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Shuili

"Shuili doesn't ask to be remembered, which is exactly why it has stayed with me."

A modest river town best known for its timber history, its snake kiln, and its role as the last stop before the mountains close in.

We came to Shuili chasing a train line, not a destination — it’s the terminus of the branch railway that once hauled timber and sugar out of Nantou’s interior, and I’ve had a low-grade obsession with old rail spurs since a similar detour years ago in rural France. What we found was a town that has quietly kept its industrial character intact, unbothered by the tourist machinery that has reshaped so much of the rest of the county.

The Snake Kiln That Has Never Gone Cold

Shuili’s most peculiar landmark is the Snake Kiln, a wood-fired pottery kiln built into the hillside in a long, sloped tunnel that genuinely resembles a snake in the act of climbing. It has reportedly been fired continuously since the 1920s, and the workshop attached to it still produces ceramics using the same technique. Lia bought a small unglazed cup, still slightly warm from a firing two days earlier, and has used it every morning since we got home — it survived the flight back to Mexico better than most of our luggage did.

The long, sloped tunnel structure of Shuili's historic Snake Kiln

Riding the Branch Line to Checheng

The Jiji Line train from Shuili rattles along at a pace that feels almost defiantly unhurried, past betel nut groves and river gravel bars, toward the old timber depot at Checheng. We rode it standing near the open door of the last car, watching the valley narrow, while a conductor who’d clearly done this run ten thousand times before pointed out a hawk circling over the riverbed without breaking his announcement cadence.

A narrow-gauge train winding along the Jiji branch line through the Shuili valley

The Market at Dusk

Shuili’s evening market is small, maybe forty stalls, but it runs late and it runs local — vendors selling river shrimp fried in garlic, sweet potato balls, and a version of oyster omelet slightly runnier than the ones we’d had in Taipei. Nobody spoke English, the menus were handwritten, and we ordered by pointing, which remains one of my more reliable travel strategies.

When to go: October through April brings comfortable temperatures for exploring the town on foot and better visibility on the surrounding hills. Summer is hot and humid, though the train ride itself is pleasant in any season.