Rating: 
Summary: Mediterranean as microcosm minus Libya and Algeria.
Review: Theroux travel books make good reading but don't look to this guy for an upbeat and overwhelmingly positive outlook on the places, the people, and circumstances that he run into during his expeditions!Some memorable parts: detailed descriptions of Corsica, the good life in Italy versus its neighbors across the Adriatic, an unexpectedly beautiful part of the Albanian coast as well as in Syria, descriptions of children who are scarred by war, making friends in the Turkish ship from Istanbul to Alexandria and Israel, his evening arrival in Istanbul, his praise of high culture and good cuisine in Israel, recalling Durrell's version of Alexandria and Theroux's own experience (which makes some of the best reading in this book), his encounter with Paul Bowles in Tangier, a near brush with maritime disaster from a storm----I can go on and on. Disappointments include brief stops in famous places like Venice, a dislike for Menton, and a negative view of the war-torn Dalmatian coast (no positive description whatsoever of this famous coast). A thoroughly negative perspective on Albania can be disturbing but is nonetheless expected from Theroux. Overall, Theroux is one to read when you have the feeling that you may never get to go to some of these places and have chance encounters with interesting lives. In short, a good dose of vicarious travel experiences!
Rating:
Summary: Are we there yet?
Review: Way back in the sixties I watched some friends hit the hipster trail from Paris to Tangiers. They stopped in Ibitha (pronounced with a Castillian lisp) where they slept on the beach, adopted names like Pedro and peppered their speech with 'manana' and 'luego, baby.' Thanks to Paul Theroux I am no longer envious of my beret wearing pals. Embarking on an astonishingly ambitious journey around the entire shoreline of the Mediterranean he follows in the footsteps of Caesar and Alexander. I prefer to break out an atlas than break a sweat so this book was perfect. Theroux acknowledges that most travel is arduous and sometimes dangerous but he succeeds in his quest to circumnavigate the old cradle of civilization. He winds his way through Spain, France and Italy managing to avoid the odious tourist industry by taking the train or using ferries, staying in no-star hotels. In these modest surroundings he manages to meet some real people. Except for the Spanish who are too embarrassed to talk about the past (Franco) and Albanians still paranoid about Big Brother he is rewarded with an abundance of entertaining material as he casually interviews folks in their own language. The coast of Yugoslavia has been balkanized with warring factions to the point where genocide is a way of life. The harrowing Third World atmosphere takes such a toll he decides to go home and work in his garden. This intermission gives the reader a respite which extends to the next leg of his trip by his acceptance of a free ride on a luxury liner. Bountiful buffets, avuncular passengers and a sumptuous suite of his own. He has trouble tearing himself away from the sedutive 'Seabourne Spirit' but eventually resumes his no-frills method of travel. At every opportunity he evokes classical history and literature. Disparging contemporary writers he manages to meet with a few who are still alive. In Tangiers he finds Paul Bowles (my friends would be so jealous) and they spend a mellow afternoon toking kif. They agree that the area has been ill-served by books bemoaning the fact that travelling is different from staying home. This part of the world has been plundered by barbarians, vulgar tourists, writers and their acolytes. The author seems a little smug at times but if I were a wealthy erudite polyglot who travels for a living...
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