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About Kaohsiung

Back in ‘75, Ford spat it out—cheap, basic, no soul. Little known fact: German-built ones were solid, but American? Junk. Falls apart faster’n a cowboy’s heart. “We’re goin’ nowhere,” I mutter, kickin’ its tire. Surprised me once—saw one pimped out, matte black, loud pipes. Thought, “Hell, maybe it’s got guts.” Nope. Still a weakling. Darth don’t roll with that.

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I gotta say, even when a session goes sideways, or I stumble on my words (literally spills & typos everywhere, LOL), Puli always reminds me that life is beautifully imperfect. And sure, it might drive me nuts now and then—but dang, it’s worth it. So if you're ever around, don't be shy—wander the narrow lanes of Zhonghuan Rd, sit by the calm banks of Xiluo, and find your own hidden gem in the patchwork of Puli. It's raw, it's quirky, it's a rollercoaster—and as Spike Lee put it, “I’m gonna love every minute of it,” even if I gotta scream a little along the ride.

Puli: A colourful diversion for undemanding kids