A collection of Art Buchwald's humorous essays. There is a long one at the beginning about a road trip from Paris to Moscow in 1958, then a series of shorter ones sorted by country.
I've never read Buchwald before, but I found his humor strained and somewhat mean-spirited. For example, he gets in trouble with French customs because he tries to smuggle in an enormous bag of English goods, which he blames squarely on his wife back in Paris. Cooks and maids are paid a pittance because one can get away with it, and it is a personal catastrophe when they leave for jobs with good pay or their dreams of opening restaurants. Postwar Italians make money recycling cigarette butts, ho ho.
Maybe it's a generational thing, but then again, by contrast I found Robert Benchley's humor easy-flowing and enjoyable. Maybe it's because Benchley is amusedly self-deprecating, whereas Buchwald comes across as resentful and self-important.