BootsnAll Travel Community

I was walking through an old arcade near a train station in Sydney and saw a used book store. On the counter right in front of me was this book of traveller's stories compiled by Eric Newby, and I bought it immediately.
It contains travel anecdotes and advice by man authors, from 430BC to the 1980's.
I'll post an excerpt whenever I can.

Murray's Handbook of Travel-Talk 1874 Edition
'Being a collection of questions, phrases and vocabularies intended to serve as an interpreter to English travellers abroad.'
1. Coachman, drive slowly - Postilion, fahren sie langsam.
2. Take care you do not upset us - Geben sie acht, dasz Sie uns nicht umwerfen.
3. Do not drive so near the precipice - Fahren sie doch nicht so nahe am Graben hin.
4. The coachman is drunk - Der Postilion ist betrunken
5. One of the wheels is off - Ein Rad ist losgegangen
6. Oh dear! The coachman has been thrown off - O Weh! Der Postilion ist heruntergefallen
7. I am afraid he has broken his leg - Ich furchte, er hat ein bein gebrochen
8. It rains in torrents - Es regnet in Stromen
9. It is impossible to travel in such weather - Man kann bei solchem Wetter nicht reisen
10. The lightning has struck that tree - Der blitz hat in jenen Baum eingeschlagen.
11. I am really much alarmed - Ich bin in groszerAngst.

Suetonius Paulinus - Approx A.D. 43
The first Roman to cross the Atlas Mountains, described by Pliny the Elder.

'Suetonius Paulinus, whom we have seen Consul in our own time, was the first Roman general who advanced a distance of some miles beyond Mount Atlas... He informs us that the summit of this mountain is covered by snow even in Summer, and says that having arrived there after a march of ten days, he proceeded beyond it as far as a river which bears the name of Ger; the road being through deserts covered with a black sand, from which rocks projected every here and there.
We also learn from the same source that the people who inhabit the adjoining forests have the name of Canarii, from the circumstance that they partake of their food in common with the canine race, and share with it the entrails of wild beasts.'

About Explorer William J. Burchill 1782-1863

'English Naturalist. A nurseryman's son, Burchell was sent to St. Helena as government botanist. He arranged for his fiancee to follow him, but on the voyage out she fell in love with the ship's captain and married him instead.
Distraught, Burchell threw in his post and set off for South Africa in 1811. He undertook a remarkable journey into the interior and spent literally the rest of his life cataloguing and discussing his collections of animals and plants from Africa and South America.
For when, at the age of eighty-two, he completed his work he committed suicide.'

Hey Borderland...That guy has to be a rellie of mine!.

Cool An eccentric explorer ancestor is the ultimate travel accessory. Well done.

Philip Thicknesse 1719-1792
English Traveller and soldier. Cantankerous and eccentric, he spent his life writing, travelling and quarelling. In 1775 he travelled through France and Spain, accompanied by his daughters, his wife (who broke into song at every opportunity), his spaniel, Mrs. Thicknesse's parakeet (who flew freely above the coach) and Jocko the moneky, who rode coachman, dressed in a special livery and a hat with a pigtail attached.

A dish of delicate spinach - Post House, Lyon
'I am particular in dating this letter, in hopes that every traveller may avoid the place I write from, either by stopping short or going beyond it: as it is the worst I have met with in my whole journey...
We came in early in the afternoon and while I was in the courtyard I saw a flat basket upon the ground, covered in boiled spinach; and as my dog, and several others in the yard, had often put their noses into it, I concluded it was put down for their food, not mine, till I saw a dirty girl patting it up into round balls; and two children slavering in, and playing with it, one of whom was performing her toilet.
I asked the maid what she was about, and what it was she was so preparing! For I began to think I had been mistaken. she told me it was spinach. 'Not for me I hope' said I. 'Oui' she replied. I then forbad her bringing any to table; and putting the little girl at toilet off-balance by an angry push, made her almost as dirty as the spinach.
Nevertheless, with my entree came up a dish of this spinach, with which I made the girl a very pretty bonnet, for I turned it, dish and all, upon her head.'

Frederick Burnaby 1842-1885
English Traveller and soldier. Huge, with a thin, piercing voice, Burnaby was reckoned to be one of the strongest men in Eurpoe (he could hold a pony under his arm). In the 1860's and 70's he travelled in Central and South America, Spain, tangier and Russia. In 1882 he crossed the Channel in a balloon. He died in Sudan, on the expedition to relieve Khartoum.

At the Russian Frontier, December 1875
'The Customs examination was easily got through. The only part of my luggage which puzzled the officer was the sleeping-bag. He smelt it suspiciously. 'What is it for?' 'To sleep in.' He put his nose down again and, apparently uncertain in his own mind as to what course to pursue, called for another official who desired me to unroll it. 'And you sleep in that big bag?' was the question. 'Yes.' 'What extraordinary people the English are!' observed the man who had inspected my passport, and sotto voce, 'He must be mad.'
The other bystanders drew back a little, thinking that possibly I was dangerous as well.'

Alexander Kinglake 1809-1891
English historian and author of the classic 'Eothen'

Night In The Great Servian Forest
...Night closed in as we entered the great Servian Forest. Through this our road was to last for more than a hundred miles. Endless and endless now on either side the tall oaks closed in their ranks, and stood gloomily lowering over us, as grim as an army of giants with a thousand year's pay in arrears.
One strived, with listening ear, to catch some tidings of that forest-world within - some stirring of beasts, some night-bird'scream; but all was quite hushed, except the voice of the cicadas that peopled every bough, and filled the depths of the forest through and through with one same hum everlasting - more stilling than silence.

Night In The Great Servian Forest - continued.

'At first our way was in darkness, but after a while the moon got up, and touched the glittering arms and tawny faces of our men with light so pale and mystic, that the watchful Tartar felt bound to look out for demons, and take proper means for keeping them off.
Forthwith he determined that the duty of frightening away our ghostly enemies, like every other troublesome work, should fall upon the poor Suridgee; they accordingly lifted up their voices, and burst upon the dreaded stillness of the forest with shrieks and dismal howls. These precautions were kept up incessantly, and were followed by the most complete success, for not one demon came near us.
Long before midnight we reached the hamlet in which we were to rest for the night; it was made up of about a dozen clay huts standing upon a small tract of ground hardly won from the forest. The peasants living there spoke a Slavonic dialect, and Mysseri's knowledge of the Russian tongue enabled him to talk with them freely. We took up our quarters in a square room with white walls and an earthen floor, quite bare of furniture and utterly void of women. They told us, however, that these Servian villagers lived in happy abundance, but that they were careful to conceal their riches, as well as their wives.'

BL- you should have been a chef!
A good knack for 'culling' the yum.
Keep them coming.

Thanks Choco. Glad someone's getting something out of it other than me

Thomas Stevens b.1855
American traveller. On 22 April 1884 he left San Francisco on a penny-farthing bicycle with a fifty-inch front wheel. Having crossed the Sierra Nevada, the Rockies and the Great Plains, he sailed to Germany and proceeded to pedal through Austria, Hungary, the Balkans, Persia, Afghanistan, India, singapore, China and Japan, arriving at Yokohama on 17 December 1886. He had ridden 13,500 miles. On his return a dinner in his honour was given by the Massachusetts Bicycle Club.

Dervla Murphy 1931-
Intrepid Irish traveller, mostly in Asia and Ethiopia, mostly on bicycles or with quadrupeds, or on local transport.

A lone female cyclist deals with a randy Kurd on the Turkish-Iranian frontier, 1963
'An ancient Jewish legend says that the Kurds are descended from four hundred virgins who were deflowered by devils while on their way to King Solomon's court, and my own experiences in both Turkish and Persian Azerbaijan prompt me to accept this genealogy as an historic fact.
At Dogubayzit, the last little town en-route to the Persian frontier-post, I stayed in the local doss-house, where my bedroom was a tiny box leading off the wide loft which accommodated the majority of the hotel's patrons. This room had a flimsy door, without any fastening, and there was no movable piece of furniture which could have been placed against it as a security measure. The squalid building was inhabited by a host of energetic fleas, but their attentions were wasted on me and within minutes of retiring I was sound asleep.
Some hours later I awoke to find myself bereft of bedding and to see a six-foot, scantily-clad Kurd bending over me in the moonight. My gun was beneath the pillow and one shot fired at the ceiling concluded the matter. I felt afterwards that my suitor had shown up rather badly; a more ardent admirer, of his physique, could probably have disarmed me without much difficulty.
As a result of the loud report and my visitor's rapid retreat there was a stirring of mny bodies on the floor outside my room and a few sleepy mutterings - then silence.'

D.H. Lawrence 1885-1930
English novelist, poet and essayist.

A letter from Lerici, Lake Garda, Italy - September 1913
'I am so happy with the place we have at last discovered, I must write smack off to tell you. It is perfect. There is a tiny little bay half-shut in by rocks, and smothered by olive woods that slope down swiftly.
Then there is one pink, flat fisherman's house. Then there is the villa of Ettore Gambrosier, a four-roomed pink cottage among vine gardens, just over the water and under the olive woods. There is my next home. It is exquisite.
It is 60 lire a month, furnished, and 25 lire for the woman who does all the work and washing and sleeps in Tellaro, the fishing village twenty minutes off; in all, 85 lire a month.'

Cyril Connolly 1903-1974
English writer, critic and Editor

Autumn in Paris
'With the first leaves being swept up in the square, the first misty morning, the first yellowing of the planes, I remember Paris and all the excitement of looking for Autumn lodgings in a hotel. Streets round the Rue de l'Universite, Rue Jacob, Rue de Bourgogne and Rue de Beaune, with their hotel signs and entrances and their concierges walled in by steamer-trunks.'

Route Nationale
Peeling off the kilometers to the tune of 'Blue Skies', sizzling down the long black liquid reaches of Nationale Sept, the plane trees going sha-sha-sha through the open window, the windscreen yellowing with crushed midges, she with the Michelin beside me, a handkerchief binding her hair...'

Patrick Leigh Fermor 1915-
English traveller, soldier and writer. In 1933, at the age of 18, he walked from Holland to Constantinople, a journey which took one and a half years. Altogether he spent four years travelling in Central Europe, the Balkans and Greece. During the war he spent two years in German-occupied Crete organizing the resistance forces.

At the Foothills of the White Mountains
'Now and then one finds oneself, in the dilettante fashion of one of Marie Antoinette's ladies-in-waiting, helping in some pleasant and unexacting task: gathering olives onto spread blankets in late autumn, after beating fruit from the branches with long rods of bamboo; picking grapes into baskets, shelling peas or occasionally, in late summer, helping to tread the grapes.
I remember one such occassion in Crete, in a cobbled and leafy yard in the village of Vaphe at the foothills of the White Mountains. First we spread deep layers of thyme branches at the bottom of a stone vat which stood breast-high like a giant Roman sarcophagus; then a troop of girls hoisted their heavy baskets and tipped in tangled cataracts of white and black grapes. The treading itself is considered a young man's job. The first three, of which I was one, had their long mountain boots pulled off; buckets of water were sloshed over grimy shanks and breeches rolled above the knee. We climbed on the edge and jumped down on the resilient mattress of grapes. Scores of skins exploded and the juice squirted between our toes... In a minute or two a mauve-pink trickle crossed the stone lip of the spout and dripped into the waiting tub; the trickle broadened, the drops became a stream and curved into a splashing arc...'

Pytheas fl325-285BC
Greek navigator, astronomer and geographer. He visited Britain c.310BC, circumnavigating the country.
'The inhabitants of Britain are said to be sprung from the soil and to preserve a primitive style of life. They make use of chariots in war, such as the ancient Greek heroes are reputed to have employed in the Trojan War; and their hbitations are rough and ready, being for the most part constructed of wattles and logs.
They are simple in their habits, and far removed from the cunning and knavishness of modern man, Their diet is inexpensive and quite different from the luxury that is born of wealth.'

Emauel Van Meteren d1612
Dutch merchant who travelled through England in 1575 with his cousin Abraham Ortelius, the geographer.
'The English are a clever, handsome, and well-made people, but, like all islanders, of a weak and tender nature...
They are eloquent and very hospitable; they feed well and delicately, and eat a great deal of meat; and as the Germans pass the bounds of sobriety in drinking, these do the same in eating...
The people are not so laborious and industrious as the Netherlanders or French, as they lead for the most part an indolent life like the Spaniards; the most toilsome, difficult and skilful works are chiefly performed by foreigners, as among the idle Spaniards.'

Fynes Moryson 1566-1617
English Traveller. In 1589, having had 'a great desire to see foreign countries' since his 'tender youth', he obtained a license to travel, but did not set off until 1591 when he embarked on six years of incessant wandering in Europe.

On the diet of the Scots
'My self was at a knight's house, who had many servants to attend him, that brought his meat with their heads covered with blue caps, the table being more than half furnished with great platters of porridge, each having a little piece of sodden meat. And when the table was served, the servants did sit down with us, but the upper mess, instead of porridge, had a pullet with some prunes in the broth. And I observed no art of cookery, or furniture of household stuff, but rather rude neglect of both...'

Fynes Moryson - Continued

An uncomplimentary view of the Irish , c.1605
'The wild and (as I may say) mere Irish, inhabiting many and large provinces, are barbarous and most filthy in their diet. They scum the seething pot with a handful of straw, and strain their milk taken from the cow through a like handful of straw, none of the cleanest, and so cleanse, or rather more defile the pot and milk.
They devour great morsels of beef unsalted, and they eat commonly swine's flesh, seldom mutton, and all those pieces of flesh, as also the entrails of beasts unwashed, they seeth in a hollow tree, lapped in a raw cow's hide, and so set over the fire, and therewith swallow whole lumps of filthy butter. Yea (which is more contrary to nature) they will feed on horses dying of themselves, not only upon small want of flesh, but even for pleasure...
Neither have they any beer made of malt and hops, nor yet any ale, no, not even the chief Lords, except it be very rarely: but they drink milk like nectar, warmed with a stone first cast into the fire, or else beef broth mingled with milk: but when they come to any market town, to sell a cow or a horse, they never return home, till they have drunk the price in Spanish wine (which they call the King of Spain's daughter), or an Irish Usqueboagh, and till they have outslept two or three day's drunkeness. And not only the common sort, but even the Lords and their wives, the more they want this drink at home, the more they swallow it when they come to it, till they be as drunk as beggars.'

Dude how fast do u type??

You do have a lot of patience typing all this...thanks!!

quote:

---

Originally posted by Madhu:
Dude how fast do u type??

You do have a lot of patience typing all this...thanks!!

---

I can type fast because I'm multicultural. I have Russian hands and Roman fingers.
Boom-tish!