When I was twenty I dropped out of college and travelled alone, overland to India. I didn’t tell my parents where I was until, some months after my disappearance, I sent them – from Mt Abu in Rajasthan – one of those thin blue airmail paper letters. It was 1973 and back then it was possible to travel through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan – the old hippy trail – not so much the Silk Road as the cheesecloth road.
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