Taipei in January

No one had warned me not to arrive in Taipei in January, in the middle of the winter, two weeks before Chinese New Year. I actually thought it would be a good time to arrive, what with the New Year and the festivities and great food. But that was in 1980, and Taipei was not what I would call a beautiful city. Street after street of twelve-story concrete buildings had been built way too close together, way too cheaply, and way too quickly. The traffic and pollution were a nightmare, second only to Bangkok’s, and the city had a climate often likened to the ill temper of an ill-tempered Chinese mother-in-law. To be kind about it, Taipei looked and felt exceedingly dreary.