Geologically, ground-level hot springs are vanishingly rare. In most thermal districts, the heat source sits deep beneath mountain ridges, and the water must climb significant elevation before it reaches the surface. In Jiaoxi, the spring water emerges almost at sea level, lacing through the lowland before pooling in the dozens of bathhouses, hotels, and public parks that line the town's streets. The public Tangwei Brook Park — 湯圍溝公園 — makes the springs democratic: visitors can plunge their feet into the warm, mineral-laden water for free. Pay a small entrance fee and a full-immersion pool awaits. The water carries sodium bicarbonate and trace minerals that leave the skin feeling soft rather than sulphurous, which is why the local hotels fill their rooms with private spring-fed tubs. On weekend mornings, the lanes around the park smell faintly of warm stone and mineral steam.

Jiaoxi's spiritual life is anchored by the Sietian Temple — 協天廟 — on Zhongshan Road. Twice a year, on the 13th of January and the 24th of June by the lunar calendar, the temple draws pilgrims from across Taiwan for the Spring and Autumn Rituals of Kuankung. According to tradition, Kuankung idols from temples throughout the island make their way to Sietian to receive blessings and return to their home temples renewed. The procession involves traditional religious dances performed nowhere else in Taiwan. Watching the rituals unfold — the incense smoke, the drum rhythms, the long lines of worshippers — you sense that Jiaoxi holds something older than the resort hotels: a community that still marks time by the lunar calendar and the movements of its gods.

Step away from the hot-spring lanes and the terrain rises quickly into forested hills. The Wufongci Scenic Area, a short ride from the town centre, shelters trails leading to a three-tiered waterfall whose silhouette resembles the triangular flags worn by generals in classical Chinese opera. The Linmei Shihpan Trail is the most accessible: smooth enough for young children and older hikers, it winds through moss-covered boulders and subtropical forest to a flat stone plateau with views across the Lanyang Plain toward the Pacific. Those willing to push higher can follow the Paoma Historical Trail, a former Aboriginal trade route that once connected settlements along the northeast coast. The forest up here is dense and humid, alive with birdsong and the sound of running water.

Jiaoxi's market stalls and small shops specialize in products that exist nowhere else. Hot-spring tomatoes — 溫泉番茄 — are grown in soil irrigated by the mineral waters, giving them an unusual sweetness that locals serve with a dab of plum powder and ginger syrup. Hot-spring glutinous rice cakes, 溫泉麻糬, are soft and yielding, made with water drawn directly from the springs. The oval kumquat — 金棗 — is Yilan County's signature fruit, candied into small, jewel-bright sweets that travel well and taste like concentrated winter sunlight. None of these things taste quite the same outside of Yilan, which is reason enough to fill a bag before the train back to Taipei.

From the fairways of the Linmei Golf Course, an 18-hole international-standard course set across 50 acres of hill terrain, the full geography of northeast Taiwan spreads out below. The Lanyang Plain runs flat to the sea. Turtle Island — Guishan Island — floats offshore, its volcanic outline unmistakable in clear weather. Between the mountain foothills and the Pacific, the small townships of Yilan County cluster along rivers and roads that were isolated from western Taiwan for most of their history, separated by the Central Mountain Range that the Hsuehshan Tunnel finally pierced. The view from this hill explains why the region developed its own cuisine, its own dialects, its own pace — and why the hot springs stayed largely local before the tunnel changed everything.