Indeed, newswise this part of the world has been remarkably busy and in addition to a half dozen or so trips around India, I've made eight trips fo Pakistan (usually working with the talanted journalist Omar Waraich), two to Burma and two to Nepal.

The moments that stick in my mind include visiting the Lal Masjid in Islamabad a few days after it was laid siege to; interviewing Benazir Bhutto on her bus in Karachi a few hours before it was bombed; a week spent in Goa writing about the awful murder of Scarlett Keeling; meeting the Dalai Lama and learning more about the seemingly futile struggle of the Tibetan exiles; and arriving in the middle of the Irrawaddy Delta a few days after Cyclone Nargis had struck to discover the Burmese junta's promise of aid was nowhere to be seen.

More than these individual incidents, it is the people of South Asia that have been the most memorable; the warmth and welcome extended by almost every person I've met in Pakistan, the remarkably upbeat attitude of some of the poorest people in India (who I met as part of the Indy's Christmas appeal) who have lives of unceasing hardship and the enduring decency and courage of the people of Burma, who for decades have lived under the yoke of repression.

Journalistically, a year after I arrived in South Asia, I'm struck by just how little I know about what the two most persisent narratives that I find myself writing about in this region - India's vast and complex society that is transforming before our eyes and the twisted, convoluted and self-seving world that appears to be politics in Pakistan. In both instances I realise I'm usually just scratching the surface.

Aside from the work it's been a lot of fun: across the region I've met tremendous people trying to do remarkable things: I've met low-ranking officials who have gone out of their way to help and policemen who apologised for towing my car; enjoyed a fabulous English breakfast high up in the Himalayas; eaten deep-fried frogs in southern Burma; dodged the trunk of a temple elephant in the holy Indian city of Madurai and seen people submerging themselves in the freezing, fast-flowing Ganges in the middle of winter.

In Delhi, I've been to a handful of diplomatic functions and drank the odd gin and tonic. And I also spoke briefly with William Dalrymple, the author whose wonderful book, City of Djinns, first got me excited about the prospect of living in India.