Why my stinky feet have gone with the wind

The idea of going bare-foot inside a Chinese shoeless home initially conjured up very bad memories. I was once a right royal stinker, and my fetid feet were the bane of my existence.

My feet reeked so bad they could have been used as biological weapon in the war against terror. They ponged worse than smelly bean curd and could overpower the noxious stench of a week-old dead fish.

Even a garlic-munching Beijing taxi driver, who hadn't flossed their teeth for the past 23 years, would complain if I ever slipped off my shoes in his vehicle.