My mother had a felicitous addiction to used books, picking up hundreds of musty volumes from various Midwestern fairs during my childhood. One gloomy autumn day I stumbled across several of Richard Halliburton’s semi-autobiographical travelogues while shelving her latest finds. A few black and white photos, and an exotic story about the Taj Mahal, and I was hooked on the handsome thrill-seeking travel guru of the Twenties and Thirties.
Despite my less glorious experiences in modern travel, I remain addicted to the pleasures of different cultures, food, languages, architecture, climates and people.
I’m pretty sure that if my Mother had known I was going to spend the better part of my adult life wandering around for work and pleasure, she would have buried them in the deepest corner of her book horde. Thankfully, she didn’t. As a result I am able to offer you a healthy dose of practical travel advice, the odd tidbit of exotic locations for inspiration, and a sprinkling of snark.