Spectral Codex

Dongshi Loyalty Monument (東勢表忠碑)

Tue, 08 Sep 2026 16:00:00 GMT

A monument lost in the spaces between houses in Dongshi.

Dongshi Loyalty Monument (東勢表忠碑) is a hidden monument in Dongshi, Taichung, dating back to the Japanese colonial era. It was inaugurated October 14th, 1925, in memory of 288 Japanese killed in action or lost to disease during the subjugation of Tayal communities in the mountains beyond Dongshi, who were reportedly interred at the site.

The inscription now reads Monument to the Martyrs of the War of Resistance Against Japan (抗戰陣亡將士紀念碑).

Red characters for Nanmei Cake Shop (南美餅行) can be seen on the exterior of the building in the background.

It originally stood in a small park next to Dongshi Public Hall (東勢公會堂) and Dongshi Social Hall (東勢社會館), but in the post-war era the land was allocated to demobilized KMT veterans and structures accreted around the periphery. The original inscription was also replaced at some point, reframing the monument as one to anti-Japanese resistance by affixing a stone plate to the front. Whether any human remains fill the base of the monument is unknown; it is quite possible they were repatriated to Japan at some point.

A closer look at the base of the monument.

A closer look at the back of the monument.

The inscription on the back face.

The view from the corridor providing access to the house to the left. The mark of a stonemason, Mitsuzou Fujiwara (藤原光藏), and his place of business, Taipei City Stone Shop (台北市石店), can be seen at bottom right.

The monument can only be visited by calling upon a resident of the surrounding houses for a viewing.

Yuanlin Credit Union (員林信用合作社)

Thu, 06 Aug 2026 16:00:00 GMT

Yuanlin Credit Union (員林信用合作社) was a small town bank from Yuanlin, Taiwan, that went out of business at the turn of the century. It originated with a Japanese colonial era credit union founded in 1914 and based out of a long-vanished red brick building directly across from Yuanlin Station (員林車站), a plot of land later occupied by the doomed Golden Empire Building (黃金帝國大樓). In the post-war chaos the original credit union was renamed and reorganized several times, eventually giving birth to the credit union that constructed this particular branch, possibly in the late 1960s or early 1970s.

The former Yuanlin Credit Union doesn’t look so bad from the street. Note the credit cooperative logo (合作標章) at the top of the façade.

The entrance to the old bank still bears the outlines of the original characters overhead, from right to left.

The Taiwanese banking sector, dominated by state-owned banks, underwent liberalization and deregulation in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Consumer confidence began to ebb, however, and a series of widely publicized bank runs in 1995 and 1996 prompted government intervention. Although Taiwan weathered the 1997 Asian financial crisis dozens of small banks and agricultural cooperatives were in serious trouble by the end of the decade, Yuanlin Credit Union among them.

Inside the lobby of an abandoned bank in Yuanlin.

Behind the counter at the former Yuanlin Credit Union, later a branch of the Sunny Bank.

Despite rummaging around for items of interest in the drawers there were nothing much that caught my eye.

The open vault still bears the full name of the Yuanlin Township Credit Union.

A financial reform task force formed in the late 1990s to deal with the problem. The government adopted a policy of arranging mergers between failing institutions and healthier organizations ready for expansion. This brings us to Sunny Bank (陽信商業銀行), which was originally founded in 1957 as the Yangmingshan Credit Union and reorganized into a commercial bank in 1997. Sunny Bank acquired Yuanlin Credit Union in September 2001 and either closed and sold or completely rebranded its remaining branches. This particular branch continued to operated for several years but was eventually closed at an unknown date, almost certainly whenever the newer Sunny Bank branch opened closer to the train station.

Through the office to the narrow courtyard at the back of the building. Those are bathrooms on the right.

An empty safe near the back of the old bank. Nothing but dust inside.

Vintage wooden frames and windowpanes stained by the passage of years.

Classic window grilling.

Ascending to the second floor office (二樓辦公廳).

Reflecting on the immensity of time on the gutted second level.

Wiretapping.

Some odious form of slime oozing from the ceiling of the abandoned bank.

The generalissimo watching over empty rooms.

Cutout babes in the back office of an abandoned bank.

Looking backwards from the second level of the old bank.

Stairway to heaven.

The top level is an utter disaster zone. Much of the rooftop has collapsed, leaving it open to the elements.

A scene of complete collapse.

Without business records or other details to examine I’m left guessing about the date of construction. Based solely on its authoritarian modernist style I would estimate this was built in the early 1970s, but there is considerable margin for error. Whatever the case, the building was stripped of anything worth salvaging at some point—hence all the wiring shown in several of these photos.

One last look at an abandoned credit union in Yuanlin.

These photos were captured in 2016, around when the bank was a regular feature of urban exploration groups in Taiwan. Around 2023 the building was sold and converted into a KTV, which is a rather surprising fate for a ruin such as this. I revisited in 2025 and initially assumed a new building had been constructed on the footprint of the original, but no, this is still the same building!

The newly converted credit union, now in bright pink.

The view from around back, in case you needed more proof.

Ershui Public Hall (二水公會堂)

Mon, 03 Aug 2026 16:00:00 GMT

Ershui Public Hall (二水公會堂) is located in Ershui, a small town at the very southern edge of Changhua, on the border with both Yunlin (to the south) and Nantou (to the east). It is one of approximately 70 public halls built all around Taiwan to accommodate large public gatherings during the Japanese colonial era. This particular example was built in 1930 and is one of three remaining in Changhua. The other two—in Changhua City and Lukang—are both fully restored heritage properties open to the public, but this smaller hall has been derelict for years, a consequence of a long-running legal dispute between the landlord and local government complicating preservation efforts.

A closer look at the façade. The circular outline of where the original sign would have been mounted is visible. You may also notice a moth in the frame; there were hundreds flying all around the building when I visited.

Another look at the old public hall.

The grounds were not well-kept when I visited in 2017.

The characters emblazoned on the front of the building read Zhōngshān Hall (中山堂) but this was not the original name. If you look closely at the photograph you can see a circular outline around the central character, almost certainly where something would have been mounted. I strongly suspect this would have been a plate inscribed with the city emblem (市徽) for Ershui, a convention outlined in an entry about the nearby Fenyuan Village Office. I went looking for archival footage of the hall but found nothing online to confirm this hunch.

Creeping around the side of the derelict public hall.

The public hall was constructed between the older, unplanned Qing dynasty era settlement and the newer, more modern area around Ershui Station (二水車站), which opened in 1905. This reflects a common urban planning pattern in the Japanese colonial era: grafting an area of wider streets (often on a grid) and institutional buildings onto an existing town. This parcel of land was originally the site of the hall, a police station, and several wooden dormitories, among which the station chief’s remains intact. Google Street View records indicate the police station was still present in 2012 and only demolished after the lease on the land beneath it expired—so the unkempt meadowland immediately adjacent to the public hall has only been empty for a few years.

The side door is open for some reason, how could I not go take a look?

I didn’t expect to be able to take a peek inside the old hall, particularly not after jumping the fence around the side and arousing the attention of two Taiwanese men playing catch on a bare patch of ground next to the fire station, which is still in use. I inquired about taking a look inside and, after glancing at one another, the man closer to me gave me a curt nod. Stepping through the weeds, I went around back and had a look inside the public hall.

Inside the public hall. It doesn’t look so bad in here.

Evidently it is now used as storage by the fire department.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, the hall originally served as an office of the hokō system (保甲制度), a grassroots form of civic self-governance and law enforcement adapted from the pre-existing Qing dynasty baojia system. This system provided an interface between community leaders and law enforcement—which also explains the hall’s proximity to the colonial era police station. Community leaders under the hokō system were charged with registering overnight visitors, reporting suspicious activity, and other such duties.

The hokō system was also used to reshape social customs in the early Japanese colonial period. Foot binding, a common practice in late 19th century Taiwan, was viewed by the Japanese as an uncivilized custom (and rightly so). Seeking to discourage and then outright ban the practice in the 1910s, the Japanese sent orders down through the network of hokō offices to identify households with bound women and eventually order their unbinding.

An old dormitory behind the public hall in Ershui.

The flagpole in front of the old wooden dormitory. This area was teeming with moths when I visited.

A cramped view of the front of the dormitory, showing underfloor ventilation at ground level.

Inside the old dormitory, which was obviously repurposed since the war.

Behind the hall is an old wooden dormitory, the residence of the head of the nearby police station. Visually there is nothing too unusual about this structure, nor was there much of anything left inside. Most interesting is the flagpole stand positioned out front. It is constructed in the same rugged stone-washed style (洗石子) as the public hall, and seems to have been moved here when the neighboring police station was demolished.

The derelict public hall in the heart of Ershui.

Since publishing this article in early 2017 metal fencing has gone up around the site, and in 2019 the Changhua County government registered the Ershui Public Hall and Hokō Office as a historic building, subject to protection under the law. There are only so many old public halls left in Taiwan—the vast majority have already been destroyed—so this is very good news!

One of Taiwan’s only geometrid moth species resting on the exterior of Ershui Public Hall.

How new moths are made!

Smartphone version of the same moth seen above.

While exploring the public hall in May 2017 something else caught my eye: an eclipse of brightly-colored, iridescent moths flitting around the overgrown ruins—and many more locked in an embrace on whatever flat surfaces could be found. Evidently this area is a breeding ground for Taiwan’s only geometrid moth species, Milionia basalis pryeri, a subspecies of Milionia basalis only found in Taiwan and southwestern Japan, particularly Okinawa. There appears to be no English common name but in Chinese it is generally known as the orange-banded moth (橙帶枝尺蛾). Nature reclaims abandoned spaces in startling ways!

One last look at the front of the old Ershui Public Hall.

Despite hopeful signs in the wake of the heritage designation in 2019 the local government has had a difficult time coordinating with the landlord to restore the building, or at least prevent it from deteriorating further. By 2026 it was reported that the roof had completely collapsed, leaving the interior exposed to the elements.

Karenko POW Camp (花蓮戰俘營)

Sat, 01 Aug 2026 16:00:00 GMT

A monument erected in 2012 in front of the former site of the POW camp at Karenko.

Karenko was the POW camp in Taiwan where Imperial Japan held the most senior Allied officers taken in the opening year of World War 2. These officers were separated from the men they led, starting in August 1942 with the arrival of US Lieutenant General Jonathan Wainwright and 178 others taken from the Philippines. In September, Lieutenant General Arthur Percival and the commanders taken at Singapore and in the Dutch East Indies followed by way of the POW camp at Heito, together with colonial governors and civil officials from Singapore, Malaya, and Sumatra. Some 401 prisoners passed through in ten months, forced into farming and goat herding and denied food and medicine. Three died here, the first being Major General Merton Beckwith-Smith in November 1942.

The explanatory plaque next to the monument is unusually detailed and fully bilingual.

Ahead of a Red Cross inspection the Japanese moved 117 of the highest-ranking prisoners inland to Tamazato to be rested and fed, eventually dispersing the prisoners to Shirakawa and Taihoku Moksak before closing the camp at Karenko in June 1943.

The Taiwan POW Camps Memorial Society raised the monument outside the military police base now occupying the site in 2012, with members of Beckwith-Smith’s family in attendance.

Jinzi Theater (金紫戲院)

Wed, 29 Jul 2026 16:00:00 GMT

A slightly Art Deco style pervades the architecture of this small town theater.

Jinzi Theater was built in Anxiliao (安溪寮) by Lin Yaodong (林耀東), a resident of Yanshui, who named it for an ancestor, Lin Jinzi (林金紫). Completed in 1956, it is remarkable for its relatively grand scale despite being located in a small village in rural Houbi, Tainan. Management changed hands twice within a few years of opening, and from around 1958 a couple from Taichung, Wu Bokuan (吳伯寬) and Wu Linyu (吳林玉), held the operating rights, screening mainly Taiwanese-language films alongside glove puppetry and touring opera troupe performances.

The exterior of the theater was decorated by students in 2017.

After dark from within the ticket booth.

Another study of the ticket booth, this time by day.

The theater is a two-storey structure with a reinforced-concrete façade. The symmetrical design features round windows and horizontal banding evoking a hint of Art Deco style. The body of the theater is timber-framed with traditional bamboo wattle-and-daub walls, a common construction technique in rural Taiwan, and a roof covered in typhoon-resistant tile. The curved ticket booth at ground level is flanked by two entrances, and the projection booth is lined with metal, presumably as a precaution against fire.

The interior of the theater was cleared out long ago. The structure remains mostly intact.

The timber frame features bamboo wattle-and-daub walls, a traditional construction technique in rural Taiwan.

This wall, just inside the ticket booth, is not graffiti; these appear to be notes written by staff of the theater while it was still in operation.

A glimpse inside the metal-lined projection booth. Since the theater is entirely made of wood it was a major fire hazard, as the projectors of the day ran extremely hot!

Light switches inside the old theater.

A broken window frame from the front of the theater lays on the second floor balcony.

In 2017 students from Southern Taiwan University of Science and Technology (南臺科技大學) made the derelict theater the subject of a community project, hanging movie posters and painting murals on its exterior and screening an old Taiwanese-language film on antique equipment for mostly elderly residents, many of whom remembered the place in operation, outside a nearby community center. One attendee recalled the last screening was 3000 Leagues in Search of Mother (尋母三千里), a Japanese animation series dating back to 1976 with a theatrical cut released in 1980. As with most other small town theaters it likely closed as a result of the rise of television, which began taking over the market in early 1970s.

Looking back at the empty theater from the far side.

One last glimpse of the old theater before its eventual renewal.

Somewhat surprisingly, the theater was extensively renovated in 2020, and a small convenience store (金紫平價甘仔店) opened on the ground floor beneath a shell that obscures the wooden roof trusses. As of 2026 it appears this store might already be out of business.

Ōhashi-gumi Supervisor’s Dormitory (豐里移民村大橋組指導官舍)

Tue, 28 Jul 2026 16:00:00 GMT

The frontal view of the old dormitory sometime after it collapsed.

This traditional wooden residence once housed the supervisor or shidō-kan (指導官) of Ōhashi-gumi (大橋組), the largest of four settlements that made up Toyosato Immigrant Village (豐里移民村), one of many such Japanese settler-colonial projects on reclaimed river land in Changhua County in the 1930s. This particular village was established in April 1936 on land reclaimed by the diversion of Dongluo River (東螺溪), also known as Old Zhuoshui River (舊濁水溪). Settlers were drawn primarily from Kagoshima, Kumamoto, and Kagawa prefectures and cultivated rice, sweet potato, sugarcane, and tobacco. By the end of 1942 the village counted 119 households and 642 residents.

The right side of the collapsed dormitory.

In the post-war era Japanese settlers were expelled from Taiwan and these old homes were typically assigned by lot to Taiwanese families or newly arrived Chinese immigrants. Although the later history of this residence is unknown it is remarkable for surviving into the 21st century without being renovated into oblivion. Almost all such structures in the old immigrant villages of Changhua have been destroyed over the years as residents upgrade their homes to more modern standards.

A peek inside one of the roofless side rooms.

Although it was registered as a historic building in 2021 seemingly no effort was undertaken to protect the site from the elements and the front of the building has since collapsed, drastically reducing its heritage value.

Glass window vibes around back.

Putuoshan White Temple (普陀山白衣道場)

Wed, 22 Jul 2026 16:00:00 GMT

Pǔtuóshān White Temple (普陀山白衣道場) is one of the more unusual temples I have visited in Taiwan. Named after Putuoshan, one of the holy mountains of Chinese Buddhism, and dedicated to the worship of Guanyin (觀音), Goddess of Mercy, it appears to have been built in 2004. Apart from these basic details it seems like very little is known about this mysterious temple.

Pulling into the parking lot at the white temple.

Most temples in Taiwan are open to the public and welcome visitors. Not this one! Very little information apart from a phone number can be found online—and netizens regularly express befuddlement that such a beautiful and eye-catching temple would maintain such secrecy. Why attract all that attention if you aren’t going to be at all inviting?

A closer look at the side of the temple from below.

Looking north from the ledge in front of the main hall.

I was out on a mission to the badlands of southern Taiwan when I noticed the gleaming white temple on the mountainside while rounding a bend in the highway. After ascending the hillside to a parking spot about halfway up I disembarked to explore the temple grounds.

The view of the surrounding countryside from in front of the main hall. You can see the badlands on the horizon here.

The main hall at Putuoshan White Temple in Nanhua, Tainan.

Curiously, there wasn’t anyone around whatsoever—and all the doors were locked. The place looked entirely vacant but not abandoned. Peering through the glass doors I could see candles lit inside—and small tufts of smoke wafter out of the censer in front of the main hall. I walked around and took a few photos before hitting the road again.

A ghostly white temple on the edge of the badlands in Taiwan.

Putuoshan White Temple from the roadside. Not exactly the most inviting place.

Dongtaizigong Salt Transfer Station (東太子宮鹽運聯合轉運臺)

Fri, 17 Jul 2026 16:00:00 GMT

Located on the southwestern outskirts of Xinying, Tainan, this was a former transshipment station for salt produced at the solar evaporation ponds of the Qigu Saltworks (七股鹽場) and Budai Saltworks (布袋鹽場). In the mid-1950s salt production outpaced domestic consumption, prompting the state to invest in infrastructure to trade salt on the international market. Construction of this particular facility was overseen by the nearby Xinying Sugar Factory (新營糖廠) with labor provided by the Veterans Affairs Department. The transfer station was completed in 1955 and vast quantities of salt soon arrived by narrow gauge railway, to be transferred by regular rail to the Port of Kaohsiung for export. A comparison with archival photographs indicate the reinforced-concrete awning was not an original feature, but a later addition.

The ramp leading up to the platform is plainly visible from the path. Mind the gap should you choose to ascend.

This section of the platform is adorned with saltworks-themed murals.

The transfer station from the south side. The reinforced-concrete awning was a later addition, constructed sometime after it opened in 1955.

Decades of neglect have left the rebar of the reinforced-concrete structure exposed to the elements. Trains would have parked here for salt to be loaded from above.

Domestic demand for salt outpaced production in the mid-1960s, ending salt exports, and the station soon fell out of use. Perhaps due to its marginal location it was never dismantled, and still stands today, albeit in a state of disrepair. Local civic groups repurposed part of the grounds for use as a community garden but the platform itself remains largely abandoned and somewhat hazardous. Although readily accessible from the ramp at the south there is a large gap that requires balancing along the edge of the platform to access the rest, making it not suitable for casual exploration.

Let’s ascend the ramp, shall we? Mind the gap when you reach the section just beyond the water tank!

The platform is somewhat surprisingly long. Tracks have been ripped up in some sections but left intact in others.

Railway tracks bent out of shape from decades of neglect.

The northern end of the platform is particularly scenic with its railway tracks draped in vines.

A scenic view looking south along the length of the platform.

75 years later and still here!

One last glance at the decaying transfer station. Railway tracks still follow the original route next to the station.

The platform is located not far from Dongtaizigong Railway Station (東太子宮車站); both are named after the nearby pulp and paper factory. The site is also known less formally as the Nanzhi Salt Loading Platform (南紙卸鹽台).

Qigu Saltworks Dingshan Production Area (七股鹽場頂山生產區)

Thu, 16 Jul 2026 16:00:00 GMT

The No. 2 Pump House can be found next to the newly-built Western Coastal Expressway.

Qigu Saltworks (七股鹽場) was the largest salt field in Taiwan and the last to shut down in 2002. Dingshan Village (頂山里) was the site of the 1st Production Area (第一生產區) of the saltworks, largely on land expropriated from the local population, who had previously prospered as fish farmers. Numerous relics of the saltworks can be found scattered across this eerily flat part of coastal Tainan, and several earned heritage status under the name Qigu Saltworks Capital Reduction Building Group (七股鹽場減資建物群) in 2009. The most prominent of these is Dingshan Watchtower (頂山鹽警槍樓), which is featured in its own entry.

Gathered here are some of the remaining structures around the production area, most prominently a pump house recognized for its heritage value but frequently misidentified in what little literature is available. This is neither the Dingshan Saltworks Office (頂山場務所) nor the 4th Production Area Office (第四生產區場務所); it is, in fact, the 1st Production Area No. 2 Pump House (第一生產區2號抽水機房), confirmed from a close reading of cadastral maps and the original heritage designation.

The power pole towering over the pump house is no longer connected to the grid.

The rooftop is punctured in several places, a consequence of decades of exposure to the harsh coastal environment.

Light and shadow in the old pump house.

Looking south from the pump house. The machinery is gone but sluice gates can still be discerned in the distance.

Rusty pipes leading to a reinforced concrete structure immediately to the south. It is unclear how the pump house operated, but the main salt fields lay beyond the highway in the background.

An oblique view from the outer channel. None of this is directly connected to the sea; there are gates to the north and south controlling water flow to this location.

One last photo deserving of commentary: this lone power pole stands along the southwestern margins of the production area, one of the last of a series of timber poles that once traversed this desolate landscape. Most of these poles have already been replaced, where they are even necessary any more, so this was a chance find.

A rare example of an original power pole along the margins of the former salt fields. Most of these timber poles have already been replaced.

Eguchi Ryōzaburō Monument (江口氏紀念碑)

Mon, 22 Jun 2026 16:00:00 GMT

A newly-manufactured (and already weatherworn) torii stands in front of the reinstalled monument.

Along the waterfront in the Port of Hualien stands a monument dedicated to the memory of Eguchi Ryōzaburō (江口良三郎), a career soldier, policeman, and veteran of the 1914 Truku War (太魯閣戰爭) who headed the colonial government’s Aborigine Affairs Section (理蕃課) before serving as the fifth sub-prefect of Karenkō Prefecture (花蓮港廳), now Hualien County, from 1920 until 1926. He is credited locally with promoting the construction of the Port of Hualien (花蓮港), privately financing the Eguchi Jetty (江口突堤), and contributing to the development of industry in the city.

The front of the monument reads: In Praise of Governor Eguchi (江口廳長頌德).

Both the stone stele and the bronze statue originally erected in 1927 were lost in the tumult of the early post-war years. When the parkland was first surveyed for development in the mid-2000s the stele was found discarded in a ditch. In 2008 the county government restored the stele, mounted it on a new base, and built a wooden torii, completing what was initially known as Eguchi Ryōzaburō Memorial Park (江口良三郎紀念公園). Unfortunately the stele was mounted in such a way that the bottom of the inscription on the back is difficult to discern; the dedication features a date and attributes the monument to the residents of Milun (米崙), many of them presumably Japanese.

An oblique look at this contested monument by the waterfront in Hualien City.

The commemoration is silent on the violent side of Eguchi’s career: in 1921 he orchestrated the Tusiu Massacre (托西佑慘案), also known as the Second Dahun Incident (第二次大分事件), luring the Bunun (布農族) community of Tusiu (托西佑社) to the Dahun Police Garrison (大分駐在所) under a promise of reconciliation, seizing the twenty-three men who came to surrender their weapons, burning their settlements, and having the captives secretly executed before dawn. This treachery set off another 12 years of Bunun resistance, driving Dahu Ali (拉荷·阿雷) and his forces to relocate across the mountains to Tamahu Village in Kaohsiung. This monument qualifies as a particularly egregious instance of a colonial official commemorated for civic works while his role in the subjugation and killing of Taiwan’s Indigenous peoples goes mostly unmentioned.

On the back, partly obscured by the base of the monument: erected on June 25, 1927 by the residents of Milun (昭和二年六月二十五日 / 米崙在住者一同).

In 2013 the monument and its informational plaques along the path were defaced with “1937.7.7” in red paint, likely a reference to the Marco Polo Bridge Incident (七七事變). The culprits were never identified but were presumed by the authorities to be Chinese tourists. Another incident occurred in January 2019, when a variety of somewhat less incoherent anti-Japanese slogans were scrawled across the plaques, again in red.

In response to sustained public protests and outbursts of vandalism the site was rechristened Port of Hualien Niaotashih Park (花蓮港鳥踏石公園) in August 2019, with county officials vowing to update the informational plaques on site to reflect a more nuanced reading of Eguchi’s legacy. Instead, it seems as if one plaque was converted into a map of the extended waterfront park, and the other plaque only describes the Ryukyuan fishing village of Niaotashih (鳥踏石) that once occupied this site. The meaning of the torii and stone monument beyond? That’s for visitors to puzzle out on their own.

Shirakawa Shinto Shrine (瑞穗白川神社)

Wed, 17 Jun 2026 16:00:00 GMT

Originally established in February 1933 as Baiko-sha (拔子社) at the foot of Langtoushan (狼頭山), just north of present-day Fuyuan Elementary School in Ruisui, Hualien. It was renamed Shirakawa-jinja (白川神社) in 1937 under a the colonial era naming reforms of the early Kōminka movement (皇民化運動). In the post-war period the site reverted to private ownership, and a series of strong typhoons in the 1950s toppled the towering red-cypress torii. Years of neglect left the site little more than ruins, and nowadays only traces remain of the original shrine.

A stone lantern donated by Yokogawa Chōta. The first character of his name is faintly visible on the right side of the stand.

The most significant remaining relic is a stone lantern donated by Yokogawa Chōta (橫川長太), a Japanese tobacco farmer also known for reconstructing the Bazai Village Irrigation Canal (拔子庄圳). It can be seen near the former entrance to the shrine, partly submerged by debris flow. The visiting path, long stone stairs leading up the hillside, survives in decent condition, albeit heavily overgrown. Several stone lantern bases can be found on either side of the path, lost in the undergrowth.

The overgrown visiting path leading up the hillside. If you look closely you can see the second flight of stairs in the background.

At least three stone lantern bases obscured by the overgrowth next to the path.

Another broken piece of a stone lantern along the path.

Although the path isn’t maintained it is in surprisingly good condition.

The main hall was dismantled in the post-war era and replaced by a family tomb. This tomb was later emptied out, its remains relocated to a new site, after the family reportedly experienced a series of misfortunes. No trace remains of the sumo court reportedly located near the entrance to the shrine.

The family tomb that replaced the main hall.

According to sources cited in this entry the family experience misfortune after occupying this tomb here, which is why the inscriptions have been defaced and the interior rudely bricked up.

A closer look at the family tomb.

The view looking east from the former site of the shrine. The village can be seen in the distance with the Coastal Mountain Range (海岸山脈) beyond.

One additional relic exists, but it is no longer found on site. A single komainu (狛犬), found by a local archaeologist, spent years in the artifact museum at Dafu Elementary School before the school’s closure returned it to Fuyuan; it now stands at the Bazai Village Folk Culture Center (拔仔庄常民文化館) beside Fuyuan Station.

Fuxing Fishermen’s Association Welfare Store (彰化縣福興區漁會漁民福利社)

Wed, 10 Jun 2026 16:00:00 GMT

The ruins of a fishermen’s association on the edge of Fuxing Township.

The historic city center of Lukang is wedged into the north end of Fuxing, its boundary tracing the old Lukang River (鹿港溪), a watercourse that once allowed ships to reach the wharves of a long-vanished port. Head out of town on Yánhǎi Road (沿海路) and you’ll reach a liminal parcel of land between the historic port channel and Fulu River (福鹿溪), the terminal segment of Yuanlin Drainage Canal (員林大排), which was partly built in the early 1940s but only completed in 1955. Here you will find the overgrown ruins of the Changhua County Fuxing Fishermen’s Association Welfare Store (彰化縣福興區漁會漁民福利社).

A closer look at the end of the sign above the entrance; the characters for “Welfare Store” (福利社) are faintly visible.

Although the nameplate is plainly visible no specific records exist to confirm the exact date of construction and eventual abandonment of this facility. The homepage for the Changhua Fishermen’s Association has an abridged history of the organization that provides some clues, but this welfare store is never mentioned by name. Fuxing is first mentioned in 1955, but it isn’t until 1976 that it is specifically named as the site of an association office. From the name we can infer this was both an administrative building and a welfare store where common sundries could be purchased at a discount by members and their families.

An oblique look at the old welfare store building.

Inside the association office. A cloud of mosquitos erupted from every footstep.

The lighting was poor in the back of the building.

A rooftop made of branches and leaves.

As of 2025 this building remains standing, albeit with the wear-and-tear you’d expect from another ten years of exposure and neglect. If I had to guess why it hasn’t been demolished yet, I’d say the association still owns the land but hasn’t gotten around to finding any particular use for it yet, while its underlying value probably increases with each passing year.

Mailiao Jincheng Theater (麥寮金城大戲院)

Sun, 31 May 2026 16:00:00 GMT

Jīnchéng Theater (金城大戲院) is located in Mailiao, a remote coastal township in northwestern Yunlin, Taiwan. It was reputedly built in either 1957 or 1965 and probably closed in the late 1980s or very early 1990s, a casualty of changing consumer habits and population outflow to larger urban centers. This hulking monster of a theater accommodated approximately 600 patrons in wooden seats at its peak, catering to the mostly agrarian population of this small town.

The functional façade of Jincheng Theater from an laneway at the back of Mailiao’s traditional morning market.

The front entrance to the old theater. Little effort has been made to prevent access to this hulking ruin.

Jincheng was the third cinema to open in Mailiao. It began as a joint venture of ten shareholders some four hundred meters from the older Mailiao Theater (麥寮戲院). These two cinemas soon fell into a ruinous price war; Jincheng slashed tickets from three yuan to one, enriching the offer with a free popsicle (枝仔冰), and by the early 1970s both had gone out of business. In 1978, the young Lin Dongrong (林東榮), a former projectionist’s apprentice born in 1950, leased the shuttered theater and reopened it, operating it with his wife until the spread of home video forced its ultimate closure in the 1980s.

The former ticket booth at Jincheng Theater features separate pricing for veterans and an advertisement for various Uni-President brand drinks.

Many of the original wooden seats have deteriorated into mulch but the silver screen remains serene on stage.

For a time the two revitalized cinemas even shared single prints, sending the film reels back and forth by bicycle or motorbike, a just-in-time relay system known as pǎopiàn (跑片). The practice peaked in 1981, when both cinemas scrambled to screen The Returning Soul (借屍還魂), a supernatural drama drawn from a local legend: the 1959 case of Lin Wangyao (林罔腰), a Mailiao woman who claimed to be the reincarnation of a girl from Kinmen, Zhu Xiuhua (朱秀華). Unable to outbid one another, the two theaters showed the film together by passing its reels between them, and donated the proceeds to local temples.

A sidelong view of the wooden stage. There is a basement area beneath the stage but I found nothing remarkable down there apart from discarded spider skin.

A small copse of hardscrabble trees grows within the old theater.

The distinctive staggered holes of the projection room contain additional secrets.

Jincheng Theater opened at a time when the domestic film industry was phasing out Taiwanese language productions. Mandarin Chinese was not widely understood by the townspeople of Mailiao so this theater employed a narrator who provided live translations of Mandarin language films into Taiwanese, a role known as huan-i̍k (翻譯), “the translator”. This practice was a holdover from the Japanese colonial era, where silent film narration was provided by benshi, or piān-sū in Taiwanese Minnan, a tradition that faded into history with the popularization of “talkies” in the 1930s. This theater was reputedly equipped with a narrator’s platform (辯士台) directly beneath the projection room, though no clear evidence of this structure remains today.

Decaying film scattered across the floor of the old theater.

Relics of a lost time.

Rusty old projectors remain stationed where they were installed decades ago. Note the ventilation shaft; these machines ran hot!

Looking down from the balcony next to the projection booth.

One of several emergency exits (太平門) at the side of the theater.

Evacuation route (緊急疏散由此).

Evidence of solvent abuse.

An overgrown row of urinals on the side of the theater.

When I first published this entry little information could be found about this theater online despite its notoriety among urban exploration and vintage photography aficionados in Taiwan. The location is somewhat remote, in the blighted industrial sprawl of coastal Yunlin, but it is readily found on Google Maps—with 18 reviews (“remember to bring long pants and insect repellent”, one says) and an average rating of 3.9 at the original time of publication. Gaining access is also effortless; the side door is usually wide open and nobody minds if you waltz right in. Despite being well-known there is no large-scale vandalism of the interior, making this an easy and rewarding exploration for novices and more seasoned adventurers alike.

Another look at the front of the old theater from the morning market across the street.

Time has certainly taken a toll on this old theater, and a large section of the roof has collapsed, exposing the interior to the elements. Most of the original wooden seats have deteriorated into mulch but the silver screen remains standing pretty much as it was whenever the last flickering beams of light splayed across its punctuated surface. The projection room is similarly equipped with original gear, and plenty of rolls of decaying rolls of film can be found laying about. For the most part people have hewn close to the urban explorer’s creed: “take nothing but photographs, leave nothing but footprints”.

Jincheng Theater against the blinding sky.

These photos were shot on a road trip around Yunlin County in 2018. I ended up visiting about a dozen sites for my ongoing Taiwan theaters project, and this was certainly one of the more interesting explorations (even though it’s already been documented by many others). More of its history is finally coming to light, and it is becoming less difficult to imagine what this place might have been like in the golden age of Taiwanese cinema.

Conditions in the interior in 2025.

Lincuo Anti-Airborne Fortifications North Section (林厝反空降陣地北段)

Fri, 08 May 2026 16:00:00 GMT

The northern half of the Lincuo Anti-Airborne Position (林厝反空降陣地) runs through farmland and a hillside cemetery in Daya, picking up where the cluster of forts around Taichung Metropolitan Park (台中都會公園) leaves off. These five emplacements were commissioned by the Ministry of National Defense in 1977 as part of a network of nine new machine gun bunkers along the central Dadu Plateau, all sited to suppress airborne landings on either side of the strategic ridge line running lengthwise between the coast and central Taichung.

An abandoned fortification on the edge of the Dadu Plateau in Taichung.

One of dozens of fortifications scattered throughout this part of the Dadu Plateau.

The No. 7 Fort is by far the most approachable of the chain and the focus of this entry. Tucked into the laterite soils in the southwestern corner of Daya, it is readily accessible and fairly safe to explore, though a flashlight is essential and gloves are advisable for the rusty ladders inside. The structure is a cylindrical reinforced concrete blockhouse roughly ten meters across and six to nine meters tall, with three levels plus an open rooftop. Two camouflaged entrances provide access via underground tunnels, a precaution in the event of heavy bombardment. The bunker down below was dry and empty when I visited but some you encounter may be flooded or filled with noxious pests. Ravenous mosquitos are really what you have to worry about—the huntsman spiders typically found in these ruins aren’t nearly so interested in your blood.

Traces of camouflage remain.

Openings for machine guns to shoot attackers approaching at ground level.

The remaining four forts in this section are harder to reach or no longer standing. The No. 6 Fort sits inside an active military base, walled off and therefore unable to fulfill its original purpose. Forts No. 8 and No. 9, both placed in or near a hillside cemetery to cover approaches from the northeast, were demolished in the late 2000s. The No. 10 Fort stands on private land at the far northern end of the position and remains on my list for a future visit.

A peek inside the abandoned gun tower.

Light from above.

This door is still locked.

Ascending into the tower.

The way to the rooftop.

A precarious climb on rusty rungs.

The view of the surrounding countryside from within the abandoned gun tower.

A surreal landscape seen from the top of an abandoned gun tower.

The ochre soils of the Dadu Plateau.

The landscape surrounding the No. 7 Anti-Airborne Fort is absolutely surreal. Rusty red laterite soils rich in iron and aluminum cover the plateau, limiting agricultural productivity. This type of soil is not uncommon in Taiwan—you’ll also find it on the Linkou Plateau, for instance—and was traditionally used for manufacturing bricks.

The old gun tower in black-and-white.

A glimpse of the No. 6 gun tower from a public road.

Finally, I will note that only the No. 6 Anti-Airborne Fort has heritage status; the other two remaining forts at this end of the plateau may disappear at any time. Find the rest of the fortifications in this position documented in the next entry.

Lincuo Anti-Airborne Fortifications South Section (林厝反空降陣地南段)

Thu, 07 May 2026 16:00:00 GMT

Dàdù Plateau (大肚台地) is a geographic feature of great strategic importance to the defense of central Taiwan. It overlooks the coastal Qingshui Plain (清水平原) and occupies high ground on the westernmost edge of the Taichung Basin (台中盆地), home to the majority of the population of Taichung, the third most populous metropolitan area in the nation. The entire length of the plateau is peppered with military facilities from the massive Ching Chuan Kang Air Base (空軍清泉崗基地) in the north to Chénggōng Ridge (成功嶺) down south. In between one will find dozens of abandoned or disused bunkers, gun towers, and artillery emplacements. This entry focuses on a cluster of five anti-airborne fortifications located in the central part of the plateau around Taichung Metropolitan Park (台中都會公園) in Xitun.

Coming around the hummock that obscures the entrance to the bunker beneath the No. 1 Anti-Airborne Fort. Here you can see the ochre soils of the plateau.

You may be wondering: what exactly is an “anti-airborne fort” anyway? At first I thought this phrase might be a faulty translation but no, these fortifications were designed specifically to repel aerial assault by paratroopers. Each of the post-war fortifications is a cylindrical reinforced concrete blockhouse, roughly ten meters across and six to nine meters tall, with rectangular firing ports cut into the walls. Inside there are three levels (not including the open rooftop) plus a bunker down below. Each tower is accessed via two camouflaged entrances hidden in the surrounding foliage and linked by underground tunnels in the event of heavy bombardment. Nine fortifications of this style were commissioned by the Ministry of National Defense in 1977 to suppress airborne landings on the central Dadu Plateau, five of which are located in a cluster further north in Daya.

Evening descends over the fortifications of the Dadu Plateau.

Last on the list: Dadu Plateau Anti-Airborne Fort No. 1.

Overgrown entrance to the No. 1 Anti-Airborne Fort. It seemed as if there was a small wall built around the entrances at one point. Maybe the soldiers stationed here got bored on all those countless long nights.

First on the list is the No. 1 Anti-Airborne Fort (一號反空降堡). Much like the No. 7 fortification this one faces out toward the sea and is surrounded by ruddy ochre soil. Access to the interior seems possible but it was getting late into the afternoon and I didn’t bother after seeing various multi-legged critters scurry off into the darkness after I cracked the door open.

The second anti-airborne fortification is looking very scenic in this clearing a short distance from the main road.

I’m not sure if it is usually so easy to take a look around the No. 2 but the workers didn’t mind me taking a peek.

Descending into the depths.

No entry for unauthorized personnel?

Light from above.

The second anti-airborne fort is somewhat harder to locate given that it is isn’t visible from the roadside, nor is it within nearby Taichung Metropolitan Park, though that may change. After bushwhacking through the wilderness I was surprised to find a team of workers cutting the grass and cleaning out the interior of the fort. I wasn’t able to understand exactly what was going on but I left with the impression that the city is tidying up this fort to prepare it for something, the obvious thing being an expansion of the park. I briefly entered the bunker beneath the tower to poke around after receiving permission from the foreman and left with smiles all around.

The completely overgrown No. 3 Anti-Airborne Fort in Taichung Metropolitan Park.

I find this plaque unreasonably adorable for some reason. At least this saves me the trouble of trying to figure out what number this one is!

Head a little further north and you’ll arrive at the expansive Taichung Metropolitan Park (臺中都會公園), a popular weekend getaway for residents of the sprawling city. Two anti-airborne fortifications can be found here, both of them completely sealed from the outside, but still interesting to see. I particularly like the No. 3 Anti-Airborne Fort; it’s completely overgrown with vines! Puzzling out where these are shouldn’t be tough; there’s one apiece on each side of the park.

The No. 4 anti-airborne fort is neatly landscaped and integrated into Taichung Metropolitan Park. All entrances are sealed, of course.

Last on the list is a Japanese colonial era gun tower from World War 2, one of only two remaining on the Dadu Plateau. Much like the lone gun tower at Taichū Airfield this one was designated a historic site in 2006 but nothing has been done to make it accessible to the public. It is officially known as the Japanese Army 3102 Highland Gun Tower (原日軍3102高地機槍堡), so named for it being at precisely 310.2 meters elevation, or simply the World War 2 No. 5 Bunker (二次大戰五號碉堡). The number “5” was assigned to the gun tower when the ROC incorporated it into the new anti-airborne network in 1977 and I speculate they continued to station troops here into at least the late 1980s. Finding this particular tower is a bit tricky as it is heavily overgrown—but if you scan the roadside just north of the park you should be able to pick it out.

A conical Japanese colonial era gun tower lost in the overgrowth just outside Taichung Metropolitan Park.

The next several gun towers are all located immediately to the north; continue the exploration in the next entry from neighboring Daya, Taichung.

Tianmu US Military Housing (天母美軍宿舍群)

Sat, 18 Apr 2026 16:00:00 GMT

The hills at the northern margins of Tianmu in Taipei are home to several abandoned residences widely known in the urban exploration community in Taiwan. Although not substantiated by official records these structures were almost certainly built with funding from the Bank of Taiwan (臺灣銀行) for US Military Assistance Advisory Group (MAAG) personnel stationed in the area from the early 1950s to the late 1970s. Following the American withdrawal in 1979 most such properties reverted to management by the bank and were either redeveloped or neglected over subsequent decades. This cluster of residences is one of the last remaining vestiges of US military housing in an area that once boasted dozens of such properties.

Overlooking the lower set of red brick barracks.

One of at least three red brick buildings on the site.

The view from the lower lane with red brick structures on either side.

The metal shutters were likely a later addition.

Partitions within one of the red brick barracks.

A dumping ground for scrap material.

One of several heavily-overgrown dwellings set back from the main road.

Despite the lack of credible sources to substantiate the specific history of these buildings we can infer some information from the Ministry of Culture’s entries for Tianmu White House and Yangmingshan US Military Housing, both established in the early 1950s and recognized for their heritage value in the late 2000s. These ruins likely date to the same period, particularly the detached, presumably single family dwellings found on the upper lane at this site. The most telling feature of these homes is the inclusion of fireplaces, a hallmark of US military housing in early post-war era Taiwan.

A pair of chimneys adorn one of the detached houses on the upper lane. The taller one was for the main fireplace whereas the lower one near the back of the building was probably for the kitchen.

Completely overgrown but still standing.

One of several detached homes with a yard. Although abandoned the grounds are surprisingly not so overgrown.

Living room scene inside an abandoned US military home in Tianmu.

Perhaps this was a former bedroom?

This detached home has almost completely collapsed, leaving only an empty shell exposed to the elements.

A closer look at the iconic fireplace, hallmark of the Cold War US military presence in Taiwan.

Information about US military housing in Tianmu is scant, although there is some indication that top brass lived in the heights while the scattered housing developments here in Tianmu were mostly assigned to mainly non-commissioned officers and support staff. This particular site boasts two classes of residences, with the lower lane featuring red brick and timber-framed barracks presumably assigned to single men or used for some other purpose.

A parting glance in black-and-white.

In the aftermath of the American withdrawal it seems likely the Bank of Taiwan would have repurposed these residences as staff housing, a training facility, or a retreat center in the 1980s, but they’ve been derelict for many decades by now.

I will caution readers that the identification of these buildings is unconfirmed, and we may yet learn more about the identities of these structures in the future. Another mystery is the fact that they haven’t already been torn down and redeveloped. Perhaps the slope is not conducive to development by modern safety standards? Time may reveal these mysteries, or maybe we’ll never know.

Dahu Little Tianmu Villas (大湖小天母別墅)

Wed, 04 Feb 2026 16:00:00 GMT

Little Tianmu Villas (小天母別墅) was developed by Jili’an Construction Company (吉利安建設公司) in a joint venture with local landowner Zhan Yigong (詹益恭). The county government issued a building permit in September 1993 and construction began with considerable fanfare. The project, taking its name from an upscale district in Taipei, promised 54 three-storey townhouses with underground parking, a rare luxury in rural Dahu. In late 1996 the county issued usage permits even though the structures were little more than concrete shells with no water or electricity.

Entrance to the complex from the street. No name appears above the gate.

Some residences appear professionally renovated, others use whatever materials were laying around.

The extent of the ruined community is quite impressive.

At the far end of the L-shaped courtyard.

Some effort has been made to make this area more habitable.

Most units are filled with discarded junk and debris.

Investigators later discovered that the developer had secured millions in loans using forged signatures of homeowners then transferred property titles to purchasers while pocketing the funds. Around 28 buyers found themselves saddled with mortgage debt for uninhabitable ruins. The landowner, having lost his family’s ancestral property to the scheme, reportedly died of depression in 2007, shortly before prosecutors raided the county building management office on suspicion of improperly issuing permits. The case made headlines that year, but attention faded and the legal disputes were never publicly resolved. The construction company has since been dissolved, leaving no one to complete the project nor fund its demolition.

The view from the third floor of one of the units around the bend.

Overlooking the complex from the rooftop. The view is quite serene.

I wonder what might be found behind this door?

Exiting the ruined complex.

Nowadays the complex remains mostly in ruin, although several units are now occupied, perhaps by the original owners doing what they can to recoup their losses, or perhaps by squatters who have taken advantage of the abandoned state of the project.

Linkou Shengtai Brick Kiln (林口勝泰磚窯)

Wed, 03 Dec 2025 16:00:00 GMT

Linkou, now the fastest-growing suburban district in the greater Taipei area, was once home to more than 30 brick factories, the highest concentration in northern Taiwan. Shèngtài Brick Kiln (勝泰磚窯), at the far northern extent of the Linkou Plateau, is one of the last remnants of this once-flourishing brick-making industry. Numerous ruins can be found across the sprawling site but the most impressive is a Hoffmann kiln, easily identified by its broken chimney. Hoffmann kiln technology was introduced to Taiwan during the Japanese colonial era but this particular kiln only dates back to the mid-1960s. It has now been abandoned for several decades.

A broken chimney rises over the fog-shrouded Linkou Plateau.

Overgrown entrance.

From the inside.

Within the dark remains of a brick kiln on the Linkou Plateau.

Around the bend at one end of a derelict Hoffmann kiln.

Banyan trees colonizing the kiln.

Another look at the distinctive chimney.

Shengtai Brick Factory Co., Ltd. (勝泰磚廠股份有限公司) was registered in 1965 and remained in operation until 1983 when the introduction of modern, mechanized brick manufacturing made traditional Hoffmann kilns obsolete. This timespan roughly corresponds to the peak of the brick industry on the plateau, after which brick production moved downslope to dozens of facilities in rugged valleys further south in neighbouring Guishan. Since then it doesn’t appear as if the site has been used for much apart from community gardening, although a blue delivery truck whizzing around the bend in one of these photos indicates sustained activity in the backroads beyond.

A sign warning visitors about the dangers of entering the kiln.

Decorative brickwork on the long end of an old Hoffmann kiln.

Detail above an entrance to the kiln.

One of many portals along the perimeter.

Apart from making bricks and cultivating tea, Linkou was also home to an American military base in the post-war period, Shulinkou Air Station. Former personnel have made numerous photos and videos available online, opening an uncommon window into everyday life in rural Taiwan.

Most ruins on site are completely unidentifiable. This could have been an office or a toolshed or a dormitory or something else entirely.

A red brick land god shrine near the kiln.

One of many outbuildings scattered around the area.

The abandoned Shengtai brick kiln from the far side.

This is not the only remaining brick kiln in Linkou. Another one exists along Jiālín Road (佳林路), much closer to the commercial center of the district. Unfortunately this other kiln is in poor condition and appears to have collapsed, although the chimney was still standing in 2017. Many more kilns remained on the Linkou Plateau as recently as 2010 but the rapid pace of urban development has caused this industrial legacy to vanish almost overnight.

Broken chimney beneath an ominous sky.

What will come of this place? Several local blogs and news reports suggest the site could be transformed into a brick industry museum but this seems farfetched given the disinterest of the current landowner. This kiln is also in poor condition and located far from the center of town so it’s hard to imagine it becoming a heritage property and tourist attraction. The other kiln’s fate is likely sealed by its proximity to lucrative urban developments. See them while you still can.

Yingge Nanmen Market Building (鶯歌南門商場大樓)

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 16:00:00 GMT

Yingge is home to the dilapidated Nanmen Market Building (南門商場大樓), originally established next to the former Rongsheng Theater (榮聲戲院) around 1968. Not much is known about the market’s operating history but it evidently fell on hard times, presumably sometime after the theater closed in 1987. Few traces remain of its original function as the interior has been extensively renovated into apartments connected by a labyrinthine network of corridors, sky bridges, and stairways. Many of the remaining units seem abandoned or at least disused, and the building is now primarily occupied by the urban poor and migrant workers. A complicated ownership structure likely precludes any immediate possibility of urban renewal.

The old market building from Guoqing Street (國慶街). The shophouses in front might actually be a later addition to the structure.

The most visible entrance can be found along the side of the structure, to the south.

The view from the ground floor looking out on Guoqing Street.

Creeping up one of the internal stairwells.

No two stairways look alike.

This provides access to 5F and a sky bridge to the next building.

Peering through the ventilation shafts running through the old market building.

Ramps at the back of the building provide scooter access here on 2F.

Toward the sky bridge.

A key cutter on the ground floor.

The north side of the market building, visible after walking beneath the bulk of the structure. I suspect this photo was shot from the footprint of the old movie theater.

A glimpse of the 5F sky bridge at the back of the market building.

A dusky view from the south side of the old market building looking toward Guoqing Street.

Changle Theater (大樹昌樂大戲院)

Thu, 25 Sep 2025 16:00:00 GMT

The imposing ruin of Changle Theater (昌樂大戲院) towers over the somnolent streets of central Dashu, a suburban district of Kaohsiung sprawling along the right bank of the silty Gaoping River (高屏溪). Its predecessor, Guangming Theater (光明戲院), was built in the 1950s and later purchased by Xǔ Kāichuán (許開傳), the former chairman of the township mediation committee. Dashu was booming in those days, buoyed by the presence of numerous military bases in the area, so Xu purchased land behind the existing theater to construct a larger, more modern theater in 1960. Guangming Theater was soon demolished, clearing space for a small yet bustling entertainment district to form around the plaza, likely featuring billiard halls, restaurants, teahouses, and dessert shops catering to the raucous crowds spilling out from the theater night after night.

A first glance at Changle Theater from the street.

The imposing ruin of Changle Theater.

An oblique look at the hulking ruin in the heart of this old town.

Changle Theater adheres to a pattern of design typical of 1960s Taiwanese cinemas with a ticket booth and commercial space on the ground floor and a large, singular auditorium capable of accommodating approximately 750 patrons upstairs. The façade is plain and unremarkable as hand-painted signs would have been displayed out front, advertising the latest films and performances. Ventilation shafts line the corridors on the second floor, providing some respite from the oppressive heat of summer, but the interior was likely air conditioned.

Colorful vintage tiles adorn the former ticket booth.

Ventilation typical of 1960s architecture in Taiwan line a corridor on the second floor.

Faded traces of a movie poster for Superboy (新飛天神童), released in 1982.

Business boomed through the 1960s and into the 1970s but the introduction of the Three Old Channels (老三台), free-to-air television stations introduced from 1962 to 1971, and the popularization of home television slowly eroded audiences. Regular film screenings were still held into the 1980s, as evidenced by the faded remnants of a movie poster for Superboy (新飛天神童), released in 1982, still clinging to an interior wall, but the theater might have also turned to more risqué forms of entertainment as consumer habits changed. The final curtain fell in 1987 after nearly three decades of operation.

Blood red paint indicates we’ve arrived at the “screening room” (放映室).

Rusty old projectors in the dark.

This one lacks the carbon arc lamp.

Light switches in the projection room.

Peeking through one of the portholes.

The view from the projection room.

A closer look at the ruined stage. The name of the old theater is prominently displayed on the banner at the top.

Looking back at the main hall. All the seats have been removed.

Old theater seats in the outer corridors.

Living quarters in the old theater. It wasn’t uncommon for the projectionist to reside at the theater in those days.

Film reels turning into mulch.

An old ticket found in a dark room.

This way to the emergency exit.

One last visit to the restroom.

The old theater hall in black and white.

Around back at the old theater in Dashu.

Following the closure of the theater it was sold to a developer who subsequently absconded without completing payment. This triggered a property rights dispute that remains unresolved decades later. Such legal complications inhibit any attempt at revitalization or demolition, leaving the old theater in a state of limbo, preserving it as a time capsule of Taiwan’s cinematic past.