Book review: Travels with My Donkey
Moore, Tim. Travels with My Donkey: one man and his ass on a pilgrimage to Santiago (first pub. in Great Britain as Spanish Steps). (St. Martin's, 2004)
The author walks the Camino de Santiago, the medieval pilgrim route from St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France across northern Spain to Santiago de Compostela, with a donkey named Shinto. More than a little reminiscent of Bryson's A Walk in the Woods, but the humor is snarkier. (Example: If I reveal that this voyage [the body of St. James taken by sea to Galicia] was made in an unmanned vessel hewn from solid marble, you will begin to understand that we are now on a voyage of our own: a journey beyond the shores of Factland, now gingerly skirting the Cape of Myth, now steaming gaily through the Straits of Arrant Cobblers.) Moore is a humorist and a travel writer not a religious man, and this is definitely not the story of any spiritual experience; the most one can say is that he becomes less of a dick over the course of his seven-week, 750K walk.
More interesting to me than the narrator was his fellow pilgrims: trekkers with about the same walking pace tend to keep meeting up, not in lockstep day after day, but over and over the course of the camino. These people become familiar friends-Evelyn, Petronella, Donald the bar enthusiast, the Australian known as Total Shithouse-whereas those walking faster or slower become a host of one-time encounters. Indeed, it occurs to me from the friends he makes, and what we see of his wife and kids and his brother, that the narrator is probably a nicer guy in person than he comes across in his writing. (Also, from his kids' names and blondness, I deduce that his wife must be Icelandic, which I think is neat.)
One oddity: whenever our hero tries to explain-to bartenders, refugio staff, waiters-that he is traveling with a donkey, they consistently interpret his "Tengo un burro" as a request for a cigar. Can any Spanish-speakers out there enlighten me about a plausible misunderstanding, or is this just Moore's idea of humor?
Two woofs: it completely fails to inspire me to try the camino myself (and if I did, I would never do it with a donkey), but it is a good way to read about other people doing it. Also, the chapter on Roncevalles/Valcarlos would definitely have influenced that part of my Heir of the Nibelung campaign had I read it earlier.
The author walks the Camino de Santiago, the medieval pilgrim route from St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France across northern Spain to Santiago de Compostela, with a donkey named Shinto. More than a little reminiscent of Bryson's A Walk in the Woods, but the humor is snarkier. (Example: If I reveal that this voyage [the body of St. James taken by sea to Galicia] was made in an unmanned vessel hewn from solid marble, you will begin to understand that we are now on a voyage of our own: a journey beyond the shores of Factland, now gingerly skirting the Cape of Myth, now steaming gaily through the Straits of Arrant Cobblers.) Moore is a humorist and a travel writer not a religious man, and this is definitely not the story of any spiritual experience; the most one can say is that he becomes less of a dick over the course of his seven-week, 750K walk.
More interesting to me than the narrator was his fellow pilgrims: trekkers with about the same walking pace tend to keep meeting up, not in lockstep day after day, but over and over the course of the camino. These people become familiar friends-Evelyn, Petronella, Donald the bar enthusiast, the Australian known as Total Shithouse-whereas those walking faster or slower become a host of one-time encounters. Indeed, it occurs to me from the friends he makes, and what we see of his wife and kids and his brother, that the narrator is probably a nicer guy in person than he comes across in his writing. (Also, from his kids' names and blondness, I deduce that his wife must be Icelandic, which I think is neat.)
One oddity: whenever our hero tries to explain-to bartenders, refugio staff, waiters-that he is traveling with a donkey, they consistently interpret his "Tengo un burro" as a request for a cigar. Can any Spanish-speakers out there enlighten me about a plausible misunderstanding, or is this just Moore's idea of humor?
Two woofs: it completely fails to inspire me to try the camino myself (and if I did, I would never do it with a donkey), but it is a good way to read about other people doing it. Also, the chapter on Roncevalles/Valcarlos would definitely have influenced that part of my Heir of the Nibelung campaign had I read it earlier.