And now, sitting in the back of a colorful Pakistani bus, I was approaching India, having no idea about the protocols for border crossing and all of its ramifications.

I traveled light in those days, one bag over my shoulder that contained a single change of clothes -- a Pakistani-style shalwar/kameez (baggy pants and a long tunic). I also carried a small flute, the oratorio of Handel's "Messiah", a vintage, beautifully illustrated book of Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales, and a few other items I cannot remember.

All of the items I carried with me were bookmarks to experiences more of a spiritual nature than anything practical. And of course, I also had my chillum pipe and hashish, me being a self-identified member of the "seeker" class in Afghanistan, Pakistan and India, where the chillim ceremony of passing the pipe in circle was a part of my life.

Magnetized by the mountains of Pakistan, I had been living in Chitral for about three months, a beautiful valley in the Hindukush range. Before Chitral, I had lived in the Bamiyan Valley in Afghanistan, surrounded by the Hindu Kush.

Although I was traveling alone, I wasn't lonely and always seemed to be adopted by the warm, hospitable locals. Many of them had never seen a white woman before, so I was an oddity to get to know and understand. I remember following the daily schedule of the women of the house, but joining the men's circle at night to smoke and tell stories.

It was a wonderful and simple life, surrounded by astounding beauty and grandeur, but I couldn't ignore the feeling that kept returning to me to keep on moving. I was beginning to understand that what I was looking for was not a particular place or culture -- that, indeed, there was no such thing as "the perfect place."

When the bus I was on got to the Indian border, the border patrol asked all of us to disembark so they could search our bags. Having my priorities in order, I had my pipe and stash on the top of my few possessions, so it was not hard to find.

"You will be going to jail!" the border guard announced, motioning me to enter a back office.

Once there, I sat in front of the guard as he searched my bag, explaining, as he did, that it was illegal to bring hashish into India and I would have to face the consequences.

Without much thought and trusting the moment, I began making an impassioned speech.

"The chillum is a part of my religion," I explained. "I believe in the unity of all people. When we sit in a circle and pass the chillum, all duality drops away, and we become one world."

Being in India, a culture of deep spiritual roots, this kind of talk had resonance. The border guard listened intently and took it all in as he sifted through my meager possessions.

"What is this?" he asked, holding my book of Handel's "Messiah" in his hands.

Again, I let it rip -- waxing on about the deep devotional feeling I got from this channeled piece of music since the first time I heard it in college.

Smiling, the guard then asked about my vintage Hans Christian Andersen book. As he did, I walked behind his desk and started leafing through the beautiful illustrations, describing the tales written by this famous Danish children's author. I was oozing inspiration.

When I took my seat again, there was a long pause as he continued looking at the book.

"I would love to give this book to you if you would like it," I said.

The guard's eyes sparkled.

"Would you sign it for me?" he replied. "Next time you go through a border crossing, put your chillum on the bottom of your bag!"

To be continued...

If you want to be alerted when Joan's book is published, let her know via email:

-- Joanapter@earthlink.net
-- www.apteraromatherapy.com

Joan Apter is an adventurer of the heart with many stories to tell. Now 74 and living in Woodstock, NY (nestled in the mountains), she still believes that love conquers all and that our greatest achievement is to experience and share the adventure of the heart. The memoir Joan is writing is still untitled, though she is leaning towards "The Miracle of Thirst."

Photo of Sadhu: Ira Meyer