Asia > Taiwan > Chiayi > Alishan > Articles > Taiwan

Taiwan boasts the highest mountains in East Asia. When the Japanese took control of the island in 1895, aiming to mirror the great European powers by acquiring a colony or two, they were shocked to discover that Yu Shan, at 3,952 metres, out-topped their own Mount Fuji, and thereby became the highest point in the Emperor’s domains. As a result, Yu Shan’s height was discreetly adjusted in some early Japanese maps of the island.

Today, Taiwan’s government is seeking ways to increase its tourist numbers. With its relatively cool winters and often high prices, the island can’t attract the Europeans and North Americans who flood to places like Thailand to escape the winter back home. But Taiwan’s mountains are very special, and taking visitors to the heights by cable-car is now an officially-sanctioned project.

The idea isn’t popular in all quarters. The difficulty of getting to the tops of these great mountains is part of their attraction, some claim. And crowds congregating on the summits would inevitably entail permanent facilities to cater to them. Toilets and food outlets on the top of Yu Shan? Abomination!

Yet places like Switzerland have opened up their high summits by the use of cable-cars, while in Wales a mountain railway runs to the top of Snowdon. Japan has succeeded in giving access to its own snowy tops by means of roads and mountain trains, with here and there some cable-car sections - the Tateyama Kurobe Alpine Route in the Omachi district of the Japan Alps is a case in point.

Taiwan’s mountainous interior stands in contrast to its densely populated industrial lowlands. Few Taiwanese have ever been to the top of their highest peak, and indeed for many decades access was restricted for military reasons. That the notoriously entrepreneurial lowlanders would one day try to profit from these lonely summits was something that could have been foreseen.

But many places in northern Taiwan are today marked by industrial waste - old coal mining deposits, rusting machinery and so on. Cable-cars, with their attendant concrete and iron installations, could easily join this inheritance of abandoned ventures. They could quickly become the victims of earthquakes and landslides, typhoons and snow storms, and the landscape be scarred irreparably as a result. Cable-car access to some of Taiwan’s remote summits will certainly come. For the moment, though, you have to go up them the hard way.

Most people head for Alishan, five hours by train and then bus south of Taipei. This former Japanese logging station is now the island’s premier mountain resort, though quality hotels are sadly lacking. But there’s no shortage of unassuming hostelries and guesthouses, all of which will wake you up at 3am to go and see the sunrise. The sun’s daily rebirth is Alishan’s keynote attraction.

You shuffle down to the station in the dark, and an unheated train takes you the 20 minute ride along former logging lines to the viewing platform. There are a couple of hundred people there most mornings, huddled in anoraks and dutifully staring east. Gradually the sky lightens, with extraordinary banks of pink and yellow behind you where the lingering clouds have already been touched by the divine rays. In front of you lies, if you’re lucky, the famous “sea of cloud”, a fluffy blanket that fills the valley far below but allows you to gaze across its top to the line of peaks in the distance, including Yu Shan itself.

Gradually tension mounts. A Falung Gong group (the organisation is positively encouraged in Taiwan) performs silent exercises of celebration, and then the great moment arrives. A shaft of light, as narrow as a diamond-tipped spear, flashes across the wide valley and illuminates the rocks beside the viewing platform. In seconds the great orb itself edges into view, golden and resplendent. You feel the warmth instantly, cameras snap, and within moments people are dispersing for impromptu breakfasts of canned coffee and eggs next to the waiting train.

Although hiking expeditions can be arranged, one-night stops at Alishan are the norm for the hard-working Taiwanese. One problem for the more ambitious is that permits are required for access to the major summits. You also need to hire an accredited guide. The usual way round this is to join a small group, fifteen or so people travelling down from Taipei in a mini-van with the paperwork complete and a guide in tow.

The problem with this is that, to accommodate office workers’ schedules, these trips almost always start at 8pm on Friday evenings, drive you down south overnight, and then set out on the main section of the ascent on the Saturday morning. Considering most people will have lad no sleep during the drive, this represents a hard option. You arrive at an Alpine-style lodge at 3pm, immediately eat and quickly collapse into sleep. At 2am or so you’re woken up and, after a breakfast of noodles and tea, you make your way for two more hours up the final part of the trail.

The aim, once again, is to see the sunrise from the top - an almost universal obsession all over Asia. This achieved - and on busy weekends climbers sometimes have to queue up to get their moment on the summit - you set off down again, arriving at your transport in the middle of the afternoon. After a decent dinner, the first formal meal of the trip, you steel yourself for a second sleepless night on the drive back to Taipei.

This hectic schedule is, of course, not what holiday-makers require. They can easily allow a couple more days for the excursion, and whether it’s at a weekend or not doesn’t bother them. You should therefore attempt to arrange something more leisurely, perhaps via a travel agent. But, with a private guide and driver, and accommodation in hotels most nights, it will inevitably cost you more.

If you do opt to join a local group, the place to head for is the line of shops catering to climbers’ needs situated at the junction of Chunghsiao East Road and Chungshan North Road, very close to Taipei Station (the city’s main rail terminus). There are many leaflets in these outlets, the staff will help explain them, and you may even be able to fix up a trip there and then.

But remember, you will have to do this a week or so in advance to allow for the permit application to be processed. Take a photocopy of your passport’s main pages with you. And choose one of the older shops. They are staffed by genuine mountain enthusiasts. The staff at some of the glossy newer ones often haven’t much idea of the practicalities of the business.

Taiwan’s beaches can be attractive, but only really from June to October. Its mountains, on the other hand, are alluring for much longer. October and November are the best months, when rain is least likely, followed by April. But the whole winter season from September to early May is feasible, and even summer - when the sun is intense, rainfall more likely and typhoons always a possibility - needn’t necessarily be ruled out.

All in all, Taiwan’s mountains are, if you’re so disposed, the island’s major attraction. As for cable-cars, none are yet in place among the highest peaks. To ascend them you’ll need sturdy legs, but no specific climbing skills. Even the Taiwan mountain bear is today sadly rare. The bird-life is spectacular, though, but you might have to be on the look-out for bees. If you’re attacked by an angry swarm, the official advice is unambiguous - turn around and run away as fast as you can.

• More from Bradley Winterton