Ex-fugitive Howard Marks back in Taiwan, this time for food and fun

The seaside road was throttled by traffic heading towards the Dog Temple, and cars were parked for several kilometres along the coastal highway. Unlike most shrines, where deities are worshipped during the day, worshipping ghosts is best done after midnight, when they are more likely to respond positively.

At midnight, tough guys who had rolled up in their Mercedes and BMWs, sauntered to the altar to pray on their knees. Young women in miniskirts and low-cut blouses, accompanied by bodyguards in leather jackets, placed incense in sacrificial urns and mumbled prayers, perhaps against the risks of their profession. The old prayed for the return of lovers long gone over the seas.

It was 1988, and I'd learned that a federal grand jury indictment had been issued against me, and the United States was seeking my extradition on the grounds of my being the ringleader of the biggest cannabis smuggling organisation in the world.

I'd never been to Taiwan, but I headed straight there. No one had ever been extradited from there to anywhere. I'd be safe. My first few days confirmed my optimism. I loved the place - there was no evidence of any law or regulation. Scooters and motorbikes carrying several passengers with no crash helmets careered through streets with no traffic signals and parked wherever they wished. Forgery was a respected profession. But I missed my kids desperately and kept thinking I should go home and wriggle out of the problem.

I heard tell of a Buddhist shrine - the Temple of the 18 Kings - patronised by lawbreakers seeking advice on criminal matters. I took a taxi there to resolve my quandary and the driver explained that during the late 1800s, a boat carrying 17 fishermen and their communal dog capsized in the Taiwan Strait. The fishermen drowned but the dog survived. In accordance with tradition, the locals prepared a collective grave and ghost temple on a cliff overlooking the shore. The dog jumped into the grave with the bodies, refused to leave, was buried alive and became the 18th of the kings of the temple. Eighteen is the number of levels of hell in Chinese folk religion. The temple was shrouded in safety, mystery and danger.

Thick clouds of eye-stinging incense swirled around the temple's red columns. Altar candles burned in honour of a dog that signified luck and good fortune as well as loyalty and friendship. Worshippers lit cigarettes instead of incense sticks, symbolising the friendship between dog-spirit and man. They stroked and rubbed images of the dog. I made an offering of cash, cigars and a Cartier lighter, bought a charm necklace and asked the dog should I stay or should I go. The monk in charge gave me one of 64 possible answer slips. The taxi driver translated: I had to go home.