Fermor's "A Time of Gifts"

Since I've heard and read nothing but good things about this, I'm going to give it a try.

Patrick Leigh Fermor, who lived  96 years despite being a life-long heavy smoker (I refuse to believe it), published this in 1977 when he was 62.

Reflecting on the long solo walk he began at 18 from Holland to Constantinople just as Hitler rose to power in 1933, he worked from a lost journal  he had kept during his trip and which somehow came back to him forty years later.

Fermor credited the journal with firing his imagination and shaping the project, while his matured sensibility allowed him to build upon his adventures with hindsight, and with a critical and descriptive interpretation of everything he saw and felt before Europe fell into its great calamity.

Perhaps I'll share more if I get into this book, which seems likely given my present interest in travel writing and itch for a good tale.

For months now, I've obsessed about going--just going.  Last night I was reading about the annual pilgrimage walk across northern Spain--the Camino de Santiago--which is visited by thousands--an event that has taken on extra poignancy this summer in light of the recent Santiago train tragedy.

While I am not a particularly religious sort, and certainly not Catholic, my understanding is that religion is somewhat irrelevant to the scope of the event, as many diverse people walk the Camino de Santiago.

I wasn't a full-fledged hippie back in the day, either, but I always rather enjoyed the Country Fair outside Eugene for its visual texture and energy.

Impressions of all that aside, I'm thinking Fermor's tale of a solo walk might entice me more than any telling of what happened to another author--unless he is very good--during an organized walk.

The author set out alone.  His adventures were his alone, and he bore the hardships as well as the great satisfaction epic walking must give.

Were I to walk, my trip would be solo as well.


TS