Travel Literature

Dark Star Safari - Paul Theroux

2010-09-16T14:34:00.001+01:00

This book is simply magnificent. All of Theroux's travel books that I've read have been engaging, but this one stands out above the rest for me. The premise here is simple: Theroux wants to travel overland through Africa, from Cairo to Cape Town. The cultural, geographical, and political contrasts he experiences are all brought to life vividly, but it is in his commentary on the state of African development that he expresses his opinions with a passion that I have rarely felt in his previous books.

This is less surprising when you know that Theroux spent several years in the 1960s working in Malawi and Uganda, originally for the Peace Corps, then as a teacher and finally as a lecturer. He revisits his old haunts, and is moved by what he sees - namely that things have either stagnated or, more often, deteriorated. The picture he paints of east Africa in his day is one where progress - in its broadest sense - was most definitely on the horizon. Now, it seems, that promise is slipping further and further away to the point of being a mere speck.

Theroux, as you would expect, makes no bones about laying blame squarely at the feet of the morally weak, but politically strong leaders who emerged in parts of post-colonial Africa. Some of the terror they wreaked is graphically described to Theroux by former political prisoners he meets on his journey. However, it is not just this set of despots that come in for criticism. Theroux also lambasts the international aid organisations for both their policies and their attitudes.

As he goes deeper into the dark star continent, Conrad's Heart of Darkness crops up time and again. At one point Theroux explicitly states that he is not turning into Kurtz. Far from it. Surely Theroux is Marlow - the book's central character - making the journey and being deeply affected by all that he sees. Kurtz is represented by the donor culture that ends up doing more harm than good, and with more influence than is healthy.

A recurring image of the book is of aid workers driving with "ministerial haughtiness" in white Land Rovers and refusing to pick him up, or help him out in any way. "This was to be fairly typical of my experience with aid workers in rural Africa: they were, in general, oafish self-dramatizing prigs and often, complete bastards," says Theroux, who does a good job of letting us learn with him of the issues and problems that beset much of Africa, rather than proseletyzing from the outset.

"This was the era of charity in Africa, where the business of philanthropy was paramount... Name an African problem and there was an agency of a charity to deal with it, but that did not mean a solution was produced. Charities and aid programs seemed to turn African problems into permanent conditions that were bigger and messier."

As his thinking develops, the agents of virtue - the charity workers - become agents of subversion.

"The whole push was misguided... Where were the Africans in all this? In my view aid is a failure if in forty years of charity the only people still dishing up the food and doling out the money are foreigners. No Africans are involved - there is not even a concept of African volunteerism or labor-intensive projects. If all you have done is spend money and have not inspired anyone, you can teach the sharpest lesson by turning your back and going home."

Critics have sniped at Theroux for not engaging more fully with the challenges of aid in Africa; for not delving into the macrocharity of World Bank loans, and IMF restructuring plans. He does, in fact, mention such things and also cites plenty of other books that set out to explain the situation in far more detail. His own thoughts are anecdotal, but he does talk to a very broad spectrum of people so his 'research' certainly has merit. And we should not forget that this is not what Theroux is about. He is not trying to write a book about development; he is writing a book about his trip.

One of the things I like about Theroux as a travel writer is that you are generally made aware of the craft; the notetaking, the scribbling during interviews, the paradox of being lonely while relishing the escape from a world of e-mails and phone calls; the enjoyment of the process of travel, tempered by the uncomfortable realities of delayed trains, overcrowded buses, and poorly repaired trucks. However, occasionally, you do begin to wonder quite how it all fits together. In Kampala, Theroux sends his wife a fax to "reassure her I was muddling along". He tells us that upon reading it her reaction was "Poor Paulie, all alone." There are few times in any of Theroux's works that I ever feel sorry for him. JT

Overall verdict: Theroux on imperious form.

Penguin, 2003

Over the Land and Over the Sea - Edward Lear

2010-09-16T14:25:00.001+01:00

Edward Lear, a travel writer? Who knew? Famed for his books of nonsense poetry and accompanying doodles, Lear's love was in fact lanscape painting and in the mid-19th century he travelled Europe and beyond in search of scenes suitable for his oils and watercolours. This collection brings together the familiar nonsense and the less familiar accounts of some of these adventures.

The introduction by academic Peter Swaab, is well worth reading, providing an accessible link between the two parts of the book. It doesn't take a great leap of the imagination to link Lear's interest in travel with his particular brand of poetry. Swaab also explains at the start of each travel account something of the background to each trip, which is extremely useful.

In some of his earlier writing, it is notable that Lear seems less interested in the people he encounters than in the animals, who tend to receive the anthropomorphic adjectives; so we have the "meditative green frogs", and the "pensive chirping" of a chicken.

Undoubted echoes of his poetry are scattered through these extracts; although as he gets older (the writing spans 25 years) the people assume a more pivotal role. However, both animals and people invariably play second fiddle to the landscape itself - the raison d'être for the privations he chose to face. The book sadly showcases very few of Lear's paintings - mostly down to the cost, the editor assures me - which is a great shame as often the verbal evocation of place suggests that the rendition is worth seeing. But then Lear was never heralded as a great landscape artist; so perhaps we're better off with the Coleridge-like descriptions.

Those who have visited the regions Lear explores are likely to be amused and interested at his descriptions; his travel in what is now Albania is especially noteworthy as it is a country few writers today have had the chance to explore (although see Paul Theroux's Pillars of Hercules). He also provided a handy guidebook-style list of what a self-respecting landscape painter should take for an Albanian trip, which included curry powder and two sets of outer clothing, but should not include "presents for the natives". The book does offer historical insights into what the locals thought of the English, which generally boiled down to us living off potatoes and with little of note except Isambard Kingdom Brunel's Thames Tunnel. So bad food and good engineering: plus ça change.

Readers who love the nonsense poetry may be disappointed that his prose is far from laugh-a-minute. But the comedy there is comes in the shape of little gems that are worth the effort. We have Lear failing to help extinguish a fire, Lear stumbling over a Turkish pipe bowl, and Lear knocking over a bowl of soup at a Turkish banquet; just to name three. But even when not relaying a specific anecdote like this, Lear's tone is generally genial, especially during his Italian trips, and you sense that he enjoyed the nomadic lifestyle.

All in all, this is an unusual collection that will interest fans of historical travel writing; and every household should have a copy of 'The Pobble who has no Toes' (after all he was no mean traveller himself, swimming across the Bristol Channel). Let us not forget that Lear was a man that could amuse Queen Victoria; no easy task! JT

Overall verdict: Esoteric entertainment

Carcanet, 2005 (reviewed at publisher's request)

Best Foot Forward - Susie Kelly

2010-09-16T14:13:00.001+01:00

Here we go again... mad English person does crazy walk. This particular walk crosses France from La Rochelle on the west coast to Lake Geneva on the eastern border with Switzerland.

It's hard to know what to say about this book. It's gently amusing and mildly frustrating. Fifty-something Kelly chooses not to explain the circumstances that have conspired to see her in France while her husband is still in England. Such matters are tackled in her prequel Two Steps Backwards. I also found her lack of fitness, preparation, suitable equipment, or abilities to read a map or use a compass only partially endearing. It's true that she has some funny encounters, and her self-deprecating style makes for an easy read. But that's almost the problem: it's too easy. There's information and background on the places she visits, again told wittily; but the book lacks the depth of Bryson's comedy travels or the insights of Nick Crane's eccentric hikes.

By far the best section of Best Foot Forward comes near the very end, where she teams up to walk with her friend Carole and Carole's friend Liz. Things do not go well, but the reader's enjoyment is not simply schadenfreude; Kelly seems to unleash her emotions in this section with the wit becoming sharper and the full realisation of what she is achieving coming to the fore. Don't get me wrong, Kelly's walk is a challenge, and she rises to it admirably; but it is only here as she thinks evil thoughts about her new companions who she felt had no right to "mess up my party", that her writing starts to bite. Anyone who has tackled these sort of trips will sympathise greatly with our heroine.

This is the sort of book that makes it look deceptively easy to write travel literature; but despite its easy-going pace and style I found it an unsatisfactory read - albeit one interspersed with many chuckles. It also has a fantastic opening two pages that are guaranteed to keep you reading on.JT

Overall verdict: Lightweight but entertaining

Bantam Books, 2003

Two Degrees West - Nicholas Crane

2010-09-16T13:33:00.001+01:00

This is an account of an eccentric journey by an eccentric Englishman. Nicholas Crane is the man who, a few weeks after getting married, left his wife at home while he spent 18 months walking along the watershed of Europe from Galicia to Istanbul. Five years later, in 1997, equipped with his trademark umbrella and trilby hat, he was off again. This time the umbrella was in camouflage green, to help him stay concealed when he was trespassing.

He would have to trespass because he was aiming to cross England from north to south following the meridian line of two degrees west. This crosses the north-east coast at Berwick-on-Tweed, and leaves the south coast on the Isle of Purbeck west of Swanage. Giving himself strict boundaries of 1km either side of the line (the line which coincides with the Ordnance Survey's Central Meridian), there were inevitably parts of the route with no public access. As well as private land there were lakes to cross, and rivers and motorways with no bridges, in his two kilometre corridor.

Crane's route took him across the open spaces of Northumberland, the Cheviots, and the high Pennines, through small villages (but few towns), past isolated farmhouses, to the industrial townscapes of the Black Country. Emerging into the south of England he passed through gentler arable valleys and over bleaker chalk downs - including a crossing of Salisbury Plain - before negotiating Poole Harbour and finally reaching the end of his line at the English Channel.

But this is not a simple step-by-step story of a 578km walk, and if it was, it would probably be very boring. Although his account is chronological, it is not a diary - in fact the days and dates are hardly mentioned. Instead, he uses a number of techniques to keep our interest alive.

First, his research is extensive. There is a wealth of historical detail, much of it gathered beforehand, some gleaned on the way. Sometimes he presents this as brief snippets of information; at other times he goes into much more detail - for example, the story of Chance's Glassworks in the Black Country's Galton Valley, which was the factory that made the glass for the Crystal Palace at the Great Exhibition of 1851.

Then he uses a number of themes which recur throughout the account and give it continuity. So the canal builder James Brindley, and redoubtable traveller Celia Feinnes on her 'Great Journey' through England in 1698, become companions who drop in and out of the walk. And the Meridian itself, at the heart of the story of the Ordnance Survey, is a theme that holds the whole enterprise together.

What distinguishes Crane from many other travel writers, especially in the 'outdoor' genre, is his interest in and use of the people he meets along the way. As a self-confessed "harvester of stories", he talks to anyone who will give him the time, listens to what they have to say, and slots their stories into his own.

The result is a book which achieves its continuity in the form of a verbal collage, analogous to Hockney's photo-collages of the 1980s, where a series of static images are arranged to give an impression of movement and change over time. In 'snapshot mode', Crane can nicely catch the essence of an experience - here, a local museum:

"Inside [the Upper Wharfedale Museum] were intimate, bizarre artefacts that would never win gallery space in larger museums: a box of human gallstones, an iron dibble,... two halberds taken to the Battle of Flodden, castrating tools, a teacup with a special lip on the inside to prevent the drinker's moustache dipping in the tea, the Kalee carbon-arc film projector which stood in Grassington Town Hall, a peat barrow, ration books, a glass nasal douche and sixteenth-century hunting horns once used by the foresters of the Langstrothdale Chase. An enema syringe."

Crane writes with warmth and a laid-back, at times self-deprecating, sense of humour, not least in his descriptions of how he had to overcome some of the obstacles imposed by his meridional corridor. Setting out to wade or swim the Tyne, he festoons himself with ad hoc flotation aids (rubber rings, plastic footballs) and tentatively sets off, only to find the water never reaches his thighs. Another time he ruefully blames his mud- and cow dung-stained clothes for being turned away from a bed-and-breakfast.

Finding somewhere to sleep on the meridian sometimes gave him problems. One night near Cheadle, in the rain, unable to find a B&B, he tries to sleep on a ledge under a bridge arch. Defeated by the traffic noise, he sets off again in the dusk and rain for another three kilometres "over barbed wire, sodden meadows and ditches on a succession of public footpaths that had ceased through underuse to exist as imprints on the land". Sitting disconsolately on a patch of grass in a deserted village, a woman in a car eventually asks if he needs help. Taking up the offer of a bed for the night at her farm, but of course having to decline a lift and walk instead, he ends the evening sipping whisky by the fire.

"As we sat with the firelight playing on the amber glasses I saw this sad, wet bloke crawling with a rucksack and an umbrella into a concrete slot under a bridge on the A50. Glancing at Ruth and John, I couldn't think of a higher pleasure than to have been the recipient of an unexpected, incredible kindness."

Many other incidents stay in the mind, not least the crossings of the more significant obstacles: Derwent Reservoir (thanks to the local sailing club), Salisbury Plain (thanks to the RAF and the Army), and Poole Harbour (thanks to the Royal Marines). But one of the most unusual aspects of the book is the extensive part - about 30 pages - describing Crane's travels through the industrial West Midlands. Few walking guidebooks describe the streets, canal-sides, and waste ground of urban England, but Crane is as interested in these landscapes and their inhabitants as he is in the countryside. So we have a picture of a solitary, incongruous figure with rucksack and umbrella picking his way where no-one ever walks - beneath motorways, across canals on ancient iron bridges, ducking through dank passages under railways - and at the same time recounting the history of the engineers and workers who designed and built it all.

We breathe a sigh of relief with him too, when he finally emerges unscathed from this part of the journey. In a typical kaleidoscope of verbal snapshots (you can almost hear a camera clicking and whirring) he reports:

"A series of disassociated impressions: a primary school labelled 'Electronic Surveillance Equipment' and 'Guard Dog Patrol'; reggae from an open door; [a woman] breaking bricks with a hammer; trees beginning to appear at road junctions . . .; a country breeze . . .; another dual carriageway, from Birmingham to Kidderminster, but this time there was a pedestrian underpass, painted with pastel whorls and urine; the first leafy street . . .; another dual carriageway, with trees and grass down the centre; Highfield Lane (a change of labelling here, from 'Road' and 'Street' to the rustic 'Lane'); a school; a path; a hedge. A field."

In the first part of the book, Crane is mostly non-judgmental about the countryside he is passing through, but by the time he reaches the south he is more inclined to criticise what he sees happening to rural England - supermarkets providing free buses and killing village shops, an intolerance of travellers on foot in the shape of overgrown and blocked footpaths and instances of hostility towards an admittedly dishevelled walker going about his lawful business. In a more negative moment he says

"Most country people were welcoming and generous, but they lived in a rigidly controlled no-go zone, stripped of species and dulled by factory farming... The English countryside was closed unless otherwise stated. Rustic enlightenment was tough on the nerves. When I wasn't breaking the law, I was confined to a grudgingly conceded line across somebody else's land".

But I would like to leave Crane in an optimistic mood. Having visited the church and a restored medieval house in Gretton, on the edge of the Cotswolds, he writes:

"The plans for Christ Church, the rejuvenation of the railway line, and the rising of a medieval house all required resources of motivation, time and money. But more importantly they needed passion... I could see that I'd come across countless examples, from Neil and his bird sanctuary in Coquetdale to volunteers who'd refilled canals and revived steam lines, to the postmistresses, publicans and farmers, to the Black Country community workers and whoever kept Pleck Park under the stilts of the M5 in such pristine condition... These were dreams with no unifying umbrella... Cumulatively, they defined everything that was good about England."

"Straight-line walking is a triumph of faith over expectation; believing in the unexpected rather than expecting the unbelievable", says Crane. His unusual journey, linking people and places with nothing else in common except geographical accident, gives us a sympathetic and intriguing picture of present-day England. ART

Overall verdict: Mad idea, interesting outcome well worth reading

Penguin, 2000

End of the Earth: Voyages to Antarctica - Peter Matthiessen

2010-09-16T13:27:00.000+01:00

It is rare that a book ruins my holiday, but Peter Matthiessen's End of the Earth: Voyages to Antarctica came blissfully close. There I was, lying on a sun-drenched tropical beach, dreaming of some frozen Antarctic wilderness 7,500 kilometres to the south. With my mind whipped by an imaginary gale, the smell of ice tickling my blood, I could hardly sit still to finish reading. I had the longing for the ice.

Quality literature on Antarctica is often buried under the avalanche of self-aggrandizing adventure stories and quests for the South Pole. Perhaps the dearth is due to the tricky ethics of Antarctic tourism; more likely, however, is that modern accounts written from the comfort of an icebreaker struggle to match the epic tales of the continent's early explorers. End of the Earth, however, is a wonderful exception. The book details two separate trips to Antarctic made by Matthiessen between 1998 and 2001, and his tales are refreshingly free of posturing. In fact, Matthiessen is almost wracked with humility, and confesses his sea journeys are essentially cozy tourist jaunts that pale besides the heroics of the past.

But few writers have the skill to combine meticulous observation with personal insight in the way that Matthiessen does. The reader is deftly tossed through an astounding catalogue of Antarctic and sub-Antarctic birdlife, as well as a fly-by history of southern whaling and a brief introduction to seafaring. Throughout these, Matthiessen continually revisits two favourite themes: intimate thoughts on the grandeur (and pettiness) of these great Antarctic explorers, and well-grounded, impassioned fears about global warming.

While his eye for detail can sometimes be overwhelming, Matthiessen also offers a little light relief through his childlike fascination with penguins: the rockhoppers, fairies, kings, emperors and, of course, macaronis. For the many readers unlikely to ever see a penguin chick in the wild, Matthiessen brings their fuzzy, hapless waddle to life.

End of the Earth convincingly conveys all the wonder of Antarctica, from its untrod wilderness and uncharted islands, to the furious winds and unique ecology and, not least, the wrenching tales of human endeavour.

But it also delves into the dirty smears of human impact that increasingly mark the ice. Most notably, it details the renewed threat of resource exploitation, the environmental problems of tourism itself, and the vast chunks of ice that keep breaking off the Larsen ice shelf while world leaders deny the effects of global warming.

So while End of the Earth will chill your blood and set your legs twitching with a cold fever, Matthiessen also makes sure that before you go and buy Lonely Planet's third edition on Antarctica, you will do a bit of serious thinking too. JK

Overall verdict: As refreshing as a blast of Antarctic wind.

National Geographic, 2003

McCarthy's Bar - Pete McCarthy

2010-09-16T13:21:00.001+01:00

This may be McCarthy's first book*, but his ample writing experience is clear in this extremely well written, funny, and touching account of his travels in his mother's native western Ireland. Oh yes, and of his quest to drink Guinness in bars called McCarthy - a laudable aim of any trip.

Studiously avoiding any of the new laddishness of Tony Hawks' Round Ireland with a Fridge, McCarthy the Englishman makes an excellent travelling companion. He regularly gets lost, condemns or praises each new-found drinking partner in a sentence or two, and all the while stops short of falling into the Bryson trap of reveling in heritage while lambasting modernity.

One of the best features of the book is his snippets of Irish radio phone-in shows. Behind the hilarity, it is these that offer some of the clearest insights into modern rural Irish life with no need for further commentary.

In constant search of affirmation that he somehow belongs in Ireland, yet ever aware of the similar claims of every American tourist he meets, McCarthy ends up pondering some big questions about identity - and ends up with some suitably complex answers.

But this is not a deep metaphysical book - we are also witness to McCarthy running away from bulls, gatecrashing parties and regularly comparing the price of Singapore noodles. However the killer section - and it is a denouement that creeps up on you - is his time spent in purgatory. I will say no more.

If you need dispelling of the notion that Ireland is all shamrocks and leprechauns, then many books will suffice. But if you want to try and understand a country through the eyes of someone desperate to come to terms with all that it stands for, I doubt you will find a more entertaining way of doing so. JT

Overall verdict: Excellent read.

Hodder & Stoughton, 2001
*this review was written before McCarthy's sad death in 2004

Down Under - Bill Bryson

2010-09-16T13:15:00.001+01:00

Bryson well and truly returns to form with this book on Australia. It is the best of the self-deprecating and exaggerated humour that won him his fans in the first place. But he also steers clear of overdoing the sermons on how places have changed - and never for the better when viewed through BrysonVision. This gives the book an affectionate and much lighter tone.

More than perhaps any of his previous books, this Australian effort can actually be used as a guide book to some degree. He certainly goes to some unusual and fascinating places while all the time emphasizing that this is merely scratching the surface of this vast continent.

Bryson is also not disingenuous by denying his celebrity status these days. Indeed, this affords him opportunities most travellers would not have but, because we have grown to like him, we don't really resent his publisher helping him out here and there for the sake of a good story.

Everyone will have their favourite excerpts from this book - and the majority will probably involve some type of small, lethal insect (of which there are many). But for me, the memory that lingers is the sheer stupidity of some of the early explorers who would set off into the outback with no clue as to where they were going, or how long it would take to get there. It is our good fortune that Bryson gets an air-conditioned car, or one suspects he too would have returned a rambling madman. JT

Overall verdict: Bryson's best since "The Lost Continent".

NB: This book is published in the US as "In a Sunburned Country"

Random House, 2001

French Revolutions - Tim Moore

2010-09-16T13:07:00.001+01:00

It is hard to believe that Tim Moore is quite the couch potato he would have us believe. Although anyone daft enough to attempt to tackle the route of the 2000 Tour de France with even some training must be a sprocket short of a chainring. Moore claims less training than this and thus is the scene set for his comic journey through France, and his fourth book.

For cycling enthusiasts this book is great. Feel Moore's pain as he struggles up the first Pyrennean climbs. Share his sense of alcohol-induced fatigue at the end of each day and marvel at the blatant stupidity of the whole venture. Not that stupidity is a new feature of cycling. In recent years professional cycling has achieved a much higher profile thanks less to the exploits of Messrs. Armstrong, Ullrich & co. and more to the drug scandals that have threatened to destroy the sport. Moore takes us back in Tour de France history to show that this phenomenon is far from new. Particularly moving is his account of the legendary Tom Simpson who died on the fearsome Mont Ventoux from a lack of oxygen and, it seems, an overdose of barbiturates.

Tour history is not all so tragic - the rules also come in for much mockery. In 1913 one rider - sticking to the rules - had to carry his bike 10km to a blacksmiths and forge a new pair of forks. He was then penalized a further 10 minutes because he received help from a third party: the blacksmith's boy who pumped the bellows!

Some of Moore's personal anecdotes, however, are a little hard to believe, and some reviewers have criticized his "mock everything" approach. For me, it still works. He sets out his stall from the beginning and mocking everything includes mocking himself.

Somewhat inevitably, as Moore's fitness improves over the course of his month's odyssey, the cycling become all-consuming and he lapses at times into a pedal-by-pedal account that may be of less interest to the non-cycling reader. The book may start coasting downhill towards the end, but this does not detract from the overall read, nor from the climax of the story which is well worth hanging on for. JT

Overall verdict: If you like cycling, you'll love this.

Random House, 2001

Round Ireland with a Fridge - Tony Hawks

2010-09-16T13:03:00.001+01:00

Starting your book, "I'm not, by nature, a betting man. I'm not, by nature, a drinking man", raises a certain level of expectation in the reader - and happily Hawks' book lives up to this.

Englishman Hawks takes off on a one-month quest to hitchhike around the circumference of Ireland with a 2'x2' foot fridge in tow, after making and, perhaps even more daftly, honouring a drunken bet.

Not surprisingly, he arrives in Dublin with a certain amount of trepidation and visions of loosing face/being mistaken for a terrorist/freezing to death by a lonely roadside. However, with the people of Ireland mobilized early on by the nation's favourite radio talk show host, he soon gets into the swing of things. Together he and his fridge go surfing, enter a bachelor festival, meet the poorest king on earth - and discover a direct correlation between the pace of life and the time it takes a pint of stout to settle.

As those familiar with his British radio and TV appearances will expect, Hawks has a fluid and amusing style. He also comes across as a fairly likeable fellow, no doubt a helpful trait when trying to persuade strangers to give you and your fridge a ride.

You won't find rapturous descriptions of Ireland's green countryside or an insightful analysis of the country's present-day condition here. At its heart, this book is about the people of rural Ireland, who manage even in the face of Ireland's "Celtic Tiger" economic boom to maintain a relaxed, accommodating and often eccentric take on life. Those Hawks encounters display a refreshing abundance of warmth, generosity and good humour. Above all, they understand why a man would wish to undertake such a foolhardy and pointless venture in the first place - and therein lies the secret of the book. CM

Overall verdict: A very entertaining read.

Random House, 1998

Riders to the Midnight Sun - Marc Llewellyn

2010-09-16T12:58:00.001+01:00

"Oh no", I thought, "Not another crazy travel writer doing something offbeat. Still, s'pose I better read it." And I am glad I did. Llewellyn's trip with his girlfriend Rohan may have been born out of a premature mid-life crisis and a desire to see Russia, but ends up being an enjoyable and fast-paced story of their trip from Sevastapol on the Black Sea all the way north to Murmansk on the Arctic Ocean.

That this is a bit of an odd undertaking is pretty clear from the outset, but when you spice it up with Llewellyn's worrying obsession with nuclear power plants a little bit of danger is thrown into the mix. Not that his girlfriend is entirely happy about the slow-acting radiation they might be cycling through, eating and drinking.

This is not a book to read for insights into long-distance bike touring. It does however present an interesting, and very localized take on post-Soviet republics. The friendliness of many people, often welcoming these biking oddities into their house, comes across most strongly, and the cyclists often agonise over subtly throwing away gifts of hand-picked fruit, "the first harvest since Chernobyl", one farmer proudly declares.

The mood changes from country to country with the Ukraine coming off far the best. But the best is -- of course -- saved for last. Right up in the far north, amid hypothermia-inducing blizzards, the pair take a boat trip to the Gulag Archipelago that does not proceed quite as planned, and Llewellyn is treated to an ad-hoc tour of Zapadnaya Litsa submarine base. "I wanted to see the submarines," burbles Llewellyn at the gates.

This book is a quick read, but no less insightful for that. Many many miles must have been covered that merited very little penmanship, but Llewellyn does well with what he has and makes an informative and at times heart wrenching read. JT

Overall verdict: Bowl through post-Soviet landscapes, and be glad it was them not you.

New Holland, 2000

The Pillars of Hercules - Paul Theroux

2010-09-16T12:51:00.005+01:00

Theroux exports his acerbic wit to the Mediterranean for this reconstruction of the Grand Tour. It is pointless berating him - as many do - for his constant criticism and disparaging remarks. What is more remarkable in this book is the contrasts he throws up, both in his own writing - the tone of which shifts several times - and in the places he sees.

He studiously avoids high-brow culture in one form, opting for the "real" towns and villages, yet spurns the tourist meccas for literary discussions. An interesting mix, but of course both indigenous village, and concrete resort are real, and people live and work in both places.

He acknowledges his horror of the worst of the Spanish coast with this particularly damning passage:

"The meretriciousness, the cheapo appeal, the rankness of this chain of grease-spots is so well known it is superfluous for me to to describe it; and it is beyond satire. So why bother?"

Sadly, I imagine Theroux's usual conversational approach to travelling would create marvellous vignettes of some of these places. But he has more prestigious and authentic fish to fry.

His section on the former Yugoslav republics of Slovenia and Croatia and the chapter on Albania are truly worth the price of the book alone. Albania, in particular, is still all but unknown in western Europe and this is an eye-opening account from 1994 of the poverty and paranoia of this most isolated of European states.

Exhausted, Theroux takes a break before recommencing his journey in an unexpected setting: a luxury cruise liner. Although potentially at odds with his usual modus operandi, I enjoyed this section immensely. Theroux manages to unearth the interesting characters on board and what could be more Grand Touresque than drifting through the Med with the wealthy. Is this Theroux playing at being Fitzgerald? If so, he does it with aplomb.

Once he changes tack again, and battles through the Middle East, and eventually to North Africa, the book turns ever more into a literary pilgrimage. An interesting one undoubtedly, but his much-promoted brother Peter (who is an Arabic translator, as Paul frequently mentions. Did no-one edit this book?) obviously helped him along the way here. However, Theroux does get to meet some very interesting writers, even if he rarely engages with them on a personal level, at least not for our benefit.

Despite the contrasts alluded to earlier, the thread that runs throughout the book is that the Mediterranean region's identity transcends national borders. Everywhere he goes, Theroux is at pains to explain that the coastal towns are more like each other than their own hinterlands. Not a revolutionary point to make, but an interesting and well-enforced one here.

At one stage he explains that irony is often mistaken for curmudgeoness. He rarely helps to keep the distinction clear, but nevertheless Pillars of Hercules is an epic tour of a much-visted, yet rarely-contemplated tourist region. JT

Overall verdict: Stick with it.

Penguin, 1996

The Trail to Titicaca - Rupert Atlee

2010-09-16T12:43:00.001+01:00

While the pantheon of travel literature is filled with accounts of journeys in, to and from Asia and the Silk Road, Latin America is less well covered. Perhaps it's because writers have only ventured there more recently, or because it is perceived to lack much of the exoticness of India, China, Afghanistan et al.

Trail to Titicaca is part of the limited range of available Latin American travel literature. It's an account of a cycle journey from Tierra del Fuego in Argentina, at the southern tip of the continent, to Lake Titicaca in Bolivia, which took almost a year to complete. The three participants took part to raise money for the Leukaemia Research Fund, although the journey took place long before today's wide range of charity-related organised 'expeditions' sprung up. Attlee comes across as something of a pioneer in this respect.

The route is not an easy one, climbing through the Andes and crossing the Patagonian desert, and the hardships of the trip are always evident. But Attlee brings the diversity of the continent to life -- crossing jungles, the high plains of Bolivia, climbing mountains, navigating various 'shortcuts' and visiting a range of villages, towns and cities. There is also plenty of human contact. Attlee and his companions were recipients of Latin American generosity on many occasions, and there are plenty of colourful characters met en route.

Attlee mixes the ingredients of his travel book well: the worthy cause, spectacular scenery, kindly locals, the team dynamic, meetings with other travellers, local history, national quirks and the existential questions that accompany the end (and possibly the beginning and middle) of most big trips.

The result is a very enjoyable entry point to Latin America. But don't expect much more than that. Rupert Attlee is no Paul Theroux, and at 300 pages of large-ish print, the book lacks the space to make any meaningful comments about the countries visited. But he's an enthusiastic writer and he transmits his enthusiasm for the region well. This is one of those travel books that may have you reaching for the passport, Lonely Planet in hand, to plan your next trip. That's something that the mass of Silk Road related tomes stopped doing long ago. OR

Overall verdict: Refreshing, engaging, and worthy

Summersdale, 1999

America Day by Day - Simone de Beauvoir

2010-09-16T12:35:00.000+01:00

In 1947, French philosopher, novelist and feminist Simone de Beauvoir left her native Paris and spent four months in the United States. She had never been to the US before, and as she travelled from coast to coast she kept a diary. Re-published in English 50 years later it offers a fascinating view of America immediately after the war.

De Beauvoir starts off, inevitably, in New York City. In the early 21st century, we can only imagine the contrast between 1940s New York and 1940s Paris. At first, the other-worldiness of the US' most famous city is almost too much for her. After all, New York does not need her; she feels she is not there at all. She soon leaves for Chicago - a city that she finds more appealing, more real. Her perception is enhanced somewhat by the presence of author Nelson Algren. She had an on-off affair with Algren for some 17 years, and it all started here. None of the lurid details are in this book, but you can readily see how Algren's appreciation and knowledge of the seedier side of Chicago life appeals to de Beauvoir.

When she reaches the west coast, the contrast between the two cultures is thrown into starkest relief. There are far fewer of the intellectual encounters that punctured her time in New York, rather it is the spectacular landscape that captures her imagination. However, de Beauvoir continues to strive to understand the lack of engagement with the social and political issues of the day, both at home and abroad.

Next stop, the southern states where the issue of racial segregation lies at the heart of the whole section. The sub-plot of this book is de Beauvoir's attempts to see good jazz in every American city, but so often she finds herself listening to black musicians playing mainstream music for the paying white population. These experiences demonstrate that it was not just a problem of legislation, but of perception. In many ways, this is the saddest part of the book. Throughout her trip, de Beauvoir is caught - like so many Europeans - between admiration and shock for what America is.

There are some long passages in the book where she drifts from some astute observations to some much deeper philosophical arguments. These mini essays on existentialism and other ideas are interesting however, and well worth reading.

Perhaps the scariest aspect of the book is that reading it 55 years after her trip, much of it could be transplanted into the present day and no-one would notice. Yes, it is true that things have changed - most notably by the civil rights movement - but you can't help thinking that there are plenty of European intellectuals who could do a similar trip to the US today and come away with a similar book. JT

Overall verdict: A glimpse into a French intellectual's eye-opening trip.

Phoenix, 1998. Translated from "L'Amérique au jour le jour", Editions Gallimard, 1954

Hong Kong - Jan Morris

2010-09-15T16:45:00.001+01:00

The 1997 edition of Jan Morris' well-loved, and re-issued Hong Kong book was updated just before the handover of the former British colony to the Chinese government. The new section attempts to deal with the emotions of the residents of this anomalous state on the eve of their migration to another government. The 2000 edition has a new introduction.

The majority of the book presents a remarkable picture of Hong Kong past and present as Morris weaves the views and street scenes of today into the colony's history. From ignominious beginnings as an opium port, Hong Kong has been based on one thing: money. Entrepreneurialism has always been rife, yet interlaced as it is with more traditional Chinese cultural concepts such as feng shui, capitalism Hong Kong-style has always been slightly different.

Morris' descriptions are, as ever, lucid. Some like her prose style, others find it ingratiating at times, and certain passages in this book are a little cloying. But overall, the quality of her research, observation and empathy for Hong Kongers comes across. Governor after Governor come under her writer's knife, and few emerge unscathed by the process. Yet all the while that she elaborates on how Hong Kong has survived and prospered under its colonial rulers, she never lets us forget that from its earliest days, this is a Chinese city, with a Chinese population dwarfing all others.

As a work of historical reference on Hong Kong, this has to be one of the more pleasurable to read. As a work of contemporary comment on a state in transition, it has to be one of the most grounded and apolitical. JT

Overall verdict: Insightful and colourful take on what makes Hong Kong special.

Penguin, 2000

The Faber Book of Exploration - Benedict Allen

2010-09-15T16:22:00.001+01:00

On one level, Benedict Allen has compiled an impressive volume of accounts of exploration throughout history that can be enjoyed as heroic adventures and tales of "derring-do". But I can't help feeling depressed as I read story after story of exploitation, greed, cruelty and murder, often carried out in the name of "civilisation" or religion.

Allen's book is big - 773 pages plus a 23-page introduction - and contains 144 extracts from the writings of explorers from Herodotus to the present day. Allen has arranged these into six sections: seas and landfalls, plains and foothills, hot deserts, cold deserts, forests, and mountains. Within each section he presents the pieces in roughly chronological order. Each section is prefaced with an extended editorial in which Allen sets the context for what follows, and each extract has its own editorial introduction. Inevitably, the choice of section in which to place an extract sometimes has to be arbitrary: there are, after all, many hot desert plains and forested mountains in the world.

In his introduction Allen asks the obvious questions of what defines an explorer, and why do people do it. He finds that everyone he asks (Ranulph Feinnes, Chris Bonington, Robin Hanbury-Tenison, etc.) gives an answer that reflects their own interest or obsession (Allen calls it their "field of endeavour"). He declares his own interest, as a writer, and suggests that exploration is about pushing back a frontier of knowledge, either mental or physical. Crucial to the process is the reporting back of that new information. The explorer is distinguished from the mere traveller by his journey being more than one of personal discovery.

As to why, Allen suggests that a desire to discover is intrinsic to human nature and is one factor that contributes to the success of the human species. But whatever favoured the survival of the primitive hunter-gatherers, the sad fact is - as Allen acknowledges - that much of what we regard as 'Great Exploration' was motivated by greed, commercial gain, or personal glory. Even when the 18th century Enlightenment legitimised exploration in the name of science, these baser motives were usually still present. After all, even today, scientists need funding, status, and recognition, not to mention lucrative book and TV/film deals. Even explorers have to make a living.

Allen acknowledges the other obvious problems with trying to make any balanced selection of material. Virtually all the accounts were written by the explorers: almost never do we get to hear the thoughts of the explored, although a notable exception is the extract from My People the Sioux (1928) by Luther Standing Bear. Although there have been a few redoubtable women explorers, they are inevitably swamped by the vastly more numerous men. Those women whose accounts we do have, and who are represented here, often stand out for the quality of their writing and their perceptiveness about their surroundings and other cultures. Isabella Bird in the American west, Mildred Cable and Francesca French in the Gobi Desert, or Sara Wheeler in Antarctica are good examples. Allen even picks out a feature of Wheeler's account which I mentioned in my own review written two years earlier, the fact that "she chooses hardly to describe the polar landscape at all", but that her exploration is of "the Antarctic now colonized and defined by men." (No acknowledgement, though!)

Among Allen's sources there is a smattering of those who in the light of historical hindsight and scholarship are now seen to have been rather more inventive than objectively accurate in their accounts. He gives an intriguing account (p441 ff) of the intense battle between Peary and Cook to be recognised as the first to reach the North Pole, which, in the prevailing spirit of exploration, was a circulation battle between their rival newspaper sponsors. Cook lost the contest and was discredited as not having reached the Pole, and the honours went to Peary. However, recent research based on Peary's own journals, only finally made available in 1984, shows that it is highly unlikely he reached the Pole either.

In the same vein, Allen quotes J.D.F. Jones' biography of Laurens van der Post: "Time after time, the storyteller's tales about himself were inaccurate, embellished, exaggerated, distorted or invented. Put more bluntly, he was a constant liar." According to Jones, "almost all the tales supposedly told him [van der Post] in the Kalahari [by the San bushmen] were in fact drawn from the research of the nineteenth-century scholar Dr Wilhelm Bleek." Other examples of what now seem, at best, to be dubious claims of authenticity or achievement occur sporadically through the book.

Nevertheless, Allen's achievement in putting this book together - which took him twelve years' research - is impressive. The coverage is comprehensive and Allen's editorial contributions, although inevitably reflecting his own attitudes, do serve their purpose of putting the extracts in context. It is probably a book to dip into rather than read from cover to cover, but one which stands a lot of dipping and which can be enjoyed more than once. ART

Overall verdict: As much a history of power as of exploration

Faber & Faber, 1999

The Great American Bus Ride - Irma Kurtz

2010-09-15T12:10:00.002+01:00

I like this book. Partly, it's true, because it brings back memories - uncomfortable and chuckling alike - of my own Greyhound exploits. But mostly because it is so simple. It is a straightforward unpretentious account of a middle-aged American expat travelling across the US in that most democratic of vehicles: a bus.

A quick glance at the map on page 12 shows that Kurtz covers almost every one of the 48 contiguous states (South Dakota, West Virginia, Vermont and Rhode Island are all bypassed). Parts of the trip form a family pilgrimage and are likely to move most readers - especially when Kurtz finds books inscribed by her grandfather in Denver that have been rescued by pure chance. Most however, is pure travelogue - snapshots of journeys and people.

Despite the romantic views that many Europeans may have of long-distance bus travel in the US, Americans are probably more aware that in a country where the car is king, strange is the person who chooses to - or has to - take advantage of the Greyhound. True, the teenager off to visit a parent on his or her umpteenth marriage is a recurrent ghost of the trip and Kurtz - a sometime agony aunt - cannot stop herself being generous with her time and attention with such people. But in case the reader starts to question her sanity, the occasional pointed comment shows that she is not without a (welcome) critical edge to her kindness.

This is very much a tale of the journey rather than the places. After all, small town Greyhound stops cannot be expected to deliver much in the way of excitement. But the Greyhound is the destination in and of itself; so much so that Kurtz starts to miss the travel when she is stuck anywhere too long. I know how she feels. Despite the lack of comfort, there is something about North American bus travel that is unique, captivating and addictive. After all, once you've figured out the unwritten rules of the bus, it's hard not to feel like you own a part of the experience. Everyone should certainly do it once. And sit "front row bus right". JT

Overall verdict: Disarmingly effective.

Fourth Estate, 1994

An Unexpected Light - Jason Elliot

2010-09-13T19:16:00.001+01:00

The covers of my edition of this book are littered with accolades from impeccable sources. A cynic might notice in the acknowledgements that Nobel-nominated author Doris Lessing appears to be a family friend and wonder whether Jason Elliot merely has good literary connections. Frankly, whether he does or not, this book is still outstanding and deserved to be published.

If timing is everything, then Elliot has it all. An Unexpected Light was first published in 1999, just two years before coalition forces invaded Afghanistan and ousted the Taliban government. Once again this economically poor but culturally rich country was headline news for all the wrong reasons. A rash of books appeared on the country, on the Taliban and on Osama bin Laden who is reputedly still hiding in the mountains somewhere. But for a thoughtful, sensitive, and insightful account of day-to-day life in the country; and an understanding of how Afghanistan worked between the end of the Soviet occupation and the start of the American-led invasion it's hard to imagine a more accessible read than Elliot's.

The book has two strands that interweave. Somehow (frustratingly it's never really explained), Elliot was able to join the mujaheddin in the late 1980s as an intrepid if apprehensive teenager. He describes his time with these men as poignantly as any war correspondent - the 'up close and personal' account of small groups of men determined to fight for their country against the might of Soviet helicopter gunships. And so we leap back and forth to the main story: Elliot's trip to the country in the late 1990s, to an Afghanistan amid civil war.

Elliot has a rare gift for storytelling. He evokes the spirit of the places he sees and the people he meets seemingly without effort; and the whole book is underpinned by his own perceptive thoughts into the events that unfold before him. As a Persian scholar he is able to set much of today's problems in historical context and he brings to life the cultural heritage of the collection of peoples that form Afghanistan.

His time in Kabul is spent mostly with expats, some more annoying than others. He is a rare breed, a westerner almost without purpose. He clearly does some work as a journalist, but he is not a correspondent; he cares about the suffering he sees, but he is no aid worker. And all the time he is there the Taleban army gets closer to the heart of Kabul.

For me, the book comes into its own when Elliot leaves Kabul and explores other parts of the country; many of which were not really open to westerners. His stories of arduous truck rides, strange evenings in shared accommodation, and encounters with charity workers are all entertaining yet you are also left with a sense of Elliot's courage and strong will. His description of the physical landscape are no less compelling - although at times throughout the book one feels that no adjective is left unturned. But readers would be hard pressed to finish the book without a desire to see for themselves the mountain ranges and ravinous valleys that we know today from the news for all the wrong reasons.

If the book has a weakness it is simply its length. The descriptive passages start to drag towards the end; there is too little variation in pace and I started to feel that Elliot himself felt it was time to come home. This is a shame, because in many ways this is travel writing at its very best - certainly in the classic style of the genre; so to feel pleased when it's over is unfortunate. One can imagine the tussle between editor and author as to what to keep and what to leave out but unquestionably tighter would have been better.

To many in the west, Afghans are still represented as a homogenous group of turban-wearing militia. This book reveals the generosity of spirit of so many of the people no matter who they ally themselves with. The contrast with a few of the westerners Elliot meets is striking. The very fact that Elliot survives this trip at all - let alone his first trip - is testament both to his cultural sensitivity and the kindness of so many Afghans. Read the book for that alone. JT

Overall verdict: Outstanding: should become a classic

Picador, 1999

The Happy Isles of Oceania - Paul Theroux

2010-09-13T19:11:00.001+01:00

This is one of Theroux's odder travel books. The spectre of separation from his wife haunts the narrative as the veteran travel writer sets off to paddle the Pacific. Not, mercifully, in a Thor Heyerdahl non-stop-adventure kind of a way, but in a more relaxed pottering-around-the-islands sort of way.

It is a difficult book to get to grips with, partly because Theroux's trip has no real structure and thus becomes a series of discrete adventures on each new set of islands. He does talk quite a bit about the cultural connections (or lack of them) between the Happy Isles, and goes out of his way to rubbish Heyerdahl's theory that South American Indians paddled their way across the ocean to populate the islands. He also emphasises that almost all scholars of the region agree that this is nonsense.

As usual with Theroux, there is plenty of insight in the book and enough good characters to keep it interesting. However, it does become a little repetitive at times - not really his fault, just a result of the type of trip he is doing.

Theroux has clearly struggled to strike a balance between allowing his fractured marriage to be an issue in the book, and choosing not to make it the centrepiece, nor an excuse for what at times seems to be little more than an escape. This might be irritating for readers who are given glimpses into his personal life only for the door to be firmly shut for another hundred pages; but ultimately I feel that Theroux has earned the right to write how he sees fit.

There are of course trip highlights, which I won't spoil, although it is not a riveting read in the way that Dark Star Safari or The Great Railway Bazaar might be. Nevertheless it has a gentle, calming effect on the reader who gets carried along the waves much as Theroux drifts and paddles his way along.

Perhaps the most interesting idea in the book is the relationship between islanders and the sea. Visitors - especially those who have romanticized the region, the artist Paul Gaugin being perhaps the most obvious example - tend to focus on the ocean as the heart of the region. Native islanders it turns out are often not great seafarers, many never venturing onto the waves unless it's to catch some fish, or to catch the ferry to the next island. They are often are insular in the true sense of the word - inward looking, as well as physically isolated.

Theroux does not attempt to collapse the region as he collapses his kayak. There are important cultural and political differences between groups of islands - often related to their colonial heritage - but nevertheless, with the exception of the exceptionally remote Easter Island, and the equally remote but remarkably wealthy Hawaii - there are commonalities to these jewels strung out across the Pacific, and this common thread loosely holds the book together. JT

Overall verdict: Worth persevering with, but not up to his usual high standard.

Penguin, 1993

Muddling Through in Madagascar - Dervla Murphy

2010-09-13T19:03:00.001+01:00

It's hard to reconcile the Madagascar of Murphy's 1985 travels with the tales of dispute verging on civil war that have been emerging from the country in mid-2002. The ravaging effects of the recent disputed election are at odds with the relaxed, apolitical country that Murphy presents. But 15 years is a long time, and if much of the country is still as undeveloped as Murphy describes, many people may have hardly noticed the politics of the capital.

Murphy and her daughter start in the capital, Antananarivo (one of the simpler Malagasy names, which are generally long and complex), then after a trek in the central mountains they move to the south-east and south-west coasts. But her account starts with a long and dry historical account of the development of Madagascar. Although some historical context is important, 24 pages of it became tedious. It sets the tone for much of the rest of the book: heavy on description (of cities, landscapes, flora and fauna) but sometimes light on character. History comes up again and again, sometimes interrupting passages of entertaining narrative.

When Murphy adds some colour to her writing, the results are rewarding. The two road journeys in the south of the country are especially memorable, despite the discomfort endured by Murphy and her companions. The language barrier may have prevented much discussion between Murphy and the people she encounters, but the contributions of her daughter (who seems to have had a thoroughly miserable trip) and other travelling companions are limited to one-liners.

What comes through most strongly is the author's view of the country. Nothing wrong with this: after all, it is her book. But her views on Madagascar's development often turn to preaching. She leaves the reader in no doubt as to her views on what's gone right and what's gone wrong. Almost all western influence is portrayed negatively. Allied to this, she has a habit of comparing what she sees in Madagascar to her native Ireland. Although Ireland is not the wealthiest country in the world, it is probably more like the UK than it is like Madagascar.

However, it's well worth persevering through the description and preaching. Madagascar is a fascinating country, and gets little exposure in the western press. Murphy loves it there, despite all the problems encountered during her travels, the warmth she feels for the people shines through. This is a travel book in the classic sense: description of a far off and strange place, avoiding both the introspection of Paul Theroux and the enforced jollity of Bill Bryson. OR

Overall verdict: Travel books on Madagascar are few and far between, but this is a fascinating country. If you can get used to Murphy's writing style, it's well worth a read.

Flamingo, 1998

Journeys - Jan Morris

2010-09-13T18:55:00.002+01:00

Morris' collection of travel essays have already entered the pantheon of travel writing classics. This one is perhaps misnamed, as it is more about cities than journeys, but the range of places certainly leaves the reader feeling like they have been on an immense journey.

These urban vignettes are ideal for Morris, long enough to get to the heart of a place, short enough to keep her concise. One or two make very interesting 'hindsight' reading - her take on Houston for example takes on a whole new dimension post-Enron.

The breadth of cultures drawn into this book is impressive - from the very first page: a scene setting up daily life in Sydney, to the very last: out onto the China Sea, Morris circles the globe with touching commentaries and poignant descriptions. As ever, the people she meets are an important part of her writing, and also provide an insight into the day to day life of a travel writer - even if the Chinese find such a vocation hard to comprehend.

The contrasts she throws up implicitly from one chapter to the next are both poignant and entertaining - from brash Las Vegas to prim Wells - with their very different places of worship. And then moving on to one of my favourite chapters: India. Here Morris encounters the contradictions so inherent to Indian life from the cities with exploding populations, to the old hill stations with their genteel refinement. All are tackled with an understanding of humanity that remains sympathetic but is never condescending nor uncritical. JT

Overall verdict: One of travel writing's finest exponents in her element.

OUP, 1984

Children of Kali - Kevin Rushby

2010-09-13T18:47:00.001+01:00

India in the mid 19th century was not a safe place to be, with violent resistance to the British Empire growing in strength. But more worrying for the traveller was the growth of the thuggee cult. This sect, so the legend goes, would befriend groups of travellers and lull them into a false sense of security before strangling them with a knotted handkerchief. The purpose was to pay homage to Kali, one of the most violent and powerful Indian gods.

But the British weren't to be cowed and in William Sleeman they had their antidote to the thuggees. In the 1830s and 1840s he made it his mission to hunt and destroy the cult and render India safe again. In the process, 3,000 were captured, of whom 466 were hanged. The thuggees were broken and Sleeman was lauded as a hero at the time and in generations of admiring history books.

Or so the story goes. Kevin Rushby sets out in search of Sleeman and the thuggees, to discover whether the legend so beloved of English schoolbooks is to be believed and whether anything remains of the cult devoted to Kali. His investigation takes him across India, from Madras and Mysore in the south to Varanasi and Kolkata in the north. Along the way he encounters a wide spectrum of Indian life, from wealthy gangsters just out of prison, to penniless holy men practising breathing exercises in Varanasi and lecherous policemen at a remote station.

The book that emerges is a fascinating mixture of history, travel and sociology, questioning not just the historical events that are now taken as fact, but also the structure and biases of modern day India and western attitudes towards the east. What sets this book apart from the mass of modern travel literature is its sense of purpose. Rushby goes in search of a legend but comes back with a far wider look at India. Often opinionated, and at times more of a history book than a travel book, Children of Kali nevertheless examines aspects of India that are rarely discussed in travel literature or anywhere else. Yet they remain as essential a part of modern India as the Hindu temples, spice markets and historical monuments that attract most visitors to the sub-continent. OR

Overall verdict: A modern day attempt to uncover the truth behind the Indian Thugee cult

Constable & Robinson, 2002

Lost on Everest - Peter Firstbrook

2010-09-13T18:41:00.001+01:00

Most of this book (full title: Lost on Everest: The Search for Mallory & Irvine) is a biography of George Mallory, followed by a short account of the expeditions after his death in 1924 which throw significant light on his and Irvine's fate. Only the last few chapters relate the events of the 1999 expedition which found his body.

There is more detail in the book than could be covered in the television programme, and this brings more evidence to the debate on whether or not Mallory and Irvine made the first ascent of Everest.

Before I read the book, I liked to think they probably did make it. For what it's worth, now I've read the book, I think they probably didn't. A string of factors - the non-functioning stove, Mallory's notorious late starts, the forgotten torches, the location of the oxygen bottles, the difficulty of the third step - all point towards time running out for two exhausted men. The only contrary evidence is Odell's sighting of the two figures at the third step "going strong for the top" at 12.50pm. Odell was always confident in the accuracy of his sighting, but it is uncorroborated, and it is possible he was misled by the effects of perspective from his viewpoint.

Whatever the answer - and we shall probably only know for sure if Irvine's body and their camera is ever found - the book is worth reading for the picture it paints of a remarkable mountaineer and the story of the expedition that finally gave him a grave on the mountain. ART

Overall verdict: A biography with an adventure thrown in.

BBC, 1999

Terra Incognita - Sara Wheeler

2010-09-13T18:24:00.001+01:00

Anyone writing more than a simple account of a visit to Antarctica is faced with the problem of which aspects to cover -- the narrative, descriptive, historical, scientific, political, and (for many) spiritual aspects of their experience. Sara Wheeler was lucky enough to spend several months in Antarctica, and her book sets out to cover most of these (although anyone looking for science, wildlife, or pictures will be disappointed!).

Despite what must be, I imagine, a strong temptation to try to describe the land- and sky-scapes of The Ice, and the impact they have on the writer, she is sparing with her descriptive passages. One of the longer descriptions is of the southern lights:

The sky was streaked with faint emerald shadows, splaying out in several directions to the horizon, changing shape, spreading, and bleeding into the blackness. Iridescent coppery beams roamed among the stars like searchlights, and soft ruby flames flickered gently above the glacier, sporadically leaping forward into the middle of the dark sky. Towards the east, a rich and luminous haze rolled lazily back and forwards like a tide. At one moment the whole sky was a rainbow, flaming with radiant mock suns.

Sara Wheeler's historical research is exhaustive -- she seems to have read just about everything ever written about Antarctica -- and she weaves the history into her narrative. This is generally successful, but occasionally intrudes too much for the impatient reader who wants her to get on with the story! Her evaluation of the achievements of the "Heroic Era" of Antarctic exploration -- and more recent exploits -- is tinged with a healthy scepticism about the motivation of people whose primary motivation seems to be "to see how dead they can get".

Antarctica clearly has a profound effect on many, if not most, of the people who spend time there, as the extensive quotations and extracts from historic and contemporary accounts show. Sara Wheeler does not shy away from describing the impact it has on her. She ends Chapter 5 on this note:

In Antarctica I experienced a certainty amid the morass of thoughts and emotions and intellectual preoccupations seething inside my balaclava'd head. ... It wasn't an answer ... it was something that put everything else ... in true perspective. ... The landscape was intact, complete and larger than my imagination could grasp. ... it was the scale, the unownedness, and the overpowering beauty that made Antarctica different. ... I felt certain that a higher power exists ... The glimpse left me with a deep and warm sense of calm and mental well-being, like the cosmic glow after some astronomical phenomenon.

She writes with humour, and a keen observation of character. Some of her thumb-nail descriptions are gems -- I particularly liked the "sales rep from a computer company who attached himself to me for the whole journey [from Auckland to London]. He was wearing an Armani suit, and his face possessed none of those small wrinkles produced by thought." Her description of life on the various bases she stays in gives a much better impression of the real day-to-day life of the scientists and support staff than the usual television documentary.

In fact her book is more about the people of Antarctica, past and present, than any other topic -- the way they live now, the way they lived and died in the past, and how they respond to the physical and psychological challenges of this most extreme environment. There is a sense of today's scientists carrying the baton of the great explorers of the past. Once you have become an Antarctican, it seems, you join a special group. As one of the New Zealand scientists says, "I hardly ever talk about Antarctica at home. No-one would understand." ART

Overall verdict: What a year on The Ice is really like.

Vintage, 1997

Destinations - Jan Morris

2010-09-13T18:17:00.002+01:00

Jan Morris was surprised when hip US magazine Rolling Stone asked her to write for it in the mid-1970s. She felt that the avant garde brand of journalism was perhaps at odds with her own style and approach to writing - and accepted immediately.

The results are collected in this anthology, and they are excellent. Morris travels the world to cities that are either in the aftermath, or on the brink, of change. Thus we are treated to Washington just after Watergate, Delhi in a state of emergency, Istanbul at a time when the Iranian revolution was affecting all the Middle East, and many others.

Morris' style of reportage is for me more successful than the sometimes over-descriptive prose she employs in Journeys - another collection of essays. She is forced to be tighter in her style, and she has a journalistic approach that any reporter would be proud of.

At times you can be lulled by a certain graciousness that pervades this book. Morris almost belongs to an earlier era of genteel teas in colonial hotels. But don't be fooled. Beneath this lies an astute observer and one that is not afraid to call it as she sees it. Much is left unsaid, especially when it comes to some of the people Morris encounters.

The chapter on Panama is particularly interesting, especially if you have read Paul Theroux's section on the Canal Zone in The Old Patagonian Express. Morris is there in 1975 as the treaty is being negotiated to give control of the Canal to the Panamanians. She takes an interesting imperial historical perspective to the situation, all the while revealing some of the strange anomalies of this state within a state.

Perhaps the most relevant chapter today is that on Southern Africa. Morris finds herself in South Africa and Rhodesia at times of great change. Sadly, it was still a long time before true change would occur in the former, but the seeds were already being planted. Rhodesia however, was ripe for revolution and Morris captures the latent energy of a populace ready to take control. Read in the context of Zimbabwe today I was left with the feeling that these people really deserve a leader who will do them justice. JT

Overall verdict: More journalism than 'travel writing' - and better for it.

OUP, 1982

Sketches from a Life - George Kennan

2010-09-13T18:04:00.001+01:00

Kennan was a distinguished American diplomat in the second quarter of this past century. He was the author of the document that shaped US foreign policy towards the Soviet Union for the greater part of the Cold War, what is known as "The Long Telegram". Through the Policy Planning Staff, George Kennan shaped the United States' policy of containment and was instrumental in the development of the Marshall Plan and the rebuilding of Japan after World War II.

However, Sketches From A Life has nothing to do with this; indeed, Kennan specifically omits academic thoughts on socio-political conditions. In the preface, he postulates that there are three things he has "felt the impulse to put to paper": intimate reactions, intellectual reactions, and what we would call travel writing. The intimate reactions are reserved for personal reflection. The intellectual reactions are what make up the "backbone of [his] professional life". The third category, the travel writings, are what makes up this book.

Sketches is a collection of journal writings, a travelogue spanning a lifetime of adventures. Kennan makes sublime remarks and wonderfully detailed, emotionally responsive observations about the places he visits. The reader follows him on a journey through life, watching as his words and responses to the outside world change with age.

From Hamburg and Berlin to Moscow and St. Petersburg, from Riga to Lesotho and Kristiansand to Pennsylvania, Kennan puts to paper beautifully rendered and exquisite prose. His ability to see the inner truth of a city is exceptional. With exact detail Kennan depicts the befores and afters of many of the war torn cities of Western and Eastern Europe. His portrayal of humanity is generous, empathetic, and wrought with love.

Many of the places Kennan describes in Sketches may not be the same today, but purely for the nostalgia this book is a must read. Kennan's writing style maintains a simplicity reminiscent of the great authors of the 1930s with as much beauty and grace. Sketches is a quick read and essential for any well-rounded bookshelf. CWL

Overall verdict: A definite read for anyone interested in modern history.

Pantheon Books, 1989

The Old Patagonian Express - Paul Theroux

2010-09-13T17:51:00.001+01:00

Theroux on a train - nothing original there. This is the second of his railway epics, and was many people's introduction to the irrasicble American. From his home in Boston all the way down to Patagonia, Theroux undertakes the ultimate American (rail)road trip, and brings us all along for the ride.

The narrative really picks up steam once Theroux leaves Texas - and his constant meteorological moanings - behind, and heads into Latin America and beyond. Those familiar with Theroux's style (or who have read my review of Pillars of Hercules), will find much of his tone recognisable here. Often critical, but always engaging, this book has more consistent substance than Pillars. Some of the characters along the way assume almost legendary status, such as the guy who simply calls out the name of everything he sees, or the ubiquitous German tourist - the fact that it is a different German each time is oddly irrelevant.

One of the interesting sidebars to this book is the descriptions of Theroux's reading matter on his travels. He takes us through each novel as he does through the countryside seen from the window. I love this part of Theroux's writing; it lends an intimacy to the journey that can be hard to reach. And once aware of his love of literature, the climax of the book - where he reads to the blind Borges - is even more meaningful.

The section on Panama and the Canal Zone is particularly interesting. This was some 20 years before the US handed over control of the canal to the Panamanians in 1997, and yet that very transition was the main topic of conversation. It seems that Theroux dawdles in Panama, where he is entertained, and fêted, but for students of the side-effects of cold war geopolitics, this section is fascinating.

One of the strange aspects of this book is its timelessness. It is timeless in that no matter how often you read how long he has been away from home, you never get any sense of this being a long trip. Our ever-scribbling author covers such distances but then devotes lengthy sections to short periods of times, and whisks you through others. It is also timeless in the sense alluded to just above. This may have been written back in the late 1970s, but thanks to the immediacy of Theroux's writing, and the global economic policies of the west, much of it reads as if it could have been written anytime in the last five years. I hope at least that Guatemala City has improved somewhat.

One of the best things about travelling with Theroux is that it is never comfortable. His disparaging remarks, his own endurances - such as the journey from Bolivia to Argentina on the Panamerican Express that arrived a day and a half late - and some of his travelling companions make for excellent vicarious reading. Theroux changed the benchmarks for travel writing, and in this early book he sets out his stall with conviction.

Don't just read it for a fascinating insight into Central and South America, read it as a travel classic and Theroux on fine form. JT

Overall verdict: from Boston to Buenos Aires, you will not be bored.

Penguin, 1980

The Great Railway Bazaar - Paul Theroux

2010-09-13T17:22:00.001+01:00

Originally published in 1977, this is the first of Theroux's travel books and it remains one of the best. This is a book about transport as much as travel: the train is the inspiration, the destinations almost an inconvenience.

Theroux takes a circular ride from London via Iran, India, south-east Asia, Japan and Russia. The passages by air or road are glossed over, and this is one of the more infuriating aspects of the book. Theroux's interest in trains means that entire passages are missed. He ends one chapter in Calcutta and starts the next in Rangoon, with little description of what happened between the two.

The places visited are sometimes hardly granted a mention. If you're looking for a thorough description of the places Theroux visits, try one of the many Silk Road travel tomes (Danziger's Travels by Nick Danziger and In Xanadu by William Dalrymple are particularly worthwhile). Theroux is unimpressed by many of the destinations: the tombs of Cain and Abel in India are almost accused of being fakes, Teheran has "little interest" and Afghanistan is "a nuisance".

But this inconvenience is made up for by the romance of the trains. It starts with the names: "The Khyber Mail to Lahore Junction", "The Mandalay Express", "The Ozora Big Sky Limited Express to Sapporo", and, of course "The Trans-Siberian Express".

Theroux enthuses about the look and feel of the trains, although avoids train-spotter detail. He's most at home watching the scenery go by, smoking, drinking, reading, and chatting to fellow passengers. The human contact is one of the most appealing aspects of the book. Where other travel writers indulge in historical or geographical detail, Theroux enthuses about his fellow passengers. Thus we meet Duffill, who is abandoned (without luggage) in Italy, we meet tycoons and drug addicts, we meet the US military in Vietnam, and Chinese dentists in Sri Lanka.

Indeed, it's the people who really make the book. Although in places the book is starting to look dated (travelling through Afghanistan would be more difficult these days), the people to be met at today's railway bazaar are probably similar to those Theroux meets. The reader has Theroux to thank for plucking up the courage to speak to them all. OR

Overall verdict:An all-time travel writing classic. Definitely worth a read, and probably a re-read too.

Penguin, 1977

Venture to the Interior - Laurens van der Post

2010-09-13T16:30:00.001+01:00

Do not start reading this book while flying. I'd just launched into Chapter 3 when my flight was called. Chapter 3 is where van der Post stops explaining why he feels he has one foot in Africa and one in Europe, and starts describing his appalling series of flights from London to Nairobi. Not for the faint-hearted I can assure you.

Van der Post is off to assess two unchartered regions of Nyasaland (what is now Malawi) for the British government. He has such a sense of foreboding about the trip to Mlanje and its mountain that you are almost too prepared for what eventually happens. Then it's off to the other end of the country to explore the Nyika plateau. Both adventure-laden trips are made on foot.

Throughout the trip, the reader is treated to van der Post's thoughts and feelings about this part of the world to which he feels so close. Some of it naturally seems dated now, but it also provides a glimpse of how the British Empire actually worked in some of its further flung outposts.

If the story seems to take a while to get going, it is perhaps because it is not a story with a beginning, middle and end; rather it is a slice of van der Post's remarkable life and, as such, it bears remembering that this is fact not fiction. JT

Overall verdict: A quick read from someone who really has done it all.

Penguin, 1957

The Brendan Voyage - Tim Severin

2010-09-13T15:47:00.002+01:00

I'm not a nautical person; and I had worries early on in this book that it would be too technical, and too boring for me. I was very wrong. Severin's attempt to prove that Irish monk Brendan could have crossed the Atlantic in the 6th Century in what amounts to little more than a leather dinghy becomes a gripping and persuasive tale.

There is a lot of information early on about the authenticity of the boat construction, but it's worth persevering with this because only then will the reader truly appreciate what follows. The minutiae of leather tanning and wood bending is made interesting through Severin's appreciation of the craftsmen who help him. Each part of the boat has characters attached, and by the time the boat is ready to set sail, the reader is left in no doubt that this is a project smothered with the love of those who worked on it.

That the work was done in Ireland was essential for the sentiment of the trip (and the practicalities), but also perhaps for the lack of fuss that accompanied any requests. As Severin notes:

"Only in Ireland was it possible to stroll into the local boatyard, spread out a drawing, and casually ask, 'I wonder if you could help build this for me? It's a sixth-century design, and I'll be covering the hull with oxhides myself, but I want an expert to build the wooden frame.' The boatyard manager's eyebrows rose a quarter of an inch. He took two slow puffs on his pipe, and then he murmured, 'That shouldn't be any trouble. I'll check with our head shipwright if he's got space.'"

Once the voyage itself starts Severin does a good job of keeping the narrative lively, thanks again to a colourful cast of characters -- mostly his fellow crew. I won't spoil the read by revealing too much about what happens, but suffice to say that there are mishaps, strokes of amazing good fortune and a lot of seabirds for company. If possible, try and get hold of an edition with some colour photographs -- it gives you a good idea of quite what a mad escapade this seemed to be. JT

Overall verdict: Surprisingly interesting, and very well written.

Arrow Books, 1978

Love and War in the Apennines - Eric Newby

2010-09-13T11:19:00.001+01:00

This isn't really a travel book, but Newby's standing as a travel writer is enough to justify its inclusion here. The author describes his amazing experiences during the Second World War after he escaped the clutches of his Italian guards in a PoW hospital and - aided by some brave locals - headed for the hills.

Newby does an excellent job of capturing the harshness of his winter up in the mountains, and sets it against the unsentimental care and kindness shown to him by so many Italian families. Of course not all he encountered wanted to help, and there are one or two close shaves. Above all, he reminds us constantly of the risks that his helpers were taking in keeping him clothed and fed.

Running throughout the book is an implausible, yet true, love story - the sort that you'd expect to read in a trashy novella, but told here with restraint and style; it barely encroaches on the exploits of Newby the soldier as he desperately tries to stay out of trouble and get back to safety.

It might not be a travel book, but it tells the story of one hell of a journey. JT

Overall verdict: Read it, and remember this isn't fiction.

Hodder & Stoughton, 1971

Two and Two Halves to Bhutan - Peter Steele

2010-09-13T10:51:00.002+01:00

What do you know about Bhutan? Probably not very much, apart perhaps from it being a Himalayan kingdom somewhere up around Nepal and Tibet. Even now Bhutan is a remote and inaccessible corner of the world. There is no British embassy or other representation - the nearest consulate is in Kolkata (Calcutta) - all visits must be arranged through an accredited travel agency, and there are only two points of entry for foreigners (other than Indian nationals) - one by road and one by air. Only one scheduled air carrier, Druk Air, flies into Bhutan and the British Foreign Office advice to travellers says diplomatically, "We advise travellers who will be using Druk Air to build flexibility into their travel plans".

Back in 1967 this small country was even more isolated. Fewer than ten Europeans lived there. Much of the country was inaccessible to motor vehicles. Obtaining a visa was a time-consuming and uncertain bureaucratic nightmare and gave no guarantee either of admission or safe passage. Nevertheless, Peter Steele not only reached Bhutan but took his wife Sarah and their two children Adam, aged three and a half, and Judith, eighteen months. They became probably the first Westerners to achieve a complete crossing of the country.

At school in England Steele had been taught by Alfred Noyce, a member of the 1953 Hillary/Tenzing Everest expedition, and had met Eric Shipton on an Outward Bound course. Studying medicine at Cambridge he joined the university Mountaineering Club, and became an active climber and expeditioneer. After qualifying as a doctor in 1960 he went to work in Newfoundland, married Sarah (a nurse), and travelled with her overland to Kathmandhu where they worked in a hospital, climbed and trekked. He continued his involvement in remote community medicine when he took charge of the Grenfell Flying Doctor Service in Labrador for a year in 1964. On a trip to London the same year he was invited to meet the King of Bhutan to talk about the work he had done in Nepal and whether it might be possible to do similar work in Bhutan. At the meeting the King invited him to visit Bhutan. "You musn't commit yourself to working in a country like Bhutan before you've seen what it's like", said the King. "When you find you're free, come to Bhutan and bring your wife, as she must like it too."

The trip didn't happen for another three years, but in 1967 and now qualified as a surgeon Steele set off for Bhutan with a commission to study the incidence of thyroid goitre and to collect blood samples for the Serological Population Genetics Laboratory in the UK. Sarah, Adam and Judith were to follow a few weeks later.

The book itself is a straightforward account of their experiences. On their travels the children were mostly carried on horseback while the adults walked. They had with them an ayah (nanny) for the children, Lakpa, and a young "fixer" - officially interpreter and assistant - Chhimi, who had the advantage of being the son and nephew respectively of two important officials. Together they faced precipitous terrain, perilous river crossings, atrocious weather, and all the other hazards one would expect. Luckily the children had no problems with the strange and restricted diet, and although standards of hygeine had to lapse no major problems occurred.

Steele has not tried to enliven his account with amusing anecdotes or Palinesque asides, and although there are occasions when his dry humour shows through he mostly sticks to the facts. The book is therefore at its most interesting in giving a picture of Bhutanese life and society at that time - a picture drawn by an illustrator rather than an artist. If his account is restrained it is perhaps out of respect for his family and the people he met, many of whom became friends. We should remember too that the era of the amusing travel book had not yet arrived when this book was written (Bill Bryson was only 16 in 1967), and books of exploration generally kept to factual accounts and tended to be modest about how the authors coped in the face of adversity.

I don't mean to impy the book is heavy or ponderous - it isn't. My favorite lighter incident is when Steele has over a hundred blood samples to centrifuge - a heavy job with only manual equipment - and persuades a group of young Buddhist monks to use the centrifuge as a prayer wheel.

Steele pastes a few digressions into his story. There is a brief history of the country itself and the establishment of the ruling family. This will disillusion anyone who had a romantic view of Bhutan as some kind of peaceful, idyllic Shangri-La sheltered in its mountainous isolation. The truth (surprise!) is one of warlords, invasions, conquest and re-conquest, and more recently the playing out of the Great Game - the jostling for power in the region where the British Empire, China, and Russia (and now their successors) meet. The present ruling dynasty was established with sovereignty over the whole country in 1907, and given the turmoil that has gone on around them ever since can be said to have been remarkably successful.

In another section Steele explains in detail the hierarchy of government and administration in Bhutan, centred on the dzongs - buildings which "are the civic and religious centres of each region ... [and] which physically and metaphorically dominate every aspect of life, temporal and spiritual, for persons of all strata in the society of Bhutan". Here are explained the roles of the thrimpons and nyerchens; the gaps, the mundels, the dumpas and the cheupens; and the Dashos of high office. On the medical side, Steele discusses the ethical problems facing the travelling doctor, and explains the high incidence of goitre in some mountainous regions.

Although I might be accused of being unfair given what I said earlier about the established style of travel writing when Steele wrote this book, my overall feeling is slight disappointment. I would like to know more about the individual people, both the Steeles and the Bhutanese - more "human interest". In particular I feel Steele let down the two main Bhutanese, Lakpa and Chhimi, who became part of the family and provided essential support throughout the trip. He pays them tribute at the end of the book:

"Chhimi and Lakpa had been part of our family - I say this without being patronising - they shared every experience and without them the success of our venture would surely not have been achieved."

But that's it. No account of their goodbyes, no indication of whether or not there was any further contact, not even a mention that they got back to their own homes safely. Strange. I wonder if Steele were to rewrite the book now he would do it differently. I wonder too if there is a hint of compromise in the statement at the front of the book: "The manuscript of this book has been corrected and approved for publication by His Majesty the King of Bhutan."

There's a brief story behind my reading "Two and Two Halves to Bhutan". A companion on a mountain-walking holiday last year was a retired surgeon who knew Steele personally, told me about this account of his trip to Bhutan, and the title stuck in my mind. The book is currently out of print, but may be available second-hand. ART

Overall verdict: An interesting tale of hardships overcome in a country about which we know little

Hodder & Stoughton, 1970

Migration

2010-02-20T19:37:00.001Z

Not the name of a book, but what I need to do from my previous Travel Literature website.