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I’m a travel nut. My friends and co-workers are always asking me when my next big trip is—I save up every minute of my vacation time to go places. And mostly when I end up at the bookstore, I find myself standing, salivating, in front of the Travel Essays section. And so, naturally, I noticed this book once it hit the shelves last year. I held it a lot. I browsed through it. But I wouldn’t allow myself to buy it—it was sort of expensive, after all.
But one of my guy friends picked this book out for me this Christmas, ending my angst. Although he hadn’t been to the bookstore with me to see the salivation, he, too, knew this was the sort of book I would love—a book, not just about traveling in general, but about why we travel. I’m always trying to analyze the motives behind things.
I wasn’t disappointed once I started reading the book, either. The author, who is British, uses a lot of 19th-century British and French art and literature examples (not my favorite era), but relates them in such an engaging voice that I found myself savoring every page, and I almost even wanted to read Wordsworth when I finished. Almost.
The author balances literary and artistic examples with his own candid travel stories, and isolates our reasons behind wanting to travel with remarkable incisiveness. If you’ve ever wondered why an actual vacation didn’t measure up to the picture on the brochure, why you enjoyed the shared loneliness in an airport, or why you’d prefer armchair traveling to actual traveling (if you’re one of those sorts), this book is for you.
One more recommendation: if you’re up to leaving your armchair, read this book on an airplane or on other transportation on the way to or from somewhere. After all, what better time to learn the art of travel than in the midst of it? (But don’t try to read it while driving…)
