Hewing to a philosophy that emphasizes harmonization with nature, the flood retention pond at Kaohsiung Metropolitan Park is surrounded by grass, creating a lush natural setting that brings in egrets and other water fowl. (Hsueh Chi-kuang)

For residents of Southern Taiwan, the term "trash wars" is synonymous with a series of episodes involving Kao-hsiung's Xi-qingpu Landfill that, even after 20 years, are still indelibly etched in public consciousness. On two separate occasions the landfill was blockaded by incensed citizens, and with no outlet for the city's trash, the stench permeated the streets. These were formative events that made Xi-qingpu's name stink throughout the island and goaded Kao-hsiung City Government into building garbage incinerators.

A lot can change in 20 years. If you take the red metro line to the Metropolitan Park stop, the site of the landfill is about a five-minute walk away. But what was once a putrescent heap much reviled by the public has long since been transformed into the country's largest urban park and a tourist destination that welcomes 1.2 million visits annually. With over 120,000 individual trees and shrubs, Xi-qingpu's green rebirth is nothing short of miraculous. Just how did it come about?

In Southern Taiwan, most people refer to the place formally termed the Nanzi District with the more colloquial Taiwanese appellation, Lam-a-khe, a name suggesting a low-lying area populated by Phoebe zhen-nan trees. The fact that the nearby coral mountains of Shou-shan and Ban-ping-shan render it nearly inaccessible to traffic along with the presence of the China Petroleum Corporation Refinery and the Nanzi Export Processing Zone, have cemented its unappealing image as Kao-hsiung's rundown blue-collar and immigrant laborer district.