The woman was just paying her respects at a shrine in the alley

Walking through the streets of Tainan, I found myself constantly encountering temples. At first, I was captivated by their elaborate Chinese-style architecture, pausing to admire the intricate details. But over time, something changed—they all started to blend together.

Unlike the temples and shrines in Japan, these Taiwanese temples were bursting with vibrant colors, gilded dragons, and elaborate carvings. Yet, as they became an everyday sight, their novelty began to fade.

That was until I turned a corner in a quiet residential alley and stumbled upon yet another small temple. Its vermilion gate stood slightly ajar, allowing wisps of incense smoke to drift through the air. A familiar scent—one that had become almost routine—lingered faintly around me.

By now, I wasn’t particularly interested in which deity was enshrined here. Instead, my attention was drawn to the people who had stopped to pray.

A woman stood before the altar, palms pressed together, eyes gently closed. Her stillness was striking. In that moment, she seemed to exist within a silent pocket of tranquility, separate from the bustling world outside.

In Tainan, no temple—no matter how small—ever feels abandoned. Morning, noon, or night, there is always someone lighting incense, whispering prayers, or simply pausing in quiet reflection.

For the people of this city, temples are not tourist attractions. They are woven into the rhythm of daily life—places not just of worship, but of quiet introspection.

Even the temples I might have otherwise walked past became more meaningful when I stopped to observe those who came to visit them. Tainan’s temples, scattered throughout its alleyways, offered more than just architecture—they offered glimpses into the soul of the city itself.

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