Metal cages, store signs, neon lights, and power lines

I hail from a city with a distinct vernacular landscape. Metal cages adorn windows and the facade of buildings. Store signs and billboards compete for attention. Neon lights cast multicolored nighttime glare. Power lines extend and stretch into the distance. 

This is quintessential Taipei. The city my parents, my grandparents, and their grandparents lived in. The city I lived in for eighteen years and call my home. I grew up in a quiet residential neighborhood nestled in a district that is a twenty minute drive from the busier districts where all the urban energy and movement is. The living room in my childhood apartment featured a generously sized window that stretched seamlessly from one wall to the other and looked out to the mountains and the Taipei skyline beyond the Keelung River. I like to think it was this window and priceless view that influenced me to study architecture and urban planning. 

A recent photo my mom sent.

Every day after school I would perch myself in front of the window and watch. The city had always looked flawless. Seven-year-old me used to call the cars in the distance “busy ants”; I thought that the number of cars out on the streets and highways surely indicated a vibrant and thriving city. It seemed like every other day new skyscrapers were being erected, vying to occupy as much "air space" as possible. 

But it was also this very window that misled me in my understanding of Taipei’s architecture and Taipei itself as a city. For so many years my perception of Taipei was confined to the same scene framed by glass. As I got older, I developed a penchant for running into the city on the weekends. I traveled deep into the fabric of the city, revisiting the night markets my family used to frequent (back when time allowed) and exploring obscure residential areas and alleys. Finally at a mature age and with eyes that no longer viewed the world through rose-tinted glasses, I began noticing the deteriorating cookie-cutter buildings, vandalized walls, and the lack of sidewalks and bicycle lanes. The architecture classes I was taking in school heightened my sensitivity to details, and my eyes could not help but twitch at the odd iron cages hanging outside of windows and the discordant array of store signs. And so on a weekend excursion some time ago, I came to the sobering realization that my city was not perfect.

While Taipei boasts a confluence of glass-and-steel high rises, grand neo-traditional monuments, and stunning historical temples, the city is also overflowing with boring, bulky four-story residential buildings. They were constructed in the sixties and seventies, during the economic boom and rapid population growth, with only practi­cality in mind. Concrete was used to provide basic low-cost shel­ter, forgoing any aesthetic appeal. It is also apparent that very little thought was put into quality and structural integrity, city planning, and urban development.

During an internship, I raised the issue of Taipei’s overlooked urban blight to a mentor. I used euphemisms like “run-down” and “ill-maintained”, but he dismissed them and stated, “Taipei is ugly under the microscope”. We discussed at length the ways Taipei’s infrastructure is unbelievably outdated. For instance, the metal cages outside of windows (which I learned are relics from the seventies meant to deter burglars), are no longer needed. The power lines suspended over the streets have frequently demonstrated signs of wear and pose potential hazards. Additionally, instead of prioritizing the construction of more skyscrapers, the government should be allocating funds to refurbish (or at the very least consistently maintain) older buildings. Taipei holds potential for rejuvenating itself and will be able to with the support and efforts from not only the government but also individuals with innovation and dedication. And what I learned through internships at various firms is that all architects, urban planners, and developers in Taipei share a common objective: to experiment with stylistic synthesis in hopes of creating a pleasing and unique architectural identity for the city.

In December, I flew back home and was able to see Taipei from above on the plane before landing. For a moment, as I gazed at the city’s abundant verdure, bustling streets, and corrugated iron roofs, I realized that with criticism comes love. And six months away from my home meant missing it and its charm and quirkiness (ahem, metal cages). I will see you again soon, Taipei.