The northeast coast has always been stitched into my childhood.
It was the direction we travelled when the city loosened its grip—Dad driving, the road bending toward salt and wind. We ate simply and well in small coastal towns: lobster soup drawn from deep waters, free-range chicken raised on hillsides where the land still breathed on its own terms. Those meals were never just food; they were a way of belonging to the sea.

This coast of Taiwan is older than memory. Here, the Pacific presses hard against the island, shaping headlands of volcanic tuff and sandstone, carving cliffs, lifting reefs. Monsoons arrive with authority, winter currents cool the water, and the Kuroshio passes offshore, carrying life from the tropics northward. Tide pools become small universes; fishing ports wake before dawn; migratory birds pause on their long routes between continents.

As a child, I did not know the names of these forces. I only knew the smell of kelp, the sound of waves striking black rock, the way the horizon seemed wider here. Looking back, I understand that those journeys taught me something lasting: that history is not only written in books, but in coastlines—where ocean, stone, weather, and family meet, and quietly shape who we become.

BUY WALL PRINTS AND MOUNTS HERE

Northeast Coast Taiwan Gallery

North East Coast, Taiwan

North East Coast, Taiwan North East Coast, Taiwan

North East Coast, Taiwan

North East Coast, Taiwan

North East Coast, Taiwan

North East Coast, Taiwan North East Coast, Taiwan

North East Coast, Taiwan North East Coast, Taiwan North East Coast, Taiwan North East Coast, Taiwan

North East Coast, Taiwan

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