Taichung's historic railway station closed down in 2016. In its final week of operations, writer Chen Hung-pai visited the station to pay her respects.

By Chen Hung-pai (陳虹百)
Photography by Chen Hung-Pai
Translated by Elijah Ness

This piece first appeared in the Chinese edition of Thinking Taiwan (想想論壇) and is translated under a creative commons license.

On October 16, 2016, Taichung Railway Station moved to a new elevated location and the old station closed. I visited one last time in the days before the closure to snap some pictures and preserve my memories of the old building. I'm not from Taichung, but I have many fond recollections of my time here, and from elementary school onwards I arrived weekly by train to attend violin lessons. In those early years my parents would accompany me for the trip, but as I grew older my younger sister quickly became my steadfast travelling companion.

I don’t know if it was simply my young age, or if I was too busy trying to be a good student and avoid the reprimands of my teacher, but at the time I never noticed the distinctly foreign style of the station’s red bricks nor did I appreciate the historic beauty of the Japanese era they preserved. My memories are instead fragments of the life inside its walls: milk and ice cream at the food stands, the boxes of live baby chicks I often saw loaded on the train, and a friendly paternal uncle who once worked at the station.

Taichung Station. (Photo by Chen Hung-Pai)

My childhood home did not have many snacks or drinks, and food from outside was a rare treat. If I did well in class my father would buy me fresh milk at the station on the way home, and if it was an especially good day I would get the flavored variety. Today, milk is an everyday beverage and nothing special, but as a young child I looked forward to that milk all week. The painted drops on the packaging were enough for my mouth to start watering. To this day I can remember the colors and choices clearly: red for plain, green for the fruit flavor, purple for apple, light brown for malt flavour, and dark brown for chocolate. Apple was my favorite; a single sip brought forth thoughts of an entire orchard. I would open the package ever so carefully and bite the straw flat to drink it slowly and savor the heavenly taste. If I finished before my sister I would become impatient and want another.

As older students travelling just the two of us we indulged in an even more delicious clandestine treat: ice cream. The woman running the machine would pile the ice cream tall on the cone, like a sculptor slowly revealing her statue. The sweet taste of vanilla and chocolate was the perfect after-class comfort.

If the train that week contained a luggage car there would often be crates of baby chickens waiting for transit on the platform. The smell of chick feed would waft from the holes in the cardboard as they hopped about chirping and picking at their food. I never gave a thought to where they were going or if they would one day end up on someone’s table, I simply watched them go off on their way into the unknown.

A train passes overhead in Taichung (Photo by Chen Hung-Pai)

In those days an uncle in the family worked at the station’s front hall, and we would search for him at the ticket counters. He would give us leftover tickets for open seats. Our instruments were bulky and tiresome to carry on our backs, and the chance to sit down for the trip was always a welcome relief. In the “big city” of Taichung, having a familiar face looking out for us was especially comforting, and remains (alongside with the ice cream) one of my fondest memories.

More than a few people came to take pictures here today, and the air is filled with the feeling of a reluctant goodbye. The new station is being finished next door. Its steel construction and modern sensibility stand in stark comparison with this old building where the ticket booths and service desk are, for the time being, still bustling. I once forgot my instrument case on the train and had multiple attendants running about to find it, fortunately it was found in nearby Fengyuan. I wander through the doors and into the station proper. This will be my last trip, and the memories of those former days come flooding back to me.

Once inside I am surprised to come across a shoe shine stand opposite the food stalls! I can hardly believe such a service still exists in this day and age! I am even more surprised to see the shoeshine himself bears a striking resemblance to the one from my memory of 20 to 30 years past. I cannot help but strike up a conversation, and sure enough it’s him. He is very talkative and we discuss everything from shoe shining, to family, to rent, to his many television interviews, and finally to the closing of his business in the coming days. With 60 odd years of experience here he is by-far the best witness to the history of this station.

The shoeshine stand inside Taichung Station. (Photo by Chen Hung-Pai)

These walls have seen many come and go, countless departures and reunions. Today I must say farewell to the old Taichung station, and my heart is suddenly very heavy. I walk to the crossing at Jianguo and Minquan roads and see the tracks of the new railway alongside the old; a train car pulls into the station on the older line. I quickly grab my camera to capture the moment, knowing that just three days from now such a sight will be a thing of the past.

“All things have their end,” I tell myself as I get on my bike and ride away. Farewell, Taichung Railway Station, and farewell to my childhood.