A tanned youth clad in just a sarong takes a wistful drag from a joint while reclining on a bank of the Himalayan foothills. This is not your mum’s godson Rupert, who spent his gap yah in Nepal ‘finding himself’ – and several STIs. The Observer Magazine travelled to India in August 1971 to chart the rise of the hippy trail, which had grown from a few inquisitive stragglers to a fully fledged community of 5,000 largely bearded members.

‘India is a country of exotic sights. But perhaps most exotic of all, nowadays, are the groups of... white youths in pantaloons and vests, walking through the most prosperous parts of Delhi, Calcutta or Bombay.’ Really, nothing’s changed, has it?

However, in 1971, people like Audrey were still rather rare. After passing her A Levels in her native Blackpool, she decided not to take up a place at the London School of Economics and instead sailed for the subcontinent with £25 in her pocket. When her money ran out she began to walk, covering 12 to 15 miles a day. As she did not know the local language she communicated by gesture, mostly signalling for cigarettes and Coca-Cola.

Where did penniless Audrey sleep? ‘At present, under the Gateway of India, Bombay - flanked by two male hippies - for warmth, not sex.’ Ah, of course, that old chestnut. Audrey, our reporter notes, is rather exceptional as hippies go – mostly because she was able to string a sentence together. Her peers were mostly engulfed in a weed-induced stupor, making them ‘listless and apathetic’.

What do these long-haired wastrels do all day? ‘The hippies in Goa sleep, cook, talk (mainly about who sent hash), listen to music, read, swim, make love, roam around and visit friends. The climax of the day is the communal smoking of marijuana, a ritual which starts in the evening and goes on late at night, so that most of the colony members get up late in the day.’

Brb, moving to Goa with immediate effect.