In those days, Made In Taiwan became a watchword for cheap and cheerful, as the western world gleefully hiked towards the consumerism precipice we wobble on today.

Since childhood, Taiwan must have been filed towards the back of my mind. So much so, that when the opportunity to travel there arose, I had to check an Atlas to find out exactly where it is.

For those still in doubt, the island rests, as I suppose it always has done, in the Pacific Ocean, off the south coast of China.

But Taiwan has long-since grown from an economy driven by cut-price goods and has transformed itself into the world's leading hi-tech manufacturer.

Indeed, the Taiwanese embrace change. They've had to, for centuries of oppressive dictatorship, imperialist gluttony and military occupation have created remarkable adaptability.

And despite being pushed from international pillar to post, the locals display an excess of geniality and politeness that belies their history.

Perhaps this because the nation is mainly Buddhist, a code of worship that promotes tolerance and compassion as a means of protecting wisdom.

The sprawling Fo Guang Shan monastery, university and meditation centre is example enough, being southern Taiwan's focal point for Buddhism.

I was met by Master Hue Shou, an Austrian who has lived at the centre eight years. With an infectious smile, genuine humility and obvious spiritual satisfaction, it was difficult not to admire his decision to impugn the material world.

"Buddhism has religious aspects but it is more like a recipe for life," he said. "Through meditation you can reach such a peaceful state where there is nothing, no desire and no suffering."

Watching the monks in early-morning prayer, the monotonous chanting induced a state of mind cleansing that almost made me want to shave my head, don orange robes and stay for good.

Highlight of this trip was a tour of Orchid island, known locally as Lanyu, which lies 65km from the southern port of Taitung and is accessible by air or, in my case, 150-minute queasy ferry.

Across foreboding swell that was more English Channel than Pacific expanse, the land mass loomed like a charcoal silhouette against slate skies, it's volcanic peaks covered by dense evergreen and shrouded in mist.

The indigenous Yami people are descendants of Australasian aborigines and strive to preserve their traditional existence, efforts that are highlighted by their cultural ceremonies.

I was there for the Flying Fish festival, a coming-of-age celebration that is sadly diminishing in frequency as more young Yami choose to make their livings in Taiwan.

The evening festivities started with a colourful spectacle of ancestral dancing, from participants dressed in traditional costume.