, from the window of my taxiing jet, by a massive red, blue and white Taiwanese flag draped across the terminal facade. It declares unambiguously that this is the Republic of China, not the People's Republic of China. As I walk from the aerobridge into the terminal proper, instead of the usual ads for Zegna ties and Dior handbags, I am assailed, curiously, with signs for all manner of widgets: cable-ties, semi-conductors and diodes. Electronics, after all, are a source of national pride, having provided the foundation for a Taiwanese standard of living that still far surpasses that of mainland China.

But, at this early point, it's hard to resist the sneaking question, "What am I doing here?" It's a valid proposition when you consider that Taiwan is an island that's lived under threat of an attack from its neighbour, the most populous nation on earth, just 180 kilometres across the Taiwan Strait. And yet, cable-ties, semi-conductors and diodes aside, there's that certain frisson of excitement attached to visiting a new place, especially one that's been so comprehensively ostracised politically, economically and diplomatically for decades as a result of its on-going rift with the mainland. Also Taipei rarely, nay never, makes it on to the itineraries of "Grand Tours of Asia" thus there's that faintly perverse satisfaction a traveller experiences at having arrived at a place which is, in effect, on the back roads of the Asian tourist trail.

From the back seat of the airport taxi I glimpse the almost sinister-looking, 508-metre high Taipei 101, the capital's principal landmark, recently eclipsed as the world's tallest building. Poor Taiwan. It just can't win. From my moving vantage point the tower seems to reach the ragged outline of most of the surrounding mountains, its bright white aircraft-warning lights blinking sharply in a distant chalky haze. But Taipei 101 will have to wait. On this, my first night in Taipei, I've chosen to head, not for the city centre, but for those hills that surround the capital and a much-vaunted hotel called Villa 32.

I've come to Taipei not to analyse Taiwan's political complexities, as difficult as they are to ignore, but with the intention of recording the emergence of yet another great Asian capital, a city that's said to be finally ready to assume a place in the pantheon of great Eastern hubs such as Tokyo, Seoul and Shanghai. No less a style arbiter than Tyler Brûlé, Wallpaper* magazine founder, believes that Taipei's time has come, having declared the city Asia's most underrated capital. Yet could a place that has had missiles trained on it for a decade be as worthwhile a place to visit as its more customary Asian counterparts?

Taiwan and China split in 1949 after Mao Zedong's rise to power and the decampment to the island of the vanquished Nationalist forces of Chiang Kai-shek. Taipei's National Palace Museum houses one of the world's best collections of Chinese artefacts, largely courtesy of the loot Chiang and his cronies brought with them across the Taiwan Strait. His arrival triggered decades of the martial law he imposed, ending only in the years after his death in 1975, when Taiwan established itself as a legitimate democracy. Since then the People's Republic has insisted that Taiwan is part of China, vowing to invade should the island ever formally declare independence. With the US as its closest, most protective ally, any such act would likely trigger an ugly global crisis. Taiwan, a country with a population similar in size to that of Australia, has therefore been dogged for decades by a simple question that has led to a political and diplomatic impasse: is Taiwan an independent nation or irrevocably part of China?

Earlier this year, however, following the defeat of the pro-independence Democratic Progressive Party by the more pragmatic, pro-China Kuomintang Party, tensions between Taipei and Beijing eased dramatically. An agreement was forged to reinstate regular direct flights between Taiwan and the Chinese mainland. Indeed, China's President Hu Jintao commented recently, "Many countries have managed to settle differences and contradictions and engage in co-operation with other countries successfully. We Chinese compatriots on both sides of the strait belong to the same family, so we have more reason to do so and do it better." What with airlines cutting flights to Taiwan and diverting them to the mainland, the island's tourism industry, which draws just 3 million visitors annually, could benefit greatly, though the Taiwanese worry about the influence of the giant next door. So perhaps the hitherto obscure Taipei may now suddenly qualify as one of those see-it-before-it's-too-late destinations.

The Beitou area of Taipei, where I'm headed, was popular among the Japanese who were harsh, though industrious, occupiers of Taiwan for 50 years, until the end of World War II. They opened many onsens – spa hotels – on the hillsides overlooking the city, exploiting the island's abundant hot springs, which reminded them of their homeland. In 1935 there were 35 hotels in Beitou, most of them Japanese-run and barred, except for servants, to local Taiwanese. One of the oldest of these establishments, Whispering Pines Inn, still operates, and is reputedly a haunt of Hollywood stars such as Richard Gere. It's a contrast to the nearby, ultra-contemporary Villa 32 with its five luxurious suites, each with its own hot springs bath. Just half-an-hour by taxi from the city centre, the hotel is set on the edge of Beitou's geothermal valley where hot springs are festooned with signs warning "Don't enter to soaks foot".