In the final episode, the pace picks up as we follow Austrian traveler Adolf Fischer on his 1898 journey through Japanese-ruled Taiwan. He heads into the dangerous hill country of central Taiwan and later gives us some memorably morose lines about gray, cholera-scarred Penghu.

Fischer treks from Takao (Kaohsiung) across the southern mountains to the East Coast. Along the way, he has encounters with the Paiwan indigenous people involving fermented maize liquor and canned meat diplomacy, and yodeling. Eryk and John enjoy his often spicy opinions, sometimes agreeing (his observations on Buddhist missionaries) and at other times shaking their heads (he was so very wrong about Kaohsiung).

We wrap up by looking at Fischer’s ultimate verdict on Japan’s colonial experiment, and what happened to him and to his remarkable museum legacy in Germany.

In Part 2, we continue in the footsteps of the cultured Austrian traveler Adolf Fischer on his 1898 journey in Japanese-ruled Taiwan. From the commercial enclave of Tōa-tiū-tiâⁿ (Dadaocheng), we cruise downriver to Tamsui (Danshui), meet the famed missionary George Mackay, hear warnings about rebels in the nearby hills, and solve a crocodile mystery.

After overcoming Japanese suspicions that he might be a spy for the German Kaiser, Fischer heads south to Shinchiku (Hsinchu). Drawing on his 1900 book, “Wanderings Through Formosa,” we get sharp, sometimes surprising observations about the early years of Japanese rule.

(The book was specially translated from into English for Formosa Files, and we enjoyed it so much that we had to make it a three-parter).

The first in a special three-part series, this is a Taiwan travel account never before told in English. Formosa Files has had Streifzüge durch Formosa (1900) translated into English.

This travelogue, Wanderings Through Formosa, describes a journey through Japanese-ruled Taiwan in the spring of 1898 by Adolf Fischer, a cultured, sharp-tongued Austrian traveler.

It offers a vivid outsider’s view of the island less than three years after Japan took control. What he found here was quite different from the standard glossy images we usually associate with the Japanese colonial period.

And we throw in a bonus mystery (plus solution) about the vanishing German consulate in Dadaocheng.

From “Muddy Ditch” in Chiayi County, Lu Ch’ing-an (1944–2011) rose to national fame as Taiwan’s Father of Motorcycle Stunts. The story starts with an apprenticeship at a local scooter repair shop, where the mechanically gifted boy fell in love with motorbikes.

Still a teenager, he was inspired by the ROC Air Force’s Thunder Tigers aerobatics team to start flying on two wheels. Over the next few decades, he would amaze audiences and break records. His biggest triumph came in 1983, when he jumped over 14 large buses, surpassing the mark held by Evel Knievel.

Lu also undertook some punishing endurance rides, including the first motorcycle circumnavigation of Taiwan in under 24 hours. Behind the accolades and headlines, however, was the heavy physical and personal toll of crashes.  

The Cold War is heating up as the CIA continues to build a “Third Force” – a democratic alternative to both Mao’s Communists and Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalists. A secret army is being trained on the islands of Okinawa and Saipan. But when these Chinese special forces are dropped inside the PRC to gather information and organize anti-communist guerrillas, there is a grim reckoning. Most perished. Built on a house of cards of faulty intelligence, this ambitious covert project would quickly and quietly collapse. It is, however, a riveting story and one with valuable, evergreen lessons.

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Standard histories tell us that after fleeing to Taiwan, Chiang Kai-shek became America’s staunch Cold War ally – an immovable figure with an iron grip on Fortress Formosa. But behind the scenes, parts of the U.S. government were quietly exploring ways to push him aside. Today we uncover a little-known CIA effort to build a “Third Force” – a democratic alternative to both Mao’s Communists and Chiang’s Nationalists. From whispered WWII assassination plots to secret Cold War schemes involving breakaway Chinese generals and hidden training camps, it’s such a riveting story we’ll need two episodes to tell it properly.

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Before this encore, a quick announcement: we are looking for (human) artists for a 2027 calendar project. If you're interested, get ahold of us. Thx!

The SS President Hoover was a ship ahead of its time, but just seven years after being commissioned, the ship ran aground just off Green Island, which in 1937 was a part of the Japanese Empire. This encore presentation is a riveting adventure involving a possibly intentional bombing, a journey along the unfamiliar East Coast of Formosa in the dark, a shipwreck, drunken sailors, and some heartwarming pre-WWII kindness between Japan and America.

This episode was first released in May, 2023.

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Shih Ch’ien (施乾) is a young, well-educated Taiwanese man with a coveted government job in the Japanese colonial administration. But he turns his back on this comfortable life to live among society’s outcasts. In 1923, aged just 24, he founded a shelter for beggars, Aiai Ryō (愛愛寮, the “House of Love”) in Taipei’s Wanhua district. There, he would spend the rest of his short life caring for the destitute and demonstrating his hands-on approach to helping the poor. Shih loved beggars but hated begging; he rejected feel-good charity, instead seeking to eradicate poverty through education, medical care, self-respect, and work-training. And he attempted this without institutional support. It was a constant struggle. Behind his success lay two extraordinary women, first his Taiwanese wife and later his Japanese wife.

Happy New Year from Formosa Files. We hope you enjoy this uplifting historical tale told with our usual seasoning of banter and that you forgive us our occasional inappropriate joke.

Wuxia (武俠) novels are martial-arts stories full of swordsmen and swordplay, secret techniques, and chivalrous outlaws. Think Robin Hood crossed with Taoist mysticism and Chinese history. John talks with Taipei-based writer Scott Crawford about the genre – and Jin Yong 金庸 (1924-2018), the most popular and influential wuxia writer. Generations of admiring readers across Asia have devoured his many books. But Taiwan’s government was not a fan. Enter, the Rainstorm Project – a long-running crackdown launched in 1960 that targeted wuxia, especially Jin Yong’s works. Within days, 120,000 novels were seized; and, over the years, hundreds of wuxia titles were banned. But why? Was this simply Cold War paranoia about possible communist cultural “contamination”? Or a kind of moral panic about the impact on children; after all, this fantasy fiction was inspiring Taiwanese students to run off to the mountains in search of kung fu masters.

When Japan took control of Taiwan in 1895, it inherited a financial mess: a chaotic mix of chopped silver, copper cash, and foreign coins. The new colony also cost far more to subdue and administer than it brought in. Yet during that demanding first decade, able administrators such as Gotō Shinpei turned things around, bringing monetary order and eventual profitability. The United States took notice. In its own new colony, the Philippines, American officials followed Taiwan’s monetary reforms and even came to study its opium monopoly, a system designed to reduce addiction while also funding the colonial government (opium was initially the single largest source of revenue). Eryk and John, channeling their inner opium fiend and colonial ruler, demonstrate how this system worked on the ground.

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THIS IS AUDIO-ONLY. A LONGER VIDEO VERISON IS AVAILABLE.

This episode may not be suitable for minors.

Yes, funeral strippers are real, and their story is far more complicated than the headlines. With anthropologist Marc L. Moskowitz as our guide, we climb aboard Taiwan’s infamous Electric Flower Cars, neon-lit mobile stages where dancers perform during funerals and temple processions.

In this dual episode (video/audio only), Eryk chats with Professor Moskowitz about his documentary, ⁠Dancing for the Dead.⁠ The discussion explores how this controversial tradition took root, why it exploded into public debate in the 1980s, and what it reveals about Taiwan’s rural-urban cultural divide.

Critics call it immoral. Performers call it a livelihood. Fans say it keeps the spirits and the crowds entertained; enjoy this provocative, colorful, and surprisingly heartfelt look at one of Taiwan’s most misunderstood cultural practices.

Watch a 47-min interview video HERE.