In nearly 15 years of cycling around Taiwan, I’ve rarely needed to book accommodation in advance – there’s almost always been a place to stay within easy reach.

It’s past 6 p.m. and the sun has set as I pull into Changbin Village in northern Taitung County. The rain that beset me on the roughly 100-km bicycle ride from Hualien City has eased to a drizzle. Despite the best efforts of my garish pink raincoat – a sturdier step up from the standard yellow convenience store ones – I’m still soaked to the skin.

On the cusp of Lunar New Year, families congregate beneath the awnings along the 500-meter thoroughfare that runs through the village center and connecting to Provincial Highway 11, along which I will continue my journey down Taiwan’s east coast tomorrow morning.

Wads of joss paper (金爐, jīnlú, literally “golden furnaces”) line both sides of the street, smoldering like malfunctioning droids. Stacks of the divine yellow currency, also known as “spirit money,” are piled up alongside the receptacles, waiting to be tossed into the blaze as offerings to the spirit realm ahead of the festival, bringing blessings and good fortune to the living. Toddlers scoot across the road on tricycles, in and out of the rain, willfully oblivious to the admonishments of their elderly relatives.

Cold and weary, I attempt to dry my fingers on any spare patch of unsodden clothing. I’m trying to zoom in on a map of the area to see if there’s a guesthouse nearby. Having pitched my tent under a park pavilion and skateboard arena the past two nights with nothing but a sleeping bag as a buffer against concrete, I’ve decided to fork over money for paid accommodation tonight.

There’s one snag: I haven’t booked ahead. Forget availability – in a place this small, I can’t be sure there’s any room at all, at least within my budget, which doesn’t leave room for a surprise splurge.

Earlier, I had spotted two places on the outskirts of town. They were out of my preferred price range but if push comes to shove, I may withdraw extra funds and take the hit. Before it gets to that point, however, my map shows something promising down a side lane. There’s no English name – an encouraging sign for a penny-pincher – but it translates simply as Changbin Hometown Guesthouse (長濱家鄉民宿). 

Within minutes, I’m standing out front. With its gravel-studded gray façade and boxy, angular design, the two-story building looks anything but inviting. But any traveler dissuaded by unappealing exteriors would struggle to find satisfactory budget accommodation in Taiwan. At this moment, there’s no way that’s putting me off.

An elderly neighbor pokes her head out of a doorway to alert me to an important development. “The boss is about to go out – you’d better be quick.” She motions to a woman on a scooter who, as indicated, is just about to disappear.

“Boss!” I shout. “Wait a moment – do you have a room for the night?”

She does. It’s NT$1,500 (around US$50) – bang on my limit – with a large apple presented to me as a New Year’s gift.

“I don’t have the keys to the room on me,” she says. “Do you need them?”

I don’t. This is small-town Taiwan during the most generous stretch of the year, when an already remarkably hospitable people become even more so. Once again, I’ve lucked out.

Or have I?

Asking around

Since I started doing long, multi-day bicycle trips around 15 years ago, I’ve almost never booked accommodation in advance, despite warnings from friends and colleagues who insisted it was necessary during Lunar New Year. But I’ve stayed in at least a dozen towns and villages across the country and never had trouble finding an affordable place for the night.   

“The last time I did a week-long trip, I didn’t book anything in advance,” says Lance Wu, a producer and director for the Videoland Television Network. “Each day, I just arrived and asked around – at a shop, a 7-Eleven, sometimes even the police station. I never had trouble finding a place.” 

While this was almost seven years ago, Wu – a keen cyclist – says friends have confirmed that things for them have been pretty much the same. “I’ve heard people say you need to book ahead, especially during Lunar New Year, but in my experience, that’s just not true,” he says. “You can still travel like this in Taiwan.”

During the off-season from May to September, Wu recommends seeking out temples and pilgrim hostels run by religious foundations. Some larger complexes can accommodate dozens of guests, with rooms ranging from basic dormitories to hotel-quality stays. While contributions were once left to the guest’s discretion, most now request a fixed donation.

“They still call it a ‘donation,’ but they tell you a price, like 200 or 300 Taiwan dollars,” says Wu. “One time, four of us stayed in a huge room that could fit 18 people, and we only paid 500 each. It was basic but totally fine.”

While such lodgings are more likely than others to be full during religious festivals due to their devotional functions, they are often empty and cut-price at other times of the year, says Wu. For young Taiwanese (and at least one foreigner I know), there is also the possibility of staying for free at places of worship in exchange for temple sweeping duties.

One seasoned cyclist who has been all over the island and back also highlights temples as an option but is less confident about just showing up.

“I’ve done a few temples, but you have to know which ones have dorms,” says Roche, who founded and runs Blue Skies Adventures, which offers planning services for outdoor activities in Taiwan. “It’s definitely better to book in advance,” he says.

The same goes for guesthouses. “Off-peak, you can still roll up in a lot of places and find somewhere to stay on the day,” he says. “But Lunar New Year is a particular headache where it’s just too risky and difficult to find somewhere to stay.”

As he now often travels with family, Michael McCreesh, a Taiwan resident, says he is also more likely to prepare meticulously to maintain conjugal bliss. While flying solo, he is still happy to take a chance but says he has not risked it during holiday periods. He also advises that getting in touch before arrival can have other benefits.

“When rolling into remote areas with guesthouses, I usually try to contact ahead as sometimes meals are offered,” he says. “It’s good to let them know, as they usually prep ahead.”

Steven Crook, another experienced traveler and regular contributor to Taiwan Business TOPICS, echoes McCreesh’s point about family constraints but says he still occasionally improvises on camping trips.

“In the old days, I’d often roll up in a city and just look for a NT$600 hotel near the train station,” says Crook. “As I’m not so interested in urban areas now and often have the wife and son in tow, I only do it when camping, the rationale being, ‘We might check out a campsite but end up just camping wild.’”

Regarding the latter option, bringing a tent along on a road trip allows you to stop almost anywhere for the night. Of course, it adds weight, which you will certainly feel during steeper inclines. You may even eventually contribute to wearing down the teeth on your bike’s sprockets. (After years of putting my trusty stead through the wringer, the gears began slipping just as I pulled into Changbin on account of blunted teeth.)

This being Taiwan, however, there is always a handy alternative: sending your tent ahead via one of the dirt-cheap convenience store delivery systems. Of course, this limits the type of flexibility that the free-spirited roamer favors. “I’m not a fan of sending gear ahead,” says Roche. “The pro is less weight, but the con is forcing a schedule. It’s nice to just stop when you’ve had enough [riding] for the day.”  

Making it work

While technically not legal on paper, in practice – aside from national parks – you can pitch your tent almost anywhere in rural and small-town Taiwan. Even in the cities, as long as you’re not smack-bang in the middle of a park or busy public space, you should be fine. Just use some common sense!

Almost any small town or village in Taiwan will have pavilion-type structures that can provide extra shelter in inclement weather. Many have small parks, covered outdoor sports facilities, or temples, where any staff you encounter are usually fine with letting you set up on their grounds. Tourist recreation areas are common, too, and a real boon in remote mountain areas, though they often lock up early and can be unappealing for other reasons.

On my most recent New Year’s jaunt, I found a large and unfortunately semi-abandoned Indigenous community center with a covered outside door area and even indoor spaces that had clearly sat unused for a long time. Nestled in a quiet back alley, it made the perfect retreat from the New Year’s Eve fireworks lighting up the night sky over the remote community.

The grounds of police stations and schools are also often available, though Roche says this can vary from place to place. “Elementary schools in rural areas are usually no problem on a Friday or Saturday night if there’s no guard,” he says. “But police stations can be hit and miss – some are fine, but others have said ‘No way.’”

My own experience with police across Taiwan has underscored my view of them as incredibly friendly and helpful. On one trip with a friend, an officer took our soaked clothing and washed it at the station while we ate at a nearby night market. On our return, he handed it back to us, dried and folded.

On this most recent trip, a young desk sergeant offered me the use of the station’s bathroom, even pointing out the spot on a shelf where he kept his own shampoo, shower gel, and face scrub! As I departed, he noticed me snapping a photo of the location and entreated me not to share this act of kindness on social media for fear of reprimand from his superiors, so I’ve kept things suitably vague.

It should also be noted that police stations often double as rest stops where you can pump your tires, get water refills, and, on occasion, be invited in for tea and nibbles.

Among those who support the view that “rolling up and rocking off” is eminently practicable in Taiwan, most advise that Chinese language skills make things a lot easier.  

A German cyclist I met during a breakfast stop in Taitung’s Dawu Township agreed with this but nonetheless felt that Google Maps online translation tools allowed even Taiwan newbies to find excellent budget accommodation that was not on the usual booking websites and often not signposted in English.

“Sometimes I booked my accommodation some days before, but mostly I was looking for a hotel when I arrived,” says Jan Bossert, a carpenter based in Switzerland, who was touring Taiwan on the recommendation of a friend. “In general, it was easy to find a hotel as there are quite a lot in Taiwan, though quite a few were sold out during Chinese New Year.”

Like any maverick traveler worth their salt, Bossert was “not interested in the touristy places” and quickly discovered the places that suited him best were generally not advertised in English. This, of course, meant the proprietors usually lacked foreign language skills. However, this didn’t prove much of an obstacle.

“In the small towns, it’s true, most didn’t speak English,” he says, “But when you come into a hotel, I think everybody knows what you want!”