Despite the title, this travelogue pretty much ignores the journey across Western Europe, and sums up the Balkan nations and Turkey in a quick introductory chapter. There's also little about the final destination of India. So the book focus exclusively on cycling across Iran (or Persia as the author calls it), Afghanistan, and Pakistan. The book is adapted with little modification directly from the author's journals (a bad idea according to my writing teacher Giles), which she did not keep earlier in the trip. Due to the journalistic nature of the writing it can be a bit dry, although the amazement I have for an Irish woman cycling solo across continents in 1963 and the incredible things that happen to her keep it interesting despite her writing style. Also, there's a certain dramatic irony each time she enters a village that today is mentioned on the nightly news, or she discusses the resentments of the local populations against the interfering Russians and Americans. I am a bit put off by her arrogance, and despite her professed admiration for the Asian cultures she meets, and her disapproval of Western ways in relation to him, she still often sounds condescending and ethnocentric. Even if a lot of the journey is missing, she probably got the best parts, and I'm glad it kept the book short since I probably would not want to read more in the same vein (and still enjoy it).

"The house reveals what some might describe as the poverty of Afghanistan but what I prefer to call its simplicity, since poverty denotes a lack of necessities and simplicity a lack of needs." - p. 69 ( )