This is moe than just a travel book because the purpose of the author's travel ws to meet interesting people and talk about them. I have always wishedThis is moe than just a travel book because the purpose of the author's travel ws to meet interesting people and talk about them. I have always wished that there would be a TV program that did this, and he had his own TV show years ago, but I don't recall it. We could use one now in our times of turmoil.
He met interesting people like a doctor that only charged $3 per office visit and often took food in exchange. Then one I really liked was a man who, in his childhood, never had a bicycle, so he now repaired throwaway bicycles and loaned them out to kids for free. The list goes on and on. ...more
Geoffrey has a lot of complications on his travels. Mainly cold weather and hunger. He buys food, he buys beer, and he runs out of mRescued by Milkmen
Geoffrey has a lot of complications on his travels. Mainly cold weather and hunger. He buys food, he buys beer, and he runs out of money. He has a water bottle that he heats up to place in his sleeping bag at night to keep him warm. He runs out of matches. I see him lying dead on the highway, either from lacold, lack of water and food, or maybe an 18-wheeler has knocked him into eternity. But, as long as he has beer, tea, and cigarettes, I don’t think he cares where he spends eternity. I feel that way abut books.
When he is out of food, he guiltily steals milk off porches. Do they still deliver milk in England? I mean, this is a fairly new book. Our milkman, as far as I know, has been gone a long time. I remember my older brother brought home his Swedish girlfriend, and she ran out to greet our milkman, telling him that she wanted to meet the man that all the women in America slept with. Brazen Hussy, she was.
I cut my hand on a milk bottle that was on our porch when I was little, so said my mom. I recall my dog taking a ride with our milk man in the late 50s. All I see anymore is the ice cream man. I miss those days.
Now Geoffrey found a few opportunities to steal milk, eggs, butter, and bread off people’s porches. You won’t starve in England as long as they have this kind of delivery service. If it were the years of the 1900s, he could have stolen pies that sat in people’s windows. I was surprised that he didn’t eat bugs. Maybe you have to be starved before that idea comes to mind. He really wasn’t prepared for this trip. And I wasn’t prepared to read a good book....more
I have read this short story twice, because I cannot help myself. When will it end? I mean how many times will I end up reading it?
Peyton is a crazy tI have read this short story twice, because I cannot help myself. When will it end? I mean how many times will I end up reading it?
Peyton is a crazy travel rider, as opposed to a same one.
This story is about a trip he took with his wife. Well, I guess she is his wife. If he said, I forgot. Well, Anyway, he gets to this cabin, and I don’t know. It was a trip, but the trip was mostly in his head. This guy was on a roll. It was as though he wrote this story right after the trip and put down everything that flew into his mind, and some funny and unexpected things popped into it. I found myself laughing out loud. How does he think up these things? I asked. It isn’t like he is sitting there trying to make up jokes; they come naturally.
At the very end of this book, Geoffrey wrote, “I will continue to write more ballads about the experiences that only matters to me, or maybe the odd person who respects ones little affectionate memoirs.”” I believe I am one of those odd persons....more
Julie and I used to take day trips north of Berkeley, and whenever we drove into a town and saw buildings that we didn’t like,What a pain in the butt!
Julie and I used to take day trips north of Berkeley, and whenever we drove into a town and saw buildings that we didn’t like, we would get out our finger zap guns and make the buildings disappear. By the time we had left a town, it was beautiful. We hated strip malls, gas stations, fast food restaurants, some architecture, and telephone poles. A near perfect townt that I once saw was Etna, CA, just west of Mt. Shasta. It was not fancy, but they had no telephone poles, and they had cowboys. {It was not Etna.)
Bill Bryson begins with his own town of Des Moines, Iowa, slamming it as a piece of junk, ugly, and then slamming its women as being all fat. He thought this humorous; I did not. I have never been to Des Moines, but when I hear the name I think of how my grandmother once lived there. She was 19 at the time. I have an air brushed photo of her, and on the back of it is says 1920, Des Moines, Iowa, Nudii Photography. Yes, Nudii. The photo had fake scenery for she was standing on a clump of grass with flowers. Naked. She had once posed for Maxfield Parrish and for Native American calendars.
I knew what I was getting into when I picked up this book for I had read reviews. I had to see for myself, but I also hoped to hear some good travel stories. There were none. While I can understand Bill Bryson not liking many things about a towns, after because America gave up planning them or never had, he is wrong that any town is totally ugly. So, I am sure that even Des Moines has redeeming qualities.
Bryson admired only wealth. For example, he admired Beaufort, South Carolina, a city that I imagine was built on the backs of slaves. One where the wealthy got to live in nice mansions, and the slaves got whatever wood was left over at the job site. When I was younger, I loved going through those mansions, even seeing the slave quarters, even though I cringed, I had to see them. They were history. When we drove to South Carolina a few years ago, it wasn’t to see the mansions; it was to visit the Gullah island of St. Helena across the bridge from Beaufort. I wrote about it in my review of “The Secret of Gumbo Grove.” I much preferred seeing the island and having breakfast in a restaurant where the black cook had made the best biscuits and gravy that we had ever tasted. And I never thought once to zap anything on that island. Yet, it was not fancy.
Moving along. Bryson missed Key West. Maybe he was afraid of bridges over rough waters. I know that I was. Well, I love Key West, just not its tourists, its traffic, or the loud music in some of its restaurants. I love how they painted the town in Caribbean colors of yellow, pink, blue, green, and even some white. But what is best about Key West is its chickens. They roam everywhere. You have not been to Key West unless a chicken has landed on your breakfast table and pooped. Nor have you been there unless you shared your table with a cat.
And so, I know, I felt that I had to rewrite Bryson’s book for him, because he left Key West out, but I will not continue to do this as I do not have the time. I would also like to edit his book so I can delete his nasty comments about people, like I had done when I was a moderator on some forums, even my own. I once jokingly referied to myself as “The Deletest.”
Next, Bryson went through the Smokey Mountains and claims it to be most beautiful place in the U.S., except for its poor and ignorant people. They may be poor, but they have wisdom and know how to survive. But how does he think that it retained its beauty? Does he think that the wealthy could improve upon it by building resorts and mansions? The reason it is beautiful is because the wealthy have not been able to buy up the land. I need an aspirin....more
A relaxing read. I pick out these types of books to help get to sleep, but that doesn’t mean that this book was boring, for it was actually quite inteA relaxing read. I pick out these types of books to help get to sleep, but that doesn’t mean that this book was boring, for it was actually quite interesting. The author takes a road trip, I thought, across America, but it was only in Missouri. Well, that was okay, as I like Missouri, and he made it interesting enough.
He began in Mark Twain’s hometown, which is also his hometown. But I don’t recall the name of the town, maybe Hannibal. I just know that it is in the middle of the State but on the far east side on the Mississippi River. I know this because I used to think about traveling there but never made it. So, in the beginning of this book you will learn all about Mark Twain’s town and who Indian Joe was patterned after. Although the Indian that was claimed to be him was a very nice man, just had a mean face.
So, the author then takes us around the State to various towns, meets a lot of people, and just has fun. He lightly touched on Laura Ingalls home and Jesse Jame’s, people I would have been more interested in hearing about. My husband’s family claims to be related to James by way of the Cole family, you know, that gang called the Cole/Younger gang? He always wanted to drive up to Springfield to see his little abode. While I went with my niece and sister to see Laura Ingalls home. All I remember about that is that I loved her mint green stove, but I didn’t care for the house they built, but wait, in the beginning they had purchased a Sears & Roebuck home, which I loved, and it is close by and for viewing. Who would have known that a catalog company could build such a nice home?
And the author didn’t mention West Plains, so I will:a I loved books about mountain people when I was a teen, and when I was older, sixteen, my step-grandmother and uncle were taking a trip to see Aunt Cecil who lived in West Plains. They asked me to come along, much to my delight. Now, I could see the Ozarks and much of Route 66, starting from California.
I remember the road there, all country, no freeways. I recall a couple sitting out on their front porch and waving at us as we drove by. I loved the quaintness.
Once there I remember a boy taking me to the nearby river to catch crawdads, but all we did was pick them up and put them back in the water. Then there were fish in the river that he called Slick Dicks. Being slow as to dirty jokes, it took me a while to get it. And then I remember getting chigger bites. Miserable. My uncle kept slapping me on my legs on the way home, which made the bites itch again. And I recall catching fireflies and bringing them back to California in a jar, but they died on the way. .
While in West Plains, my uncle took me into a town so he could see a watch repair man.The town was built on a square, and I loved it. We went into the store, and I loved it as well, although I don’t know why.
Just over twelve years ago we moved to Tahlequah, OK, in the foothills of the Ozarks. When my sister and niece came to visit we took a trip to West Plains, but I also wanted to see where Bald Knob was because I had read about the vigilante group that ruled Missouri back in the 1800s, who called themselves the Bald Knobbers. The author only made a brief mention of them, but we had planned to find Bald Knob where the Bald Knobbers held their meetings. Well, we found the church that was mentioned in the book, and we found Bald Knob, but we could not drive up the mountain to view it because the man who owned the property did not like tourists. Darn. But in a near by town they were having a Bald Knobber play in the city park, and that was fun to watch. I came home with a black colored Bald Knobber t-shirt that had a large painting of the head of a Bald Knobber with a hood over his head complete with horns on top of his head. I never wore it because it looks so evil. What would people say? And that vigilante group, that had begun as a group trying to bring law and order to Missouri, changed and became evil, and the law had to subdue them.
We drove around West Plains, not far from Bald Mountain, and when I saw the town, I realized that it was the one that my uncle had taken me to see all those years ago, and here I had thought that he had taken me to a different town. We walked into an antique store where I bought a quilt top that was made from flour sacks, and when I got it home I went to our quilt shop, and the woman helped me pick out fabric to add to the bottom of it to make it larger. Then she sent it off to Arkansas to be quilted, and I hemmed the edges.
While in the antique store, I asked the clerk if there had been a watch repair store on the square. Yes, but now it was a different store. We walked down the street to the store, and when I walked in the same counter was just inside the door, on the left side. The new owners had kept it that way. In my mind’s eye, I saw the old watch repair man sitting at his desk just under the counter. He had on a jeweler’s magnifying glass held up by a leather strap around his head, and he was looking at the inside of my uncle’s wristwatch....more
“The journey towards you, Lord, is life. To set off is to die a little. To arrive is never to arrive until one is at rest with you. A Migrant’s Prayer
“The journey towards you, Lord, is life. To set off is to die a little. To arrive is never to arrive until one is at rest with you. You, Lord, experienced migration. And then you, yourself became a migrant from heaven to earth. I was just a tourist.” ~~a note found in the pocket of an unidentified migrant’s pocket who had died in the desert.
Paul Theroux is driving to Mexico in order to learn if what Donald J. Trump had said about the Mexicans was true or not. I have a strong feeling that he knew already that they were not all rapists and criminals as Trump had stated. But, if he didn’t know, I could have told him because I had traveled throughout Mexico in the mid-80s and in the 90s I traveled to all the border towns. The people were kind and friendly, and I loved them and their country.
Theroux spent a lot of time in the border towns just talking to people, learning how dangerous the border towns are now and trying to just understand what is going on. He learned that some of the U.S. border patrol officers have shot and killed Mexicans who were trying to cross the border. One patrol officer waited until a man was at the top of the 30-foot fence and then he shot and killed him. This did not come as a surprise to me after reading The Lucifer Effect, a book on The Stanford Prison Experiment. And I now worry about the immigrants that have been placed in camps at the border.
It was said that the cartel owns the border towns. Then there is also corruption by the police, the mafia and the coyotes. It was also stated by the borderer patrol that only some who cross through the desert are carrying drugs, and they are often forced to do so under threat of killing their families if they don’t do as told. Most drugs are taken through the tunnels or are hidden in trucks that cross the border at check points. Americans and Mexicans alike, say if Trump builds a 30-foot wall, the Mexicans will built a 35-foot ladder. The walll can be cut though with a $100.oo cutting tool that you can buy at Lowe’s. And. Well, I just read in paper that the border wall that Trump had built in San Diego has been cut through by using this tool, and that they have already built a 35-foot ladder. Once they get in motion detectors installed,, they believe that this won’t happen. I think they are wrong.
I never felt threatened in Mexico in the 80s and 90s, instead I felt safe, even though my friend Julie and I were stopped by a police officer in Mexico City for driving the wrong way on a one-way street. The policeman didn’t threaten us. I don’t even know if we had to give him money. But I will add this: We hated Mexico City with its smog. The street signs were blackened by said smog, so you could not read them. The trees were dead. All you could see of them were black trunks. We were only trying to get out of there, having taken a plane too Mexico City and renting a car. The smog was so bad that our throats had dried out in minutes. While in the past we had refused to buy chewing gum from the kids who walked up to our car window, we now bought several packs. It was just enough to hopefully get us out of town.
Theroux finally left the border towns and headed for Mexico City, which he liked even though he had been terrorized when he was stopped twice by the police for traffic violations. By then maybe Mexico City had no street signs. Maybe they had died like the trees we saw had. Anyway, they were very threatening, demanding a lot of money and told him that they could do as they pleased with him. It was then that I realized that I would never wish to be in Mexico again. Well, at least not any border town or in Mexico City.
After a brief time in the City, Theroux headed for San Miguel de Allende, a city that I loved when I was there twice. once only a drive through. He mentioned that it was the number one place for retirees, and how after WWII, Europeans flocked to this city and made it their home. I wanted to live there myself.
Then he went to Oaxaca, which was one of the first Mexican cities that I had visited. I had loved it too. He stayed awhile and even took a Spanish class at a school.
So, by now I was really into this book, enjoying his time there and realizing again how great of a writer he is, as well as being a very fine person. Now, I just hope he takes more trips and writes yet more books....more
This time around Bryson kind of meets Australians, heads into a few pubs, wanders about the cities, complains, makes jokes and has some serious fears This time around Bryson kind of meets Australians, heads into a few pubs, wanders about the cities, complains, makes jokes and has some serious fears of Australia’s nature.
He is right, Australia has the most poisonous critters on earth, and he names them, while I sat and wondered how the Australians managed to make it all these years without being poisoned, without dying. Many probably did. Well, according to some articles online they don’t die from venom much anymore because they have anti-venom. I wondered if they carried suitcases of it when they went into the Outback, different kinds of venom for each poisonous creature. After reading, I see that people die more from car accidents there, but I imagine that if they ran into a kangaroo they could get kicked to death.
And so I asked my sister if she knew any Australians, and she did. She emailed him, giving him my questions, so I received some fun answers, and then I decided that if you are in the Outback with no cell phone coverage, and you get bitten by a poisonous critter, then you just die, unless someone comes by to help you. Here is what my sister’s friend said, and I must say it was the most interesting part of this book even though it wasn't in the book:
“we have 6 of the top 10 most venomous snakes on earth, including the top 2. if u were in the middle of absolute nowhere and got bitten..ur probably gonna have a bad time, but u would also just be airlifted lol and snakes dont like attack u lol they bite u if u mess with them lol. i have the poisonous ones in my back yard. You would actively have to be looking for something to bite u, like run into the bushes and step on something. I don’t see snakes when camping, and I have only seen two spiders that can kill you. I have had snakes in my house; two of my cats were killed by snakes. Had one cat that kill three. Spiders are also crappy little things that die if u step on them…I have big spiders in my house, but they are chill…daddy long legs are a living cobweb. if u swim in the 2 states that have crocs..u will be eaten haha. snakebites usually make the news here, it doesnt really happen much. ”
I have always wondered why man couldn’t get rid of the poisonous creatures, but I suppose they breed too fast and are hard to find, which means that it is rare for someone to run into one, get bitten, and die, just as my sister’s friend had said. But Bryson is drawn to them, at least in word, so we can rest assured that he will be alive to write another book. And what about those rabbits that they have that just keep multiplying. Maybe we can send them some coyotes.
As I continued to read on in this book, I came to a comment that he made that struck me as odd because it really applied to the first half of this book, and so I will capitalize which part does:
“As I sat at the bar now I pulled out my one-volume history of Australia by Manny Clark and dutifully plowed into it. I had only about thirty pages left and I WOULD BE LESS THAN CANDID IF I DIDN’T TELL YOU THAT I COULDN’T WAIT TO HAVE MR. CLARK AND HIS EXTRAVAGANT DRONING OUT OF MY LIFE FOREVER.”
And so that was how I feel about Bryson’s almost arm chair travel book, which is where I think most of his writing of Australian history comes from, reading in the bars, instead of spending time exploring, like digging around in the bushes looking for those poisonous critters just to see them. Well, that would be a bad idea; it sounds like something I would do.
I had put the book down about 4 times in my own travels through it, but then it picked up some. He talked some about the history of the Aboriginals, and how they were treated, then he went to see where the great outlaw Ned Kelly hid out, and next he went on Great Barrier Reef tour, where he began having more fears, this time of “sharks, boxfish, scorpion fish, stinging corals, and sea snakes, and groupers.” I would also have those fears. And then as he got out of the pontoon boat and into the water, he feared drowning. At least he got out of the boat and into the water. He wrote: “I discovered that I was perhaps sixty feet above the bottom. I had never been in water this deep before and it was unexpectedly unnerving…then my mask and snorkel filled with water and I started choking.” He got back in the boat, and I am not putting him down for this, because I never learned to swim well either and find deep water to panic me. I remember snorkeling in a lagoon in the Yucatan, and while I was having fun seeing the colorful tropical fish, I looked up and found that I was heading out to sea. I didn’t panic, thank God, instead I swam sideways to get back, and if it had not been for the duck feet that I was wearing, I would have drowned....more
What a curmudgeon travel writer. I once promised myself that I would never read another Theroux book after his “Oceania” where he hated every island eWhat a curmudgeon travel writer. I once promised myself that I would never read another Theroux book after his “Oceania” where he hated every island except for Hawaii. Still, there is enough information in the second half of this book to make it worthwhile reading.
Where did Theroux get the idea that everyone in the south are evangelicals, dumb, lazy, drug addicts, racists, gun junkies, and didn’t read books, but if they did they had huge libraries in their homes? I will admit that there are a lot of people in the south like this, but his generalizations really got to me. What did he do, plan his trip around finding these types of people?
First, let me address his comments about people in the south not reading, but that when they do they have huge libraries. Not all readers here collect books; instead we read them and then give them to the library so that others, who can’t afford to buy books, can get them cheap. We used to have a yearly book sale but now have a used book room. Whenever we had the book sale, people would come out of the mountains and hallows and buy enough books for a year. I used to help out during these sales, and the books that they bought were really great books.
Speaking of which, many people in the south are poor, not because of anything they have done wrong, but because our government, here in Oklahoma, doesn't care about education, good paying jobs, health care, or helping them in any way.
I have lived in the south in Mississippi, Florida, Texas, and now here. My husband warned me that I would not like the south due to the racism, but we talked about becoming gypsies and traveling, stopping in any town that we liked and then his getting a job in construction. So we left California during the construction crash of 95.
My husband was right about the racism. I didn’t like it, so I will give that to Theroux. I hated Mississippi and Florida for those reasons, and like Theroux wrote in his book, a quote by poet Jerry W. Ward, Jr., “Racism is a permanent feature of life in Mississippi.”
While I didn’t like Mississippi, I liked going over to Beale Street in Memphis, driving down the Blues Highway, and I loved New Orleans. Why didn't he talk about those places and with some affection?
After 9 months in Mississippi, I said, “Get me out of here.” The racism had done me in. Every time I was around people the N word came vomiting out of their mouths. For me it was like trying to brush No See Ums off my face and arms all day long. You just couldn’t get away from them.
I had joined a Buddhist group in Memphis just across the state line from Southaven were we lived. One of my black Buddhist friends said that she preferred living in the south because she knew where she stood with people. When she had lived in Portland, OR she didn’t because of the people’s political correctness. I preferred the political correctness, until I found out this year, due to the political climate, that some of my friends back in California were against blacks, Mexicans, and Muslims. I tried to reason with them, but when I couldn’t, I ended friendships, others I just quit calling. It was a sad time and full of tension, not just because of losing friends but because I was concerned about our country and still am.
Speaking of California, I wonder what a book would be like if Theroux wrote one about it? Would the people all be rich, beautiful, yuppies who didn’t like guns, who were not racists, and who had great educations, etc?
And then there are his comments about gun owners. Everyone in the south, as he kind of puts it, is a gun fanatic. He went to gun shows and took notes of conversations and then wrote down those conversations in a condensing manner. He loved making fun of people in the south. No one is denying that some in the south really love guns, but some have to kill to eat. Later on in the book, a man who he is talking with tells him that he kills squirrels to eat, and yet I didn't get the feeling that he took any interest in this conversation outside of just recording it.
People in rural California also have guns. For examples, my step-dad lived in California, and he had guns because he hunted deer and quail, but he didn’t sit around and talk about guns with his male friends. I know, because I used to sit outside with them and listen. While he talked about hunting, he also talked about ranching, branding cattle, and the people he knew that had good stories to tell. Then when he grew old he allowed the deer to come in his yard and sit under the trees, just as my husband and I do where we live now.
My husband has guns as well, but he is not a hunter; he is a college educated Californian. He wants guns for protection and likes to target practice once in a while. He doesn’t talk about them. Not everyone in the south goes to gun shows either. We have been to a few, but we never heard the kind of conversations that Theroux says he heard. As my husband put it just now, “You need a gun in rural America for protection, not just against a criminal, but if you live in the country, there are poisonous snakes, rabid skunks, etc. It isn’t just in the south that they have guns, it is in any rural area in America: Montana, Wyoming…” I would say that even in the States where Theroux lives, Hawaii and Massachusetts, people have guns and use them to hunt.
Next, Theroux put down religion, both the black and the white ones, by making fun of the ministers. Me, I just put down all religions but not to make fun of the people.
Then he mentioned that the blacks were not allowed in the white churches. I have to agree with this, but I know some churches accept all races. When I lived in Mississippi a neighbor told me that if a black person, she used another name for blacks, walked into a church, the congregation would just ignore him or her, and they would not come back. That is how they keep them out of their churches. To keep blacks out of their towns, a Realtor in Hernando told me that I should always show up in person at a realtor’s office so they could see the color of my skin, and if I were white they would rent to me. They know how to get around civil rights issues.
Here in Oklahoma the blacks also have their own church, but one year it was set on fire or bombed and the only people who helped them were the Unitarians. Last year they moved their church down the road from us, so my husband and I went over to meet them. One of their members learned where I lived and said that she had wanted to stop by and see my garden, but she was afraid. That bothers me that a black person would be afraid to stop and knock on a white person’s door. I told her to come by any time and even offered her church plants from my garden. She never came by. I took bags of irises to the church and planted them along the side and was then asked to come to their services. I thanked them, but I didn’t want to come and be asked to return again. Now it would be easy to get me to come for a potluck, but I couldn’t very well say that to them, so I just thanked them for the offer. But if I ever catch them having a potluck outside I will stop by and say hello.
I actually don’t hear much racism here in Oklahoma. I just think that people tend to be politically correct here. The word “blacks” is used, and once in a while “coloreds.” Here, like anywhere, you have to learn to choose your friends wisely, and I thought I had when I lived in California. I assumed too much. When I first lived there I had joined a club, but when we had our yearly outings, I would be in a car with a group of people and hear racist remarks. I quit three times before just giving up. My complaints didn’t go over too well.
As for Paul Theroux saying that the friendliness in the south is only superficial, well, that isn’t true, at least not in Oklahoma. The problem, like it always is, is religion and politics. If you don’t talk about those things with people, then they will remain friendly. The superficial comes in when you have allowed your beliefs to get in the way, when you have verbalized them. They will still be friendly, but now it is superficial on both sides.
I must also add that I have never been around such helpful people as I have here. When we were looking for a house to buy in this Oklahoman town, we were looking in the country and had to stop and look at our map. People would stop and ask if we needed help, even the sheriff came by once and asked if he could help us. Then a man who was grading the roads stopped and asked us if we wanted our road graded. (This was for free.) I should have said yes so that the people he thought we were could get their road graded.
Next, we went to the dump, and a man was closing the gate, so we began to slowly drive away, when all the sudden we saw this man running after our car, yelling at us. It was the man who had been closing the gate. He said he would open it for us so that we could dump our garbage. I thought of the times that I was taking a city bus in Berkeley, and I would run to catch it and get right up to the door, and the driver would see me, shut the door in my face and drive on.
Last of all, you won’t find any better music than Red Dirt Music or our local Turnpike Troubadours who are now number three on the Billboard Charts:
I sat in the waiting room of a doctor's office reading this book. Time flew by and I was almost finished with it by the time I was admitted into his oI sat in the waiting room of a doctor's office reading this book. Time flew by and I was almost finished with it by the time I was admitted into his office. What a fun read. Jason has written another good book on travel. The first time he stayed in Oaxaca, MX for a month, and now Portland, OR. What city will he visit and write a book about next? Should we give him some ideas?
Again, if you are going to take a vacation to Portland this is a good book to read. Make sure you have an umbrella and a raincoat as he states in his book, and I think you should bring some good books to read if you have to stay in your hotel room due to the rain or better yet, go to Powell's Book Store and spend the day.
My brother lived in Portland in a historic loft, and he believed that Portland was the best city in America. Get there before they over build it. I am sure it is beautiful there, but I don't recall much other than Powell's Book store and a seafood restaurant that had oyster shells scattered around the outside of its building. Too long ago.
When I saw this little book I had to buy it, and I am glad that I did. Jason Koivu and his wife lived in Oaxaca for over a month and shares his travelWhen I saw this little book I had to buy it, and I am glad that I did. Jason Koivu and his wife lived in Oaxaca for over a month and shares his travel journal with us. You will learn about all the festivities there, and you will learn that it has the best restaurants. What a great read if you are going to Oaxaca.
Malcolm Lowry, who wrote "Under the Volcano" spent time living in Oaxaca. And then I learned that he was actually kicked out of Mexico. Who knows what he was doing in his drunkenness that got him kicked out? But Jason, the author of this book, does not get kicked out, and that is what I wanted to take note of.
My friend Julie and I went to Oaxaca in 1984. We drove a little VW all the way from Merida, and after 6 days we decided to go to Vera Cruz. She and I had taken three trips to Mexico via VWs. Oaxaca had the best food just as Jason has said. I can't say that I had ever had better meals in our travels around Mexico.
I often think about a little restaurant that we found not far from the zocalo. The menu was on a long narrow piece of paper, and each night when we went there we ordered something on down the list. Vera Cruz was horrible; I wish we had stayed in Oaxaca to eat there every night for another week.
I loved the hotel where we stayed, La Pasada. Of course El Presidente was better, but much more costly and far from town or so it seemed.
I don't recall all the festivals, the church bells or the fireworks that Jason was talking about. But I do recall going with a friend in San Antonio to her town and school in Celaya, Mexico, and every day you heard the church bells and fireworks. Not a pretty town, nothing as great as Oaxaca. I think all cites in America should have church bells, fireworks, and that roosters should roam the streets like they do in Key West, and that they should be allowed even in restaurants, along with cats and dogs, just like Key West. Wouldn't that be fun?
And I can go on and on with my own travel journal on Oaxaca, but that wouldn't be fair to Jason. So I will leave it here: Oaxaca is an old colonial town, better than most cities I have been to in Mexico, Weaver's village nearby has the best rugs, and if you decide to go to Oaxaca take Jason's book along with you.
P.S. If you find that little restaurant ship me some of its food.
I thought that this was going to be a true adventure story but it was more of a travel log or better yet, a thesis on Machu Picchu. I am sure it was aI thought that this was going to be a true adventure story but it was more of a travel log or better yet, a thesis on Machu Picchu. I am sure it was an adventure for the author, as it would be for me, but the book was raher dry at times. Then after he reached Machu Picchu, which was near the end of the book, the story picked up.
If you want an adventure read The Lost City of Z, but if you want to learn about Machu Picchu and the man who discovered it, read this book. It is packed with information, some of which may help a person enjoy the ruins if he/she is going there.
I would also suggest reading a book by Hiram Bingham and Gene Savoy, but while I own them I have yet to read them, so I can't really say if they are a dry read or not. ...more
This book made me laugh. I used to think that funny books were not funny to me; I don't even laugh at the Sunday comics. I am often not sure if they aThis book made me laugh. I used to think that funny books were not funny to me; I don't even laugh at the Sunday comics. I am often not sure if they are really supposed to make you laugh or not. Maybe they are since my husband often reads me the ones he finds funny.
Then I wondered how Bill Bryson came up with this stuff that happens to him on his vacation. I came to the conclusion that he thinks of something that could happen and runs with it. I say this because my husband and I just took a two week trip across half of America by car and nothing funny happened to us. I just now thought about how I could make my own journal of our trip funny. I really couldn't, because I only came up with this: We drove through the everglades on a two lane dusty road, and there were alligators on each side of the road. We stopped and got out when we saw a turtle being pecked at by vultures. So far true. What would happen if an alligator appeared? Maybe one is hiding as they are all over the place. We saved the turtle when I placed him near the swamp, which I had actually done, but now the fantasy: "An alligator grabbed my arm. My husband dragged me to the road, but it was too late". Now this isn't even funny. See, my mind does terror, not funny. I worried about our car breaking down and no one else was on the road. I worried that we might have to walk to the main highway, highway 41. And my husband joked: And you fell and twisted your ankle, and then fire ants began eating the flesh off your hand. See, I don't think of funny, but my husband was funny because he enlarged upon my fears in a more unrealistic way, a way that made me laugh.
Bill Bryson's kind of funny was when a friend of his got pigeon poop on his head, went back to the hotel to clean up, came back in twenty minutes smelling of Brut cologne, got poop on his head again and went back to the hotel and came back an hour later wearing a hoodie. Somehow that story of his wasn't too funny, but I could see it even if I didn't believe it.
I prefer a travel book where someone talks about the people they meet and the places that they have visited--a heartwarming book or even a scary one. Still, this light read was good, and I especially liked reading it at bedtime when I read books that I don't have to think about and that make me sleepy in the long run. Now, I do have to say that the book I loved most of his, so far was, "A Walk in the Woods." Now I can make up terrorizing bear stories with that book. ...more
The was really a fun read, a book I can't put down, and one who tells it like it is.The was really a fun read, a book I can't put down, and one who tells it like it is....more
Steinbeck has been one of my favorite authors beginning in the 1970s, but even before that, because when I was a childSharing Anecdotes with Steinbeck
Steinbeck has been one of my favorite authors beginning in the 1970s, but even before that, because when I was a child I had read “The Red Pony.” I read most of “Travels with Charley ie” years ago, but I left it on a table somewhere when I was traveling and didn’t pick it up again in order to finish it until now. And now there is some controversy about its being fiction or non-fiction. I don’t care one way or another except to say that he could have made up better dialogues than those he presented.
Steinbeck bought a pickup truck and had a camper shell made for it. I suppose you couldn’t buy them back in the 60s. Then he got his dog Charley and put him in the seat next to him and headed out of New York City to parts unknown with the intention of driving across America. His dog was a poodle, so now I was stuck on his choice of a dog, so I decided that he was really his wife’s dog, because I can’t see Steinbeck as a poodle kind of guy. Yet, I couldn’t see him with my favorite breed of dog, an Australian shepherd. My mind drew a blank as to the type of dog I could see him owning. So, I asked my husband, who is also a Steinbeck fan: “What kind of dog do you think that Steinbeck would have owned?” “I don’t know.” He thought about it and finally said, “A mutt. An all-American unidentifiable mutt.” “That sounds right,” I replied to my brilliant husband. “Why? What kind did he own?” “A poodle. I don’t see him with a poodle, well, not unless he never gave it a poodle cut.” And then I saw the dog he would like in my mind’s eye. It was the Tramp dog in “Lady and the Tramp.” Yes!
I picked up the book again and began reading about his trip. He spent one night at a campground and let his mutt out of the truck so he could find some campers with whom he, Steinbeck, could get acquainted. He later went out to find him, and he was at someone’s camp site, “Is my dog bothering you?” he asked a camper. Bad idea. Never allow your dog to roam alone at a campground. When we were camping in California, a man left his dog tied up outside during the day, and two coyotes surrounded him. He was lucky that a neighbor saw this happening. You just don’t know what is out there. But for Steinbeck, it worked. He made friends, invited them to dinner, served them canned beans, and just enjoyed their company.
We were in another campground with our Aussie/border collie mix, and I had gone to the rest room. It was getting dark, and after I left the building, my husband saw me wandering around lost, so he sent our dog, Megan, out to get me. Megan found me, and I told her to go to him, and she did. We had taught her this years ago. But this just goes to show that you should never allow your wife to wander free in a campground either.
On another night, he parked on the side of a gravel road and tried to get to sleep when he heard crunching sounds on the gravel. He got up, grabbed a large flashlight and his gun and opened the door. Again, bad idea. It amazed me how a mundane story could become suspenseful, but I couldn’t imagine opening the door. I would have looked out the window or waited until the sound went away. He may have an advantage with his gun and flashlight if it had been a man, but what if it had been a bear? Of course, there may have been no bears where he had spent the night.
And now he had a cow horn on his pickup, so he drove near some moose and honked the cow horn. The moose came running to him, and he sped away. Hopefully, his truck was faster than a moose, and hopefully, he wouldn’t get stuck. I know this was fun because my stepdad had a cow horn on his pickup. One day he took a drive to Creston, CA with us kids. (Creston was a cow town with under 200 people living there. My husband and I had lived there in the late 80s.) Well, my dad knew every rancher in the area. On this day, he drove onto a rancher’s land, found his herd of cattle and blew his cow horn at them. They came running, but unlike the dangerous moose, cows are nothing to fear. If my dad got stuck, the cattle would have just stopped at the pickup and stared at us. A moose would charge, I believe. Anyway, we all thought that it was fun and began laughing. My dad just knew how to have fun, just as Steinbeck had.
Steinbeck saw Montana and believed it to be the most beautiful State in America. I agree, but so is Wyoming. He then made it to the Redwoods without saying much about the other pitstops he had visited. He was awe inspired by the tall redwood trees and became philosophical, almost religious at seeing them. It was now that I began to learn about him, and he was interesting, even a good person, I believe.
Then he headed to his hometown of Salinas. Still philosophizing, he lamented, “You can’t go home again.” Salinas had grown. It was not the same as when he was a child. Well, the same happened to my home of Paso Robles, a town just south of Salinas. And Creston, instead of cattle grazing in pastures, grape vineyards cover the land. Our house had been plowed under. I walked out to where our house once stood, dug a hole and came up with the lucky horseshoe that was once on the door entering our house. Lucky, it was not. (This part about the horseshoe was not true.)
The last part of his trip took him through the South, and he dreaded this part of his trip because the South is racist. He met a man who wasn’t a racist and who claimed that there were others like him. I know this to be true. Then he gave a black man a ride, and the man was so afraid of his questioning him that he wanted out of his truck. He gave a white man a lift, and he finally asked him to get out of his truck, just as I had asked some of my friends to get out of my life, racist comments.
Last of all, he hit me hard: He caused Charley to lose his mutthood by taking him to a groomer to get a poodle cut. Contrary to his belief, Charley wasn’t happy about this, he was humiliated. And contrary to the public’s belief, poodles are not dainty if they are not groomed....more
While I love some of his other books this book was a hard read. He rushed through these countries and towns so fast, that I didn't feel that I learnedWhile I love some of his other books this book was a hard read. He rushed through these countries and towns so fast, that I didn't feel that I learned anything other than bits of history....more
This was a good book, but it gets tiring when he doesn't like any of the islands until he gets to Hawaii and into a posh hotel. I would rather read a This was a good book, but it gets tiring when he doesn't like any of the islands until he gets to Hawaii and into a posh hotel. I would rather read a travel writer that found interest in people in other countries instead of pointing out the bad. All I remember was his complaining about how the natives used to ocean for garbage and the restroom, and then the posh hotel in Hawaii. ...more
Paul Theroux Is 80 years old now. And while I was reading this book, I was wishing that he would take one last trip to China, becaTHROUGH WITH THEROUX
Paul Theroux Is 80 years old now. And while I was reading this book, I was wishing that he would take one last trip to China, because I wanted to know how they are treating their people now. But as I continued, I lost interest in China. He has a way of making you lose interest in a people, even in their country. I saw that when I read, “The Happy Isles of Oceana.” None of these places interested him, and he just complained about everything. But I was so interested in this book that I didn’t put two and two together until this very moment.
I mean, who wishes to go to China when everyone spits in the streets, mainly on themselves? The cities and towns never seemed interesting. I liked shanghai only because they people talked politics. They were happier now that the cultural revolution had ended. They felt free to talk. I wondered then what it was like now for this book was written In 1986.
Then when The-roux went to NE China, he froze. There was no heat in the restaurants, in the hotels or on the trains. He saw people riding bikes with frost on their faces. On the train he saw frost on the floors and his glass of water on the table froze and broke. Then I came tto the only part of this book that I could never forget, as I had read this book years ago: I had remembered that they were Japanese travelrs, but no, they were from Hong Kong, and it was so cold that they knew to wear ski pants and jackets. I must have read this in the 70s. After moving to Oklahoma in 2006, I used to walk my dog in the winter. Having a low threshold to the cold, I remembered his story and bought a used pair of ski pants from eBay. I already had a down jacket. I even had a bombers hat. At one time I bought and wore a black ski mask. I looked like an idiot and thought that I could get shot. It doesn’t really get that cold here.
So, after reading 14 hours of this book, I finally became bored and picked up and reviewed other books. Well, the audio said it was 19 hours, and I just finished it.
I kept asking myself why I am so interested in China. In college I read “The Good Earth and never forgot it. I am always trying to find other books, but they are few. I read “Wild Swans,: all 800 pages and loved it too. But years ago when I was at Disneyland and went in to see a movie at their circle theater. The movie on called “China,” I think. I saw the Karst mountains as seen from an airplane. I never forgot them. I even have 3 photos that I bought from a photographer. They are different scenes of the
Mountains in the fog. One has a pagoda in it and one has two men fishing on a river at night. Then I wrote this poem:
The River Li
I see images of peace reflecting in the still waters of the river Li.
Boats rest quietly on the river birds and fisherman barely move.
Silence breaks as a bird, tied to a rope, dives into the river, brings up a fish, and is captured by a fisherman.
Sorrow follows and the River Li is filled with ripples and much unrest.
And I am saddened for mankind and his many rounds of samsara, because he is attached to this world in a way that creates pain for all.
We all desire to soar to the mountains to reach the highest peaks of the Karst, and to dive into the quiet still waters in order to refresh our minds in peace.
Lanterns light the Way if only we can learn to follow and are not lead astray by drifting into the shadows of the darkness that falls on the river Li when the moon has waned....more
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