“I will help you. Follow me,” encouraged the smiling stranger who pegged me as a temple newbie. Obediently, I tagged along, mirroring her moves as we weaved through the smoke-shrouded chambers of Taipei’s colorful Longshan Temple (211 Guangzhou St., tel 886 2 2302 5162).

My first visit to Taiwan was on the heels of the Chinese New Year, leading into yet another string of island-wide festivals, so Longshan was whirling with those paying homage to the Buddhist goddess of mercy (Kuan Yin) and a pair of Taoist saints — the goddess of the sea (Matsu) and the god of war (Kuan Kung).

Like a cat with multiple lives, this 271-year-old sacred shrine was resurrected after being leveled by an earthquake and damaged by both a typhoon and wayward Allied bombs during World War II. The miracle that Kuan Yin survived each devastation assured me we live in a world where mercy ultimately prevails.

I was mesmerized by the calmness that cloaked those bowing, kneeling, praying and chanting to dozens of deities in this otherwise clamorous setting. Longshan unloads a riot of ornate décor, making it as much attraction as religious edifice. Toss in a thick veil of incense, and the setting had me spinning.

As we crowded around a huge, yellow lantern with our joss sticks, I prayed my temple tutor’s goodwill was more than a random courtesy. And it was. Hers was just a taste of the warmth I encountered throughout my eight-day sojourn.

Like many, I once viewed this industrial city as a necessary stop en route to the more glamorous destinations of Bangkok, Shanghai, Hong Kong and Bali. I quickly realized how off-base that perception was.

Like these counterparts, Taipei’s upscale shopping arcades sport designer boutiques rubbing shoulders with strands of stall-style shops where you can purchase an entire ensemble for the price of a dim sum dinner.

And then there are the mind-blowing night markets, with Taipei’s Shinlin (between Wunlin, Jihe and Jhongshan N. roads, tel 886 2 2882 0340) a virtual sidewalk smorgasbord of Taiwanese street eats like stinky tofu, onion pancakes, oyster noodles, Shinlin sausage and frog eggs, plus other assorted oddities I wisely avoided. According to the Taiwanese, the more odiferous the tofu, the yummier the flavor.

While looks can be deceiving, the stench confirmed that Shinlin’s tofu was absolutely divine.

With Shinlin’s proximity to several schools, its prices draw students on tight budgets — and bargain stalkers like me. In a spending frenzy that was pleasantly void of pesky hard-sell clerks, I scooped up ski gloves, socks, assorted bags, scarves and a bevy of trinkets to haul home for my dog sitter. The steals were no surprise. The random games, however, were.

I’ve always been a fan of those carnival crane challenges where you can grab watches, bracelets or stuffed animals as prizes. In my wildest dreams, I never envisioned one where a winner would haul in a white bread sandwich or smiley face bun. No matter how frequently vendors turn over these consumable catches, I wouldn’t care to win.

Unlike night market hubbub, the city seems to bustle in a more civilized manner. As I waited at a stoplight near the National Palace Museum (221 Jhihshan Road, Sec. 2, tel 886 2 2881 2021), I eyed a cluster of scooters jousting for position. No way they’ll bolt unscathed, I thought.

But as the light turned green, each ripped off guided by keen instinct that prevented casualties. Everyday occurrences like this continued to intrigue me in this city of nearly 2.7 million.

The revered museum showcases the world’s largest collection of Chinese artifacts, with only a fraction of its 620,000 treasures on display at any one time. I set aside three hours for my self-guided tour, which unveiled merely the tip of a 15,000-item iceberg.

Like many visitors, I targeted Taiwan’s Mona Lisa. In this case, it’s the exquisite Jadeite Cabbage with Insects from the Quin Dynasty (1655–1911). Not your garden-variety carving, this intricate beauty is almost identical in size and color to a Chinese bok choy cabbage.

Created of multi-colored green and white jade that’s a natural for the piece, it symbolizes fertility, with locusts and katydids interspersed among its leaves. I grew keenly aware of the throngs hoping to expand their family, since so many visitors accessorized with the lapel pin version available in the museum’s gift shop.

Departing with an odd craving for salad and a steak, I stumbled across artwork that was much more familiar. As timing would have it, the colorful CowParade had made its way to Taipei. This global movement launched in Chicago nearly a decade ago has become the world’s largest public art campaign, attracting more than a half-billion visitors to date.

A literal herd of these fiberglass life-sized bovine sculptures are painted by local artists and divvied throughout the host city as a major fundraising campaign. Taipei 101 (89F, No. 7, Hsin Yi Rpad, Sec. 5, tel 886 2 8101 8899) was a high-profile grazing spot, with one of my favorites draped by a matador cape in the building’s glitzy five-level shopping mall.

This engineering marvel is equipped with double-deck elevators whisking wide-eyed visitors nearly a third of a mile skyward in a speedy 39 seconds from the fifth to the 89th floor. As we rocketed at 55.22 feet per second, the elevator operator had to breeze through his narrative.

Those uneasy with the height seemed much more at ease while viewing the 660-ton tuned mass damper that counters seismic and wind-induced movement — gale forces up to 134 mph and the strongest earthquakes likely to occur in a 2,500-year cycle. In a region susceptible to both, this feature was far from an afterthought.

Gazing across this sparkling city, I was unaware that my more grounded Taiwan memories would eventually unfold off in the darkness — in the far-flung hamlets where I would witness enchanting lantern festivals and insane firework celebrations. Yet Taipei City would prevail as so much more than a simple springboard.

Portuguese sailors bestowed Taiwan with the moniker “IIha Formosa” — beautiful island — when voyaging to Japan nearly four centuries ago. Whether I found myself in spirited cities like Taipei, picturesque farming villages or majestic national parks, I couldn’t agree more.