The intrusion of outsiders in the day-to-day lives of Africans was the sort of thing I had always criticized.
The idea for elephant-back safaris was initially that of the photographer, socialite, and Africa hand Peter Beard, who suggested to Moore in the 1980s that riding elephants through the bush was unprec...
The dubious achievement in travel these days is enduring the persistent nuisance of a succession of airports in order to arrive at a distant place for a brief interlude of the exotic, maintaining the...
The Chinese word for yak meant 'hairy cow'. It is a lovely long-haired animal, like a cow on its way to the opera.
That seemed to be the theme in the Deep South: kindness, generosity, a welcome.
Sometimes I miss Boston', I said. It was a timid confession. I missed it every day - its space, its familiar streets and smells. I missed the laughter, I missed the feel of American money which was li...
People will tell you, What’s the use? What’s the point of reading novels and poetry? They’ll tell you to go to law school or to be an economist or to do something useful. But books are useful. Books w...
Most travel, and certainly the rewarding kind, involves depending on the kindness of strangers, putting yourself into the hands of people you don't know and trusting them with your life.
Mimicry reassures the weak, and the envious fool takes the risk as often as the visionary who mocks the error and leave the man alone.
Maputo was much praised as a desirable destination, but it was a dreary, beat-up city of desperate people who had cowered there while war raged in the provinces for twenty-five years, destroying bridg...
Listen, stranger; this was myself: this was I.
Less frightening, but no less disgusting, is the Iranian taste for jam made out of carrots.
I did not share their joy or feel very kindly toward any of them,
I decided that travel was flight and pursuit in equal parts,
His education was sketchy, yet he was immensely learned in the oblique and selective way of someone self-taught.
When I began to make some money, I really wanted to have a home.
I have spent my life on the road waking in a pleasant, or not so pleasant hotel, and setting off every morning after breakfast hoping to discover something new and repeatable, something worth writing...
If I read enough about one country I sometimes found that the intensity of the reading removed by desire to travel there.
The two impulses in travel are to get away from home, and the other is to pursue something - a landscape, people, an exotic place. Certainly finding a place that you like or discovering something unus...
And then there are the laziest and most presumptuous of people, those who can read but who don’t bother, who live in the smuggest ignorance and seem to me dangerous.
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