One hundred years ago I would have jumped freight trains or stowed away on tramp steamers. I would have written novels like Jack London, painted portraits of exotic womanhood like Paul Gaugin and been a guide through steaming jungles from the furthest outposts of civilization.

In these days of the jet plane, I use songs to traverse a global road from Chiang Mai to Moscow, from Bali to Bora-Bora. I've sung in Singapore, strummed in Samoa, dreamed in Hindu temples and jammed with itinerant street musicians in Spain.