On Taiwan’s main island and its outlying ones, several couples have opted to become homebuilders, rather than merely homebuyers. TOPICS looks at two such pairs and the projects they’ve poured their time, energy, and hearts into.
Story and photos by JAMES BARON
“Beautiful mistakes,” Li-chiao Upham calls them. No. 8 is full of them.
The one we’re looking at is an archway, discovered during a partial wall collapse, as contractors punched through to connect with a passageway to the adjoining building.
“They came with millions of (New Taiwan) dollars of equipment but eventually used a huge drill,” says Upham. “We were scared it would all come down.”
Pointing to the opening, her husband David explains that an old doorway had been filled in. “As they broke through, this part crumbled,” he says. “And there it was, in all its glory.”
The passageway leads from the enclosed courtyard of a Qing Dynasty building, which the Uphams purchased in 2017, to an altogether different property: a three-story structure built in the 1960s as the premises of a medicine manufacturer — “the Factory,” as Li-chiao calls it.
Forming an L-shape, on the fringes of Tainan East Market, the two buildings are a maverick combo. The Uphams hadn’t intended to acquire the Factory, but — impressed by the care the couple showed in renovating the old house — the owner persuaded them to buy it in 2020.
The Uphams are one of several couples in Taiwan following their own blueprint in building, renovating, and adapting residences for varied purposes. From a troglodyte cave house in France’s Loire Valley to a century-old craftsman home in Seattle, they have made homes across the world. Having run Cherry Hill, a Taipei-based antiques business, since 1997, they bring decades of experience and cultural sensitivity to their modifications.
“We do our best to keep the original character when renovating,” says David.
With several properties in Tainan’s Central West district, the Uphams refer to them by street numbers — the former factory is No. 35 (Lane 132, Qing- nian Rd.); on nearby Minquan Road, another distinctive new house, No. 168, is nearing completion.
The old house, though, is referred to as No. 8 — one of four separate numbers that the northern portion is registered under. These numbers — 4 to 10 — denote a row of storefronts that once occupied the space. But behind them, the grand old star of the show doesn’t officially exist.
That is likely due to the building’s age. “We know the sale was completed before the Japanese took over in 1895 because they kept detailed records regarding property transactions, which were used by the ROC (Republic of China) government to determine ownership,” says David. “No such records exist for the old house.”
The couple approached Tainan City Government about registering the building and were told to “tear it down and build something new,” says David. Appalled by this idea, they took matters into their own hands.
Doing so gave them freedom to renovate, particularly after the enclosing of the courtyard, which in David’s words, means that “from the outside, you wouldn’t know anything’s there.” Since the acquisition, the courtyard and shopfronts have been fully enclosed with a wooden-slatted façade. Above the garage space, a small apartment was added. Nicknamed “the Pigeon House,” it’s accessed by an alternating tread staircase modeled on a design David saw in China’s famed Huangshan heritage site.
Following the purchase, the shopfronts were restored to a single unit, which the couple call “the One Room.” The name highlights the resumed unity of function. It also relates to the discovery of another filled-in doorway, which was later converted into windows. Rotting remnants of the wooden headers were replaced to create shelves in the recess, with the long, thick lintel above symbolizing the Chinese character for the number one.
On a wall near the inside entrance to the One Room is a detailed family tree for the Cheng (城) family, who — according to oral tradition — purchased the residence from one of the last prefects of Taiwan before it gained province status in 1885. The family made its fortune through the sale of bagasse, a sugarcane residue, to the Japanese military, who used it as a biofuel in steam engines.
“They were said [to be] so rich that they owned everything on both sides of the road from Kaohsiung to Tainan,” says Li-chiao.
This affluence is evident in the grandeur of the main room. Sourced mainly from China, but with some European and American touches, the doors at the Upham’s properties in Tainan are a sight to behold. Even the most functional, inconspicuous spaces sit behind ornate coverings.
But the doors to the main room are something else. Rendered in an elegant turquoise, these imposing timber portals feature sturdy, wrought-iron doorknockers decorated with bagua (“eight symbols,” a sort of feng shui energy map) trigram motifs. On either side, pairs of maroon traditional lattice partitions are topped by intricate floral carvings. Below, a series of panel paintings depicts parakeets, butterflies, and Taiwan blue magpies.
Though the original panels had faded, photos provided by the scion of the sugar magnates and the building’s last owner provided a template for similar designs. These were done by Lin Chuan-chih, a noted temple painter and restorer who worked on many designated national monuments, including the Taiwan Fu City God Temple — just a few minutes’ walk from the old house.
Inside, a slender altar table displays an array of antiques; a broad painting depicting game birds and peonies occupies the wall above. This panel illustration once formed the final piece of a mid-19th century canopy bed.
Further surprises await in the rooms behind, particularly a loft area, discovered during renovations to a false roof, then extended and converted into a bedroom.
Fashioning a staircase with an apparent lack of headroom was challenging. The original carpenters deemed it impossible — a recurring theme with workmen who were reluctant to tackle the couple’s ambitious projects.
A 90-degree turn was needed, with the first section starting at on old stone window — also discovered behind crumbling plaster — and the second having to skirt another protruding aperture, converted into an ornament cabinet, in the wall of a new bathroom. The ascent is decorated with scenes by famed watercolorist and illustrator Paul Kuo.
To facilitate steady access at the top, David devised a system of ropes attached to the ceiling as handholds. Watching him maneuver his large but mobile frame up and down via this ingenious aid is impressive. Rails, repurposed from the original storeroom ladders found in the One Room, run along the edge of the platform with another set used for shelving.
The Uphams have been equally attentive in their renovation of the Factory. The original tiling is pristinely maintained, with the stork motif on the second floor being a standout feature. The steel balustrades with the company’s original lettering also remain. After adding an elevator, as well as modern open-concept kitchens and a gym up top, the Uphams now live mainly in this building.
The couple’s trusted collaborator is Mr. Chu, a self-taught artisan currently working on the new house, No. 168. Stripped to the waist as he measures up a length of wood, he looks considerably younger than his 76 years. A native Hakka from Hsinchu County, Chu can restore and repurpose antique furniture and create intricate carvings from scratch.
“He’s a national treasure,” says David.
“We’d couldn’t do without him,” Li-chiao agrees.
With its eye-catching antique blue French doors and Japanese colonial-style balconies, the narrow brick townhouse at No. 168, is planned as a place to put up visitors. On the first floor, Li-chiao intends to open an ice cream parlor. The couple also plan to give Mr. Chu his own apartment and workshop at another property near the Factory when it’s completed.
“We hope he can run courses there to teach new generations his skills,” says Li-chiao.
Paradise in Penghu
A world away from the Uphams’ projects is OLÉ Villa — the dreamchild of Penny and Andrew Rincon. Situated on the seafront in Xiyu Township, the westernmost of Penghu County’s main islands, this sumptuous holiday home would not seem out of place in a European riviera setting.
Instead, with its location just over Penghu Great Bridge — the archipelago’s longest cross-sea link — in tranquil Hejie Village, the three-story beach house is a remarkable sight.
Born and raised in Hejie, Penny had an early affinity for the sea. “When we were little, we would go picking sea snails to sell at the market,” she says. “So I’m very connected to the ocean.”
Motioning from the villa’s sprawling veranda, with its sunbeds and outdoor lounge areas, to the gently lapping waves just yards ahead, she notes that she can forecast the twice-daily tides with pinpoint precision at any time of the year. Her feel for the waves helped her ride them to two national windsurfing championships.
Having met in Canada, the couple were married in Wisconsin and have since studied, lived, and worked in Barcelona, Bogota, and Qatar. Their first child was born in Penghu in 2017, and the idea of building OLÉ Villa came about while living there during the Covid-19 pandemic.
During oceanfront strolls in Hejie, they were taken by the untapped potential of the area, observing that there were several plots of land for sale. “We hadn’t really noticed just how beautiful that stretch of coast was until we moved there,” says Andrew.
The availability of swaths of land was partly due to local concerns that ancestral tombs had once been located there, says Penny. “We weren’t worried about that.”
Unlike the Uphams, who decided against turning any of their properties into guesthouses, when the Rincons purchased the roughly 1,000-square-meter plot of land, the plan of developing an idyllic retreat was firmly in mind. “We could immediately see the potential,” says Andrew.
Taiwan’s land planning laws distinguish between residential and agricultural use — the latter designed for long-term farmland conservation. Sitting at the border of zones, the patch had the potential for re-zoning. “If not, we could just put a trailer there, anyway,” says Penny.
The decision paid off when the land was re-zoned in 2021. Construction began in early 2023 and was completed in late 2025. Most satisfying was seeing reactions to the results. “At first people wondered, ‘Why would you want to do that?’” says Andrew. “But when it was done, they were like, ‘Oh, now we see.’”
Inside and out, the villa is impressive. Bisecting a neatly manicured lawn, a winding path leads to the open-air deck, with its sleek, black steel pergola. Tiered balconies and overhangs sit above this, with white stucco columns dividing the façade.
The grid-like rows of floor-to-ceiling windows give the interior a breezily Mediterranean feel, accentuated by the stylish wooden-panel flooring, perhaps unsurprising given the blueprint was drawn up by a Spanish architect friend from the couple’s Barcelona days. With four bedrooms — one featuring a mezzanine space with an extra double — and a huge, open-concept kitchen, the house can comfortably fit 15 guests. In the snug living room area, there’s even a karaoke machine for good measure.
The property is currently advertised on several rental platforms and social media, but most bookings come through word-of-mouth recommendations. Families remain the target, but students renting for celebrations are also welcome, particularly as the nearest neighbor is 100 meters down the road, so noise is not a real issue.
While the villa is the perfect place to do nothing, there are many attractions nearby. The impeccably maintained Fujianese courtyard houses at the village of Erkan are a few kilometers away, with the intriguing Daguoye Columnar Basalt formations just beyond.
Further afield, the pristine beaches at Nei’an are among the very best in Taiwan, with aquatic activities available, though deserted stretches of sand with perfectly swimmable sea abound in Xiyu, including meters from the villa. On the other side of Nei’an, where the island narrows to an isthmus, a pair of Qing Dynasty-era forts are a boon for history buffs. At the southwestern tip of the island, Yuwengdao Lighthouse, which was constructed by Scottish engineer David Marr Henderson, is Taiwan’s oldest such structure. (Yuwengdao is an old name for Xiyu.)
Like the Uphams, the Rincons faced considerable difficulty in finding professionals willing to help them realize their dreams. They approached numerous architects before one agreed to work to the original design, rather than offering a different blueprint.
“They kept saying it wouldn’t look good,” says Andrew.
But the Rincons refused to budge.
“We knew what we wanted,” says Penny, gesturing to the house behind her. “And this was it.”
