My last day in Chiayi and first night in Kaohsiung were unplanned, imperfect, and a little tiring—but beautifully so. From Chiayi’s gentle morning to Minxiong’s nostalgic campus and Kaohsiung’s welcoming streets, it became a day that reminded me why I travel: not just for the places, but for the small stories in between. This blog is part of my Taiwan, Two, Three… (2025 Series).
📅 Travel Dates: November 14–18, 2025
On Board the Local Train to Kaohsiung
Inside the station, I bought a paper ticket for the Tze-Chiang Limited Express (自強號). It was a non-reserved ticket—cheaper and slower than the HSR, but faster than the regular local trains.
Though I’d ridden Taiwan’s trains before, I still felt like a beginner. Boarding with the locals, I stood near the door, waiting for a seat to free up. Around me, middle-aged men chatted in Mandarin, their voices blending with the rhythm of the train.
The train left Chiayi on time. It moved slowly at first, then gathered rhythm. I glanced out the window and realized the city had already slipped away, replaced by fields and distant rooftops. The journey was simple, but it carried the quiet satisfaction of traveling at my own pace.
Standing by the door of the local train to Kaohsiung felt like stepping into Taiwan’s everyday rhythm. The carriage swayed gently, the metallic hum of the tracks blending with the chatter of passengers. Outside the window, small towns drifted past—tiny stations with faded signs, shopfronts with scooters parked out front, and rice paddies glistening under the late‑morning sun.
The train moved slowly through Pingtung, pausing at major stops. Standing became part of the adventure: I could stretch my legs, lean against the door, and take in the countryside without obstruction. It was chaotic in its own way—people squeezing past, announcements echoing overhead—but it was also authentic, a slice of daily life.
I thought I was the only foreigner in the car until a woman smiled at me and asked softly, “Indo? ” Her eyes were kind, curious.
I laughed and replied, “No, I am Filipino.” She told me she had been working in Taiwan for six years but never learned Mandarin. Her honesty felt refreshing. I shared my trip to Jakarta last year, and suddenly, speaking English in a train full of Mandarin conversations felt like a secret pocket of connection. We chatted until she got off at Tainan Station, and I continued my journey south. That brief exchange reminded me how travel stitches strangers together in unexpected ways.
Hello, Kaohsiung!
As the train sped up, Kaohsiung Station slowly came into view. The countryside gave way to taller buildings, busier streets, and the pulse of a bigger city. When the train finally pulled into Kaohsiung Station, I joined the stream of passengers flowing out of the platform and into the late afternoon light.
Hello, Kaohsiung—nice to see you again.
It was nearly 4 PM when I arrived at Kaohsiung Main Station. My hotel was near Formosa Boulevard MRT, about a ten‑minute walk away. Following my budget hack, I skipped the transfer inside the station and walked instead. The streets were alive with scooters weaving past, shop signs glowing in Mandarin characters, and the faint aroma of fried snacks drifting from corner stalls. Walking was simple and efficient and gave me a small window to observe city life.
Familiar Grounds
As I neared Formosa Boulevard Station, the triangular glass canopy shimmered in the afternoon light. Excitement bubbled—I recognized familiar places: Liuhe Night Market, the milk tea shop with no English menu, MRT Formosa Boulevard Station Entrance and Exit 1, and the hotel building I stayed in back in 2023. My current hotel was just steps from the MRT entrance, tucked neatly among the bustle.
After checking in and charging my phone, I headed straight to Liuhe Night Market. Dinner was dumplings—steaming, savory, wrapped in delicate dough—paired with milk tea, sans boba pearls, from a local stall.
The flavors were simple but comforting, a reminder of Kaohsiung’s easy charm. Neon lights flickered above, vendors called out their specials, and the crowd moved like a river through the narrow lanes.
Night Vibes by the Sea
The night was young, and so was my energy. I entered Formosa Boulevard Station to snap a photo of the Dome of Light—still mesmerizing no matter how many times I see it—then hopped onto the Orange Line to Yanchengpu Station.
From there, I walked toward Hamasen LRT Station and spotted the retired locomotives resting quietly under the night sky. It was already dark, so I promised myself I’d return the next day for better views.
I continued my walk to the Pier-2 Art Center. The Golden Bridge glowed in blue, crowds filled the open spaces, food stalls were alive, and the sea breeze completed the night’s atmosphere. It felt youthful, warm, and familiar—Kaohsiung at its best.
My feet eventually brought me to the Dayi Pier LRT Station. I boarded the train back to Hamasen, then transferred to the MRT Orange Line back to Formosa Boulevard.
My first night in Kaohsiung was simple, spontaneous, and exactly what I needed. A quiet reminder that returning to a place you love always feels a bit like coming home.
Travel isn’t always about flawless itineraries. Sometimes, it’s the detours, the conversations with strangers, and the rediscoveries of familiar places that make a day unforgettable.
Kaohsiung welcomed me back with open streets and sea breezes, reminding me why I keep returning to Taiwan: for the small stories tucked between the big destinations.
