A pair of well-behaved young Oxford students on a 3-month overland tour from London through Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, India and Nepal in the spring of 1978, a journey through liminal spaces in a liminal time, recaptured and reinterpreted 45 years later - offering layered reflections on the people, the time, and the places.
The book’s title promises a story of adventures from “Istanbul to Kathmandu in the Last Year of the Hippie Trail”, but the author and his companion are definitively not hippies. They are not in search of enlightenment or cheap highs or free love. There will be no stories of painful self-discovery in ashrams, or hashish-fueled felonies, but there will be lots of descriptions of old buildings and bird sightings.
Their journey proceeds in a relatively predictable arc, from London to Istanbul by train, quickly though Turkey and then Iran, on the precipice of the Islamic Revolution - the longest and most interesting part of the book. They find themselves barred at the last moment from entering Afghanistan, as that country starts its fall into chaos. They regroup, find a way through southern Iran into Pakistan and then India, where they are overwhelmed by the crowds and the beggars, the heat and the noise. The end of the Hippie Trail is Kathmandu, where they eat apple pie and listen to rock music.
Along the way, they have brief encounters with other travelers and with locals including some students in Iran; they are invited to a wedding and into homes (the experiences are invariably awkward and confusing); they visit bazaars, temples, mosques, and museums; they interact with beggars and border guards, hotel clerks and hustlers. They endure overcrowded and uncomfortable bus trips and train rides, dirty and uncomfortable hotel rooms, unfamiliar spicy food, and minor illnesses (note: nobody, except maybe your mom, cares about your sore throat, and nobody, even your mom, needs to hear about that embarrassing bout of diarrhea).
I enjoyed Abley’s earlier book on language death (Spoken Here), and I thought that I would enjoy this book more than I did.
Some of this is simply due to the limits of his project, attempting to reconstruct a personal story from so many years ago, and using it as a frame to look at larger issues: political and economic inequality, colonialism and Westernization, and environmental degradation.
Although Abley set out to act as a camera, diligently recording everything in his journal, and has a poet’s sensitivity, too many of the details have faded over time - I rarely felt that I could see and smell and hear what was happening, even in places that I know well. But even when I was drawn in, the story was too small, subdued, pedestrian.
The travellers only skim across the surface of these countries, spending a few days here and there, not enough time to understand anything meaningful about the people and politics (the understanding comes to the author later through reading and reflection), or to do more than capture impressions. They travel from town to town, temple to temple, without knowing the history or languages, without guides, without asking questions.
While Abley does a good job of retroactively filling in context, and updating us on the political and environmental situation of the region, he can’t (and is clear that he won’t) make the story more interesting. Outside of a couple of suspenseful moments (an unsettling evening in Turkey with some drunk men, sharing a train from Iran to Pakistan with smugglers), and chance sightings of the last Shah of Iran and Indira Gandhi, there is not much adventure to hold your attention.
By the end, I didn’t care enough about the author and his companion, or about what they saw or thought. The author’s younger self is self-consciously earnest but unformed, uninformed, and uninteresting, and his companion Clare is sketched in a brittle, unflattering, and incomplete way. They don’t seem to like each other much, and it’s not clear why they traveled together, which doesn’t make them fun people to spend time with (even in a book).
And I was put off by the author’s moralizing Orientalist perspective: that someone from “the West” traveling to “the East” is an entitled and colonialist act, something that must be collectively atoned for. Travel can be irresponsible, it can be exploitative, but it can also open minds and build connections between people, and we should not have to apologise for it (read Aziz Abu Sarah’s Crossing Boundaries about responsible travel).