I am in the northern reaches of a balmy island, surrounded by three straits and an ocean. It turns out, the battle for Taiwan’s soul – claimed by China, pre-loved by Japan, upheld by the USA – may be more about the water than the land.

Not that I’ve figured it all out, or anything. Alas, a scan of Wiki or a browse of Chat sheds paltry light on the affairs of this clammy isle.

It’s complicated, made more so because every opinion seems laced with agenda and personal history.

Take my breakfast companion this morning, a senior retail manager based down south, with whom I shared a chat over milk toast (me) and salad-heaped noodles (him).

By the third mouthful he was talking about the upcoming mayoral elections in Taipei.

‘Puma is an amazing candidate. He’s smart, he’s honest.’ He reaches for a bag as he speaks, ‘and he might finally overthrow that damned communist in City Hall‘.

My breakfast mate is in full-on dispute with his parents, both of whom have fallen for ‘Chinese-led propaganda’. Mum and Dad think staying close to the Mainland is the only practical way for Taiwan to persist.

Out of his satchel he unfurls political ribbons, in the green of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), and hands one to me.

‘Should I wear this around my head?’ I enquire.

His smile is wider than strictly necessary, owing to a couple of teeth surplus to requirements.

He nods enthusiastically. It’s early and we’re the only two people at 6am breakfast. I am unsure if he would be so animated about his politics were the dining room full.

The candidate, Puma, played amateur basketball in college and his mates gave him a nickname after his kit. The name stuck, and now it’s on his passport and on the ballot paper.

Although a full-time politician now, Puma Shen was a professor of criminology at National Taipei University prior to this latest, political iteration.

***

Iterations are everywhere to be seen as I walk the streets of Taipei’s North Gate, an area known for its 19th-century city walls, put upon by high rises and highways. Like most things of the future, it is unclear which will prevail.

My attention is drawn to these Qing-era walls because I have now seen three bridal couples pose under their arches.

This is part of a respected custom of the capital, whereby a couple’s pre-wedding photo album captures them on the threshold of old and new.

There she stands, dressed with the elegance of those Andalusian girls.

Three men attend to the bride in their various ways, fussing for the fall of the bias, the sheen of the face, or the clarity under lens. The groom, awake to the realisation that he is unimportant, happily seeks out attention and catches my eye.

‘Congratulations!’ I call out, to his great delight. She glances up and immediately down again, staying true to the task at hand.

***

My head is scrambled keeping track of all the acronyms and territories and straits and wars which form the dramatis personae of this beautiful island’s story.

I have come to at least one temporary hypothesis: China needs access to the waters to her south, so she can pursue maritime trade with the world. Japan adheres to the same logic from different bearings. And the polyamorous America wants that which others most desire.

The territory’s last 150 years seem catalogued by incidents: signal events which trigger greater goings-on.

There was the Tapani Incident, the 228 Incident, the Formosa Incident, the Henry Liu Incident. The plot of this place demands more explanation than a political bandana shared over a salad noodle breakfast.

But I feel no rush for clarity. I have six weeks in these parts, rummaging in satchels of memory and the tall grass of misunderstanding.

Indeed, as the city’s mayoral election takes place later this month, I anticipate the pounce of an errant puma, a tiger on its tail.