Over the years there have been many rumours about the secret tunnels under Taipei’s Grand Hotel. Some say they were secret passageways to the presidential office five kilometres away. Others say they led to the Songshan airport or a secret military base. Now, the rumours are that the tunnels will shelter VIPs should the city come under attack from China’s People’s Liberation Army.
The tunnels were built in the 1970s, as part of a major renovation of the hotel, amid the twin fears of the cold war and a Chinese attack. They were designed to provide an escape for Chiang Kai-shek, the ageing authoritarian leader of the Republic of China (Taiwan’s formal name) and any world dignitaries who happen to be visiting. Construction was completed in 1973, just two years before Chiang’s death.
The tunnels’ existence was long kept secret, even from hotel staff, but after a fire destroyed part of the hotel in the mid 1990s, they were rediscovered along with a curious addition – a 20 metre long slide down one tunnel’s edge.
At the end of a red-carpeted marble staircase, behind large wooden doors, the 87-metre-long western tunnel twists and spirals on its path to the bottom; a deliberate design to prevent any pursuers getting a clear shot at escaping VIPs. A steel circular door opens to the road, giving escapers the choice of heading north towards the Tamsui harbour, or south to the airport. The exit is hidden from view by a 90cm thick wall that blends into rock surrounding the hotel’s perimeter.
Volunteer guide Tracy Chou says the slide was added specifically with Chiang in mind. When the tunnels were constructed he was already in his 80s and his health was declining after a car accident. It is narrow, Chou says, because it was designed for the slim and elderly leader’s body shape.
But it is also treacherously steep, bending around the tunnel’s corners before ending abruptly. Had the generalissimo needed to evacuate, three security guards would have assisted him – one hugging him from behind to slide down, and two others to break his fall. Chou demonstrates how one unlucky guard would crouch at the bottom of the slide and wait for the crash into his back.
The slide remains an incongruous sight when imagining a life-or-death escape through the bowels of the hotel. Today no one is allowed on it, although nearly everyone asks. However it’s too steep, too fast, too dangerous, says Chou. The last time it was ridden was at a media event over a decade ago. Chou and the other volunteers still laugh recalling the screams of the journalists who gave it a try, including one whose TV report drew global amusement.
It wasn’t until 2019 that Taiwanese people got to see it for themselves, when the eastern tunnel was opened for public tours, led by volunteers. The tunnels drew 50,000 people in the first three months, and another 170,000 in 2020 – despite Taiwan being closed to all but residents during the pandemic. Last year the hotel opened the western tunnel, containing the slide.
“The tunnels helped attract guests during the pandemic, people were curious about the rumours they were attached to the presidential office,” says Chou.
Li Tong-hao, an author of a book on the Grand’s history, says the hotel was “a symbol of Chiang’s power during the martial law era”, and Chiang is known to have inspected the tunnel construction at least twice. But over the years it became part of modern Taiwan’s broader story.
The tunnels have never been used for escaping dignitaries, but remain among the hotel’s designated emergency exits, and like most underground areas across the city, would be used as an air raid shelter in an attack.
“God bless Taiwan, I hope we will never use this tunnel in the future,” says Chou.
On a midweek afternoon in Taiwan’s low season, groups of visitors still excitedly queue to see the tunnels. Most are Taiwanese, just wanting to take in a piece of their country’s history, but among them a few children trail behind, looking back longingly at the empty slide.
