Chasing the Devil: The Search for Africa's Fighting Spirit

Tim Butcher's Blood River is some of the best travel writing I've read recently, and my review of it caught his eye on Good Reads, and he reached out and suggested a couple other titles of his he thought I might enjoy. Chasing the Devil, in which he chronicles his journey, on foot, through Sierra Leone, Guinea, and Liberia, certainly did not disappoint. As with the tramp through the Congo that comprises Blood River, Butcher's West African adventure was inspired by an earlier journey, in this case that of British author Graham Greene in 1935.

What Butcher does well is to weave together the history of Greene's journey with his own hike (if a multi-week push through the jungles of three nations can be considered merely a 'hike'), along with the history, geopolitics, and especially cultural traditions of the countries through which he strides. From Chinese investment to lassa fever outbreaks, African spiritualism, to tensions between ethnic groups, Butcher covers as much ground as an author as he did on foot. And, I should add, equally competent. 

Given what he attempts to do, the sheer volume of information he seeks to impart, it would be easy for to become bogged down in the weeds. To his credit, this rarely happens, and most of the book skips along, brought to life with descriptions to the effect of "For four years the National Provisional Ruling Council junta ran Sierra Leona, although 'ran' hardly seems an appropriate description for the feuding, bloodletting, attempted coups, executions and political paralysis of this period." Not to put too fine a point on it. 

Chasing the Devil was a particular pleasure for me, as it recalled memories of my own visit to West Africa in 2019, where I experienced first hand the African rains that Butcher describes as "something extreme, aqueous bullets pummelling the ground," and so much else.

Dancing Bears: True Stories of People Nostalgic for Life Under Tyranny

In Dancing Bears, author Witold Szablowski travels the length and breadth of the former Soviet states (and satellite states), conversing with those whose lives have changed, not always for the better.

The dancing bears of the titles are those bears who were kept by the Roma of Bulgaria, rescued by a German NGO upon Bulgaria's entry into the EU, and now live a pampered and free life at a park in Belitsa. Much to the chagrin of the park managers, when sad, lonely, or stressed, the bears revert to the behavior that ensured their keep for years: dancing. Neither have their former keepers adapted well to the changing times. Szablowski frequently encounters Gypsy families that have splintered, fractured by depression and death, in the aftermath of the bears' departure.

Beyond Bulgaria, Szablowski introduces his reader to the Stalin-loving guides at the Stalin Museum in Gori, Georgia, where the great man's memory looms large, and to the questions of nationality and identity confronting Russian Estonians...or is it Estonian Russians? He also explores the quietly simmering tensions of life in Kosovo and, in the western hemisphere, Szablowski journeys to Cuba, where more than one leery Cuban expresses uncertainly about the fate of the country should Fidel Castro die (Dancing Bears was published in 2014). On the brighter side, there's good money to be made running goods from the Polish EU to the decidedly-not-the-EU Ukraine.

This is a unique book that provides western readers with perspectives that aren't otherwise easily encountered. Szablowski's work on the dancing bears is especially provocative, yet balanced; he presents a clear-eyed view of the obvious downsides of training bears (removing their teeth, inserting rings through their noses, creating alcohol dependency), but also a sympathetic view of the keepers - Szablowski is at pains (in a good way) to remind readers to the extent to which training bears was a genuine part of the cultural fabric.

Dancing Bears reminded me of Secondhand Time, another work that seeks to provide understanding of how and why the transition from Communism has been so daunting for so many. Whereas I found the latter became repetitive, and ultimately too long, I would have happily read another 100 pages of this one.

Five stars.

Blood River: The Terrifying Journey through the World's Most Dangerous Country

Between Spillover, Dark Star Safari, Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness, and the Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu, I felt I had a well-rounded sense of the dangers that might lurk around the corner of any number of African countries, from the hazards of travel to militants, terrorists, and thugs to your run-of-the-mill, mind-numbingly-terrifying, bleed-from-every-orifice-as-you-lay-dying disease. Not that I expected to encounter any of these scenarios on my own African foray, of course.

In any case, the title of Tim Butcher's travelogue says it all: a terrifying journey through [one of] the world's most dangerous countries. Is Somalia more dangerous than the DRC? Syria? Yemen? It hardly seems to matter. The man spent months traversing the bush, battling bad water, deadly mosquitoes, and the logistics of traveling through a country where nature has reclaimed all but the largest of roads. Everything - everything - is in short supply and everyone lives in near-constant fear of what or who is around the next bend - most of all the feared mai-mai fighters whose ability to vanish into the bush is as troubling as their violence and tactics.

So why, one might ask does Butcher undertake this adventure? Ostensibly, he seeks to retrace the steps of nineteenth century explorer/adventurer H.M. Stanley whose own voyage down the Congo River ultimately led to the country's nearly-century-long experience with the brutality of colonialism, first as King Leopold's personal possession and later as a Belgian colony. More tangibly, it seems that retracing Stanley's route may have been the germ of the idea, but that once seeded, Butcher could not let it go - as an international correspondent who'd covered his fair share of combat zones and front lines, this journey became one more way to test himself and his mettle, mental as well as physical. To which I say, bully for him. It's hard to imagine anyone else mad enough to entertain such a journey (I mean, even Paul Theroux stuck to the overcrowded and rattletrap "taxis" and "buses" in Dark Star Safari), but it makes for a fascinating backdrop for the history and politics that Butcher deftly incorporates.

Four stars. 

Country Driving: A Chinese Road Trip

I was in China last month, and I was in awe. Shanghai, at least, is everything I love in Asia and lots of things I don't. It is high tech, and it is inefficient as hell. It is souped up Ferraris and ancient mopeds, the latter not infrequently usurping the pedestrians' right-of-way on sidewalks. It is gleaming skyscrapers and ancient temples and back alleys that were formerly opium dens. Gucci and Prada and "Gucci" and "Prada." You get the idea. And, yet, Peter Hessler makes me feel I have missed the essential China. (Admittedly, I felt the same after reading Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper.)

Hessler's Country Driving is a compilation of his adventures in China 15-20 years ago, when cars were rare(ish), roads were new, and farmers regularly tossed crops into the middle of the road, where vehicles could not miss them. (As Hessler observes, "there's no other act that so publicly violates both traffic safety and food hygiene," but the practice was tolerated "because threshing is easiest when somebody else's tires do the work.") Also, Hessler encounters a licensed Zhejiang Province Demolitioner, who he notes was fully licensed to blow up the province. Literally: mountain upon mountain met its end at the hands of this particular demolitioner, who carried a separate certification attesting to the fact that he'd never had an accident - no small thing in a place where Hessler repeatedly witnesses flame in close proximity to natural gas.

Some of the tales were familiar from his Strange Stones, and the commentary on immigration from farm to factory was slightly reminiscent of Factory Girls (whose author, I learned in the acknowledgements is Hessler's wife), but on the whole, Country Driving was a look at lighter and funnier side of life in China.

Five stars for those who love travel writing and tales of the wider world. 

Age of Ambition: Chasing Fortune, Truth, and Faith in the New China

Evan Osnos’s Age of Ambition is part Shark’s Fin and Sichuan Pepper, part Factory Girls, and part Strange Stones-esque travelogue (particularly when Osnos joins a group of Chinese tourists on a whirlwind trip through Europe, in one of the most amusing chapters). From exploring the evolving nature of the Chinese communist party, to gambling in Macau, to the impact of the Beijing Olympics on the blueprint of the city, Osnos leaves no stone unturned in recounting his years as an expat journalist in China. 

Osnos is a serious journalist (he was the Beijing correspondent for The New Yorker), and he covers a lot of heady material, from corruption to forced sterilization to freedom of the press, but what makes Age of Ambition so eminently readable are the stories of everyday life – Osnos’s American-in-China-everyday-life – that he sprinkles throughout. For example, a family of weasels colonizes Osnos’s roof. He calls an exterminator, who informs him that weasels are good luck. 

Age of Ambition is a clear-eyed look at life in China, one that anyone who wants to understand more about this rising power should read.

Four stars.

Tip of the Iceberg: My 3,000-Mile Journey Around Wild Alaska, the Last Great American Frontier

Mark Adams's Turn Right at Machu Picchu is one of the funniest travel volumes I've read, so I was excited to see his most recent work, Tip of the Iceberg on the library's bookshelf. In it, Adams sets out for Alaska, largely retracing the steps of the 1899 expedition organized and financed by railroad tycoon Edward Harriman that put Alaska on the map as a destination. Like any good researcher, Adams also makes several additional visits, speaking with experts in a variety of fields and creating a picture of the contours of life in Alaska and the unique challenges facing it.

In comparison to Machu Picchu, this work suffers. It's simply not as funny or as dramatic as Adams's rendering of either his own experience hiking the Inca Trail or those of the Bingham expedition or the Spaniards. That's not to say that Tip of the Iceberg isn't a fine book - it just needs to be appreciate for it's own merits, rather than compared to Adams's earlier work. And what Tip of the Iceberg does well is crystallize the myriad issues facing Alaska today, from the biggie - climate change - to conversations around land use, native rights, and balanced budgets. This is very much a snapshot of the zeitgeist of America in the MAGA era, while also providing historical detail on the "discovery" of Alaska's wilds a century-plus ago.

That's not to say Tip of the Iceberg is without humor. Adams's encounter with a couple of bear cubs, his journeys by ferry, and encounters with numerous quirky locals, provide plenty of entertainment. The harder questions posed, always subtly, but just there - under the tip of the iceberg - are more reminiscent of Chesapeake Requiem than Machu Picchu.

Four stars.

Heads in Beds: A Reckless Memoir of Hotels, Hustles, and So-Called Hospitality

Jacob Tomsky's Heads in Beds purports to be a tell-all on the hotel industry. Instead I found it mostly recounted Tomsky's personal exploits, frequently involving alcohol, often a hustle, and almost always some choice expletives, most commonly beginning with the letter F. So, no, it didn't really appeal...which is unfortunate, because it had potential, especially in the early chapters.

Tomsky more or less lost me when he got tired of his job and packed off to the Europe to live a backpacker's lifestyle until the money ran out. Returning to the States, he settled on New York and, out of options, returned to the hotel industry where he learned the real tricks of the hustle (aka scam). He did confirm for me others bits of hotel lore I've heard over the years, such as never, ever, ever drink from a glass in a guest room and the do not disturb sign is a very good friend. Also, valet parking: not a good idea.

As rapidly as the travel industry is changing, I'm curious how much some of the "advice" in Heads in Beds holds true a decade on. Certainly, I would expect that as the industry consolidates (think Marriott-Starwood merger), front desk staff have less autonomy than they did in the early 2000s, particularly at the mid-tier properties. (I also assume that hotels track individual guests more closely than in the past. Try Tomsky's mini-bar hustle on multiple properties in the same chain and I bet they catch on pretty quickly.)

Two-and-a-half stars.

This Cold Heaven: Seven Seasons in Greenland

I won't lie: this book was a slog. Several years ago I read - and loved - An African in Greenland, written in the 1960s, and hoped that Gretel Ehrlich's This Cold Heaven would be similar. While Ehrlich does weave the accounts of her own time in Greenland in the late 1990s throughout the book, it was mostly a re-hashing of those who had gone earlier, much, much earlier, with at least half the book devoted to recounting the voyages and work of Knud Rasmussen in the early twentieth century.

It's not that Rasmussen's voyages are uninteresting, but Erhlich is prone to philosophize a bit too much for my liking, particularly when reflecting back on those earlier travelers. I did eventually begin skimming such chapters as "The Time Between Two Winters, 1922" and "The Mackenzie Delta, 1924." Where Erhlich's work shines best is in describing the culture and people - as opposed, for example, to her sentiments on the universe when traversing the ice. Her accounts of the Children's House are fascinating, and I had to actively remind myself that the scenes she witnessed occurred when I was in high school. (In that sense, it was a bit similar to Call the Nurse, which is perhaps not surprising when considering the Hebrides in the 70s were virtually as remote as Greenland in the 90s!)

The strongest part of This Cold Heaven and the part I enjoyed most was the last hundred pages, which leaves Rasmussen and company behind almost entirely and tells instead of Ehrlich's time in Greenland in 1998 and 1999. It is here that she writes most of the people, the society, and the magnitude of the shift they are experiencing.

At the end of the day, though, this just wasn't close to my favorite memoir or best travel writing and I say only devotees of Greenlandic history need add this one to their list.

Two stars.

Chesapeake Requiem: A Year with the Watermen of Vanishing Tangier Island

Chesapeake Requiem may well be the most powerful, provocative book I read all year. Earl Swift spent a year on tiny Tangier Island, deep in the Chesapeake Bay, living amongst the few hundred residents who call it home. These hardy individuals, whose numbers are dwindling by the year, primarily make their living off the water and nearly all of them can trace their lineage back to the pre-Revolutionary settlers.

Swift captures the spirit of Tangier, which is rife with contradictions, so eloquently that I practically felt I was there next to him. As the title says, Tangier Island is slowly disappearing. Never mind that the stages of disappearance can be traced to at least 1850; the bottom line is that the island likely has but a handful of years left. Like many rural places, though, the demographics are also working against the continuation of Tangier and the way of life there. As Swift notes, the end of Tangier will likely come down to a race between climate change and demographics. 

As for that climate change bit: the population of Tangier Island is skeptical, and that's putting it mildly. They do agree that their island is disappearing, and they're desperate to save it, but they believe the culprit is "erosion" and not "rising sea levels" and I'll leave it to the reader to split those hairs - although Swift does a fine job of both providing the scientific background and the Tangier perspective. The federal government has been concerned about the rapid disappearance of the island as well, primarily for the migratory bird habitat it provides, and has "studied" the issue on and off for the past 20 years. 

Like much of Rural America, Tangier Island was and remains Trump Country. While this may seem one contradiction too many, by the time Swift had enumerated all of the various studies and the studies of the studies and so on, I was sympathetic to the notion of wanting someone who promised to slash red tape. And build walls. Tangiermen really, really, really want a seawall, and their mayor has even gone on the record as saying maybe Washington should just build them a sea wall if the folks in the Southwest don't want one. Desperate times call for desperate arguments.

It would be easy enough for Swift to have created caricatures; presumably most of his readers won't have visited Tangier, nor perhaps have firsthand experience with many from the tiny towns that dot this country. Why not confirm the stereotypes? Yet, Swift has done a commendable job of presenting a holistic portrait of the men and women who call Tangier home. Time and again I was struck by how hard they work and how hard life is. Up and at 'em closer to midnight than daylight, as Swift observes, and not just occasionally, but every. single. day., the men work the water until either it claims them (not too uncommon, unfortunately - remember, commercial fishing is the most dangerous occupation in America) or until they physically can do it no longer. 

Lest the reader have their own ideas about when that might be, Swift provides a sketch of two hale watermen working their boat in high seas, on a day when he can barely remain upright. One of the two is 81 and the other recently celebrated his 86th birthday. Crabbing is not for the faint of heart. In his year on the island, Swift witnesses heartbreaking tragedy, as well as the reaction of the town to that tragedy, which can largely be summarized as doubling down on hard work, faith, and taking care of their own.

Ah, faith. The municipal water town is painted with a cross, and I'm sure you've already guessed there's no shortage of prayer in the school. (That would be the K-12 school, enrollment 58, where the class of 2016 was uncommonly large for having 7 graduates.) There are two churches, though, and if attendance isn't mandated, the blue laws restricting Sunday commerce as well as the dry laws restricting any alcohol sales on-island are. 

By the end of Chesapeake Requiem, I felt I actually knew some of the individuals, and wanted to know them better. I would say I've added Tangier to my bucket list, for the just-caught crab cakes and crab hush puppies if nothing else, but I recognize I'm unlike to make it there before it - or its denizens - disappears. At its heart, this is a book that asks its readers to think about the myriad people and cultures that comprise this country, the ways in which we fit together, and how we value one another, our beliefs, and our land. For these reasons, Chesapeake Requiem should be required reading for anyone who lives in this country or wants to understand it better.

I'd give it six stars if I could.

Dancing with the Devil in the City of God: Rio de Janeiro and the Olympic Dream

Brazil is the first developing country I visited, in the 90s when I was in high school. I remember being blown away by the levels of dysfunction I witnessed - including that when our friends sold their home it was purchased by a customs agent...with suitcases of cash. Returning a few years ago for a conference, I had a box of stress balls and pens impounded by customs, who then implored my office for six months to return to the country and retrieve them. And so on.

Dancing with the Devil in the City of God is written by a Brazilian, Juliana Barbassa, thus lending credence to the notion that the dysfunction is not simply an American perception. Barbassa, who has lived and worked around the world, jumped at the opportunity to return to the city of her birth as the AP's correspondent there, only to discover the layers of dysfunction that were previously hidden to her. Chapter-by-chapter she dissects many of these, from the corruption within the police department to environmental degradation (read: raw sewage flowing through every river and onto the beaches), to the contradictory attitudes toward prostitution and, frequently, gay rights. Political shenanigans naturally figure prominently as well.

The backdrop for Barbassa's work is the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Olympics, the deadlines for which are firm and inflexible, not subject to individual whims. While there is potential for such deadlines to positively drive change, Barbassa generally finds that instead decisions are taken too quickly, with an eye only for what the world will think and who can make the most money (hint: it's usually a property developer), as opposed to being grounded in urban planning or public policy imperatives.

Dancing with the Devil in the City of God concludes with the 2014 World Cup; the Olympics which figure so prominently in the discussions around waste water treatment and the removal of the favelas are still two years away when the book ends. So, too, the trials of Lula, the former president who is simultaneously an inmate serving a 12-year sentence for corruption and his party's nominee for president in this year's election. If Barbassa isn't already working on another book about Brazil, it's not for a lack of material.

This is a great read for anyone looking for perspective on the developing world in general, and Brazil in particular. The contradictions continue to flummox and frustrate Barbassa (who is at her finest in describing the process necessary to rent an apartment), so rest assured the reader will be no closer to solving the enigma, either, but this book provides excellent insight into the Brazilian culture today. It has the further advantage of reading, at times, like a travelogue, invoking the gorgeous scenery, as well as some of the highs and lows of Brazil's international diplomatic and business relationships.

Four stars.