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Tainan: The 400-year-old cradle of Taiwanese culture

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Known as "the birthplace of Taiwan", the island's oldest city is celebrating its quartercentennial by highlighting its multicultural past.
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In 1624, a ragged fleet of ships owned by the Dutch East India Company arrived at a forested island off the coast of China. The Dutch merchants were looking for a foothold to trade with China's Ming dynasty, but had failed to seize the Portuguese enclave of Macau. The rugged, uncharted island to which they retreated was a place of last resort. They established a base on a long sandbank and built a fort, naming it Fort Zeelandia. They called the place where they settled Tayouan – or Taiwan.

The Dutch traded with the local Siraya people who spoke an Austronesian language more closely related to contemporary Malay, Tagalog and Māori than modern-day Mandarin. Some scholars argue that the word "Taiwan" itself has Indigenous roots – deriving from "tavo-an," meaning "meeting-place" in Siraya.

This year marks the 400th anniversary of the founding of both Fort Zeelandia and the city of Tainan that developed around the fort. And here in Taiwan's oldest city, celebrations are in full swing. The Tainan 400 celebrations, which began in January with the hosting of the Taiwan Lantern Festival and will continue into December, are dedicated to exploring Tainan's many stories, told in many languages. Under the slogan "Tainan, Where You Belong", a full year's worth of concerts, exhibitions and public celebrations are highlighting how the city has evolved as a melting pot of different cultures.

Four hundred years after the Dutch built it, Fort Zeelandia still stands in Tainan (Credit: Alamy)

Today, the best way to experience Tainan is simply to wander its narrow streets and soak in its cultural diversity. Tainan is proud of its reputation as the birthplace of Taiwan and the cradle of Taiwanese culture, and it has managed to hold onto its roots more so than other Taiwanese cities. Compared to the capital Taipei or Tainan's nearest neighbour Kaohsiung – with their soaring skyscrapers that seem to reach into the future – Tainan feels like a place where the past and present collide. New high-rises compete for space with ancient monuments and tangled back alleys lined with centuries-old buildings. At weekends, the streets are noisy with the sounds of firecrackers and temple processions: the city has more Buddhist and Taoist temples than anywhere else in Taiwan.

Fort Zeelandia still stands in Tainan's Anping district. Tourists wander around the sprawling ruins where modern Taiwan was born, snapping photos of the old brick walls entwined with mammoth banyan roots. Next door, the Kaitai Tianhou temple is dedicated to the sea goddess Mazu. With a history dating back to 1668, the temple is the oldest shrine to the island's most popular deity. Inside, visitors continue the old-fashioned tradition of throwing pue, croissant-shaped blocks of wood, and asking the goddess for advice about their business dealings, family problems and love affairs. Outside, stalls selling shrimp crackers, fried sweet potato balls and Tainan's local delicacy kuann-tshâ-pang or "coffin bread" (fried bread stuffed with seafood sauce) speak to the city's reputation as Taiwan's street food capital. And on the far side of the road, elderly residents sit on plastic chairs in the shade chatting in Taiwanese, a dialect derived from the original Hokkien spoken by settlers who arrived from Fujian in China that has largely disappeared elsewhere on the island in favour of Mandarin.

Before the Dutch arrived, Taiwan's population was largely made up of culturally and linguistically diverse Indigenous groups. When the Dutch established Taiwan's first school in modern-day Tainan in 1636, classes were taught in Siraya, and in 1661, the missionary Daniel Gravius published his translation of The Gospel of Matthew into Siraya as well. One year later, Ming dynasty rebel Koxinga seized Fort Zeelandia and expelled the Dutch, setting in motion waves of migration from China. This first wave of Chinese settlers was mainly made up of Hokkien-speakers from Fujian. But two decades after Koxinga, when Taiwan passed into the hands of the Qing dynasty and Tainan became the capital of the new Taiwan Prefecture, other groups arrived, including a substantial Hakka-speaking community. The island remained under Qing control for two centuries until it was ceded to the Japanese in 1895. The Japanese stayed until the end of World War Two, and Japanese became the island's lingua franca. Today in Taiwan, there are some elderly people who are still more comfortable speaking Japanese than Mandarin.

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Throughout this long, complex history, Indigenous languages were increasingly pushed to the margins. Some, including Siraya, nearly disappeared entirely. But there were further threats to Taiwan's cultural and linguistic diversity on the horizon. In 1949, after their defeat in the Chinese civil war, Chiang Kai-shek's Nationalists retreated to Taiwan. To consolidate their rule, the Nationalists imposed martial law and proclaimed Mandarin as the national language, even though hardly anyone in Taiwan spoke it. Nevertheless, for nearly four decades, the Nationalists did their best to transform the culturally and linguistically diverse people of Taiwan into a Chinese-identifying, Mandarin-speaking monoculture.

Tainan has more traditional folk temples than any other Taiwanese city (Credit: Will Buckingham)

But the Nationalists' monocultural vision of Taiwan was always a fiction, and in the decades since the ending of martial law in 1987, the country has been rediscovering its multicultural and multi-linguistic identity. In Tainan and elsewhere in southern Taiwan, these Mandarin-only policies were policed with less fervour and resistance was more firmly entrenched. As a result, Taiwanese remains an integral part of the city's identity today. And as a sign of the city's ongoing commitment to diversity of languages and cultures, the official website for Tainan 400 greets visitors in Taiwanese, Siraya and Hakka.

To understand how Tainan is rediscovering this cultural diversity, I visited the Confucius temple in Tainan's city centre to talk to the head of the temple's cultural foundation, Dr Tsio̍h Bo̍k-bîn. As we sat in the airy hall with its burgundy walls and swooping eaves, Tsio̍h explained how Taiwanese culture was built from successive waves of colonialism. Tsio̍h noted that even the temple itself, which appears archetypally Chinese, is a hybrid. Constructed using building techniques borrowed from the Dutch, it was rebuilt and restored by the Japanese. "The Confucius temple is a composite, a tapestry," he said. It is a complete record of Taiwan's colonial history."

In addition to his work at the temple, Tsio̍h is committed to the revival of the Taiwanese language. "I think we need a strong and clear expression of being Taiwanese," he said. "Language is a token of self-expression. Taiwanese society is heading toward a vision of a linguistically equal society. Not just Taiwanese, but also Hakka and aboriginal languages. We want our society to be able to see these languages as equals."

But there are challenges, too. During Taiwan's decades of martial law, Mandarin was the standard language on the island. And while Taiwanese is now being taught again in schools across Taiwan, few young people speak it fluently. One person working to reverse this trend is YouTuber and Anping native Chiu Ka-éng, who goes by the name of Ayo. Ayo's YouTube channel, Tâi-lâm muē-á kàu lí kóng Tâi-gí (A Tainan Girl Teaches You Taiwanese), is popular for its high-energy delivery, retro visuals and linguistic research.

Many parts of Tainan, such as Shennong Street, date back to the Qing dynasty (Credit: Alamy)

"There are over 7,000 languages in the world, but they are gradually disappearing," Ayo told me over Zoom. "I wonder if my mother tongue will vanish in my lifetime. The connection between language and place is very close. Language has a specific feeling, and if you change the language, the feeling disappears." For Ayo, this makes the Tainan 400 celebrations an opportunity "to imagine together how this place came to be". It is a chance to ask, "what kind of future we want for the next 100 or 400 years".

Alongside Taiwanese, another language revival is underway in Tainan: Siraya. Spearheading the revival are Uma Talavan, an Indigenous Siraya, and her husband Edgar Macapli. Three decades ago, the couple came across Gravius's translation of Matthew's Gospel. Since then, they have dedicated themselves to the revival of Siraya as a living language. When I met the couple in a coffee shop in the suburb of Xinhua, they brought along a pile of newly published Siraya textbooks and we discussed how, after more than a century of silence, Siraya is now being spoken again and taught in more than 20 schools across Tainan.

This revival is also a reminder of the deeper history of Taiwan, one that reaches back thousands of years. "The buildings may be 400 years old," Talavan said. "But this land is not 400 years old. For our people, our history, our life… I always say it's 400-plus."

I asked Talavan what her hopes are for the language's revival. "In the future," she said, "we want Siraya to be used from kindergarten through to university." I told her I have started to learn the language, out of curiosity. Talavan laughed. "Maybe you can become a Siraya teacher too," she said.

Tainan may be celebrating its 400th anniversary, but Taiwanese history goes back thousands of years (Credit: Alamy)

To spend time in Tainan at 400 (or "400-plus"), is to become aware that Taiwan is a place with multiple roots – a complex tapestry of languages and cultures. And this year's celebrations are a reminder that identity doesn't need to be simple, or single, and that there is strength and richness in complexity.

As Tsio̍h told me before I climbed on my bike to cycle home from the Confucius temple: "We Taiwanese are not that pure. We're a hybrid society. We should be proud of that and start telling people this history and these stories of hybridity. Then maybe we can find peace with ourselves."

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Native Americans, English sailors and pirates all came together on Ocracoke Island in North Carolina to create the only American dialect that is not identified as American.
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I'd never been called a "dingbatter" until I went to Ocracoke, North Carolina for the first time. I've spent a good part of my life in the state, but I'm still learning how to speak the Hoi Toider brogue. The people here just have their own way of speaking: it's like someone took Elizabethan English, sprinkled in some Irish tones and 1700s Scottish accents, then mixed it all up with pirate slang. But the Hoi Toider dialect is more than a dialect. It's also a culture, one that's slowly fading away. With each generation, fewer people play meehonkey, cook the traditional foods or know what it is to be "mommucked".

In an effort to put his "America first" stamp on the nation's speech, US President Donald Trump recently signed an executive order making English the country's official language. It marks the first time in the US's nearly 250-year history that the nation has had an official language. Yet, on this small 9.6-square-mile island surrounded by the swirling waters of the Atlantic, residents still speak what is arguably the most English version of English in the country – and many Americans don't understand it.

As the island's official website proudly proclaims: "With origins dating back to the 1600s, Ocracoke brogue is about as American as it gets."

Located 20 miles from the North Carolina mainland, Ocracoke Island is fairly isolated. You can't drive there as there are no bridges, and most people can’t fly either as there are no commercial flights. If you want to go there, it has to be by boat. In the late 1600s and early 1700s, that meant Ocracoke was a perfect spot for pirates to hide, as no soldiers were going to search 16 miles of remote beaches and forests for wanted men.

William Howard was one of those outlaws, serving as quartermaster on Blackbeard’s ship Queen Anne’s Revenge. Leaving before Blackbeard’s final battle in 1718, Howard made his way to Virginia, eventually taking the general pardon offered by King George I to all pirates. But unlike some, Howard had a plan. For several decades, he dropped out of sight, only to reappear in 1759 when he bought Ocracoke Island for £105 from a man named Richard Sanderson, a justice and later a General Assembly member in mainland North Carolina.

Howard settled down along with some other ex-pirates and started building a community with boat pilots who had been stationed on the island to help guide merchant ships around sandbars in the area. A mainland North Carolina Native American tribe also interacted with the early settlers. The Woccon tribe had set up fishing and hunting outposts on the island, which they called Woccocock. Through misspellings and mispronunciations, it became Wokokon, Oakacock and Okercock, before finally arriving at the current version of Ocracoke in the mid-1700s. So at this point, there were Native Americans, English sailors and pirates from a variety of places all in one location. And that isolated community of just under 200 started blending words and dialects, and eventually building its own way of speaking.  

"It's the only American dialect that is not identified as American," said Dr Walt Wolfram, a North Carolina State University professor who studied the Ocracoke dialect for more than 20 years and currently works as the director of NC State’s Language and Life Project. "That's fascinating to me. You can find pronunciation, grammar structures and vocabulary on Ocracoke that are not found anywhere else in North America."

Howard's community lived in near-isolation for almost two centuries. Electricity didn't arrive at the island until 1938 and a ferry service didn't start until 1957, leaving the islanders cut off except for the occasional supply trip to the mainland. Even today, things are a bit different for the island's 676 residents than on mainland North Carolina.

"You have to be a certain type of individual to enjoy living here," said Chip Stevens, an island resident directly descended from Howard and the former owner of the local hotel Blackbeard's Lodge. "There isn't a Lowes or a Harris Teeter or any [supermarkets]. Rarely does anyone go off the island without a cooler [to bring back supplies]. You have to be almost a holistic person, capable of dealing with less of a hectic nightlife lifestyle."

With origins dating back to the 1600s, Ocracoke brogue is about as American as it gets

Yes, mobile phones and laptops still work here, and if you want to sit down and watch some Major League Baseball in a pub, there are plenty of options. But in many other ways, the island is a throwback to a time before internet and television. Instead of cinemas, there are outdoor theatre groups. Local teashops, spice markets and other family-owned stores take the place of chain supermarkets. Cars are allowed on the 16 mile-long island, but most people just park them and walk everywhere. The island's children all attend one school, while residents work as everything from fishermen to brewery owners to woodworkers.

"It's amazing how coming across that ferry is almost like going to a different country," Stevens said, sitting on the hotel's front porch. "You feel that separation. It's a really nice feeling, being able to give your kids some freedom. When I was a kid, we'd leave [home] after breakfast, eat lunch at somebody else's house, walk to the beach, take a rowboat out in the water, and our parents never had to worry about us. We've maintained a lot of that."

And they've still – just – maintained their unique way of speaking.

The island’s isolation preserved the Hoi Toider dialect, a mix of Elizabethan English, Irish and Scottish accents, and pirate slang (Credit: William Graham/Alamy)

When older Ocracoke natives, or "O'cockers" as they call themselves, speak, the "I" sound is an "oi", so they say "hoi" instead of "high". That's where the Hoi Toider name comes from: it's based on how the O'cockers say "high tide".

Then there are the phrases and vocabulary, many of which are also kept over from the original British and Irish settlers. For example, when you're on Ocracoke, someone might "mommuck a buck before going up the beach", which means "to tease a friend before going off the island".

"We have a lot of words that have been morphed to make our own," said Amy Howard, another of William Howard's descendants, who runs the Village Craftsmen, a local arts and crafts store. "[Hoi Toider] is a combination from a whole blend of cultures. A lot of the early settlers were well travelled, so they ran into lots of different types of people. For example, the word "pizer" we use comes from [a European] word which means porch. So if you're going to be sitting on your pizer, you're sitting on your porch."

Coming across that ferry is almost like going to a different country

There's a long list of words in Ocracoke vocabulary that are taken from countries across the globe. "Quamish", for example, means sick or nauseated. It comes from the 16th-Century English word "qualm". Then there's "buck", which means a male friend. You can trace that back to 13th-Century Germany, where it originally meant a male deer, as it does in most English-speaking places today.

Locals even made up words in some cases. For example, early settler children played a game of hide and seek called meehonkey. Everyone would hide and call out "meehonkey" while one person tried to find them. According to island tradition, Amy told me, the kids believed meehonkey was the sound a goose made as it flew by. Then there's "dingbatter", which is used for anyone who isn’t a native.

Ocracoke is home to a British cemetery and some residents still speak with an Elizabethan-esque brogue (Credit: Alamy)

But with each generation, the dialect is starting to disappear. The world is coming to the island through television and the internet, as well as with the long line of tourists who show up every summer. There's also more people from the mainland moving in.

"What's happening is that some of these small dialects that thrive on isolation are dying because isolation is a thing of the past," said Dr Wolfram. "They still pick up terms and vocabulary, but when a kid from the island retains a strong dialect, that was the norm and now it’s an exception."

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In the past, kids adopted the dialect because that was the only version they heard. Now there are hundreds of dialects and languages that most will encounter before they graduate high school. In fact, as of 2024, on this island of 676 people, fewer than half actually speak with the full Hoi Toider brogue.

"Within one to two generations, it'll be gone," said Dr Wolfram. "It's dying out and we can’t stop that."

In many ways, Ocracoke is a throwback to a time before internet and television (Credit: William Graham/Alamy)

Yet while the dialect may be in danger, the islanders are managing to hold onto their unique culture in other ways. In the beginning, settlers often had to come up with alternatives when they didn't have the right ingredients for a recipe. That same concept holds true today: with limited stores on the island, if you run out of supplies, you can either head to the mainland for what you need or just find a replacement.

"Ocracoke is really good at adapting," said Amy. "I joke that we need to make a cookbook for Ocracoke that says what the recipe is and then what you can actually get, because almost inevitably, you get a quirky recipe and you won’t have everything you need."

That's actually how the fig cake, which is now Ocracoke's signature dish, came to be. The story goes that in 1964, island resident Margaret Garrish was making a date cake and she had all the ingredients mixed in, except one.

"She found she didn't have any [dates], so she did what we all do and looked in her cupboard and found a jar of fig preserves," Amy said, explaining that figs are a holdover from the original settlers, and you can find fig trees in almost every yard. "She threw them in the cake, mixed them up and now we have fig cakes."

Now every year in August, the island holds a Fig Festival, complete with a fig cake bake-off, fig tastings, a square dance and traditional games like meehonkey.

As Ocracoke has more interaction with the mainland, experts foresee the Hoi Toider dialect disappearing within the next few generations (Credit: William Graham/Alamy)

But while some traditions stand strong, residents do see the island changing.

New York native Daphne Bennink came to the island 35 years ago and never left. For her, the change, in some ways, reflects the same wealth of experience those original settlers brought.

"I see more and more people coming here," Bennink said. "On Ocracoke, you have this kind of patchwork quilt of all people from all walks. It’s a little bit of a melting pot."

As for what type of culture that melting pot will create? Everyone I talked to pretty much said the same thing: no matter what changes, some things will stay the same on Ocracoke. If someone is sick, the community will pitch in. If one business owner needs help, 14 others will show up to solve the problem. The dialect may change, but the intent behind those words will remain the same.

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