Ｔｏ ｔｈｅ Ｅｎｄ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｌｉｎｅ

I had been travelling for more than 10 years-in Europe， Asia andAfrica-and it had not occurred to me to write a travel book. I hadalways somewhat disliked travel books; they seemed self-indulgent，untunny and rather selective. I suspected that the travel writer left a greatdeal out of the book and emphasised the bright surfaces. “Couleur locale hasbeen responsible for many hasty appreciations，” Nabokov once wrote， “andlocal colour is not a fast colour.” I hated sightseeing， and yet that was whatconstituted the travel writer's material: the Pyramids， the Taj Mahal， theVatican， the paintings here， the mosaics there. In an age of mass tourism，everyone set off to see the same things， and that was what travel writingseemed to be.