In Istanbul, a group of us found a 'hippie-dippy' bus destined for Herat, Afghanistan. This bus was exemplary of the gaudiness of Asia, as it had every colour of the rainbow - intricate designs and images were painted on every available space which didn't have tassels. The driver, in his pyjamas and hair in dreadlocks, did a commendable job getting us all the way without a single breakdown.
Soon as we disembarked in Herat, everyone scampered off to all directions. In less than two hours, after I had located a hostel and had my fill of sweet cantaloupes, I wandered around to find every single one of these European types had miraculously been transformed. They all were in pyjamas and they all had an ounce of Afghani Tan in their pyjama pockets.
Don't know how I ran into that opportunity; but there was a bunch of assorted Europeans who found someone to take us through Afghanistan in a Russian Army troop carrier. Now, it's a 2 day trip to Kabul via Kandahar by bus. Afghanistan neither had then nor has it now any other major roads or a railway; so, we we're going overland which was a 5 day journey. This excursion is worth an entire chapter which I just don't have time for; so, I'll go on to where we arrived in Kabul. I remained there a couple of weeks before heading towards the Khyber Pass - by bus again.
First stop in Pakistan was Peshawar. I think it means 'muddy truck stop' in Hindi. Nothing of note to mention but that I got food poisoning. From Peshawar, I went up north to the Swat Valley which, ironically, is up in the mountains - pretty far from civilization, but fresh, verdant, and beautiful. There, I was able to calm down and relax which didn't prove to be such a relief as it brought on my first and only feelings of melancholic home sickness. I wasn't homesick for any 'home'; just any place out of this so foreign Asian culture.
I left the calm of the valley and trundled on to Rawalpindi where I starved till midnight when the restaurants opened - Ramadan. Rawalpindi was the last stop in Pakistan. Next was India - the following night, I would be paddling around barefoot in the Golden Palace of Amritsar.
I took a bus to New Delhi and after many Lassis, bedbug bites, and Chapati, Dhal, and Subji, I took the plane to Khathmandu to get more of the same.
After 2-3 days in Kathmandu, getting my cowboy boots re-treaded with Goodyear scraps of rubber, and with rice paper trekking permit in hand, I took off for Pokhara and started my two week trek to the top of Annapurna.
Got anaemia as a result of this exercise, because I'd sold a pint of blood in Kabul just before. When I arrived in New Delhi, I saw an allopathic/homeopathic doctor who recommended beer and yoga; so, I spent 6 weeks in an Ashram and drank a few frosties I could ill afford.
Once I was well enough to travel again, I flew to Bangkok and got laid. Spent some time in Puket; then, took the train to Malaysia where I hitched around, then on to Singapore where I took a Quantas flight to Sydney.
Sydney was a lovely city; however, due to my financial circumstances, I ended up staying in the King's Cross and working as a waiter there. After a month, I received a telegram at the G.P.O. notifying me of my father's death back in the States. Mother had died only a few years earlier; so, the thought that any loving I would get, in future, would have to be earned was quite daunting. I remembered my father telling me that the only reason to go to a funeral should be to give comfort to those still living; and as I had no reason to do that for any remaining members of my family, I flew off to New Zealand in tears over the death of my best friend.
After a stint with friends in Christchurch and some hitching around the two islands, I flew back to the States with stopovers in Bangkok, Taiwan, Seoul, and Honolulu.
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