This entry belongs to my Taiwan, Two, Three… (2025 Series). Some journeys don’t just take you forward—they bring you back to yourself. Here’s to Chiayi mornings, a Meteor Garden pilgrimage, and the quiet strength of traveling solo. ✨🇹🇼
📅 Travel Dates: November 14–18, 2025
Chiayi to Minxiong: A Change of Plans on My Meteor Garden Journey
On my last day in Chiayi City, I checked out early. My original plan was simple: take the local train from Chiayi TRA Station to Minxiong, then catch a bus to National Chung Cheng University (中正大學). Most fans of Meteor Garden would recognize this campus as the filming location for the fictional Ying De University.
There was something quietly exciting about following a route I had only ever seen on screen, as if I were stepping into a memory that wasn’t entirely mine but still felt strangely familiar.
But beyond its pop culture fame, I was curious to see what it actually felt like in person—whether it still carried that familiar “drama nostalgia” or if it would simply blend into an ordinary academic space once the cameras were gone. I also knew the journey itself would be part of the experience, moving from city streets into quieter provincial roads, where Taiwan’s slower rhythms begin to show more clearly.
💖 Fangirl Note: For fans of Meteor Garden, Ying De University was where the legendary F4 ruled the campus. The fictional school immortalized in Meteor Garden—just one of the many spots I had been dreaming of seeing.

But travel has its own way of rewriting plans.
When I arrived at Chiayi TRA Station, I noticed the BRT (Bus Rapid Transit) heading to Chiayi HSR Station. I had heard that the ride between these stations was free, so I decided to hop in. The driver handed me a card pass, and just like that, my route suddenly changed.
🚍 Travel Tip: The BRT ride between Chiayi TRA and Chiayi HSR is free—just grab a card from the driver and hop on. Saves time and a few pesos!
At Chiayi HSR Station, I spotted Bus 106, part of the Taiwan Tourist Shuttle network. The sign said it goes directly to NCCU. I didn’t think twice.
Rural Chiayi County
As Bus 106 pulled away, Chiayi slowly began to change. The city’s bustle faded into a softer landscape—narrow roads with only a handful of cars, rice paddies stretching endlessly into the distance, and the occasional farmer bent over in the fields. The scenery felt calmer, as if time itself had loosened its grip.
🚌 Travel Tip: Bus 106 goes straight to NCCU but doesn’t stop at Minxiong Station. If you want to return to Minxiong, you’ll need an alternate route.

I leaned against the window, quietly watching the countryside roll past. It was peaceful, rural, and unmistakably the Chiayi countryside. The ride became a moving canvas for reflection—a chance to breathe and let the memories of Taiwan settle gently into place.
Exploring Meteor Garden Filming Locations in Minxiong
NCCU—National Chung Cheng University (中正大學): A Fangirl Pilgrimage
After countless stops, the bus finally arrived at the gate of NCCU—National Chung Cheng University (中正大學). I hadn’t done much research about the exact filming locations beforehand, so I arrived with zero expectations. One thing was immediately clear, though—the campus was enormous.

The moment I stepped off the Taiwan Tourist Shuttle, a familiar rush of excitement took over. You know that feeling when a place you’ve only seen on screen suddenly becomes real? I found myself hopping from one spot to another, recognizing scenes I had memorized from Meteor Garden.

Then I noticed a group of people in the distance—and they were all Filipinos. Of course! Who else would be here retracing Meteor Garden scenes? Aside from the students, we were the only foreigners wandering around the campus, clearly on the same nostalgic mission.
Walking Through F4 Nostalgic Memories
For those who might be curious: Meteor Garden is a 2001 Taiwanese series starring the late Barbie Hsu and F4—Jerry Yan, Vic Chou, Ken Chu, and Vanness Wu.

Inserted photo credits to the owner.
Suddenly, I remembered my high school self—rushing home just to catch the newest episode, torn between Dao Ming Si’s stubborn charm and Hua Ze Lei’s quiet gentleness.

Inserted photo credits to the owner.
It was pure nostalgia. I couldn’t visit every single filming spot, but seeing these familiar scenes in real life felt surreal. The campus itself exudes a classic charm: wide walkways, old buildings, and a peaceful vibe that makes it clear why it was chosen as the iconic Ying De University in Meteor Garden.

Inserted photo credits to the owner.
And then… Locker 150 🥹. One of the most iconic locations in Meteor Garden history.

Inserted photo credits to the owner.
Inside the almost-empty basement library, I found it—the hallway and the exact locker used in the show. I paused for a moment, letting the scene replay in my memory. The emotional payoff was real.
💡 Pro tip: If you’re visiting NCCU, Locker 150 in the basement library and the fountain area are must-sees for Meteor Garden fans. Snap photos quietly—students are still using the library!

I also visited the fountain area outside the library and the small bridge where Shan Cai and her friend once sat. Each corner carried echoes of the drama that shaped a generation.

There was something oddly freeing about not sticking too tightly to the original plan, especially in a place where even small detours seemed to open up new perspectives.
Instead of treating it as a setback, I let the change guide the rest of my afternoon, trusting that I would still end up where I needed to be.
Wrapping Up My Meteor Garden Pilgrimage
Changing Routes and a Surprise Stop
After spending a few unforgettable hours wandering NCCU, I waited for a bus back to Minxiong or Chiayi TRA. Based on my research, Bus 106 doesn’t stop at Minxiong Station—it mainly serves the main tourist spots—so, last minute, I decided to return to Chiayi instead. The route change didn’t bother me at all; in fact, it felt like part of the adventure.

As I waited for the bus, I found myself watching the campus slowly settle into its usual rhythm again—students walking in groups, bikes passing by, life continuing as if nothing extraordinary had just happened. And yet, for me, it felt like I had just stepped briefly into a scene I had been curious about for years before gently stepping back out into the present again. As the bus rolled along the familiar roads, I reflected on the day. I felt a wave of relief, excitement, and quiet satisfaction that I had finally set foot on the campus that had lived in my memory for decades. Maybe only 90s kids will truly understand this, but seeing the real filming location of Meteor Garden felt like a personal victory—a small dream checked off my travel bucket list.

Even in just a few hours, the campus had left an imprint: the hallways, the lockers, the fountain, the bridge—all carrying echoes of the drama that shaped a generation. There was a strange overlap between fiction and reality, where imagined school corridors suddenly had physical form, and scenes I once only watched on a screen now felt like they had weight and texture in real life.
Lessons from a 90s Kid’s Travel Dream
As the bus rolled along the familiar roads, I reflected on the day. I felt a wave of relief, excitement, and quiet satisfaction that I had finally set foot on the campus that had lived in my memory for decades. Maybe only 90s kids will truly understand this, but seeing the real filming location of Meteor Garden felt like a personal victory—a small dream checked off my travel bucket list.
Even in just a few hours, the campus had left an imprint: the hallways, the lockers, the fountain, the bridge—all carrying echoes of the drama that shaped a generation. As I watched the Taiwanese countryside pass by on my way back, I realized that travel isn’t just about places—it’s about memories, nostalgia, and the little moments that make you feel truly alive.

It struck me how journeys like this don’t always need dramatic highlights to feel meaningful. Sometimes it’s enough that you showed up, walked the paths you once only imagined, and allowed yourself to be fully present in the moment—even if only for a few fleeting hours.
And in that quiet stretch of road, I realized how travel has a way of reconnecting you with versions of yourself you almost forget—like the younger self who first watched Meteor Garden with wide eyes, never thinking that one day those scenes would become places you could actually stand in.

There was a gentle sense of closure in that thought, not of an ending, but of something softly fulfilled.
Outside, the light began to shift as the afternoon eased toward late day, casting a calmer glow over the fields and small towns we passed. Even the motion of the bus felt steadier now, as if everything were settling into place after a day of wandering and discovery.
I didn’t rush the feeling. I let it stay, knowing that these are the kinds of moments that don’t ask to be documented perfectly—they just ask to be remembered honestly, in whatever fragments remain once the journey continues.

Somewhere along the way, I caught myself smiling for no particular reason. It wasn’t loud happiness or excitement anymore, but something quieter—like contentment sitting gently in the background, no longer needing attention to feel real.
I thought about how easily moments like this can slip past unnoticed when you’re always moving toward the next destination. But here, in this in-between space on the road back to Chiayi, everything felt a little more deliberate, a little more meaningful simply because I allowed it to be.

By the time the bus drew closer to the city again, I already knew this wasn’t just a visit to a filming location. It had become something softer and more personal—a reminder that even the smallest detours can hold a surprising amount of meaning if you let them unfold at their own pace.
I can still recall fragments of my high school days in 2002, when life felt much simpler and time seemed to move at a different pace. After the final bell rang, I would hurry straight home, sometimes still in my uniform, just to make sure I wouldn’t miss the local series airing on TV. There was a kind of urgency in those afternoons—like the whole world could wait, but that episode couldn’t.

Looking back now, I realize it wasn’t just about the show itself but the rhythm it gave to everyday life. It became part of growing up—sharing conversations with classmates the next day, guessing what would happen next, and quietly carrying the story with you even while doing schoolwork or daydreaming during class.
That kind of nostalgia comes back to me easily now, especially when I find myself standing in places I once only saw on screen. It feels like a bridge between who I was then and who I am now, traveling across places that once lived only in imagination.
