These are the travels of an Englishman abroad, struggling to find his American identity. Set in a number of different countries, the writer offers his pithy observations on the follies of foreigners, convenience store clerks and mankind in general. In India he seeks inner peace, because there is no outer peace. He is besieged by ragged children selling film and beggars riffling through his backpack. In Rio, young girls ask if he needs help sleeping tonight. His fellow traveler, Jerry, wants to hit the discos. The beaches are full of people who believe in magic. Back in the UK, life and the BBC continue unchanged. It’s sunny and time to go look for an edible pasty. London’s the place to see fine art, a string quartet and a Banksy mural. A visit is made to the Cavern Club. Iceland turns out to be a bit of a disaster, but there’s blonds, scenery and puffin burgers galore. And back in the US, there’s a visit to ground zero in Manhattan.
Part a collection of travelogues, part personal reminiscences and musings. Mr Edwards, an ex-pat Brit of a certain age, casts a nostalgic eye over past rambles and his own life, relating his wry and at times acerbic comments on his encounter with the world. Proust it ain't, but it had me chuckling -although I must confess I have the advantage of knowing a few of the characters mentioned. Mr Edwards ploy of using a 'generous gal' on the cover to attract attention is a neat trick which I may use myself in my forthcoming opus primum- "Jam Jar Labels of the 1930's". Just saying.....