In a country full of brilliant food, the Garden Night Market in sultry Tainan, south-west Taiwan, is still a standout: a cheerful riot of steam, umami, deep-fried tofu and loud, vivacious chatter. Families drift past in loose formation, grandparents hefting toddlers with fruit ices, flirting teenagers orbiting bubble-tea stalls, couples sharing hot skewers of squid, pork and chicken gizzards. Almost everyone plays lurid and inexplicable games involving teddy bears and claw machines.
I eat sublime oyster omelettes slick with sweet chilli pepper sauce, then hot soup dumplings that collapse into scalding, savoury bliss. Someone presses popcorn chicken into my hand. It is dangerously moreish.
The next morning, Tainan feels sun-blessed and unhurried. This city was Taiwan’s capital for two centuries and it still carries itself with a certain stateliness. There are charming old buildings (rare in typhoon/earthquake/invasion-prone Taiwan).
The oldest are south-west of the city, at Fort Zeelandia, a modest, fading ghost of the now-vanished Dutch empire. The fort rises from the swampy coastal plain like a weathered brick ziggurat. Built in the 1620s as a trading fortress for sugar, spice and deer hides, it later fell to the Sino-Japanese pirate-general Koxinga. Today the fort is drowsy and languid. Sunday strollers buy lucky tourmaline bracelets under the battlements.
