New Taipei City

Shanjia Train Station (山佳車站)

I’ve been criss-crossing the country over the past year in search of the sites related to the Japanese-era railway. As one the research projects I started this year, I’ve tried my best to visit as many of the historic railway factories, offices, dormitories, and historic stations as I could in order to document what many people believe to be one of the most important aspects of Taiwan’s modern development. Having authored close to a dozen articles this year, I’ve only covered a small percentage of what actually remains, so this is one of those projects that will continue for the foreseeable future.

The ironic thing is that while I’ve been traveling across the country in search of these historic buildings, the one that was actually the closest to me, a station that I must have passed by hundreds of times remained at the back of my long list of places to visit. Located just a few stops away from home, Shanjia Station in New Taipei’s Shulin District (樹林區) is one of those beautiful Japanese-era stations that has been recently restored and re-opened to the public as a cultural attraction, while the modern station to the rear continues service.

Every time I passed by the station on my way to Taipei, I’d say to myself “I should really stop by some day soon to get some photos” as I enjoyed the view of the station from the window of the train. It started to become a bit of a running joke that I would repeatedly say the same thing every time we passed by. 

I realize this probably isn’t a huge selling point for anyone thinking of visiting, but one of the main reasons why I never actually got off the train to check out the station is that there isn’t very much else to see in the area.

For reasons I’ll get into later, the station was historically an important one, but the area around it doesn’t really offer much for tourists looking for something to do, unless you’re riding a bike along the river.

Fortunately I found myself on beautiful Autumn day with some extra time, and since I was already in the area, I decided to finally make an effort to stop by to check out this beautiful little station. That being said, unlike some of the Japanese-era stations along the Coastal Railway (海岸線) that I’ve already introduced, this one is similar to the historic Qidu Railway Station (七堵車站) in that it has been completely restored and reopened to the public, while a newly constructed modern station has taken over with regard to passenger services. 

There are quite a few Japanese-era stations around the country that have been restored and continue to exist in conjunction with a modern station nearby - Shanjia Station however was the first to follow this model, so the others that we’ve seen reopening around the country as of late are simply following its excellent example.

As I move on below, I’ll introduce the history of this nearly 120 year old station, explain why it was so important for so long, and then go into detail about its architectural design, which is considerably different from many of the wooden Japanese-era stations that remain in Taiwan today. 

Shanjia Train Station (山佳車站 / さんかえき)

Dating back to the early years of the Japanese Colonial Era, the station we refer to today as Shanjia Station (山佳車站) was constructed in 1903 (明治36年) as Yamakogashi Station (山仔脚駅 / やまご あしえき) along the Jukan Tetsudo (ゅうかんてつどう ), otherwise known either as the ‘Taiwan Trunk Railway’ (縱貫鐵道), or the West Coast Railway.  

Within a few short years of Japanese control, railway stations started opening for service around the island thanks to the over four hundred kilometer railway constructed between Keelung and Kaohsiung. For the first time in the island’s history, population centers were connected to a modern form of transportation and Yamakogashi Station was one of them.

Over the years, the name of the station has changed on several occasions, but essentially it was named due to its proximity to the base of Datung Mountain (大棟山), a mountain that these days is split between Taoyuan and New Taipei City, and was important to the local community involved in the mining industry.

Interestingly, the name was changed once during the colonial era, but only with regard to the Kanji (Chinese Characters) in the name, and not the actual pronunciation of the station. Originally named “Yamakagashi” (Or Yamagoashi depending on your preferred romanization) with a “仔“ (zi/ zai), a commonly used character in Taiwanese/Hokkien (台語/閩南話), it was later renamed with the character “子” (zi), in a move that was likely made for the convenience of the technology at the time as the original character was less common in Japanese.

Like many of its contemporaries around Taiwan, Yamakagashi Station was originally constructed as a traditional wooden station house, but a few decades after its construction, it was torn down and replaced with the concrete building that we can see today. When you visit the station today you’ll find reference to it being a “century-old” (百年) station, but that’s not exactly true given that the building was we see today was constructed in the early years of the Showa era (昭和) when the usage of concrete was becoming more common around the island. Factually speaking, the beautiful station we can visit today is about ninety years old, but I suppose it sounds more impressive if you say it is almost 120 years old. 

For a small station, in what is even much smaller community, especially since the much larger Shulin Station (樹林車站) is located nearby, the number of passengers that pass through the station on a daily basis remains quite impressive. The numbers have gone up and down over the years, but an average of half a million passengers make use of the station on an annual basis, making it a relatively busy station. That being said, historically Yamakagashi Station was known more for the important freight that was loaded at the station than the number of passengers that passed through the turnstiles. 

Records from the Japanese era (1917 specifically) indicate that the area around the station accounted just around 300 households, or about 1700 people in total. The station today serves on average around 2000 passengers a day, but back then only around 5-6 people per day.

From this, I’m sure you can gather that the local community has grown quite a bit over the past century. 

As mentioned above, the lack of passengers getting on the train at the station didn’t really matter all that much given that it was the loading point for an estimated 25,000 metric tons of coal on an annual basis during the heyday of the mining industry. Similarly, the station was also a focal point for the loading of sand and gravel excavated from the nearby Dahan River in addition to locally farmed white rice. 

As one of Taihoku’s (current day ‘Greater Taipei’) six mining communities, Yamakagashi was the only one located on the western side of the Dahan River (大漢溪). The mining industry in the area flourished for quite some time, outlasting the Japanese-era, but at some point in the early 1980s, the area more or less dried up, and it became far too dangerous to continue mining, having a detrimental effect on the local community and the local economy. 

Today, many of the old coal mine shafts remain open and a few of them have been restored to allow visitors to go check them out. If you’re so inclined, a visit to the station could also include a hike up the mountain nearby to see some of the mining-related sites. If you’re interested in that, I highly recommend checking out the link below where fellow blogger Tom Rook made the effort on a miserable day to go check out the old shafts. 

Link: The Old Mining Village of Shanjia (Over The City)

A few years after the Japanese-era ended, the station was renamed Shanjia Station (山佳車站) and the community around the station grew and diversified around it. As the decades passed the number of passengers traveling through the station ultimately became far too many for the small station house to handle, so it was decided that a larger modern station would have to be constructed to better suit the needs of the local community.

Fortunately the Taiwan Railway Administration had the foresight not to knock the original station down to make way for the new one. So when the new iteration of the station, a gaudy structure devoid of any architectural style, opened to the public in 2011, it was made a bit more respectable by the fact that it had the original Japanese-era station in front. 

Before I get into the architectural design of the station, I’ll provide a bit of a timeline of events that took place at the station over the past century.

Timeline

  • 1903 (明治36年) - Yamakoashi Station (山仔脚駅) opens for service.

  • 1920 (大正9年) - The station is renamed Yamakoashi Station (山子脚駅), a slight variation on the original Kanji characters given that the character “仔” is rarely used in Japanese.

  • 1928 (昭和4年) - The original wooden station is demolished and construction on a new station begins.

  • 1931 (昭和6年) - The new (current) cement station is completed and is reopened for service.

  • 1962 (民國51年) - The station is renamed Shanjia Station (山佳車站).

  • 2008 (民國97年) - The station switches primarily to the EasyCard swiping system rather than issuing tickets.

  • 2009 (民國98年) - The original “S” shaped platform is demolished in order to allow express trains to pass through the station more easily.

  • 2011 (民國100年) - The new cross-platform elevated Shanjia Station is opened to the public while the original station is covered in canvas and plans are drawn up to have it restored.

  • 2014 (民國103年) - Typhoon Soudelor (強烈颱風蘇迪勒) causes a considerable amount of damage to the protective covering placed over the historic station. Afterwards, a new protective tent is installed to help preserve the station.

  • 2015 (民國104年) - The restoration project on the original station is started, making it the first of several Japanese-era stations that is set to exist side-by-side with a modern station.

  • 2017 (民國106年) - The restoration project on the station is completed and the historic Shanjia Station is reopened to the public with a railway culture park located along the platform, highlighting the history of the station and the mining activities that made it important. 

Architectural Design

The modern Shanjia Station side by side with the historic station

These days, when you walk into the historic Shanjia Station, one of the first things you’ll notice is a very large model of its 1903 predecessor on display in one of the rooms. The original station appears to be quite similar to many of the other small railway stations constructed around Taiwan, but it only ended up lasting about twenty years before it was replaced. 

The ‘newer’ historic station, which as mentioned above was completed in 1931 was constructed during a period of the Japanese-era that tends to stand out architecturally-speaking. Having taken control of Taiwan in 1895, the Japanese spent a considerable amount of time developing the island and its infrastructure. For the first couple of decades, many of the buildings constructed were somewhat rudimentary and were thought to be almost temporary as the idea was to first get everything running smoothly before refining things. 

By the time the Showa Emperor (昭和皇帝), more commonly known in the west as Emperor Hirohito, took control in 1926 (昭和元年), it was generally thought that the situation in Taiwan had stabilized to the point that the Governor General’s Office was given the go-ahead to start tearing down some of the older buildings and replacing them with newer ones. Similarly this was also when the Japanese architects of the era had started to combine modern construction techniques with traditional Japanese design resulting in an architectural fusion, replacing many of the older wooden buildings with those constructed with reinforced concrete.

Note: Obviously another important factor for some of these rebuilds was due to a number of natural disasters (earthquakes and typhoons) that devastated the island on several occasions over the first few decades of colonial rule.

 Official government sources claim that one of the first railway stations to receive such treatment was Yamakoashi Station, and that its construction was something that was to be emulated in other areas around the island. Unfortunately, there is little information available with regard to the architectural design of the station, so I can’t actually confirm whether or not those claims are true, but given the period that it was constructed, its quite possible.

Regardless, there are two things we should keep in mind here - the first being that it is somewhat of a tradition that whenever a new emperor takes control in Japan, it is common to see ambitious construction projects taking place with the new ruler wanting to solidify his legacy, over those that came before. Secondly, those buildings constructed in Taiwan during the early years of the Showa era tend to stand out more because they took a modern approach to construction in that they combined western techniques with Japanese design.

Note: It is important to take note that even though the early years of a new emperor’s reign are known for construction and infrastructure projects, the Showa era (1926-1989) started out suffering from the devastating effects of the Great Kanto Earthquake (関東大地震) of 1923, and a number of other economic factors resulting in the Shōwa Financial Crisis (昭和金融恐慌) of 1927. The Governor Generals Office in Taiwan at the time would have been responsible for fund raising for any construction project, but growing militarism back in Japan and the Second World War ensured that money for development projects was modest from the 1940s onward.

Preceding Emperor Showa, the Taisho Era (大正), from 1912 until 1926, was known for the way Japanese architects fused traditional design with Western architectural design, especially when it came to Art-Deco and the usage of reinforced concrete to build larger structures. Thus, the early years of the Showa era continued along that path with the preferred method of construction involving concrete rather wood. That being said, it was during this period that fervent Japanese nationalism was promoted throughout the empire, resulting in military campaigns throughout Asia.

Note: It was during this period that the strict Kominka (皇民化運動 / こうみんかせいさく), or mandatory ‘Japanization’ policies came into effect in Taiwan, which included the “National Language Movement” (国語運動) requiring citizens of the empire to speak Japanese as well as taking Japanese names under the ‘kaiseimei’ policy (改姓名 / かいせいめい). The reason I mention this now is that this is the same time when the name of the station was slightly changed to remove a common character used in Taiwanese Hokkien.

Taking into consideration that the Showa era spanned six decades before, during, and after the war - when we talk about the architecture of the era with regard to Taiwan, we have to focus primarily on what was constructed from 1926 until the 1940s, which ultimately differs somewhat from what you would have seen back in Japan. 

Yamakoashi Station was, as mentioned above, one of the first of Taiwan’s railway stations to receive funding for a complete rebuild and the building we can see today (albeit slightly altered from the original design) was meant to be a model for further construction projects around the country. The station maintained the traditional wooden walls within the interior, but were fortified with brick and reinforced concrete. Similarly, the traditional network of wooden beams and trusses within the building that assisted in supporting the roof were constructed of concrete rather than making use of wood, adding to the stability of the building.

Former ticket booth located directly to the right of the main entrance.

The building however does maintain a similar design to many of Taiwan’s other Japanese-era stations in that it is a one-story rectangular-shaped structure that was split in half. The western side of the building was used as the station hall while the slightly larger eastern side was used by the station master, and those in charge of maintaining the operations of the station.

Surrounding half of the building in a U-shape (to the left of the station hall, around the side and to the back) you’ll find a number of concrete pillars used to help distribute the weight of the roof which extends beyond the base as well as providing a covered walk way around the building. 

More specifically, the station was constructed using the traditional kirizuma-zukuri (切妻造) architectural design, including a variation of a ‘hip-and-gable roof’ (歇山頂) that rises up to resemble a mountain-like structure. Likened to that of an ‘open book’, or the Chinese character “入,” the architectural layout is similar to what we saw previously at the Longtan Martial Arts Hall, there is an obvious east-west fusion (和洋混和風建築) in the design, most noticeably with regard to the windows as there are large beautiful sliding-glass windows that surround the building and are set within wooden frames. You’ll also find windows on both the eastern and western ends of the building located just under the apex of the roof that allow light in from above.

Note: If you’re feeling confused by the roof description, I recommend taking a look at the link below, which rather nicely (or kawaii, if you will) illustrates some of the various styles of traditional Japanese roofs in manga form! 

Link: A Manga Guide to the Beautiful Roofs in Japanese Architecture (Tsunagu Japan)

Having the building split into two halves meant that the interior space was somewhat limited between the public section and the area where the station’s employees worked. When you walk in the front door of the station, you’re automatically met with the ticket window on your right while the left-hand side was reserved as a passenger waiting area. The actual space between the front door and the door to where the turnstiles were located is only a few meters, so the building wasn’t actually constructed to serve a large amount of passengers at once.

The opposite side of the station hall would have been reserved as office space for the employees of the station, but that space likewise included pantry space, washrooms and a tool shed, so the space there was likewise cramped as well.

Today, both the station hall and the employee section are open to the public and you’re free to move back and forth between them. Unfortunately one of the aspects that seems to have stuck with the station is that the area continues to feel quite cramped given that both sides are filled with exhibitions taking up most of the free space.

Personally, I feel like all of the clutter distracts visitors from being able to enjoy the historic architecture of the interior of the building but the exhibitions within tend to change quite often, so when you visit, you may find yourself a bit luckier than I was. 

Link: Shanjia Railway Station (New Taipei City Travel)

Contrary to what you’ll find on the New Taipei City website (linked above) with regard to the opening hours of the station, it is not open from 06:00-24:00 everyday. If you’d like to visit the station, its free of charge, but it is only open from 10:00-17:00, and is closed during national holidays.

Oh, and one last thing, an aspect of Japanese design that stands out at this station isn’t what you could technically refer to as part of the ‘architecture’, but is one of the most significant additions of this historic building - The century-old red-cotton tree (木棉樹) planted next to the building continues to thrive to this day and over the years has grown to twice the height of the station itself. The tree adds a natural element to the station that cannot be understated, and the fact that it continues to exist today makes the station a lot more beautiful.

Getting There

 

Address: #108 Zhongshan Road, Section 3, Shulin District, New Taipei City (新北市樹林區中山里中山路3段108號) 

GPS: 24.972222, 121.392778

As is the case with any of my articles about Taiwan’s historic railway stations, I’m going to say something that shouldn’t really surprise you - When you ask what is the best way to get to the train station, the answer should be pretty obvious: Take the train! 

Shanjia Railway Station is located six stops south of Taipei Main Station (台北車站), and should only take you around twenty minutes to get there on one of the convenient Commuter Trains (區間車). Given that there isn’t really very much else in the area, you’ll also be able to hop on the train again and head back to wherever you came from, or on to your next destination.

That being said, when I say that there isn’t much else in the area, that isn’t exactly true - the next station south of Shanjia is Yingge Station (鶯歌車站), where you’ll find the popular Yingge Ceramics Old Street (鶯歌老街). Likewise, on the opposite side of the Dahan River (大漢溪) you’ll find the similarly popular Sanxia Old Street (三峽老街), both of which are really cool to visit.

Waiting for the train on the platform.

One important thing to note about visiting Shanjia Station on the train is that it is classified as a ‘simple station’, which essentially means that express trains won’t stop there. If you’ve gotten on one of those by mistake, you should get off at either Shulin Station (樹林火車站) if you’re traveling south, or at Yingge Station (鶯歌火車站) if you’re traveling north, and then switch to a local commuter train (區間車).

There are of course other methods of getting to the train station if you’d like to stop by for a visit, including car, bus, scooter, and bicycle. You don’t have to take the train, but if you do plan on visiting, you’d probably be better off making use of Taiwan’s excellent railway network.

If you are driving a car or a scooter, the station is a short drive from Taipei - Simply input the address or the GPS provided above into your Google Maps or your GPS and you’ll find yourself there in no time.

In front of the station you’ll find a bus stop that services buses #702, 802, 847, 852, 885, 889, and F611, most of which originate at Banqiao Bus Terminal (板橋轉運站), or across the river in Sanxia. 

If you’re looking for a bit of exercise, you can easily follow the beautiful riverside bicycle paths south from Taipei or Banqiao all the way to the station, and beyond. Along the way, the paths pass through several wetland areas offering quite a bit of outdoor recreational activities for visitors to see and do. If you have a  bike, or have rented a Youbike, you should have a pretty good time - and yes, there’s a YouBike Station in front of the train station, so if you’re feeling tired you’ll be able to park your bike there and hop on the train back home. 


Baiyun Police Station (白雲派出所)

It’s a rare occasion when I’m able to combine my interest in the Japanese Colonial Era with another one of my interests, Urban Exploration. Today’s article will feature a bit of both. I’m also going to be touching on an unfortunate event that took place a few short years after the Japanese left Taiwan, and has had lasting repercussions on this beautiful country.

Today I’ll be introducing an abandoned Japanese-era police outpost in the mountains that dates back to the early 1920s. More than a century old, the station has played several roles over the years, but is most notably remembered for the suppression of both the indigenous people of Taiwan, and then later against those who opposed Chinese Nationalist rule.  

For some, the station is a dark reminder of an authoritarian history and the violent suppression of Taiwan’s indigenous people and the empty shell of a building that remains standing today is a fitting reminder of that history.

Recently recognized as a protected heritage building by the New Taipei City Government, funds have been available to clean up and preserve what little remains of the station. Still, it remains a skeleton of what it once was, and it doesn’t seem like there are any plans to restore any of the pieces that have been lost.

So, even though the historic police station is a somewhat obscure destination in the mountains of New Taipei’s Xizhi District, I’m not entirely convinced that I should consider it to be the type of ‘urban exploration’ that I’m usually interested in.

Sure, its an abandoned building, but its not abandoned in the same sense of other places that I visit. 

I’m going to try to keep this one somewhat brief in that I’ll spend a little less time introducing the history and architecture of the building than I usually do. However, given that I’m publishing this during the annual 2/28 Memorial Holiday, I will spend a short time introducing the events that made the police station a focal point for some unfortunate incidents that have become a stain on Taiwan’s modern history.

Given that 2022 marks the 30th anniversary of what many consider the formal end of Taiwan’s four-decade long period of White Terror (白色恐怖), which saw hundreds of thousands imprisoned and a still unknown number executed by the state - it’s important that these stories continue to be told and the crimes of the past continue to come to light.

Baiyun Police Station (十三分警察官吏派出所)

When the Japanese took control of Taiwan in 1895, opposition campaigns sprouted up with the Hokkien, Hakka and Indigenous inhabitants forming armed rebellions all over the island. To quell these movements, the Japanese authorities reacted violently, and as those who opposed their rule were pushed further into the mountains, the Japanese followed suit with a militaristic presence in areas that were once thought to be uncontrollable by the previous Qing rulers. 

For the first few years of Japanese rule, these opposition movements persisted around the island, but as was the case with almost every powerful colonial regime throughout history, they were violently silenced by the more powerful, and better equipped rulers. 

In 1920 (大正9年), the Jusanfun Police Branch (十三分警察官吏派出所) was set up as a mountainous outpost under the direction of the Shiodome District Branch of Taihoku Prefecture’s Police Bureau (臺北州警務部七星郡警察課的汐止分室). Located in the mountains of Shiodome (汐止街/しおどめまち), or what we refer to today as New Taipei’s Xizhi District (汐止區). Geographically located at the intersection of Nangang (南港), Shiding (石碇) and Xizhi (汐止), the outpost was meant to help keep keep the ‘Kypanas’ (峰仔峙社) of the Ketagalan tribe (凱達格蘭族) under control as well as to protect the local farmers as the area was famed for its tea production as well as its coal mines.

By the 1920s Japanese rule in Taiwan had more or less stabilized, so from the time it was constructed until the end of the Second World War, not all that much happened at the station. Records as to what happened after the Chinese Nationalists took over however remain a bit convoluted as resources about the station tend to provide conflicting accounts. Some of the historical information you’ll find about the building argues that it was occupied by the police until the late 1960s, while others argue that it was instead used as a dormitory for the principal of the elementary school next door. While I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case at some point, from everything I’ve seen I think its safe to say that the building was used as a police station and dormitory for the police until the late 1960s. 

What we do know for sure is that when the tragic ‘Luku Incident’ took place in 1952 (民國41年), the station was still in use as a branch of the Xizhi Police Station.

According to the information available from the National Culture Database Management System, in addition to the educational resources provided on-site, the station was still occupied in 1962 (民國51年) by a patrol officer, two administrative officers and a military conscript. The patrol officer was fortunate enough to have his own separate housing to the rear of the station, but the others stayed within the shared-dormitory section connected to the station. 

If my resources are correct, the station likely ceased operating as a police outpost in 1976 (民國65年), but it apparently wasn’t completely abandoned until 1992 (民國81年). My assumption is that during the sixteen year period from when the police left and the building was abandoned, it was probably used as a dormitory for the principal of the school next door.

If that’s the case, the accounts I’ve read could both be correct, but just not precise in the dates they provide. 

Finally, in 2009 (民國98年), the Taipei County Government listed the site as a protected historic building and slated the property for simple restoration, which included cleaning up the landscape and the abandoned materials that couldn’t be saved. Despite being abandoned for more than a decade, and both the building and the landscape in terrible shape, the empty shell of the building was protected as it was atypical of the construction techniques of the era for which there are very few still remaining intact.

Unfortunately, given that what remains of the outpost is an empty shell of its former self, I’m going to provide a couple of illustrations below to offer a better description of how the station originally appeared.

Before getting into the architectural design of the station, I’m going to provide a brief timeline of historic events for the station: 

Timeline:

  • 1920 (大正9年) - Taihoku Prefecture (台北州廳) is redistricted and Shiodome machi (汐止街/しおどめまち) falls under the administration of Shichisei district (七星郡/しちせいぐん) with the mountainous area falling under Shichisei as Jusanfun (十三分 / じゅう さん ふん).

  • 1920 (大正9年) - The 13th Branch Police Station (十三分警察官吏派出所) opens for service.

  • 1945 (昭和20年) - The Second World War comes to an end and Japan surrenders control of Taiwan to the Chinese Nationalists.

  • 12/29/1952 (民國41年) - Security personnel set up a blockade of the village of Luku (鹿窟), a short distance away from the station using the station for logistical purposes.

  • 03/05/1953 (民國42年) - The blockade of the village comes to an end and the security forces leave the area. 

  • 1976 (民國65年) - The building ceases operation as a police outpost and ownership is transferred to the local school for administrative usage.

  • 1992 (民國81年) - Having become run down, the building is completely abandoned, and is left to the elements. 

  • 08/20/2009 (民國98年) - The Taipei County government lists the station as a protected historic site (歷史建築).

Architectural Design

When I write about these historic buildings, I usually spend a considerable amount of time describing their architectural design. In this case however, I don’t really feel like I need to spend too much time on that this time as it’s currently only a skeleton of its original self, with only the concrete base remaining. 

Interestingly, even though the history is rather hit-and-miss in terms of the information that is readily available, when it comes to the architectural design of the building we’re blessed with a wealth of information regarding how it would have looked more than a century ago.

Constructed in 1920 (大正9年), the station was built in an era when Japanese architects were taking inspiration from the Art Deco designs of Europe and fusing it with traditional Japanese design techniques. making use of a combination of reinforced concrete and wood in a style known as ‘Wayō secchū kenchiku’ (和洋折衷建築/わようせっちゅうけんち), or literally “Japanese-Western Eclectic Architecture,” this architectural style spread throughout Japan during the Meiji Restoration (明治維新), and continued with Emperor Taisho (大正) and his successor Emperor Showa (昭和天皇).  

Essentially split into two sections, the eastern side of the building was constructed with concrete and was where the daily operation of the police station would have taken place. The roof of the building was higher than the western side and features the two-sided kirizuma-zukuri (切妻造 / きりづまづくり) style of roof design. The western side of the building on the other hand was a traditional living space for the employees of the police station and was constructed in a more traditional style featuring a beautiful four-sided yosemune-zukuri (寄棟造 /よせむねづくり) style of roof, creating a three dimensional design as illustrated below.

One of the most important architectural elements of Art-Deco style is the inclusion of flowing geometric shapes and it would be an understatement to say that architects of the time absolutely loved fusing traditional Japanese-style ‘hip-and-gable’ roofs in these designs. These geometrically complex roofs expanded upon the Art Deco style and ensured that traditional Japanese characteristics were plainly visible. So, while it may have appeared that the building consisted of two different roofs, they were actually connected with the eastern end having an arch facing outwards towards the entrance while the western side arched in the opposite direction. 

Obviously, since the only part of the building that remains today is the concrete administrative section, the only part of the roof that we can see now is the (recently restored) two-sided kirizuma roof, which is constructed to look like an ‘open book’ or the Chinese character “入”.

The architecture of this section was regarded by designers as the primarily western-inspired section of the station, or the ‘youkan’ (洋館 / ようかん) with high ceilings and a spacious open interior. 

When you visit today, you’ll find the outline of where the Japanese-style designed ‘wakan’ (和館  /わかん) once existed, with some of the cement pieces from the base still intact. The building itself however was demolished decades ago, and I doubt that there will be any efforts to reconstruct it in the near future. That being said, the building was constructed of wood and was a ‘shared-dormitory’ style building featuring a living space, kitchen, common area and a western-style bathroom (likely added in the 1960s).

The living space would have been connected directly to the station and employees would have been able to go back and forth during the day between the station and the residence.

As mentioned above, there also used to be a separate dorm building to the rear that housed the patrol officer, and I’m assuming his family. The building wouldn’t have been all that large, but it seems like it would have been completely covered by a beautiful tree, which would have been nice. There isn’t any record as to when that particular building disappeared, so I’m assuming that it was bulldozed around the same time as the other building, but there is little evidence that it actually existed today.

Today, the station is simply an empty shell with only a little evidence of what once existed on the grounds - The station grounds cover about 1000 square meters of land (300坪), and if you walk around you’ll be able to find other objects that once existed on the site, such as an old flag pole and the stone barriers on the hill in front of the station. If you take the time to explore and know where to look, you’ll be able to find quite a bit while walking around.  

The Luku Incident (鹿窟事件)

One of the first (as well as the largest) events of the White Terror Period (白色恐怖), the infamous ‘Luku Incident' was a several month-long massacre starting on December 29th, 1952 and spread over a several month period until March 3rd 1953.

While many of the facts about what happened are still unknown, records are slowly opening up thanks to the Transitional Justice branch of the government, tasked with discovering the truth of what happened during Taiwan’s period of authoritarian one-party rule. 

What we do know is a situation the authoritarian government perceived as a threat resulted in a heavy-handed response that saw thousands of police officers marching into the mountains, blockading a village for months, and ended in the arrests of hundreds of innocent people, many of whom were imprisoned on false charges, while others were executed for crimes against the state. 

Official records (currently) state that more than four-hundred villagers were arrested, one hundred imprisoned and thirty-six of them were executed for charges relating to treason or espionage over the four month period. For those that were arrested, interrogation and torture was pretty much a given, and if one ultimately submitted and admitted to a crime (as many do during torture sessions), it was a death sentence.

So what caused this mess? 

Reeling from their losses during the Chinese Civil War, the Chinese Nationalists were intent on eliminating anyone with communist sympathies here in Taiwan in fear that ‘collaborators’ would be able to assist those back in China in any future attack on Taiwan.

In 1949, looking for a strategic stronghold in Taiwan, the village of Luku (鹿窟) in the mountains between the port of Keelung and the capital of Taipei was selected to become a communist base of operations.

By 1950, it is estimated that the group had attracted around three-hundred followers, and named itself the “Taiwan People’s Self Defense Force” (台灣人民武裝保衛隊). In late 1952, one the members of the group was captured and gave up details of the group’s operations including those who were involved. The area was then put under surveillance, and within a month it was decided that the Security Bureau (保密局), the Security Command (保安司令部), the Taipei Garrison Command (台北衛戍司令部) and the Taipei County Police (台北縣警察局) would coordinate and dispatch a 15,000 man response to block the mountains and rout out the communist threat. 

For most people Taiwan today, the incident was one of those largely forgotten events of the White Terror period - Few actually knew what happened, nor what the government did to the people of this village. For the villagers however, life in the aftermath of what happened was never able to return to normal.

For much of the 1950s, the vast majority of the villages men had disappeared, or were dead - This left only widows, children and the elderly, most of whom were geographically isolated from the rest of Taiwan. Coupled with a sense of alienation from their fellow villagers (who were forced to point fingers at each other in their confessions) mention of what happened became taboo within the community, which was renamed ‘Guangming’ (光明里) by the government in order to erase memory of what took place.

In order to further ‘punish’ the people of Luku, the coal mines were shut down and roads in and out of the village weren’t maintained, forcing many to simply pack up and leave.

When the five-decade long Martial Law era came to an end in 1987, and the nation started to transition into a multi-party democracy, the crimes of the past started to come under scrutiny with the 2-28 Incident (二二八事件) given official recognition by the government in 1991, followed by the Luku Incident a few years later.

On December 29th, 2000, the 48th anniversary of the incident, the government unveiled the Luku Incident Memorial (鹿窟事件紀念牌) at the intersection of Luku, Shiding (石碇) and Nangang (南港) as a reminder of the horrible events and the hope that the healing process could finally start after so many years. 

Link: Luku Incident Memorial 鹿窟事件紀念碑 (Foreigners in Taiwan)

How does this terrible incident that took place 70 years ago relate to the Baiyun Police Station?

If you take into consideration the geographic location of Luku Village and the station, it’s easy to see why.

The station was used as a command center for some of the 15,000 armed security personnel who barricaded the village. It was also used for surveillance of the village for the month prior to the blockade.

Link: Gone but Not Forgotten: 7 Historic Sites to Learn More About the White Terror (Taiwan Scene)

Finally, as the village of Luku declined in the aftermath of the incident, the need for a police station in the area similarly became unnecessary ultimately sealing the fate of the building.

Today, the station, like the village above is an empty shell, but as we look back at the tragedies of the Luku Incident, it remains an important historic location with regard to remembering the mistakes of the past.  

Getting There

 

Address: #373 Xiding Road, Xizhi District, New Taipei City (新北市汐止區汐碇路373號)

GPS: 25.037180, 121.641720

Okay, so there is a bit of an issue with the address above, making getting to the area a little difficult.

Coincidentally, when I attempted to visit the station, I had thought I was going to have to jump a fence or something to get in, given the directions that I had read before departure.

The address listed above is officially the address for Linsen Elementary School (林森小學), but that’s not actually where you’re going to find the entrance when you arrive. It is essentially just the closest physical address to where you’ll find the police station given that it doesn’t have an address of its own. 

When you’re making your way up the very narrow mountainous Xiding Road (汐碇路), you’ll come across a sharp turn where you’ll find the entrance to the school on the left. If you’re arrived at the school, you’ll have already passed the entrance to the police station.

When the road curves, you’ll notice a stone set of stairs that ascends a tree-covered hill - from there you’ll simply walk up the hill for a minute until you arrive at the station. The problem for most people is that the station isn’t clearly marked on the road, so you really have to pay attention. 

If you’re driving a car or a scooter, simply input the address above into your GPS or Google Maps and you’ll be able to find your way there from wherever you’re going. A word of advice on that matter though, if you’re driving a car and you pass the entrance to the police station, it’s going to be quite difficult to turn around on the very narrow road. You’re going to have to pay close attention to your GPS and when you see the road start to curve just before you arrive at the elementary school, pull over on the side of the road where there is a grassy area that allows visitors to park. 

If you’re relying on public transportation to get to the police station, you’re in luck as there is amazingly a bus that services the (somewhat obscure) area. That being said, the bus doesn’t come all that often so you’re likely to find yourself waiting around for a while if you take that option. 

The bus is #F903 from Xizhi (汐止) to Tiandao Qingxiu Temple (天道清修院), and it only services the area seven times a day which means that you’re going to have to be very careful with your timing. 

From Xizhi Train Station (汐止火車站): 06:30 08:20 10:00 12:00 13:30 15:30 17:30

From Tiandao Qingxiu Temple (天道清修院): 07:10 09:15 10:40 12:40 14:10 16:10 18:10 

Not wanting to rely on the bus, I rented a GoShare from Nangang Train Station (南港車站) and made my way up the mountain and back by scooter. Unfortunately the only shared scooter services you’ll find in the Xizhi area are iRent and Wemo and they’re few and far between. 

If you were brave you could also rent a Youbike and make your way up the hill to the station, but the hill is quite steep and it’d be a pretty difficult ride, so I wouldn’t really recommend that method. 

The New Taipei City government has invested a bit of money on the preservation of this historic Japanese-era police station, but it’s certainly not a destination that is meant to attract a lot of tourists.

If you find yourself in the area hiking one of the trails, then you should probably make the effort to stop by to check it out, however I don’t think many people are as invested in these things as I am and aren’t going to make a special effort to travel all the way there just to check it out.



Sanxia Loyal Spirit Monument (三峽忠魂碑)

Over the years I’ve written quite a bit about Taiwan’s period of Japanese rule here on this website. I’ve gone into great detail about some of the remaining Shinto Shrines, Martial Arts Halls, Police Dormitories, Teachers Dormitories, Civic buildings, etc.

I’ve talked a lot about how the Japanese helped to develop and shape Taiwan into the beautiful country that it is today, and how things certainly wouldn’t be the same now if it wasn’t for their influence. Admittedly though, while talking about all of the good things that happened during the half-century of Japanese rule, I’ve glossed over some of the really dark moments of that history.

I’m going to attempt to rectify some of that today with this blog post. 

This post probably isn’t for the faint of heart, but I’ll be introducing a little known destination and a history that not too many people talk about.

To start, I’m going to have to go back in time before the Japanese took control of Taiwan. 

The thing about Taiwanese history over the past four or five centuries is that it is full of would-be colonizers coming here to reap the benefits of this treasure trove of an island. Prior to the arrival of the Japanese, the Dutch, the Spanish and the Chinese all attempted to exert control over the island, but each of these attempts turned out to be short-lived, rather unsuccessful and each time ended badly. After several attempts by those mentioned above, the Japanese arrived and were the first to be able to exert administrative control over the entirety of the island. 

Why is it that up until the arrival of the Japanese that no one could actually control Taiwan? 

Well, the answer is simple - Taiwan was already home to groups of indigenous people and they didn’t take too kindly to all of the colonizers arriving on their shores. 

During the 17th Century, Europeans started arriving in Taiwan and set up small outposts around the island in order to engage in trade with the indigenous people. However, when they attempted to do what the European colonial powers were notorious for, namely subjugating and oppressing the local population, things took a turn for the worse and resulted in violent uprisings that forced the Europeans out. 

Then, when the Qing started taking an interest in Taiwan in the late 17th Century, waves of Chinese settlers started arriving on the island, mostly from provinces in Southern China. Possibly having learned from the mistakes of the Europeans, the Chinese instituted administrative policies that restricted migrants from settling in the mountainous areas, which were mainly settled by the indigenous people. 

Interestingly, immigration at the time was tightly controlled and the settlers who came to Taiwan were predominately male. One of the conditions for coming to Taiwan was that they were not permitted to bring with them a wife or children. The intention was to control the population of settlers in Taiwan, but it was thought that interactions between the Chinese settlers and indigenous people would be easier if they started to inter-marry. 

In truth, inter-marriage allowed for a certain level of protection and better business opportunities for many of the settlers, but like the Europeans before them, people started to bend the rules and infringe upon indigenous lands, which frequently resulted in conflicts.

It wasn’t until the final days of Qing rule over Taiwan that the ban on entering the mountains was lifted, but by then it was already too late as the Chinese were being embarrassed at home in their war with the Japanese. Ultimately, the threat of decapitation wandering too close to indigenous territories was enough to deter many of the early Chinese immigrants from making the same mistakes that the Europeans did. 

You’ll often hear the Chinese government make bold claims like “Taiwan is an inherent part of China’s sovereign territory”. But the problem with these claims is that from 1683 - 1895, the Qing were only able to control pockets of the western coast of the island and like the Europeans before them were powerless to exert total control over the island.

Then the Japanese arrived, and they had no intention on limiting their control over the island in the same way that the Qing did.

They wanted it all. 

In 1871, decades prior to the official start of the colonial era, fifty-four Ryukyuan sailors shipwrecked in southwestern Taiwan and were massacred by the Paiwan (排灣族) in an infamous event referred to as the Mudan Incident (牡丹社事件).

The reaction to this massacre resulted in the Taiwan Expedition (台灣出兵) of 1874, which was the first overseas deployment of the Japanese Imperial Army and Navy. The success of the military expedition, which sought revenge for the massacred Ryukyuans, would ultimately have geo-political ramifications that would shape events in Asia over the next few decades.

Link: 1874 Japanese Invasion of Taiwan (Wiki) 

One of the takeaways of the expedition was the conclusion that Taiwan’s indigenous people were “vicious, violent and cruel” and that any future plans for Taiwan would first require the complete submission of the indigenous “barbarians,” which as I’m sure you can imagine shaped a brutal policy of subjugation over the subsequent five decades of colonial rule.

To their credit, the Japanese ending up doing some extensive anthropological study of Taiwan’s indigenous groups during their years here. That research forms the basis of much of the taxonomy that is used by the Taiwanese government to classify the various groups of indigenous peoples today. The positives however pale in comparison to the long list of ‘rebellions’, ‘uprisings’ and ‘incidents’ that took place around the island that ended up resulting in massacres and the oppression of the indigenous people. 

Further Reading: Xincheng Incident (新城事件), Beipu Uprising (北浦事件), Truku War (太魯閣戰爭), Tapani Incident (噍吧哖事件), Musha Incident (霧社事件)

Unlike the Qing, the Japanese weren’t interested in policies that gave the indigenous people space and as colonial rule progressed, the Japanese moved as far inland as possible to continue their extraction of natural resources which were instrumental in fueling the hunger of the ever-expanding empire. 

Resistance to Japanese rule lasted for decades, but the violence eventually settled down as the Japanese developed the island and acted as agents of modernity. Providing health care and education to the local people, improving their quality of life and providing them with new opportunities. Surprisingly, even though the memory of colonial rule remains painful for many of Taiwan’s indigenous groups, you’ll find that there is a lingering affinity among some for the ‘good old days’, which is often contrast with yet another period of racism and oppression that came with the subsequent decades of authoritarian dictatorship of the Chinese Nationalists.

For most, its difficult to fathom how decades of atrocities and suppression could result in assimilation, but when the Second World War spread to the Pacific, Taiwan’s indigenous military, the ‘Takasago Volunteers’ (高砂兵) were some of the fiercest warriors the empire ever produced and their legendary bravery and loyalty continues to be celebrated in Japan today, with many of them honored at the Yasukuni Shinto Shrine in Tokyo. 

Nevertheless, it should go without saying that no matter how some might feel about the period of Japanese rule, it has been a rough couple of centuries for the indigenous people of Taiwan, who have called this land home for thousands of years. The situation has only started to improve with better recognition of Taiwan’s indigenous peoples as an integral part of the Taiwanese national identity. The cultural shifts and forced assimilation brought on by subsequent colonial powers over the past few centuries however has inflicted irreparable damage to indigenous cultural identities and the loss of their languages.

This is a subject that deserves considerable more attention and effort than I’m able to get into here with this brief summary. Fortunately, there are an increasing number of researchers who specialize in this topic, and the story of Taiwan’s indigenous peoples, and their fight to save their languages and their cultures is starting to attract the attention it deserves. 

Today I’m going to be introducing one of the lesser known ‘incidents’ that took place during the colonial era and an even lesser known memorial that exists in its honour. In most cases, the tragic events linked above, such as the Musha Incident, were major events in Taiwanese history and are covered extensively in the education system and in the media. Even though the ‘Dabao Incident’ is lesser known, it is yet another one of the tragic events that took place during the early years of the occupation, and set a precedent for years to come. 

Dabao Incident (大豹社事件)

A small waterfall hiding behind a cliff on the Dabao River

When the Japanese took control of Taiwan, they wasted no time in their attempts to pacify the island, which would allow them to quickly take control of not just the people living here but the precious resources that were suddenly made available to the fledgling empire. One of the most precious of those resources was camphor, which was instrumental for the production of celluloid, pharmaceuticals and industrial chemicals - and for which Taiwan was a veritable treasure trove.

The only problem was that Taiwan’s rich camphor resources were predominately located within indigenous lands, resulting in the Japanese army, with its advanced weaponry, forcibly displacing tens of thousands of indigenous people, burning their villages to the ground and murdering any of those who had the audacity to fight back. 

Starting in 1900 (明治33年), the Office of the Governor General opened up Taiwan’s mountainous regions for the extraction of camphor trees (樟腦樹), and other precious resources. The decision would start an almost two-decade long period of resistance to Japanese rule by Taiwan’s indigenous people, loosely referred to as ‘the Camphor Wars’ and resulting in the deaths of an estimated 10,000 members of the Japanese Armed Forces and countless indigenous lives. 

The Dabao River flowing down into Sanxia

One of the first military campaigns into the mountains took place that same year in the mountains near Sanxia (三峽), located in the mountains in the south of New Taipei City (新北市). The military campaign resulted in what is known as the Dabao Incident (大豹社事件), which as I mentioned above is one of the lesser known incidents and unfortunately hasn’t really been covered very well in the English language - or in Chinese for that matter.

The Dabao River (大豹溪) is one of New Taipei City’s most important rivers, sourced from high in the mountains and flowing down into Sanxia District (三峽區). Today the river is part of a popular recreation area where tourists can camp, bbq, fish and enjoy beautiful natural waterfalls like Yunsen Waterfall (雲森瀑布), among others. Originally home to the Takoham (大嵙崁), a tribe belonging to the Tayal Indigenous group (泰雅族), who made their homes along the river where they hunted, fished and farmed for their sustenance.

Prior to the arrival of the Japanese, the Qing under the leadership of Governor Liu Mingchuan (劉銘傳) entered the Takoham area in order to start the extraction of camphor resulting in the Takoham Incident (大嵙崁社事件), which took place between 1886 and 1892, just as the Qing cancelled its prohibition on entering Taiwan’s mountainous regions (開山撫番).

This incident was one of the first attempts by the Qing to enter the mountains and despite having relatively modern weaponry for the time, the various Tayal villages in the area banded together to resist and were relatively successful in repelling the Chinese from advancing into their territory. They did however suffer heavy losses, which would become an issue a few short years later when the Japanese took control of the island and set their eyes on the camphor in their territory.

Prior to the advance of the Japanese army, camphor stations were constructed in the Dabao River area near Sanxia. This met with indigenous resistance not only because the Japanese were entering their territory, but because some of the Japanese workers had captured Tayal women and used them as sex slaves. Using violent clashes as a justification, the colonial government sent the army marching into the mountains starting what would become the second bloody resistance in as many years. 

Guerrilla warfare between the Tayal people (and anti-Japanese Han residents) lasted for years with the Japanese suffering considerable losses and ultimately resulting in a truce. Unfortunately for the Takoham tribe, the losses were devastating and by 1921 (大正10年) the vast majority of them relocated higher in the mountains to Pyasan (比亞山), which is currently known as Taoyuan’s Fuxing District (復興區).

When the colonial era ended and the Chinese Nationalists took control of Taiwan, former residents of Takoham made an official request to the government for the return of the ancestral homeland. One such figure, Losing Watan (樂信·瓦旦 / 渡井三郎) was one of the most highly educated and vocal of the Tayal community through his capacity as a medical professional and later an elected member of the (defunct) Taiwan Provincial Consultative Council (臺灣省參議會).

Waterfall on the Dabao River

His fight for ethnic rights and representation within the “democratic” Republic of China came to an unfortunate end as he and several others who advocated for indigenous rights (and the return of their ancestral homeland), were charged with espionage and treason (高山族匪諜案) and executed. 

Link: Losing Watan Memorial Park (樂信瓦旦紀念公園)

Political control of Taiwan might have shifted from the Japanese to the Chinese Nationalists after the Second World War, but the death of someone as accomplished as Losing Watan and his compatriots is just another one of the sad events that took place during Taiwan’s White Terror (白色恐怖) period and ushered in another era of cruelty against Taiwan’s indigenous people. 

Sanxia Loyal Spirit Monument (三峽忠魂碑)

The Dabao Incident Monument was erected on a mountain deep within a beautiful bamboo forest along the Dabao River.

I’ve seen claims that the memorial was erected in a location where some of the violence took place, but historical records to that effect aren’t very well-documented, so it’s difficult to confirm. What we do know about the monument is that it was erected in 1930 (昭和5年) in honour of the fallen members of the Japanese Imperial Army who perished during the bloody incident. It has existed in obscurity for quite sometime as there are actually very few people who realize it even exists or know about its location, deep in a bamboo forest with little information to remind anyone that its there.

How it faded into obscurity shouldn’t really surprise anyone.

The Tayal residents who were most affected by the Dabao Incident moved deeper into the mountains and the Japanese who erected it left Taiwan when the war was over.

The memorial, which is literally a Loyal Spirit Monument (忠魂碑) is just one of many that were constructed throughout Taiwan during the colonial era dedicated to the ‘faithful who died in battle’, but is one of the few that actually remains standing and relatively unscathed after the regime change in the late 1940s. 

Language Note: “Loyal Spirit Monument” - 忠魂碑 (zhong hún bei) - ちゅうこんひ (chuukonhi)

Using local materials, the shrine is elevated off of the ground on a carved stone base and features an exquisitely decorated plaque with beautifully carved calligraphy. The architectural design of the memorial is thought to be representative of the 1930s, which certainly makes it representative of that era in Taiwan’s history, despite its debatably nefarious origins.

Similar to a smaller Shinto Shrine, surrounding the monument you’ll find an elevated stone pedestal with small stone pillars on each of its four corners. The 25 ping (坪) pedestal was constructed for the practical purpose of ensuring that it wouldn’t be overtaken by the bamboo forest that grows around it as well as giving those who came to pay their respects a place to pray.

There are photos of the shrine that were taken by other explorers a few years ago that show that it was nearly consumed by nature after several decades without any proper attention or grounds keeping.  

Recently however, it was recognized as a New Taipei City Historical Monument (市定古蹟) and has received some attention over the past year. This attention however has brought with it a debate about whether or not it should continue to exist, considering what it represents. Members of the Indigenous community have argued that it is representative of a dark period of history and is a bitter reminder of how the Tayal people have suffered through various atrocities.

The New Taipei City government on the other hand argues that the preservation and recognition of the memorial as a historical monument are a reminder of the past and how we should never make the same mistakes again. 

No matter what your stance on the subject is, the memorial remains to this day so obscure that few people actually realize it exists. It is a painful reminder of an era of history that doesn’t really get mentioned enough here in Taiwan, so maybe the fact that it is still around will allow people to carefully examine the history like I have and learn more about the plight of the Tayal and the other groups of Taiwan’s indigenous peoples who have suffered so much over the past few centuries of foreign rule. 

Getting There

 

So how is one to find this obscure war memorial? 

Well, it is located in the mountains near Sanxia Old Street (三峽老街) a few minutes up the road from the trailhead for Wuliaojian (五寮尖), one of the most popular hiking trails in northern Taiwan as well as being close to the beautiful Yunsen Waterfall (雲森瀑布) 

That being said, unless you have a car or a scooter, getting there can be difficult. 

The memorial is located on top of a small mountain that is on an obscure unmarked road off of the #114 North (北) highway that takes you to Manyueyuan National Forest Recreation Area (滿月圓國家森林遊樂園).

The road that takes you to the trailhead for the memorial is unmarked, so what you’ll want to keep in mind is that once you’ve passed by the trailhead for Wuliaojian and crossed the bridge on the 114, you’ll have to keep driving until you come across a lonely bus stop on the left side of the road. The bus stop, known as “Dayi Bridge” (大義橋) has an entrance to the steep mountain road that will bring you to the trailhead for the memorial on either side.

How will you know when you’ve reached the trailhead?

The best way is to look at the numbers on the telephone poles on the side of the road. Once you’ve reached #41, you’ve basically arrived. Next to the pole, you’ll find a run down pavilion that is probably used by the farmers who own the land, and the trailhead starts just beyond there.

This is the area where you’re going to want to watch for the mountain dogs, so be careful as they’re likely to start barking when they hear you coming. Given that they’re probably not used to many visitors coming around, they’re not really interested in your presence, so if you’re walking its probably a good idea to grab a stick somewhere along the road to protect yourself.

Once you’ve reached the trailhead, you’ll find an extremely unkept path that winds through a beautiful bamboo forest. If you actually visit, it will likely appear to that no one has really hiked the trail in a while, because not too many people actually know that it exists.

The hike should only take about ten to twenty minutes, depending on how fast you walk, but you’re going to have to be careful as the trail isn’t that stable in certain areas and there is a steep cliff that you could fall down while on the way up. Likewise, the trail isn’t very well marked and there are some twists and turns that could cause you to easily get lost. The fact that so few people are hiking the trail means that the path is likely to grow over quite easily, so pay attention! 

One last note: Something that you’ll probably want to remember to bring with you is some powerful mosquito repellent as it seems like the bamboo forest is a breeding ground for them. If you don’t have any repellent (like me), its likely that you’ll get eaten alive on the short hike (like I did).

The end of the quick hike.

It’s rather obvious that this little memorial isn’t exactly a major tourist attraction. By my estimation, I’d guess that its probably visited less than once or twice every couple of months.

That being said, its kind of amazing that it has been able to survive as long as it has given what it represents.

It’s probably one of those things that only people like myself know about, but if you’ve read this far, you’ll know that it represents a dark period of history and one that I sincerely hope we have learned from.