I remember someone asked me one time down by the river bend where the “treasure” could be found here. I told them I didn’t know–that maybe they could find it tied to the branches of the old banyan tree, or buried deep under the iron pillars of Fuhe Bridge. But year upon year, I realise more what that treasure is, and has always been.
It has never been tangible, nor speakable, but it is something truer than what our eyes can see. Our special rock by the river and the people passing through it are changing quicker than we keep up with.
My parents came from the mainland in 1947. They were among the first six families to arrive here so they witnessed Treasure Hill becoming a place where all kinds of people would settle: Ex-veterans, Islanders, migrants from Southeast Asia; Hakka, Minnan, and Indigenous people.
By the time I was born in the seventies, Treasure Hill was humming with the song of different dialects. Our world grew bigger and more diverse by the day.
And by the eighties we had about two hundred families in our community. Like the osprey that fly here every summer before moving swiftly on, these flows of people have become part of the natural rhythm of our village
My childhood years were as chaotic as they were colorful. Household after household moved in and Treasure Hill became a neighborhood where homes and families were interconnected – each building their own house upon and next to others. This is how we looked after each other. It takes a village (as the saying goes). So, like the flow of the Xindian River, Treasure Hill has always been a moving place.
Residents, staff, local students, and tourists–they come and then they go. Each takes part in the slow transformation of the village that we built together; the values and worldviews that they bring with them mean that no person ever steps in the same Treasure Hill twice.
Did you know, the material we used to build our homes came straight from the Xindian river–can you hear it trickling behind you? Stone by stone, our hands became calloused and our backs strained in the process of starting anew.
As I grew older, I became aware of outsiders’ judgements about Treasure Hill and its residents. People compared it to a cancerous tumor growing on the edges of Taipei. “Illegal”. “Structurally unsound”. “Squatters”. Words like these knocked my neighbors’ houses into dust in 1995, with many more having to leave for the renovation in 2006.
But what some people saw as eyesores were for others a testament to the struggle of living and surviving on the fringes of the city.
We fought, we bargained, and we crafted ingenious ways to remain where we have stood for decades. So, to preserve Treasure Hill, the Art Village was established in 2010. My village is adored today by visitors and locals alike, some of whom may be surprised to discover a resilient community still thriving here.
I wonder silently to myself, did you notice those flowers growing between the bricks last time you visited?
There’s something about the air at this time of year, and the angle of the sun, that unlocks something in my mind. Today I’ve been reminiscing about the times I used to go fishing with my father along the Xindian Creek
All we needed was a simple rod and small bucket. Nothing beat the feeling of bringing something home for Mum. If we got lucky, we could catch something in less that ten minutes! Steamed, braised, or fried–she could transform any ingredient you gave to her
When Taiwan became a “tiger economy”, Taipei’s industries were the fastest to develop. I noticed how the water gained an iridescent sheen as the factories were built upstream. The fish I caught with my father eventually became inedible, and we had to release them back into the river.
Looking out into the mountain-lined horizon, where the river meets the sky, I recall how we would secretly climb and dive off of the riverside structures, swimming towards Zhongzheng Bridge when our bodies grew stronger year upon year.
It was as though we were swimming with the current even when it was rushing against us. When you go through so much to make a place home, you find ways to adapt to any changes: to swim alongside them.
Since Treasure Hill turned into an “Artist Village”, we’ve found ways to bring together our neighbors–both old and new. So we will often come to catch up, gossip, have meetings, and eat in the shed outside the grocery shop. Sometimes we just like to sit quietly in the comfort of each others’ company.
Big sister will always come out from the grocery shop to ask us whether we’ve eaten. She will serve us hot noodle soup, lovingly home-made, trusting that her bowl will come back to her eventually. That's just how we do things here.
The river today is full and fierce – unrecognizable from the days we used to farm beside it. And although we still can’t eat them, the fish are becoming more plentiful by the day.
As I watch the water hurry to meet the ocean, I recall that time someone asked me where the “treasure” could be found here. On reflection, I wish I gestured to the river.
The way it runs without looking back reminds me how even the most fleeting visits can shape a place. Spend some time here and you will understand how the true spirit of our village cannot be seen with the naked eye, nor in photos.
So, I want to ask you: what is this “treasure” to you and how will you keep it alive?