We are not always kind to our foreigners and it is a sobering experience to have the tables turned." p. 50 Simon was a journalist prior to becoming a self-styled hero, and we are grateful - his writing is adequate, and often even lucid and beautiful. The Journey is strangely bodiless, for the most part. Simon writes like a pair of traveling eyes with an ego attached; rarely do we get saddle sores, headaches, heat rash, or dysentery on this 4-year odyssey. Perhaps he is a remarkably hardy specimen; perhaps he didn't think it necessary to put us through more than the occasional swarm of mosquitoes. Nonetheless, there is a closely observed richness to his writing, and an immediacy that shows he took good notes, and was able to revisit his experiences in sequence as well as through a greater common narrative. If Thoreau were alive today he would have full confirmation of his fears. Instant information is instantly obsolete. Only the most banal ideas can successfully cross great distances at the speed of light. And anything that travels very far very fast is scarcely worth transporting, especially the tourist.”

Everything in this picture I took with me, except the tires. They were sent on. And the umbrella? That was the photographer's, but eventually I did get one of my own, and it was remarkably useful. I strapped it alongside, under the saddle and over a box on my right. On the left side I carried a sword, but that's another story...”In the end, while I appreciate the fact that traveling in the physical world means also undergoing an inner journey, I would have appreciated a little less navel-gazing, and a little more effort towards showing both positive and negative sides of each place. Try as I would to imagine a rosier future, I could see only ever-increasing numbers of people determined to seize on the resources of the earth and pervert them into greater and greater heaps of indestructible concrete and plastic ugliness, only to look and learn and retreat in penitent dismay before the next wave of 'developing' citizens. And there seemed to be nothing that I or any individual could do that would make it a jot of difference to the outcome." p.214 Yet many signs indicated that the time might not be too far away, when Australians would agree on a better reason for living than to eat a pound of beef a day. When that day came, I thought this would become one of the world’s best places to be. My appointment with destiny was approaching. Raj's father was getting ready to leave for his office in Patna. Well this book was published for the first time during 1979 and covers Ted Simon's epic voyage around the world that commenced in 1973 and lasted for the next 4 years. I remember reading about it in the Motorcycle newspapers and magazines of the day as I was an avid motorcyclist in those days (I still am come to that).

Ted's account of his 1973 world tour on a Triumph 500 can now be regarded as a record of history as much as a travelogue. Well, we're all just acting out other people's fantasies, aren't we? Maybe we're not much good for anything else." p.99 On to the book. What a boring, self-indulgent novel. Ol' Ted decides to go slummin' through the third world in some misguided attempt to test himself. Once underway, his special brand of bitter negativity slowly swallows every paragraph. His suspicions and mistrust permeate all of his interactions. The countries flow by as little more than overblown customs headaches. The rare happy moments end with a caveat. As much as you'd think the trip should be the focus, it's only ever about the author. Oh tell me please, how does it go, the triple jump?" She pro nounced it tripee-el She had a way of pleading for things in her Brazilian English to make you understand that they were matters simultaneously of no consequence and of life and death. You could refuse, and nothing would be changed; or you could give, and earn undying gratitude. It was a great gift, which she had won by long effort and sorrow and laughter. It was the humorous residue of cravings which had once been corrosive enough to etch her face. I was disappointed with this book. I had waited so long to get my hands on a copy, and when the chance came, greedily opened the book, looking forward to the adventure within.We Europeans sold our integrity many years ago for progress, and we have debased the word to mean merely someone who obeys the rules. A chasm of misunderstanding yawns between us." p. 100 Anyway this book details Ted's amazing journey, the highs , the lows and the unbelievable adventures on the way. At the time I remember reading of his progress but little else so when this book came out I devoured it in a very short time. I think in the ensuing 40 years I have read it once since. Given that at the age of 69 Ted retraced his steps ( Dreaming Of Jupiter) was the result, I think its about time I gave Ted the courtesy of re-reading this original unbelievable travelogue and of his sequel. I have a copy of his book Dreaming of Jupiter in which he retraces his route thirty years later, and I will inevitably read that too, just not straight away.