Fraser John Foster, Burmese nga-pee

In time we got to Fyaukmyaung, or Kyoukmoung, or anything you care to call it, but notorious a year or two back for being looted by the dacoits. We were a little tired of a rice diet, and Lowe in his innocence suggested a fish dinner. The idea was brilliant, but it nearly killed the three of us. We had eaten frogs' legs in France, and regarded with equanimity the consumption of spring puppies in China. Therefore a feed of Burmese nga-pee was appropriate.

When we had recovered from our illness we investigated how the food was prepared. First of all the fish were caught and laid in the sun for three days to dry. The fish beinthen dead, though moving, were pounded in plenty of salt. Thethey were put into a jar, and when the mouth was opened people five miles away knew all about it. Nga-pee, I soon saw, was a delicacy that could only be appreciated by cultured palates. The taste is original; it is salt, rather like rancid butter flavoured with Limburger cheese, garlic, and paraffin oil. The odour is more interesting than the taste. It is more conspicuous.

Fraser, John Foster. Round the world on a wheel. London: Methuen & Co., 1899.

Curzon Robert. Visits to monasteries

After some conversation on other matters, I inquired about the library, and asked permission to view its contents. The agoumenos declared his willingness to show me everything that the monastery contained. " But first," said he, " I wish to present you with something excellent for your breakfast ; and

from the special good will that I bear towards so distinguished a guest I shall prepare it with my own hands, and will stay to see you eat it ; for it is really an admirable dish, and one not presented to all persons." " Well," thought I, "a good breakfast is not a bad thing ;" and the fresh momitain-air and the good night's rest had given me an appetite ; so I expressed my thanks for the kind hospitality of my lord abbot, and he, sitting down opposite to me on the divan, proceeded to prepare his dish. " This," said he, producing a shallow basin half-full of a white paste, " is the principal and most savoury part of this famous dish ; it is composed of cloves of garlic, pounded down, with a certain quantity of sugar.
With it I will now mix the oil in just proportions, some shreds of fine cheese [it seemed to be of the white acid kind, which resembles what is called caccia cavallo in the south of Italy, and which almost takes the skin off your fingers, I believe] and sundry other nice little condiments, and now it is completed ! "
He stirred the savoury mess round and round with a large wooden spoon until it sent forth over room and passage and cell, over hill and valley, an aroma which is not to be described. " Now," said the agoumenos, crumbling some bread into it with his large and somewhat dirty hands, " this is a dish for an emperor I Eat, my friend, my much-respected guest ; do not be shy. Eat ; and when you have finished the bowl you shall go into the library and anywhere else you like ; but you shall go nowhere till I have had the pleasure of seeing you do justice to this delicious food, which, I can assure you, you will not meet with everywhere."

I was sorely troubled in spirit. Who covild have expected so dreadful a martyrdom as this ? The sour apple of the hermit down below was nothing a trifle in comparison ! Was ever an unfortunate bibliomaniac dosed with such a medicine before ? It would have been enough to have cured the whole Roxburghe Club from meddling with libraries and books for ever and ever.

Curzon, Robert. Visits to monasteries in the Levant. London: John Murray, 1849.

Bly Nellie, Dinner

When dinner was served I went in very bravely and took my place on the Captain's left. I had a very strong determination to resist my impulses, but yet, in the bottom of my heart was a little faint feeling that I had found something even stronger than my will power.

Dinner began very pleasantly. The waiters moved about noiselessly, the band played an overture, Captain Albers, handsome and genial, took his place at the head, and the passengers who were seated at his table began dinner with a relish equaled only by enthusiastic wheelmen when roads are fine. I was the only one at the Captain's table who might be called an amateur sailor. I was bitterly conscious of this fact. So were the others.

I might as well confess it, while soup was being served, I was lost in painful thoughts and filled with a sickening fear. I felt that everything was just as pleasant as an unexpected gift on Christmas, and I endeavored to listen to the enthusiastic remarks about the music made by my companions, but my thoughts were on a topic that would not bear discussion.

I felt cold, I felt warm; I felt that I should not get hungry if I did not see food for seven days; in fact, I had a great, longing desire not to see it, nor to smell it, nor to eat of it, until I could reach land or a better understanding with myself.

Fish was served, and Captain Albers was in the midst of a good story when I felt I had more than I could endure.

"Excuse me," I whispered faintly, and then rushed, madly, blindly out. I was assisted to a secluded spot where a little reflection and a little unbridling of pent up emotion restored me to such a courageous state that I determined to take the Captain's advice and return to my unfinished dinner.

"The only way to conquer sea-sickness is by forcing one's self to eat," the Captain said, and I thought the remedy harmless enough to test.

They congratulated me on my return. I had a shamed feeling that I was going to misbehave again, but I tried to hide the fact from them. It came soon, and I disappeared at the same rate of speed as before.

Once again I returned. This time my nerves felt a little unsteady and my belief in my determination was weakening, Hardly had I seated myself when I caught an amused gleam of a steward's eye, which made me bury my face in my handkerchief and choke before I reached the limits of the dining hall.

The bravos with which they kindly greeted my third return to the table almost threatened to make me lose my bearings again. I was glad to know that dinner was just finished and I had the boldness to say that it was very good!

Bly, Nellie. Around the World in Seventy-Two Days. New York: The Pictorial Weeklies Company, 1890.

Bird Isabella, Dinner

We went down to dinner, and only the fact of not having tasted food for many hours could have made me touch it in such a room. We were in a long apartment, with one table down the middle, with plates laid for one hundred people. Every seat was occupied, these seats being benches of somewhat uncouth workmanship. The floor had recently been washed, and emitted a damp fetid odour. At one side was a large fireplace, where, in spite of the heat of the day, sundry manipulations were going on, coming under the general name of cookery. At the end of the room was a long leaden trough or sink, where three greasy scullery-boys without shoes, were perpetually engaged in washing plates, which they wiped upon their aprons. The plates, however, were not washed, only superficially rinsed. There were four brigand-looking waiters with prodigious beards and moustachios.

There was no great variety at table. There were eight boiled legs of mutton, nearly raw; six antiquated fowls, whose legs were of the consistence of guitar-strings; baked pork with "onion fixings," the meat swimminin grease; and for vegetables, yams, corn-cobs, and squash. A cup of stewed tea, sweetened with molasses, stood by each plate, and no fermented liquor of any description was consumed by the company. There were no carving-knives, so each person hacked the joints with his own, and some of those present carved them dexterously with bowie-knives taken out of their belts. Neither were there salt-spoons, so everybody dipped his greasy knife into the little pewter pot containing salt. Dinner began, and after satisfying my own hunger with the least objectionable dish, namely "pork with onion fixings," I had leisure to look round me.

Bird, Isabella. The Englishwoman in America, 1856.

Ungaretti, Girovago

In nessuna

parte

di terra

mi posso

accasare

 

A ogni

nuovo

clima

che incontro

mi trovo

languente

che

una volta

già gli ero stato

assuefatto

 

E me ne stacco sempre

straniero

 

Nascendo

tornato da epoche troppo

vissute

 

Godere un solo

minuto di vita

iniziale

 

Cerco un paese

Innocente

 

Girovago, di Giuseppe Ungaretti, pubblicato nell'opera L'Allegria, 1931

Kagge, Perdersi

Può sembrare esagerato suggerire a qualcuno di prendere la strada sbagliata, o di perdersi, ma può essere anche un buon consiglio.

Erling Kagge. 2018. Camminare: un gesto sovversivo. Stile libero Extra. Torino: Einaudi.

Leed, La forza del viaggio

La forza del viaggio è corrosiva, spoglia e consuma; è un’esperienza di perdita continua. Il mondo creato dal viaggio è segnato tanto da ciò che manca quanto da ciò che è presente.

Leed, Eric J. 1992. La mente del viaggiatore: dall’Odissea al turismo globale. Biblioteca storica Il Mulino. Bologna: Il Mulino.

 

Kerouac, Chi sono?

Mi svegliai che il sole si faceva rosso; e quello fu l’unico, chiaro momento della mia vita, il momento più strano di tutti, in cui non seppi chi ero… Mi trovavo lontano da casa, stralunato e stanco del viaggio, in una misera camera d’albergo che non avevo mai vista,… e guardavo l’alto soffitto pieno di crepe e davvero non seppi chi ero per circa quindici strani secondi. Non avevo paura; ero solo qualcun altro, un estraneo, e tutta la mia vita era una vita stregata, la vita di un fantasma. Mi trovavo a metà strada attraverso l’America, alla linea divisoria fra l’Est della mia giovinezza e l’Ovest del mio futuro, ed è forse per questo che ciò accadde proprio lì e in quel momento, in quello strano pomeriggio rosso.
(Jack Kerouac, 1967)

Citato in Leed, Eric J. 1992. La mente del viaggiatore: dall’Odissea al turismo globale. Biblioteca storica Il Mulino. Bologna: Il Mulino.

 

Theroux, Tornerò

‘Mi indicò la strada per Minhead, non la più breve, ma la più bella, disse. Aveva i capelli chiari e gli occhi scuri. Dissi che la sua casa era bella. Lei disse che era una pensione; poi rise. ‘Perché non resta qui stanotte?” Lo diceva sul serio e sembrava tenerci e allora non fui certo di che cosa offrisse. Rimasi lì in piedi e le sorrisi di rimando… Non era nemmeno l’una e non mi ero mai fermato in un luogo così presto. Dissi, ‘Forse una volta tornerò’. ‘Sarò ancora qui’, disse lei.
(Theroux 1983)

Citato in Leed, Eric J. 1992. La mente del viaggiatore: dall’Odissea al turismo globale. Biblioteca storica Il Mulino. Bologna: Il Mulino.

 

Novella, Shapes

Travel, in other words, has changed our world and our lives, and in all probability will further shape our lives in the future.

Novella, Steven. 2022. The Skeptics’ Guide to the Future. Hodder And Stoughton Ltd.

Coelho, Sentiero hippie

E nacque un altro sentiero hippie, un itinerario che conduceva dall’Olanda, da Amsterdam, fino in Nepal, a Kathmandu. Il biglietto del pullman costava meno di cento dollari e consentiva di percorrere paesi molto interessanti: Turchia, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan e alcune aree dell’India (debitamente lontane dal tempio di Maharishi). Il viaggio durava tre settimane e affrontava un numero considerevole di chilometri.

Coelho, Paulo. Hippie. Milano: La nave di Teseo, 2018.

Coelho, Hippie trail

A new hippie trail was created, from Amsterdam to Kathmandu, on a bus that charged a fare of approximately a hundred dollars and traveled through countries that must have been pretty interesting: Turkey, Lebanon, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and part of India (a great distance from the Maharishi’s temple, it’s worth noting). The trip lasted three weeks and an insane number of miles.

Coelho, Paulo. Hippie. Milano: La nave di Teseo, 2018.

Coelho, Ostriche

Dopo che tutti gli invitati ebbero ordinato le pietanze, il cameriere si rivolse a Jacques: ‘Il solito?’‘Il solito, sì.’ Ostriche come antipasto, specificando che dovevano essere servite vive - qualcosa che sconcertava la maggior parte dei suoi ospiti stranieri. E poi lumache - le celebri escargots - e, dopo, cosce di rana fritte.Nessuno aveva il coraggio di imitare quella scelta – ed era proprio ciò che voleva. Si trattava una tattica di marketing.Gli antipasti arrivarono quasi subito. Quando vennero servite le ostriche, i commensali lo guardarono. Jacques spremette qualche goccia di limone sul primo mollusco, che scattò si contrasse, suscitando la sorpresa e lo sgomento degli invitati. Poi lo fece scivolare tra le labbra e lo inghiottì, prima di assaporare il liquido salato rimasto nella conchiglia.

Coelho, Paulo. Hippie. Milano: La nave di Teseo, 2018.

Simon, The world is immense

It is no trick to go round the world these days, you can pay a lot of money and fly round it nonstop in less than forty-eight hours, but to know it, to smell it and feel it between your toes you have to crawl. There is no other way. Not flying, not floating. You have to stay on the ground and swallow the bugs as you go. Then the world is immense.

Simon, Ted. 2008. Dreaming of Jupiter. London: Abacus.