Discover the best time of year, based on historical climate, temperature, and precipitation.
The best weather in New Taipei City is from March, April, November. — some variation climate
⛈Hot & rainy
| Score | 71 | 71 | 73 | 72 | 49 | 16 | 13 | 13 | 38 | 71 | 75 | 69 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Climate | Mild | Mild | Humid | Humid | Rainy | Hot & rainy | Hot & rainy | Hot & rainy | Hot & rainy | Humid | Pleasant | Pleasant |
| Temperature | 14–19°C | 14–20°C | 15–22°C | 19–25°C | 22–29°C | 25–31°C | 26–33°C | 26–32°C | 24–30°C | 22–27°C | 20–25°C | 16–20°C |
| Feels like | 13–18°C | 13–19°C | 15–23°C | 20–28°C | 25–33°C | 30–37°C | 31–39°C | 31–38°C | 29–35°C | 24–29°C | 20–26°C | 15–20°C |
| Precipitation | 76mm 14 days | 86mm 13 days | 126mm 15 days | 147mm 15 days | 236mm 20 days | 269mm 18 days | 152mm 15 days | 212mm 18 days | 232mm 18 days | 148mm 18 days | 71mm 14 days | 74mm 17 days |
| Sunshine | 4.0h ☀︎ 37% | 4.3h ☀︎ 38% | 6.3h ☀︎ 53% | 7.2h ☀︎ 57% | 6.8h ☀︎ 51% | 6.7h ☀︎ 49% | 10.4h ☀︎ 77% | 9.8h ☀︎ 75% | 9.4h ☀︎ 77% | 6.8h ☀︎ 58% | 5.1h ☀︎ 47% | 3.2h ☀︎ 30% |
| Wind | NE · 18 km/h | NE · 17 km/h | NE · 17 km/h | NE · 16 km/h | NE · 15 km/h | W · 14 km/h | N · 16 km/h | N · 16 km/h | NE · 17 km/h | E · 21 km/h | E · 19 km/h | NE · 18 km/h |
| Humidity (%) | 78% | 79% | 80% | 80% | 82% | 82% | 78% | 80% | 80% | 79% | 79% | 79% |
| Day length | 10.8h | 11.3h | 12.0h | 12.7h | 13.4h | 13.7h | 13.5h | 13.0h | 12.3h | 11.6h | 10.9h | 10.6h |
Held in the mountain district of Pingxi around the Lunar New Year, this festival sees thousands of glowing paper lantern…
Conventional travel guides will tell you that November is the undisputed crown of northern Taiwan's calendar, but they ignore the crushing human density; January quietly steals the title by trading a degree or two of warmth for room to breathe.
New Taipei City is not a conventional metropolis so much as an enormous, green-draped amphitheater wrapping entirely around the capital of Taipei. It stretches from the windswept headlands of the northern coast down through the historic river quays of Tamsui and up into the mist-choked subtropical ridges of Pingxi and Wulai. Most travelers treat it as a collection of day trips, spilling out across the commuter rail to catch a sunset or release a lantern, but timing this sprawling territory requires understanding one crucial trade-off: northern Taiwan's best weather months attract massive domestic and regional crowds, transforming serene mountain walks and historic lanes into wall-to-wall foot traffic.
If you judge solely by a weather chart, November looks pristine. But charts do not show you the elbow-to-elbow queues at railway platforms or the packed boardwalks along the Tamsui River. January is the insider's secret. The air is cool and damp in that classic northern Taiwanese way—hovering around 18 or 19 degrees—bringing a fine, cinematic haze to the foothills that feels brooding rather than bleak.
Crucially, visitor numbers drop to their lowest ebb of the winter. You can stroll through the commercial core of Banqiao without dodging endless tour groups, or wander the seaside alleys of Tamsui where Spanish, Dutch, and Qing merchants once traded, without the feeling of being pushed along by a human river. The rainfall this month arrives as a soft, intermittent drizzle that coats the asphalt and stone staircases in a gentle sheen rather than washing out your afternoon.
Pack a light, water-resistant coat and a warm layer for the evenings. What you sacrifice in pure sunshine, you regain ten times over in solitude and atmosphere.
February flips the switch overnight. While the cool winter temperatures linger, the crowds surge to near-capacity as the Lunar New Year approaches and the mountains call. Everything centers on the Pingxi Sky Lantern Festival, where thousands of glowing paper spheres lift into the night sky from the valley floor.
Seeing those burning orbs drift above dark mountain silhouettes is an undeniably stirring sight, but you pay for it with intense logistical patience. The narrow train lines cutting into the hills become packed solid by midday, and the historic lanes of Pingxi turn into shoulder-to-shoulder gridlock hours before dusk.
If you come in February, lean into the festive chaos. Arrive at mountain stops early in the day, expect lines for every snack stall, and embrace the communal energy of a region celebrating the start of the lunar cycle in crisp, misty air.
March and April bring a lush, green awakening across the ridgelines. As daytime temperatures lift comfortably into the twenties, the forests around Wulai and the hills flanking the Tamsui River burst with fresh growth. The sun breaks through the low coastal clouds with much greater frequency than in winter, creating days that feel custom-built for hiking.
Yet spring is also when the moisture begins its steady climb. Showers become heavier and more sudden, shifting from the gentle winter mist to genuine downpours that demand a sturdy umbrella tucked in your daypack. The air gains that unmistakable tropical weight, where a morning climb leaves your collar damp long before noon.
Crowds ease slightly from the February peak, settling into a manageable hum. It is a forgiving, photogenic window for wandering the historic districts, provided you plan your outdoor walks for the morning before afternoon clouds settle over the peaks.
Summer in New Taipei City is an exercise in endurance. Beginning in May with the relentless arrival of the plum rains, the atmosphere turns thick, damp, and intensely hot. By July and August, afternoon temperatures routinely feel near 40 degrees, trapped against the mountains in a bowl of punishing humidity.
Walking outdoors between noon and late afternoon becomes an ordeal rather than a pleasure. Sudden tropical cloudbursts hammer the streets with immense force, turning stairways into waterfalls and sending scooters scurrying under overpasses for shelter. The coastline offers little respite, as the sun reflects fiercely off the sea onto exposed rocky shores.
Yet domestic travelers still arrive in droves during school holidays, meaning you face peak congestion at indoor cultural spots while outdoor exploration is heavily restricted by the heat. Unless you plan to spend your days moving between air-conditioned transit hubs in Banqiao and night markets after dark, this is the season to avoid.
On paper, September looks tempting because traveler numbers drop dramatically after the summer vacation rush. In reality, it is a volatile transition month. The extreme heat begins to crack, but the season remains vulnerable to late-summer typhoons that sweep in from the Pacific, bringing drenching rain and mountain mudslides that can disrupt rail lines into the hills.
When the skies are clear, the coastal light around Tamsui is brilliant and golden, and you will share the boardwalks with far fewer day-trippers than in midsummer. But you must travel with an agile itinerary, ready to swap mountain treks for urban explorations when coastal storm warnings sound.
By October, the oppressive humidity finally breaks, giving way to November: the month with the crispest, most reliable weather on the northern coast. The air is mild and fresh, rainfall drops to its annual low, and the mountain trails are as dry and welcoming as they ever get.
The catch is that everyone in northern Taiwan knows it. November and December see visitor numbers spike to their absolute peak. Banqiao transforms into a sparkling, packed hub of year-end festivities, while weekend trains out to the coast and mountains run at maximum capacity.
December brings cooler, moodier days that edge back toward the winter drizzle, wrapped in continuous holiday crowds. It is a lively, vibrant time to witness the city at its most energetic, but if you want the moody beauty of northern Taiwan without sharing it with millions of others, hold out just a few weeks longer for the quiet grace of January.