fast lane. There is, at best, a mere 18 inches between the mirror of my Ford Fiesta and the concrete median of this immaculate new motorway near Kunming in southwest China. That’s where she appeared.

I saw her appear seemingly from nowhere in a gap in the fence atop the median, crouched and ready to jump. By the time my brain registered this pedestrian’s presence, she was no more than 100 feet away. I suddenly realized that a sudden leap would be fatal for her, and probably for me as well.

Welcome to China, where driving always has been hairy.

When the country opened the first motorway from Hong Kong to Guangzhou I nearly bisected two workmen walking, conical hats on their heads, with a 10-foot bamboo pole between them. The Middle East was predictably troublesome, but we always knew Asia would be the most precarious place for driving during this ’round-the-world jaunt we’re calling Ford Fiesta World Tour 2010.

“I brought my license,” our guide told us, almost pleased with herself for having what one might consider essential for a driving tour.

China recently surpassed the United States to become the world’s biggest automobile market, and you can tell that little or no skills are taught to, or required of, the millions of new drivers getting behind a wheel each year. We saw what we’re sure were two fatal crashes within our first two hours in the country.

Families of as many as four people – perhaps a young father, his wife and two apple-cheeked toddlers — all balancing precariously on a moped that’s seen better days frequently veered across our path with no regard for safety or sanity. At one point we came upon a stretch of thoroughfare inexplicably carpeted with shattered glass. Never once did we let our guard down while driving in China. You’re always on defense. After five-days, it was nerve-mauling.

The elements did not help. It rained for the whole week we crossed the 2,300 kilometers along the Tropic of Cancer from Shenzhen near Hong Kong to Kunming near the Union of Myanmar. Rivers and ponds formed on the roads. Hitting some of them was like driving into a swimming pool. It was almost inevitable, then, that after crossing North America, all of Europe and the Middle East without so much as a door ding that our luck would run out.

It happened on another spiffy new motorway where we came upon a bizarre pothole spanning both lanes. I hit it hard and, resigned, pulled over to inspect what I knew had to be at least one flat tire. Oddly, my little Fiesta was fine. The guy behind me wasn’t so lucky. His Fiesta had a flat. It was the first mechanical issue during 9,000 miles of driving through 17 countries.

I was relieved to make it out of China and down to Chiang Mai, Thailand. Our arrival at the Amari spa was fragrant and happy, the antithesis of the hotels we’d frequented to the north. Thailand provided us with the most bizarre story of the trip so far. Of course, it involved elephants.

The Maesa Elephant Camp outside Chiang Mai started in 1976 with a gaggle elephants saved from lives of logging. The elephants at the sanctuary are prolific artists. Within weeks of their arrival that are taught to hold paintbrushes and create stunning acrylic images of plants and flowers.

We wanted to visit Maesa because we hoped to have have an elephant paint our car much like BMW has famous artists occasionally paint its cars. There was one small problem. Elephants are afraid of cars. Well, the ones at Maesa are, anyway.

Our consolation, such as it was, was to have KongKam paint the name of our car on a giant pad. It was the santuary’s idea, I hasten to add. And so with a 6-inch brush held by his trunk and a pot of red acrylic paint at his immense front feet, the pachyderm set to work. Guided by his mahout (trainer), Mr. Noi, calling out “Up, down, left, right,” in Thai, KongKam dexterously stroked perfectly even and neat red lines on the paper.

“He listens to me unless he is distracted by food,” said Noi, who gently holds KongKam’s right ear as the pair stand shoulder to shoulder — well, head to knee, to be exact — during the human-elephant bonding process. “F” came first, quite readable. Then “O,” which was harder for KongKam because it is not straight lines. And so on until KongKam had painted “FORD.” It took about 5 minutes. Then on the line below he wrote out the word “FIESTA.” It was dumbfounding to watch a wild animal write out a word it surely hadn’t heard before we came to visit.

After 5 days and more than 2,000 kilometers of crossing the length of Thailand we had the opportunity to have the cars blessed by Phrathepwinyaporn, one of Thailand’s most revered abbots, at Wat Phra Mahathat temple. It was too good to turn down.

Having a car blessed is not so odd as you might think.

“Thai drivers are quite superstitious,” said Dutduan Jarukakul from Ford Thailand. “For instance nine is a lucky number here so to take delivery of a car at 9:09am is the time new owners want to drive out of the dealership. Then the first thing they want to do with the car is get it blessed. This is normally done by the abbot of a local Buddhist temple.”

The abbot greeted us us silently. He motioned to the car and shuffled out to climb inside. He sat behind the wheel and rocked gently in prayer. In his left hand he held a small engraved metal pot containing white paste. He tilted his bald head upward and daubed the headliner with 12 finger-sized dots of the paste, creating a triangle. Each dot symbolizes a stage in the journey to being protected and blessed.

Finally, he eased out of the car, and took from me a large pot full of rose-scented holy water.  With a posy of dried stems he flicked the water onto the car from all angles, then anointed us. With that, the blessing was complete.

“Having your car blessed by such an important monk is great honour,” said Dutduan Jarukakul. “And the blessing will not only hopefully protect you and the car but will also add value to the car.”

I wondered if we should have been blessed at the start of this odyssey, not at the end. Better late than never, I suppose.

Malaysia and then Singapore complete the Asian leg. Singapore, which is so clean you’d think the street were washed with Perrier, was tearing down the Formula 1 street circut when we rolled into town. Unlike Monaco, there is little evidence of the circuit for 51 weeks a year.

“Singapore has gone car crazy in the last three years since having the F1 race,” said Yuey Tan, who races in the Carrera Cup that was a support race for the grand prix this year. Yuey, 28,  grew up in Australia but lives in Singapore. “There are car clubs, and more supercars than you’ve ever see. Singapore is really a petrolhead town now.”

But we’ve had enough cars for now. Just off the F1 circuit is the colonial Raffles Hotel. It marks the end of our drive through Asia. We take high tea and, with the Fiesta keys handed in, a Singapore Sling before flying to Australia.

Only 8 days and one continent left.

Photos courtesy Jeremy Hart

Authors: Jeremy Hart

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