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Xandra's Reviews > Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
by
by
Xandra's review
bookshelves: travel, favourites, humour, memoir-biography, american, 1950-1999, british, european, by-men
Oct 09, 2011
bookshelves: travel, favourites, humour, memoir-biography, american, 1950-1999, british, european, by-men
I was aimlessly wandering through Europe - which is probably the ideal situation to be in in order to maximize your enjoyment of this book - and, reading at the same snail's pace as my traveling, I shamelessly burst out laughing in trains, parks, coffee shops and even large museums. Bryson is hilarious (no question about it), he travels the best way possible (solo) and he's always cheerful as a summer morning (yes, even when he complains about stuff, it's all in good humor).
I can't help but imagine people who dislike Bryson as the many faceless, morose, omnipresent tourists who walk around in a place they've paid huge amounts of money to be in like zombies going to work on a dreary autumn day. No smile, no curious look plastered on their weary expressionless faces, no youthful joy in their eyes.
There are a lot of complains about Bryson being whiny, rich, mapless, stereotyping people and not giving enough information about the places he visits. I don't understand these complaints. He didn't come off as whiny to me, he doesn't travel like rich people do, he's not the world atlas (seriously, Italy is not that hard to find on a map; take your time and you'll even find Liechtenstein; or you could just google it, which is less cool but does the job in ~0.2s) and if you want insightful details about every country go buy a freaking travel guide! This book is not to be taken too seriously, everything is highly subjective and exaggerated for humorous purposes. Ever heard of that thing, humor? It's what makes us feel good and occasionally make fools of ourselves by laughing hysterically (you know, laugh, when you open your mouth and show your teeth even if you don't intend to stuff your face with a huge-ass burger?).
Loosen up a bit, people, get out of the country for a while and stop taking life so fucking seriously.
I can't help but imagine people who dislike Bryson as the many faceless, morose, omnipresent tourists who walk around in a place they've paid huge amounts of money to be in like zombies going to work on a dreary autumn day. No smile, no curious look plastered on their weary expressionless faces, no youthful joy in their eyes.
There are a lot of complains about Bryson being whiny, rich, mapless, stereotyping people and not giving enough information about the places he visits. I don't understand these complaints. He didn't come off as whiny to me, he doesn't travel like rich people do, he's not the world atlas (seriously, Italy is not that hard to find on a map; take your time and you'll even find Liechtenstein; or you could just google it, which is less cool but does the job in ~0.2s) and if you want insightful details about every country go buy a freaking travel guide! This book is not to be taken too seriously, everything is highly subjective and exaggerated for humorous purposes. Ever heard of that thing, humor? It's what makes us feel good and occasionally make fools of ourselves by laughing hysterically (you know, laugh, when you open your mouth and show your teeth even if you don't intend to stuff your face with a huge-ass burger?).
Loosen up a bit, people, get out of the country for a while and stop taking life so fucking seriously.
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Quotes Xandra Liked
“But that's the glory of foreign travel, as far as I am concerned. I don't want to know what people are talking about. I can't think of anything that excites a greater sense of childlike wonder than to be in a country where you are ignorant of almost everything. Suddenly you are five years old again. You can't read anything, you have only the most rudimentary sense of how things work, you can't even reliably cross a street without endangering your life. Your whole existence becomes a series of interesting guesses.”
― Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
― Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
“I don’t know why religious zealots have this compulsion to try to convert everyone who passes before them – I don’t go around trying to make them into St Louis Cardinals fans, for Christ’s sake – and yet they never fail to try.
Nowadays when accosted I explain to them that anyone wearing white socks with Hush Puppies and a badge saying HI! I’M GUS! probably couldn’t talk me into getting out of a burning car, much less into making a lifelong commitment to a deity, and ask them to send someone more intelligent and with a better dress sense next time, but back then I was too meek to do anything but listen politely and utter non-committal ‘Hmmmm’s’ to their suggestions that Jesus could turn my life around. Somewhere over the Atlantic, as I was sitting taking stock of my 200 cubic centimetres of personal space, as one does on a long plane flight, I spied a coin under the seat in front of me, and with protracted difficulty leaned forward and snagged it. When I sat up, I saw my seatmate was at last looking at me with that ominous glow.
‘Have you found Jesus?’ he said suddenly.
‘Uh, no, it’s a quarter,’ I answered and quickly settled down and pretended for the next six hours to be asleep, ignoring his whispered entreaties to let Christ build a bunkhouse in my heart.”
― Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
Nowadays when accosted I explain to them that anyone wearing white socks with Hush Puppies and a badge saying HI! I’M GUS! probably couldn’t talk me into getting out of a burning car, much less into making a lifelong commitment to a deity, and ask them to send someone more intelligent and with a better dress sense next time, but back then I was too meek to do anything but listen politely and utter non-committal ‘Hmmmm’s’ to their suggestions that Jesus could turn my life around. Somewhere over the Atlantic, as I was sitting taking stock of my 200 cubic centimetres of personal space, as one does on a long plane flight, I spied a coin under the seat in front of me, and with protracted difficulty leaned forward and snagged it. When I sat up, I saw my seatmate was at last looking at me with that ominous glow.
‘Have you found Jesus?’ he said suddenly.
‘Uh, no, it’s a quarter,’ I answered and quickly settled down and pretended for the next six hours to be asleep, ignoring his whispered entreaties to let Christ build a bunkhouse in my heart.”
― Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
“On the morning of our second day, we were strolling down the Champs-Elysées when a bird shit on his head. ‘Did you know a bird’s shit on your head?’ I asked a block or two later.
Instinctively Katz put a hand to his head, looked at it in horror – he was always something of a sissy where excrement was concerned; I once saw him running through Greenwood Park in Des Moines like the figure in Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’ just because he had inadvertently probed some dog shit with the tip of his finger – and with only a mumbled ‘Wait here’ walked with ramrod stiffness in the direction of our hotel. When he reappeared twenty minutes later he smelled overpoweringly of Brut aftershave and his hair was plastered down like a third-rate Spanish gigolo’s, but he appeared to have regained his composure. ‘I’m ready now,’ he announced.
Almost immediately another bird shit on his head. Only this time it really shit. I don’t want to get too graphic, in case you’re snacking or anything, but if you can imagine a pot of yoghurt upended onto his scalp, I think you’ll get the picture. ‘Gosh, Steve, that was one sick bird,’ I observed helpfully.
Katz was literally speechless. Without a word he turned and walked stiffly back to the hotel, ignoring the turning heads of passers-by. He was gone for nearly an hour. When at last he returned, he was wearing a windcheater with the hood up. ‘Just don’t say a word,’ he warned me and strode past. He never really warmed to Paris after that.”
― Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
Instinctively Katz put a hand to his head, looked at it in horror – he was always something of a sissy where excrement was concerned; I once saw him running through Greenwood Park in Des Moines like the figure in Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’ just because he had inadvertently probed some dog shit with the tip of his finger – and with only a mumbled ‘Wait here’ walked with ramrod stiffness in the direction of our hotel. When he reappeared twenty minutes later he smelled overpoweringly of Brut aftershave and his hair was plastered down like a third-rate Spanish gigolo’s, but he appeared to have regained his composure. ‘I’m ready now,’ he announced.
Almost immediately another bird shit on his head. Only this time it really shit. I don’t want to get too graphic, in case you’re snacking or anything, but if you can imagine a pot of yoghurt upended onto his scalp, I think you’ll get the picture. ‘Gosh, Steve, that was one sick bird,’ I observed helpfully.
Katz was literally speechless. Without a word he turned and walked stiffly back to the hotel, ignoring the turning heads of passers-by. He was gone for nearly an hour. When at last he returned, he was wearing a windcheater with the hood up. ‘Just don’t say a word,’ he warned me and strode past. He never really warmed to Paris after that.”
― Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
“Is that dog shit on the bottom of your shoe?’
I sat up a fraction. ‘What?’
‘Is that dog shit on the bottom of your shoe?’
‘I don’t know, the lab report’s not back yet,’ I replied drily.
‘I’m serious, is that dog shit?’
‘How should I know?’
Katz leaned far enough forward to give it a good look and a cautious sniff. ‘It is dog shit,’ he announced with an odd tone of satisfaction.
‘Well, keep quiet about it or everybody’ll want some.’
‘Go and clean it off, will ya? It’s making me nauseous.’
And here the bickering started, in intense little whispers.
‘You go and clean it off.’
‘It’s your shoes.’
‘Well, I kind of like it. Besides, it kills the smell of this guy next to me.’
‘Well, it’s making me nauseous.’
‘Well, I don’t give a shit.’
‘Well, I think you’re a fuck-head.’
‘Oh, you do, do you?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact. You’ve been a fuck-head since Austria.’
‘Well, you’ve been a fuck-head since birth.’
‘Me?’ A wounded look. ‘That’s rich. You were a fuck-head in the womb, Bryson. You’ve got three kinds of chromosomes: X, Y and fuck-head.”
― Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
I sat up a fraction. ‘What?’
‘Is that dog shit on the bottom of your shoe?’
‘I don’t know, the lab report’s not back yet,’ I replied drily.
‘I’m serious, is that dog shit?’
‘How should I know?’
Katz leaned far enough forward to give it a good look and a cautious sniff. ‘It is dog shit,’ he announced with an odd tone of satisfaction.
‘Well, keep quiet about it or everybody’ll want some.’
‘Go and clean it off, will ya? It’s making me nauseous.’
And here the bickering started, in intense little whispers.
‘You go and clean it off.’
‘It’s your shoes.’
‘Well, I kind of like it. Besides, it kills the smell of this guy next to me.’
‘Well, it’s making me nauseous.’
‘Well, I don’t give a shit.’
‘Well, I think you’re a fuck-head.’
‘Oh, you do, do you?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact. You’ve been a fuck-head since Austria.’
‘Well, you’ve been a fuck-head since birth.’
‘Me?’ A wounded look. ‘That’s rich. You were a fuck-head in the womb, Bryson. You’ve got three kinds of chromosomes: X, Y and fuck-head.”
― Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
Reading Progress
Started Reading
June 1, 2010
–
Finished Reading
October 9, 2011
– Shelved
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Thank you, Ema! I went on that trip mostly because I was a mess of a human being. I suffered from fits of depression in high school and then in college (too much Cioran philosophy too early, I guess) and sometime during that period I stumbled upon Into the Wild (the movie and, later, the book), emphasized with the sentiments expressed there and for the first time I felt that life isn't completely meaningless. So one day, despite concerned advice on the contrary, I just took off and spent the next few months backpacking through Europe, making lots of friends and generally becoming a new, happier person with a more relaxed view on life. Took me some time to discover it, but traveling and talking to strangers is my little well of happiness.
Xandra, your trip must have been one amazing experience. I've never had the courage to leave everything behind and travel the way you did. I guess I was taken aback by the thought that I don't have enough money for that. I admire you. You really tasted adventure, it seems!I totally agree about travel, this is definitely my favorite thing in life. Also meeting new people - at some point I wanted to work at a hostel, just for the pleasure of talking to strangers from all over the world. So, if you ever come to Bucharest and feel like meeting a stranger, I'm the one. :))
(I haven't read Cioran, so I had a really cheerful state of mind as a young girl. I want that carefree feeling back!)
It was something that I had to do and I felt that I would regret it later if I didn't. There's always the question of money, but I quickly got the hang of not spending too much and I didn't have anything else to spend my savings on anyway. Sometimes the people I met invited me over to their place or they offered to share a room. At first I was wary and refused, then I started trusting them and it was worth it. I still keep in touch with many friends I've made during those months.
Fun review, Xandra, I've really enjoyed it.