Christine and I left Victoria in early November of 1985, backpacks in tow, on one-way tickets to Hong Kong . Thirty-six hours later, after brief stops in Anchorage Alaska and Seoul Korea, our 747 skimmed over the choked harbor barely missing high-rise apartments before touching the tarmac on the outskirts of sultry, bustling Kowloon. 

One of the great port cities of the world, Hong Kong derives its name from two Chinese words, "Heung Kong" meaning " Fragrant Harbor ". At the crossroads of Asia , it has grown into one of the world's most important financial and manufacturing centers despite being only 386 square miles in area. The result of the 6 million population (half of whom are under 25 years of age) on this small piece of real estate is real estate sold by the square inch, and brutally expensive accommodation. 

Our limi ted budget forced us to seek refuge in a place called the " Chung King Mansion ". Some mansion, we had to sleep with one eye open because of the cockroaches and rats that also called it home! Our flat had been divided into six tiny rooms, one for the landlady and 5 others for rent to budget travelers. The one small, grungy, communal bathroom had a hotplate embedded in the wall - since it also doubled as the kitchen! Fortunately, we were there less than a week, during which time we satisfied our culinary needs elsewhere! 

After applying at C.I.T.S. for our China visas, we decided to do a little exploring. It was fascinating. A place where mysticism and modern business seem to mix naturally. Ultra modern skyscrapers are construc ted using primitive bamboo scaffolding,  and glitzy store windows revealing the very latest in world fashions and electronics. Neighboring alleyways sound like distant gunfire from the clash of Mah-jongg pieces. Back streets reveal snake dealers, and other unusual characters of days gone by. 

Back out in the mainstream, the latest in expensive autos, particularly Mercedes, thread there way through the shuffling masses, while from the street corner strung-up hogs stare back from dull lifeless eyes. The old and new are never far apart in H.K.! 

We found the serenity of the early morning hours enchanting. A time men are out "bird walking" their lovely songbirds in highly ornate bamboo cages. Other locals are seen coiling and uncoiling apparently boneless limbs in slow, soundless motion during the ritual of Tai Chi. 

The Star Ferry terminal with its palate tempting little pastry shops became our breakfast stop, and from the quay we watched the brisk harbor activity against the looming skyscrapers across the gun metal harbor. The ferry over to Hong Kong Island costs a mere 70 cents, making it probably the cheapest ferry ride in the world. We made several trips across to visit the markets of Stanley and the interesting port of Aberdeen , where we toured about the bay in a sampan. From Hong Kong Island we took another ferry to Cheung Chau Island - a picturesque “film-gobbler”! 

After five days, our China visas were ready and we left Hong Kong for the 140 mile trip up river to the city of Guangshou , China . Our first meal was not Chinese food as we expec ted it. It consis ted of weird looking mushrooms and some strange looking fun gus floating in who knows what! After fumbling with the chopsticks, we odered forks, and ended up stabbing our slippery and illusive pray - much to the amusement of the local Chinese patrons! 

Our first impression of China was the noticable lack of color. Everything seems drab, with a capital D - the weather, the buildings, the boats, and even the people themselves - milling about in the traditional blue or green Mao uniforms. 

While most Chinese culture was fascinating, parts were hard to accept. Crowds with no concept of personal space, and the spitting to rid themselves of 'unhealthy' phlegm. This spitting is not only on the streets, but also in the restaurants which makes it very hard to swallow (no pun intended)! Asian toilets are fixtures that are something else I wouldn't like to get used to - a porcelain platform for the shit to fall on so you can inspect it before scooping up water out of a bucket to wash it off into the watery abyss!

Hot water was found only occasionally at some hotels (usually only for one hour in the evening), but most places had none at all. Sometimes we would be brought two kettles full of hot water. Ahhhhhh, the pleasures of traveling on a shoe-string budget! 

From the hostel we stayed in on Sha Mian Island we could easily roam about Quangshou. This city is home to seven million people and six million bicycles! On several occasions we had the unfortunate experience of witnessing curly tailed dogs being butchered (for food) on the sidewalks. Venturing into the Quing Ping Market we found a market where dinner writhes, wiggles, croaks, clucks and barks!

Snakes wriggle and slither in glass terrariums, sad-eyed monkeys in wooden cages, eagles and owls chained to cages, dogs hanging from meat hooks, deer in cages so small they couldn't move, tubs of eels & turtles, starfish, armadillo, and badger. You could also find beetles, buckets of blood, and carcasses still twitching from recent deaths, and much more if you cared to look. 

It has been said that Chinese will eat anything with legs except a table and anything with wings except an aircraft - and after visiting this market, one has to believe it may be true!. 

One afternoon we came across an old pool table set up in the street. Being a pool player from way back, I could not resist the temptation, and challenged one of the locals playing. We star ted a game and quickly drew quite a crowd of curiosity seekers. It was an interesting encounter as the que had no tip and the table was more warped than "Twis ted Sister". Don't know what the rules were, but it was fun anyway and the crowd applauded when we were done.

Later the same day I took on some kids in a game of ping pong on some makeshift tables set up on the street. Table tennis, as I humbly found out, is China 's national sport! 

Christine and I exchanged our FEC (tourist money) for Remembie (workers money) on the black market where we got a better rate. Down at the docks we negotia ted a boat trip, by drawing pictures, that we hoped would take us up the Pearl River to the town of Wuzhou . Travel in China , particularly between small villages was very difficult because of language barriers and the distinct lack of transport. We made it even harder on ourselves by losing our Chinese phrase book. 

During the boat trip we encountered dozens of bizarre looking crafts, some that looked like they shouldn't be floating. Twenty four pain stakingly slow hours later, we reached our destination of Wuzhou. 

Staying only long enough to grab a sweet roll, and find a west-bound bus, we left for the tiny, but spectacular village of Yangshou on the meandering Li River. The jutting, mist-caressed peaks of the Huangshan Mountains backdrop old villages and pastoral life. We ren ted bicycles and toured the countryside, where water buffalo methodically plow emerald-green rice paddies, and hard working, blue-jacke ted peasants wade through muddy water planting young rice shoots. 

From Yangshou we took a boat down the Li River to an obscure little fishing village called Fuli. En route, feathery bamboo and secluded valleys were highligh ted with more of the craggy pinnacles formed from an ancient seabed. As we approached the village, children ran for cover, obviously frightened by us "Foreign Devils"!

We watched villagers out on bamboo rafts, using cormorant birds to catch fish. I managed to go out on one of these rafts and had a great old time trying to converse with the old fisherman. A memorable encounter. Before moving on, we purchased an exquisite wood carving of a fisherman as a momento of this very special place. 

Enroute to Guilin by boat, we were forced to abandon ship when the boat ran aground just outside the village of Yandi . This gave us a good opportunity to see a most interesting place that normally would have been passed by. Immediately we drew a crowd of curiosity seekers. They wan ted to touch us and know where we came from. When they wan ted to know my age I told them to guess. They all guessed me to be between 60 and 65! What a surprise that gave me. 

Christine loved it. I wan ted a mirror - what had all this rice I had been eating done to me! Turns out that a beard to them is a sign of old age and wisdom. 

Debating our next move, Christine and her 'old man' decided to head for the next inhabi ted location. So hoisting on our backpacks, we waived goodbye to Yandi and set out down the lonely dirt road. The Chinese vehicle of choice in the countryside is a two-cylinder diesel rider tractor with no room for backpackers. Fortunately Lady luck smiled kindly and within an hour we had flagged down a rickety old bus and hitched a ride through the wild karst landscape to a major crossroad. One truck and another bus later we pulled in to Guilin , none the worse for wear. 

The Chinese were extremely curious about us. We constantly attrac ted attention, as they would walk right up to us and stare until we walked away. Several of Guilin 's restaurants have "live menus" in cages right outside the door. You simply select the snake, turtle, etc. of your choice and it is killed and skinned in front of you before being hustled off to the kitchen for cooking. Talk about fresh! While in Guilin we visi ted some interesting caves, tried out a camel, and purchased a picture of the Dalai Lama through the black market. The latter to be smuggled into Tibet . 

Near the end of November, I became very ill with a bad chest infection that was aggrava ted by the cold weather and a horrible 44 hour unhea ted train trip to Chengdu in Northern China . The train station had not a single sign in English, and with no phrase book, just finding the correct train proved quite a hassle. In China "Face" is everything and when you ask a question of a person who doesn’t know the answer - they simply make one up! 

Ticket buying is a mob sport, and when the train pulls into the station a wave of bodies rushes the train clambering in through windows and doors to try and secure a seat. Finally aboard, we almost wished we weren't. The extremely overcrowded cars were hazy with cigarette smoke, grimy with engine soot, and reeking from unwashed bodies and squat toilets, while the floors were slippery with fruit peels, peanut shells, cigarette butts, food wrappers, and spit. 

Enroute I developed a very high fever and the shakes. A nice old fellow who spoke a little English was most concerned about my condition. He brought me some blankets, and offered to share his food. For his kindness I gave him a B.C. souvenir pin and he was so thrilled he shed a tear. Later we found out he was a member of the Communist party. The following day our train pulled into Guiyang , where we had to change trains for the last leg into Chengdu . 

Arriving in Chengdu , we stumbled out of the train station and looked about for some sort of transportation. Disappoin ted at finding none we set off on foot, unsure which direction to choose. This was most concerning as darkness was fast approaching. All of a sudden, up pulls an official Communist vehicle, and in the back was the old guy off the train. 

What a break! He took us into town to the Public Security Bureau, where we had to apply for our visas to Tibet . From here we took a rickshaw to a hotel our friend had mentioned, and got sleeping quarters in one of the cheap dorms. Christine got me some medicine from a Chinese doctor, but it didn't seem to help much. We deba ted whether or not to go into Tibet because of my condition, but being so close we decided to give it a try. 

Tibet is the highest region on earth, and cut off by choice, has remained isola ted for centuries. Our flight passed over the soaring Himalayas before landing on the roof of the world in fabled Lhasa - "City of the Sun". From the bleak airport we took a most uncomfortable two hour, bladder bursting bus ride into town. 

Here I collapsed, semiconscious, in the street. Christine was most concerned because my lips had turned blue and I was not responding to conversation. Not the best grand entrance into Tibet ! My being out of it meant that Christine had to haul both backpacks and find a place to stay. This was an unenviable chore, as in this ancient and literally breath-taking city of Lhasa , the 12,000 foot altitude made even the simplest of tasks difficult. 

We found accommodation in the Old Quarter of Lhasa in the Snowland Hotel, one of the few lodgings open to foreigners. It was memorable for the absence of running water and heat, and the pungent waft of its lavatory. Later, while searching for help for me, Christine luckily found a fellow traveler - a woman doctor from England that had lived in China the past two years.

From her we received some medicine that cleared the fever, and in a couple of days I was up and about although still weak. As if that wasn't enough, I broke off half a molar, but not wanting to submit to the local dentists methods, decided to put up with the discomfort. The terribly cold nights forced us to sleep in all the clothes we had, including our coats - and I, with my tongue over my broken tooth! Nasty! 

Lhasa is domina ted by the staggeringly-huge Potala Palace , a 1,000 room hilltop citadel, and former home to the Dalai Lama. The narrow backstreets were a menagerie of cart-pulling merchants, yak dung sellers, bicycle-riding Chinese soldiers, runny-nose children, flea-ridden dogs and scrawny chickens. 

Near where we stayed was the Jokhang Temple, Tibet's holiest shrine, and Mecca of Tibetan Buddhists. Within the old walls, a smooth stone alley leads past a row of large prayer wheels, enroute to a courtyard and stairs leading to rooms that look out past the golden three-toed dragons to the looming snowy giants beyond.

The temple is illumina ted by lamps fuelled with burning yak butter, whose pungent aroma is the predominant smell of Tibet . This spectacular temple is encircled by a marketplace known as the "Barkhor". Here, sheepskin-clad nomads, purple-robed monks, and women bejeweled in turquoise, coral, or silver headgear shuffle along in a clockwise direction, pausing for an occasional inspection of some item among the multitude of odds & ends for sale. 

One afternoon while wandering about this marketplace, I encountered a nice old fellow, and presen ted him with the picture of the Dalai Lama obtained in China . He became absolutely ecstatic. Jumping up and down he hugged us, rubbed the photo on his head and heart and followed us around like a little puppy. To him, the picture was an incredibly precious gift, perhaps the equivalent, in this country, of winning a million dollars. It was truly a very moving experience, one of many cherished memories in unforgettable Tibet . 

Although a terribly hard harsh place, the country is a fascinating world of timeless splendor and mystical tradition, unlike any other place on earth. The Tibetans we found to be a lovely warm and welcoming people with many interesting customs. For example, many women braid their hair into 108 separate strands for religious purposes. Confused by several people sticking out their tongues at us, Christine and I were later relieved to discover that this is the traditional Tibetan welcome! 

Sky burials are another most interesting custom. This is where the deceased's body is cut up and the bones crushed to be fed to the vultures from a cliff top, in order to set the spirit free. 

When it came time to leave we checked out a bus that supposedly went overland through the Himalayas, as there are no flights into Nepal . Turned out a few weeks earlier the old bus had broken down on route, causing passengers some bad cases of frostbite. We were terribly disappoin ted , as we had neither the time nor money to backtrack into China to then get a flight to Nepal . Upon mentioning this to Fred, a US traveler we had met earlier, he told us of a place in Lhasa where one could rent a jeep. It was very expensive, costing the three of us $280.00 each - a fortune by Asian standards, but we had no other choice. 

The jeep came with a driver, as it is illegal for foreigners to drive in Tibet . Early the next morning the three of us plus the driver set out on our 700 km bone rattling endurance test along a dusty track covering the spine of the worlds highest mountain range. The road snakes across the windswept landscape of the Tibetan plateau at an average elevation of more than 4,000 meters, before plunging down a steep-sided gorge into Nepal . 

What we didn't know was that the driver was a maniac spaced out on some sort of drugs. The altitude made breathing difficult and the mountain roads were very dry and dusty. All of us had nosebleeds. Not far into the trip, the driver nodded off at the wheel and drove us into some rocks, ripping open one of the tires.

Fortunately there was no serious damage. I tell Fred that the drivers is a dangerous – but good old Fred says, “don’t worry, I know these people. To them it’s all about face – from now on he will be alert and OK”. So, after verbally abusing the "driver" we nervously continued along the bottomless mountain roads. 

An hour or so later we were involved in another accident - this one almost fatal, as the "driver" lost control on a sharp corner. Fortunately there was a wide shoulder with a pile of boulders at the outer edge. The jeep hit a shallow ditch and became airborne.

It landed with the front end up on the rocks - the only thing stopping us from plunging over the edge into oblivion! Christine was struck in the back of the head by a piece of luggage, Fred cut his arm when thrown into the windshield, and I cracked a front tooth upon impact. Had the accident occurred a few feet on either side, there is no question we all would have been very very dead. 

I was so shaken that when I stepped out of the jeep I could not stop my legs from trembling. At that point I grabbed the keys and flipped out on the driver, grabbing him by the throat and shaking the shit outa him. After a lot of hard work we got the jeep back on the road, and miracu lou sly it was still drivable. I threw the driver in the back and we basically hijacked the jeep! Fred and I drove straight through the night through the dangerous mountain passes, all the way to the China/Nepal border. 

We pooled our food and ended up with a tin of tuna, a tin of juice, some peanut butter and some granola! This was shared among the three of us. Enroute we had to negotiate Gyatso La Pass, which at 17,000 feet, is the highest pass in the world. It was touch and go as to whether the jeep would make it. We could only use low gear because of the lack of oxygen, and top speed was about 5 MPH. 

The driving conditions through the night were extremely difficult, and we were thoroughly exhaus ted by the time we finally reached the border and found accommodation to spend the night. The driver who was puking when we let him out of the back of the vehicle, sneaked off in the night with the jeep. This was to our relief, as we thought he might make trouble for us with the border authorities. 

The following morning, somewhat recovered, we walked to the border and cleared customs interrogation as quick as possible, then had to hike nine kilometers through a strip of 'no-mans' land between the Chinese and Nepalese borders.

We took a 'shortcut' down the side of a mountain on one of the old Sherpa trails that I'm sure even a mountain goat would have trouble negotiating! Talk about an exhilarating descent! It was so steep that we spent most of the time on our backsides, so as not to loose our balance and topple off the mountain! 

Finally, dripping in sweat we made it to the bottom and shortly thereafter to the Nepalese border, where we managed to hitch a ride on what looked like an old cattle truck carrying Tibetan pilgrims. They opened the cab door for us and we struggled to get in. Counting bodies we realized that we had just increased the cab count to 17!

Tibetans were sitting on top of each other, some hanging out windows, one in the drivers lap and us with three backpacks. The aroma was something else - a mix of yak butter, yak dung, and good old human sweat, but on those isola ted mountain roads transport is rare and you take whatever is available. Our crowded truck snaked its way down the peri lou s mountain roads, and 100 kilometers later, slightly bedraggled, we entered the Katmandu valley and the colorful kingdom of Nepal . 

Our first stop in Katmandu was a place appropriately named the 'Paradise Restaurant'! After a month of eating mainly rice, and the few rations of our harrowing overland trip, it truly was paradise for us famished travelers! The menu was excellent and even featured several western style foods. We thoroughly gorged ourselves before waddling off in search of a much needed shower and a well deserved rest. 

Katmandu enchants and disorients, seduces and repels. Although everything seems unfamiliar and strange - it is also very exotic and alluring! We were assaul ted by many unfamiliar sounds and smells. Eerie flute music wafting out of doorways, haggling carpet dealers, legless beggars, street peddlers, ancient wooden buildings, streets best described as alleys, unusual characters lurking about, sacred cows wandering aimlessly through the streets, and colorful temples, all add to the spicy flavor of medieval Katmandu. 

Christine and I, hesitantly at first, exchanged our money on the Black Market to get a better rate. It felt strange being led down little alleyways into the backrooms of bookstores and carpet shops to deal with the 'money man'. During our stay in Katmandu we were fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of the 'Living Goddess', thought to be the reincarnation of Buddha. 

On a visit to the " Monkey Temple " I had a bit of a start - while bending down to take a picture, the subject reached over and took the top of her wicker basket and up popped a king cobra snake just a few inches from the end of my nose! 

Another frightening experience occurred in Durbar Square . I was carrying a large Girka knife on my belt and a guy came up from behind and grabbed for the knife. Spinning around, I grabbed his arm, twis ted it up behind his back and threw him down onto the street. He got up, then ran over to a stall grabbed another huge knife and star ted towards us screaming he was going to behead me! Fortunately some bystanders intercep ted him while Christine and I faded into the crowd and quickly disappeared. 

We headed out into the jungles of the Royal Chitawan for a few days (figuring it was safer there). The scenery there was incredible - colorful yellow mustard fields and jungle greenery with the towering Himalayas looming in the distance. From camp we set out on an interesting, but uncomfortable elephant safari. Another excursion from camp was a dugout canoe trip downstream on the Rapti River where we enjoyed watching the crocodiles and colorful birdlife on the river banks before returning to camp through the jungle in an ox cart, that proved to be even more uncomfortable than the elephant. 

Just before leaving the jungle, I mentioned to our guide that I was disappoin ted at not having clearly seen a rhinoceros. He volunteered to take me out before dawn into the jungle for one last try. Stumbling along we almost walked into two of them! What a fright. Both the guide and myself headed for the nearest tree and stayed there until the two monsters had passed. Later we got brave enough to venture close enough for a couple of good pictures. 

After returning to Katmandu for a few days of rest and relaxation, we flew into Bangkok , Thailand . The first night we arrived we could not find any place to stay and ended up sleeping outside on somebody's veranda in one of the outlying districts. Not the greatest start to the Kingdom of Siam !

Next morning we wandered into town and were most amused as someone rode in on an elephant and tethered it to one of the parking meters! The best way to travel around Bangkok , we soon found out, is by water taxi, as the downtown area is shrouded in a bluish haze from the traffic-choked main streets. 

Despite it's pollution, the city is most interesting and an excellent place for shopping. Street vendors offer exotic fruits and wonderful homemade concoctions - we didn't know what half of them were, but thoroughly enjoyed them all the same. We visi ted "Thieves Market" and took a river boat around some of the canals that have the floating markets and little huts of solid teak wood built on stilts. We also had some interesting animal encounters, like a large boa constrictor draped around our necks at a snake farm, and another time I ended up nursing a very sore arm after being swat ted by a bear! 

One day while boating on the Chao Phya River , we were 'accidentally' marooned on a partially sunken jetty. In order to reach the streets we had to wade through the murky waters of some flooded alleyways between some of the local's ramshackle housing. Unsure of what was underfoot, or where we were going and conscious only of the terrible stench, we passed by kitchens knee deep in water, kids urinating in the water, and piles of floating garbage, before finally threading our way through the maze and out onto the street. 

A few days before Christmas we traveled to sun-drenched Phuket Island in southern Thailand . A lovely palm treed haven with white sandy beaches, emerald waters, rustic fishing boats, and great food. We stayed in a little bamboo hut on the beach for about six dollars a day. Seemed like heaven. 

Christmas morning, enroute to the far end of the island, we had a close call, as our van had to lurch off the road into a field to avoid a head on collision with a bus that rounded a corner on the wrong side of the road! Most Asian drivers appear to have the concept that they must keep the gas peddle on the floor then aim their vehicle at anything that moves! Where the road ended, we got a boat out to the islands of Phang Na and Ko Pannyi, a Moslem sea gypsy village built on stilts. We bought some pearls and exotic shells before returning to Phuket. 

Christmas dinner was a little out of the ordinary - fried shark meat washed down with a bottle of Mae Kong. It was delicious and made for a most memorable Christmas dinner. One night while eating dinner, a huge tarantula walked under the table and gave us a start, but the real problem was hungry mosquitoes that seemed to be lurking everywhere. Oh well, so much for the wildlife! 

The next leg of our journey was a very long bus trip down through the rest of Thailand into Malaysia .

The next leg of our journey was a very long bus trip down through the rest of Thailand into Malaysia where we were repea ted ly warned of the death penalty for importing drugs. Eager for Indonesia , we spent little time in Malaysia , and spent most of our time on the buses. The Malaysian border guards were some of the most vulturous avaricious officials we have ever encountered. On the trip down our packs had never left our eyes, to ensure there were no surprises inside when we got to the border. Just the same, I remember the feeling of relief when we were waved through after questioning. 

It was quite a culture shock entering cosmopolitan Singapore . For the most part it is an extremely clean and modern city. The water is drinkable, and the law states there will be no cars on the road that are more than ten years old. Although Singapore has done a remarkable job in modernizing, it seems sad that they have lost all it's Asian flavor. Almost all of 'old Singapore ' has been torn down to accommodate a maze of high rise hotels and shopping centers turning the place into an antiseptic bore! 

The frightfully expensive accommodation forced us to stay in the one seedy, ghetto-like area known as the Bencoolen district. Here we had problems with a rat that kept stealing our food from the room! New Year's eve we were taken under the wing of a couple of local businessmen who drove us all about, before stopping at one of the local food hangouts. Here we sat down to an incredible spread of totally unrecognizable foods - that despite their looks were delicious! The Singapore zoo was excellent and Christine had a hilarious encounter with a couple of the orangutangs there. 

Next stop was the Island of Java , one of over 13,600 islands that make up Indonesia . We arrived in Jakarta and were appalled at its squalor. Homeless souls sleeping in the streets and many in the six to eight foot high piles of garbage lining several of the roads. We stayed in the Jalan Jaskar area for a few days with an Indonesian family who kindly shared their fridge and shower with us. From Jakarta it was a two day train trip on the 'Mutiara Utra', through some most interesting countryside, to a place called Surabaya . From here we took a bus and finally a ferry boat over to the island of Bali . 

This faraway island, only a sixth the size of Vancouver Island , is as enchanting as a fairy tale. Humidity and soaring temperatures induce a dreamy lethargy. Palm trees dance in the wind, volcanoes claw at the sky, and terraced rice fields slide down from the mountains like emerald staircases. 

Music is everywhere, from the dreamy notes resounding from a bamboo xylophone, to the churning, hypnotic sounds of a full fledged gamelan - an orchestra of gongs, xylophones, drums and flutes. The people still dance, make temple offerings to their gods, and live their village life as they have for the last thousand years. 

All over the island of Bali you can see neat rows of ducks following flags on a bamboo pole. This is how the duck shepherd guides his flock to feed at the nearby rice fields. At dusk their ducks huddle around the flag waiting for the duck shepherd to guide them back. So, when it comes to sell the flock, they happily follow the flag all the way to the markets. Nestling on the edge of the warm Indian Ocean, Bali is rich with such ancient village traditions. 

We stayed in several villages and thoroughly enjoyed them all. Most accommodation was about five dollars a night for two, including breakfast! On a couple of occasions we had to oust the odd centipede or scorpion from the room before bedding down - but nothing serious. We particularly enjoyed sitting down at sunset with a bottle of the local Arak and watching the villagers paddling ashore in their crudely rigged outrigger canoes - eager to display their colorful catches. 

The early morning hours would find barefoo ted Balinese women filling huge wicker baskets with coral from the reefs. These terribly heavy loads were then waded ashore atop the heads of these women in a most skillful balancing act. This coral is used as a source of lime for their cement. 

Sarong clad workers would stop their work in the fields whenever Christine and I went out running. With puzzled faces, they would stare, wondering what these two white-faced lunatics were doing. Seems they could not understand why someone would run unless being chased! 

Traveling about by motorcycle, we visi ted many interesting places including Ubud, Sangeh (where we were jumped by a group of monkeys), Tana Lot, Mas, Kuta, Legian, Candi Dasa and Bug Bug. In one place Christine traded an old pair of sneakers for a beautiful ebony carving. I traded some old shirts and a few Rupiah for an old and ugly, but authentic, ceremonial Barong mask complete with wild boar tusks, much to Christine 's chagrin. 

On another occasion in Ubud, I had just traded my shirt and sandals for a bone carving, when a monsoon hit. It niagara'd down, and in a matter of minutes the streets were transformed into rivers. Wading back to our loseman wearing only a pair of shorts certainly caught the interest of the locals! 

Bali was a place of happy times, and it's exotic images and sensations will linger long in the mind. 

Backtracking to the island of Java , we then went overland, via a white-knuckle bus trip all the way back to Jakarta . We then flew back to Singapore , and after two final days back in Hong Kong , were finally homeward bound. 

Some of our more unusual souvenirs from our travels included carved water buffalo horns, ebony carvings, a ceremonial mask, a bone blowgun from Java, and a silver lined human skull from Tibet . 

Traveling through these many lands so rich in mysticism and ancient traditions made for a truly exciting adventure, and very much endeared Asia to us both. 

Author's note: 

Foregoing the comforts of traveling as a "TOURIST" for the more adventurous mode of a "TRAVELLER", has both advantages and disadvantages. Opting to stray off the beaten track and go beyond seems to produce the more interesting encounters and experiences, while giving a true feel for the country and it's people. 

However, with this type of travel, certain hardships and 'mishaps' are inevitable. Don't let them spoil a trip, just try and keep a sense of humor and accept them, for in time they will become laughable, and more often than not, the fondest memories of all.

Mark H. Colegrave