Barely appeased (at ease) with becoming a cube-bound, computer-staring, office chair-wearing traveler at best (for now), I hopped onto my local 57 westbound bus over to the conveniently located neighborhood Barnes & Noble bookstore and picked up Chuck Thompson's road weary words 'Smile When You're Lying - confessions of a rouge travel writer,' trying to quench my delirious thirst for that next curious adventure just beyond todays reach. (*)
I'd briefly read about the
recent 'scandal' with (ex) Lonely Plant author Thomas Kohnstamm which then led me to
Robert Reid's review and comments of Kohnstamm's new book, 'Do Travel Writers Go To Hell?' There, Reid touts Thompson as the true author of the book (Smile While You're Lying) that Kohnstamm was ultimately trying to write - an insiders scathing attack of the travel industry at large and of travel writing itself. LP insider
TravelBurro says that while Thompson's book is a bit long at times, its 'pretty fucking funny' and that Kohnstamm is a great guy but it seems like his book was 'a little rushed'.
On the back flap, the SF Chronicle calls Thompson 'reminiscent of' my main man David Foster Wallace (or at least
that writer that I love to praise but secretly might not like as much as I preach). (see post above)
Like this passage about when Thompson is teaching English in Japan - living large as an expat.
"The school's star Ping-Pong player and I could barely communicate, but we battled after school on an ongoing basis. Despite forcing her into dozens of overtime thrillers, I never managed to beat her. She was a mystery to the Japanese as well as to me, a gawky, five-foot-ten, one-hundred-pound girl with a mouth that could go weeks without opening, limbs like a grasshopper's, hair as limp as boiled noodles, slightly bulging eyes (which I mean in a good way - I've never minded a touch of Grave's disease in my women), and the filthiest backspin serve east of Beijing." Besides our noon-time running club (killed it today with a
monster 5-miler) the other saving grace in my current life-as-an-office-worker is the grand ping-pong table next to my office and the daily death matches with Foley and
Fletcher.
Thompson's living abroad experiences mixed with his paid travel abroad writing gigs provide a compelling background for any aspiring traveler, writer, travel writer, photographer, travel photographer and the other 25% of US Citizens that even have a passport. But mainly the US passport owners that actually use them. He's also from Juneau, Alaska and has some heavy-hitting commentary that is most relevant today considering a woman who is trying to be one heartbeat away from the big red button in Washington. Mainly that Alaskans sold out to big business and oil back in the 1980's with government 'pay back' checks to each Alaskan starting at $1,000 per person for their part in the oil boom. Still happening to this day even.
Moments of brilliant clarity and insight, sometimes more about things here at home than abroad abound. To the teachers of America:
"American public school teachers have the world's best PR operation going. Whining every chance they get about how demanding their jobs are, how many "extra hours" they put in, how little they make, how much of their own money they have to spend just to do their jobs, how noble they are working this job that nobody ever asked them to do - welcome to the fucking world."
On that note, I'll end as I'm only half way through it...
* I'd really gone over to Barnes & Noble to get a copy of 'The Places In Between' by Rory Stewart which is one of my all-time favorite travel books for Marina as she prepares to head over to Azerbaijan to do her 2.4 year tour-de-peace in the Peace Corps. More on our beloved Corps, including a lovely little diddy by Chuck Thompson later. Thank y'all for reading.
** Overly reveling in Chuck Thompson's cute and at times 'funny enough' little smirk-at-the-travel-writing-world as I prepare to sleep before the 9-5 kicks in bright and early tomorrow morning, I am jolted upright after reading page 174 sub-titled - No Cabbie Quotes. By the end of the next page I damn Chuck to hell and find myself thinking out loud, "you're a fucking dead man." (Not dead as in really dead, but dead like he uses real in his own book.) He wraps up his little sub-section, "my list of directives for writers and editors" on why cabbies are the bane of society and why any respectable travel writer would NEVER quote a cabbie goes like this, "The only reason a writer quotes cabdrivers or other service-industry minions is to disguise the fact that he or she didn't want to deal with the hassle of drumming up any authoritative local sources (emphasis added). Think of all the cab-drivers you know. You don't know any. That's because in every major city in the world-London excepted- taxis are driven by impoverished foreigners who don't know SukhumvitRoad frojm Euclid Avenue, work insane hours, talk to their buddies on their cell phone all day, and fall asleep as soon as the off-duty sign lights up. Cabbies having their fingers on the pulse of a city is the biggest travel myth since 'Hey, we can stop and get reliable directions at the gas station.'"
Having been a former cabbie in San Francisco where MANY of my brother and sisters are excellent resources and ambassadors to the millions of travelers AND tourists that visit our beautiful city (yes, many of them are from foreign lands, still one of those melting-pot facts that make us unique around the world) AND knowing a handful of EXCELLENT cabbies in Buenos Aires, many of whom I consider deal friends, great family members, impassioned locals and EXCELLENT 'authoritative local sources', you are now on my official shit list and you and your publisher and your publicist and agent and yourself will be hearing from me soon, Mr. former founding editor of 'Travelocity Magazine'... sheesh (funny how a quick Google search of this aforementioned magazine shows a few brief mentions about its launch from 2000. Maybe it should have been called TRAVELOFFITY)! Cabbies of the world that usher your sorry-ass around unite - you will have a change of heart, when you're not out slumming it on some limo-driven press junket at the latest 5 star resort in the Dominican Republic.
*** Now I'm pissed at myself for flying off the handle at Mr. Thompson. I choose to buy his book and I'm choosing to read it. And sure, I've had my share of un-knowing and infuriating taxi cab drivers around the world. I think really though, I'm saddened and frightened by DWF and his recent suicide. With all his talent, accolades and brilliance and he still choose to check out at the not-so-tender age of 46. Farewell.
