Hidden in the back alleys of Tai­tung City is a white building. When you open its door, several cats saunter across your path, occasionally stretching. Backpack travelers from Hong Kong are saying goodbye to the store’s proprietress as they prepare to hit the road. As ballads by ­Huang Wei­jie, an independent singer from Mei­nong, play, a few customers check out the merchandise, flipping through books.

This pleasing scene blending travelers, cats and books is typical of what you’ll find on any given day at ­Huang-­Huang. Its unique atmosphere drew Hou Chi-jan for his 2014 documentary Poetries from the Bookstores. In it, the bookstore’s owner Luo Su-ping, who goes by Susu, sits at a large familiar table and describes the store’s history.

By day, it’s Huang-Huang bookstore. At night it transforms into a lounge where backpack travelers share stories.

Seven years ago Susu and her husband Hope were a typical working couple in Tai­pei. One was an engineer; the other worked at a community organization. City kids born and bred, the two had never thought of leaving. Then one day in 2007 her husband suddenly said: “Taiwan is so small; there’s no reason one has to live in Tai­pei.” They decided to move to Tai­tung and try living there without making any big declaration about a life transformation. Susu and her husband gave themselves one year. Working as freelancers over the Internet, they were seeing if they could make a go of it in Taitung. When friends came to visit, they’d serve as tour guides. After a while, Susu began to think back fondly on the “house mamas and papas” who ran the guesthouses she had stayed at when she traveled overseas, and she decided to open a guesthouse for backpack travelers.

After two or three years her apartment, which had a capacity of six, became too small. In 2010 Susu decided to buy the three-story apartment building where the bookstore is now located. Apart from providing a place for travelers to stay, she hoped that the extra parlor could ­become an open space where travelers could hang out and chat, and locals could come in to shop too. “But I wasn’t sure what kind of store I should open,” Susu says.

In 2009, when Susu attended a training class in ­Chiayi, she made a special trip to the ­Hungya bookstore, “the liveliest independent bookstore south of the Zhuo­shui River.” Unfortunately it was closed, but Susu wouldn’t admit defeat and dialed a phone number she found on the store’s sign. She reached the store’s owner Yu Kuo-hsin and explained that she had come from afar especially to see the store. After a short exchange, Yu generously explained where a key was hidden and told Susu to open the door for herself. Somewhat dubious, Susu did indeed find the key under a flower planter. Two hours later, the owner still hadn’t arrived, and Susu was already acting as temporary employee answering the phone. The quirky experience left a deep impression on Susu. “It definitely couldn’t have happened in Tai­pei,” she says.

Not long after, Susu visited ­Hungya again and finally had a chance to talk to Yu in the flesh. It turned out that ­Hungya had lost its way when it had been too concerned with turning a profit. Trying to recapture ­Hungya’s original spirit, Yu decided to downplay the pursuit of profit-making and instead focus on the bookstore as a vehicle for spreading his ideals and bringing together like-minded people. The conversation didn’t immediately prompt Susu to declare she was going to open a bookstore, but as someone who throughout her life and work had always had a close relationship to reading, the conversation did plant a seed. The idea of opening a bookstore was gradually entering her consciousness.

Taitung transplant Susu’s Huang-Huang used book store prompts serendipitous meetings of travelers and books. Stroll into the shop and you’ll find wonderful stories of people, languidly lovable kitties, original works of art, and a collection of secondhand books.

Accustomed to making decisions through a process of elimination, Susu selected as the governing principle of the bookstore that it could not cause her to lose her freedom. Secondly, she didn’t want her own personality to overwhelm the bookshop. Consequently, an unstated modus operandi became, “The bookstore can exist without me.” Once she had decided on the location, she still hadn’t yet decided on the opening date. “There was no ribbon cutting ceremony to announce its opening,” she says. “When the first customer wandered in, the store was open.”

Like its opening, the naming of the store was also serendipitous in nature. It’s named after ­Huang-­Huang, a stray cat with an injured ear that a friend brought in one day. Inspired by seeing the cat sway as it walked, Susu named it with the Chinese word that means “swaying.” Moreover, since the character huang (晃) is composed of the character for day, ri (日) and the character for light, ­guang (光), it’s well suited for warm, bright and sunny Tai­tung. So she named the store ­Huang-­Huang, which, as it happens, also means “to hang out.”

With books, customers and a name, Susu had a sudden inspiration: If she was letting travelers stay for a fee, why not let them bring in books to exchange against their room charges? On the one hand it would solve the problem of acquiring books in Tai­tung, and on the other it would let travelers rid themselves of volumes that had been lying idle on their shelves at home, extending the books’ useful lives. Every book brought by the backpackers, moreover, was enriched by their own unique perspective and life history.

Huang-Huang’s model of exchanging books for a place to stay is unique in Taiwan and has helped spread the word about the Susu Guesthouse among travelers from Taiwan and overseas. For instance, among the books that some backpack travelers from Hong Kong brought was Under Umbrella, a book documenting the Umbrella Movement there.

Since the top floor in the bookstore has been converted into an exhibition and lecture space, author Hung Zhen-yu, the Japanese photographer Ko­tori Ka­wa­shima and other creative types have held talks that have attracted members of the local arts community. This sort of event was rare in Tai­tung when Susu first arrived seven years ago.

Not only has Huang-­Huang bookstore become a must-stop for creative types visiting Tai­tung, some of the cultural activities it sponsors have even moved out from the store to be held nearby in the communities of Luye, Chi­shang or Guan­shan. The recently completed Ye­man (“barbarity”) Film Festival, a joint effort by ­Huang-­Huang and other Tai­tung independent retailers, for instance, screened ten films aimed at awakening concern for animal protection.

Point to something in the store, be it a book on the shelves, a box of local sweets, or a postcard from a distant land, and Susu can tell a story about it. Because turning a profit is tough, she treasures these items brought by visitors, regarding them all as tokens of goodwill. Before our interview ended, Susu brought us to a local restaurant, ­Caise Guo (“colorful fruit”). Standing at the counter was the establishment’s sprightly septuagenarian proprietress, who had once taken the newly arrived Susu under her wing. Now, seven years later, Susu’s bookstore itself has become a Tai­tung fixture, welcoming travelers and local booklovers alike.

Taitung transplant Susu’s Huang-Huang used book store prompts serendipitous meetings of travelers and books. Stroll into the shop and you’ll find wonderful stories of people, languidly lovable kitties, original works of art, and a collection of secondhand books.

“Let’s go!” A traveler sets off from Huang-Huang with several days’ worth of happy memories. The next stage of his journey beckons.