The Road to India: A Journey Without End

Through the years, I've been asked countless times what first drew me to India. My answer has never wavered -- I was interested in her ancient culture, I wanted to walk in the Himalayas. This my story, one of the many wanderers on the Hippy Trail. For most, the journey lasted months; for some, a few years. But for a rare few -- myself included -- India became more than a destination. It became my home.

I first set foot on Indian soil in 1974, having travelled overland from Europe at the age of eighteen. I was bitten by the Asian bug at that ridiculously young age and have been infected ever since

From the cities of Western Europe, those setting off to India converged on Istanbul, the gateway to Asia and the terminus for those on their way to, or returning from, India. From there, the trail snaked through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan. Each border crossed, a deeper plunge into the exotic unknown. Most travelled by long-haul buses, or for a few, in VW campers or Citroën 2CVs .

By the time I set out, the route was well established, with inexpensive hotels at convenient stages through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan. It was an era of discovery, before mass tourism had taken its toll. When I first roamed Asia, many of the places I visited were still, if not entirely pristine, untouched by the tide of modernity that would soon sweep across the world. It was a time of rare magic and raw authenticity

At the epicenter was Goa -- more than just a destination, it was the very pulse of the counterculture. Nowhere else on earth quite matched its free-spirited embrace, a paradise where misfits and mystics found their refuge, their tribe, their bliss. Some may argue otherwise, but I know this much to be true -- wherever there was beauty to be found, wherever there were secret beaches, hidden valleys, or lost temples, the freaks found them first. We were the trailblazers, the seekers who paved the way for those who followed.

But India was not the end of the road. The same spirit of adventure that had brought me eastward soon pulled me into the wonders of Southeast Asia. From enigmatic Burma to the golden temples of Thailand, from the ruined majesty of Angkor Wat and the Bayon, to the lush jungles of Sumatra, I wandered in search of the extraordinary.

And then, there was China -- a world apart, vast and inscrutable, where history and modernity clashed with breathtaking intensity. I wandered through the ancient streets of Lijiang, and stood on the Tibetan Plateau where the mighty Mekong River was lively and young. It was a land of contradictions, where the past lingered even as the future roared forward.

But like any road worth taking, the path was not without its twists and shadows. Life, too, has its hidden perils -- some glimpsed in the periphery of intuition, others lying in wait, unseen. Looking back, I can say with certainty that I have led a charmed existence -- until, that is, I fell into the abyss of the Indian penal system. From November 2016, I found myself trapped in a world far removed from the freedoms I had known. And it was from within that dark period that this book was born -- a story not just of adventure, but of survival.

Now, after more than six years behind bars, I write these words as a free man once more. This is my tale, one among many, yet uniquely my own -- the story of a life lived on the edges, in the pursuit of something vast, something beyond borders, beyond time. A life in an irregular direction.

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