A seeker, not only a tourist (from Amazon 5/14/05)
A free-form solo bicycle tour is a time of constant improvisation, unexpected turns of events, invitations to family dinners where the tourist feels like an insider and outsider at once. Few experiences so clear the mind. Chinese-Australian author Lynette Chiang's book about her Cuba tour offers a fine description of these experiences and feelings - and much more.
From the start of the book, Chiang gives precise description, acute insights into personalities, delightful twists of language, and light, self-deprecating humor, but she does pose a bit of a puzzle for readers. For one thing, the cover photo of a rather unhandsome man can be misleading. A friend of this reviewer's took the picture at face value, and indicated that he didn't see how he would be interested in that man's story!
In the first few pages, Chiang tosses off a few mysterious little asides about her past, and lets on that she has not read a newspaper in months. She hangs out in Havana with some of the human driftwood from wealthy nations that washes up on the shores of poorer ones, risking speculation that she might be more of the same. Is her smile in those snapshots only that of some lightweight party girl?
Well, the blurb on the back cover does indicate that readers should expect more. Free-form travel does requires presence of mind. Maybe I'm missing something.
Yes indeed I am! How totally wrong the first impression!
For one thing, the five-foot-tall Lynette Chiang on her Bike Friday folding bicycle has scooped the distinguished journalistic competition in depicting the lives of ordinary Cubans. Avoiding tourist traps, she pedaled out into the real Cuba, where she found great physical beauty of mountains, beaches, ocean - as well as decrepit buildings; the televised novela (soap opera), with its blaring soundtrack; superb meals or barely tolerable ones, depending upon a home cook's talents with rice, beans, pork fat and a few vegetables and fruits.
Chiang managed to meet, visit and depict the daily lives of dozens of Cubans, often staying with them in their homes. Most Cubans were friendly and generous. Many, unlicensed to take in foreign tourists, risked heavy fines to house her for the night, and sent her off with gifts of food despite having barely enough for themselves.
Through vivid descriptions of personal encounters, and without passing judgment, Chiang describes a country where "everybody seems to belong to someone, somewhere" - familial love and generosity to strangers have not yet fallen before the onslaught of modern ways. She takes a fair look at the seamier side, too: go-getters hustling tourist dollars; prostitution and sugar-daddy relationships with foreigners; petty thefts; racial tension; the "usual questions" from eager Cuban men - "are you married, do you have children" - and a couple of encounters that could have ended much worse.
Chiang offers trenchant comments on the effect of different political systems on national character, drawn from her personal experience. To her surprise, she found "no overt military presence" from the Communist government but rather, "a single, invisible leash...long enough to join [Cubans] as a nation...but taut enough to press on the nerve that says "I want change."
But more: when she gets out of Havana and her tour hits its stride, her flashbacks blend into a moving self-portrait of a seeker, not only a tourist. We may first come properly to appreciate her when she opens up our frame of reference to the whole world, from her camping spot on an empty ocean beach on the millennium New Year's Eve.
She does not seek to drown out troublesome thought by invoking any credo or mantra. Rather, in two masterful paragraphs and one short sentence, she simply takes us there. She lists several locations, and people she might have chosen to visit on this day of all days, then evokes her centered satisfaction in being where she is -- alone, underway without fixed destination. The rhythm is reminiscent of the pedaling of a cyclist's climbing a hill, stopping at the top to look around, and then pushing off. This is powerful. I won't go further into specifics: you may read them from her.
The book includes several other passages of similar power and poetry, and describes a number of unforgettable events: a seasick voyage with an obsessive sailor, ending in their being towed into port, at Chiang's insistence, in a tourist trap from which Chiang makes a hilarious getaway; a collision between a tanker truck and a passenger train, through whose cars there spreads a rumor of a family tragedy with a wrenching twist; a sermon by a preacher who is supposedly full of holiness but is mostly full of himself...The book breaks into verse in three places. They describe a dead-end relationship with a man; closeness with a young girl met while on tour, then left behind...
The narrative in the second half does slow occasionally, though the return from Cuba at the end is startling and memorable. More careful proofreading could have removed a number of small errors, as with many books these days. Some background comments get repeated -- months apart in Chiang's source diaries, only an hour or two apart in reading the book. But these are minor flaws.
The subtitle of the book is "an escapade" - as in a caper, something undertaken on a whim, a clever plot that succeeds in spite of the rules. You might, then, read the book only as an adventure tale. But "escapade" isn't the same as "escapist." Chiang succeeds in her interactions with the Cubans, and with readers, because she is cheerful, engaging, and acutely perceptive -- but perceptiveness also is a burden.
Though Chiang doesn't toss off literary references, she _must_ be well-read, except for those newspapers which, it turns out, she found depressing. She does mention Dante, Thoreau, and Kerouac: her sensibility owes something to the Beats, only it's more upbeat. Their free-form travel, and hers, reflect a deep need for renewal, come what may. At its deepest level, Chiang's narrative returns, again and again, to a quest for a sense of belonging in a world which offers no ultimate answers, by an acutely observant mind and pure heart. As the Cuba tour ends, Chiang has found no place of repose.
Five years later, at the time of the writing of this review, Chiang works as traveling "customer evangelist" for the company that made her bicycle. Through support of an orphanage in Peru that she visited on a tour, she has found a cause, and an ongoing connection with children. She has a Web site and three blogs, where her postings are numerous, energetic, usually cheerful, often wildly humorous, and show a great appreciation of beauty in graphic art. She gives contradictory impressions of calm and commotion. As to the time before she became a world traveler, she indicates little more than that she walked away from a conventional suburban existence. Maybe she is working Zen-like to keep her readers off-base and on the move, like herself - or maybe not -- who knows? Who cares? Do we have to care?
Her postings do strongly suggest that her disquiet has waned before her creative power. And more power to her. She has let it be known that she is working on another book. Tracking her progression will be interesting indeed.
Bottom line: Chiang's book moved this crusty old bicycle touring reviewer repeatedly to laughter, to cries of recognition, and to tears. Read it. And the next one.
************
© 2005 John S. Allen
May be reproduced, in full, with attribution, for non-commercial use; permission required for other uses.
John S. Allen is a Regional Director of the League of American Bicyclists, and the author of 'Bicycling Street Smarts'.
UPDATE to the above review
A seeker, not only a tourist, May 14, 2005
Reviewer: John S. Allen (Waltham, MA USA) - See all my reviews
That man on the front cover isn't exactly handsome.
Maybe bookstores should display the book with the back cover facing out! It holds a lively promotional blurb explaining what the book is about: author Lynette Chiang's adventurous free-form, low-budget 3-month tour of Cuba, mostly by bicycle.
The author does have a taste for irony...
I read the blurb, opened the book and found very enthusiastic quotes from reviewers. Those five stars overhead say that I am just as enthusiastic.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. For now, onward, into the body of the work.
Prank time again! In the first few pages, Chiang gives precise description, acute insights into personalities, delightful twists of language, and light, self-deprecating humor, but she lets on that she has not read a newspaper in months. She hangs out in Havana with other foreigners -- drifters and wanderers -- leading to speculation that she might be just like them. She tosses off a few mysterious little asides about her past.
Well, Chiang _will_ allow you to get to know her if you are patient, and I assure you, it's very much worth the effort.
Warning: analysis follows. If you want to let Chiang's story unfold for yourself in your own way -- just order the book. You won't regret it.
*********
Chiang's book is no ordinary travelogue, it's much more. A free-form, solo bicycle tour is a time of constant improvisation, unexpected turns of events, invitations to family dinners where the tourist feels like an insider and outsider at once.
Avoiding tourist traps, Chiang pedaled out into the real Cuba, where she found great physical beauty of mountains, beaches, ocean - as well as decrepit buildings; the televised _novela_ (soap opera), with its blaring soundtrack; superb meals or barely tolerable ones, depending upon a home cook's talents with rice, beans, pork fat and a few vegetables and fruits.
Less is more when it comes to actually getting to know a country and its people. The five-foot-tall Lynette Chiang on her Bike Friday folding bicycle has scooped the distinguished journalistic competition in depicting the lives of ordinary Cubans. She often stayed with them in their homes, and found most Cubans friendly and generous. Many, unlicensed to take in paying guests, risked heavy fines to house her for the night, and sent her off with gifts of food despite having barely enough for themselves.
Through vivid descriptions of personal encounters, and without passing judgment, Chiang describes a country where "everybody seems to belong to someone, somewhere" - familial love and generosity to strangers have not yet fallen before the onslaught of modern ways. She takes a fair look at the seamier side, too: go-getters hustling tourist dollars; prostitution and sugar-daddy relationships with foreigners; petty thefts; racial tension; the "usual questions" from eager Cuban men - "are you married, do you have children" - and a couple of encounters that could have ended much worse.
Chiang offers trenchant comments on the effect of different political systems on national character, drawn from her personal experience. To her surprise, she found "no overt military presence" from the Communist government but rather, "a single, invisible leash...long enough to join [Cubans] as a nation...but taut enough to press on the nerve that says "_I want change._"
But more yet: as Chiang's tour hits its stride, her musings blend into a moving self-portrait of a seeker, not only a tourist. We may first come properly to appreciate her when she opens up our frame of reference to the whole world, from her camping spot on an empty ocean beach on the millennium New Year's Eve.
She does not seek to drown out troublesome thought by invoking any credo or mantra. Rather, in two masterful paragraphs and one short sentence, she simply _takes us there_. She lists several locations thousands of miles away, and people with whom she might have spent this day of all days, then evokes her centered satisfaction in being where she is -- alone, underway without fixed destination. The rhythm is reminiscent of a cyclist's pedaling up a hill, stopping at the top to look around, and then pushing off. This passage is powerful. I won't go further into specifics: you may read them from her.
The book includes several other passages of similar power and poetry, and describes a number of unforgettable events: a seasick voyage with an obsessive sailor, ending in their being towed into harbor, at Chiang's insistence, in a tourist trap from which Chiang makes a hilarious escape; a collision between a tanker truck and a passenger train, through whose cars there spreads a rumor of a family tragedy with a wrenching twist; a sermon by a preacher who is supposedly full of holiness but is mostly full of himself...
The book breaks into verse in three places. They describe a dead-end relationship with a man; closeness with a young girl met while on tour, then left behind; pains of love. Here, Chiang is most revealing of herself.
The narrative in the second half does slow occasionally, though the return from Cuba at the end is startling and memorable. More careful proofreading could have removed a number of small errors, as with _many_ books these days. Some background comments get repeated -- weeks apart in Chiang's source diaries, only an hour or two apart in reading the book. But these are minor flaws.
The subtitle of the book is "an escapade" - as in a caper, something undertaken on a whim, a clever plot that succeeds in spite of the rules. You might, then, read the book only as an adventure tale. But "escapade" isn't the same as "escapist." Chiang succeeds in her interactions with Cubans, and with readers, because she is cheerful, engaging, and acutely perceptive -- but perceptiveness also is a burden.
Though Chiang doesn't toss off literary references, she _must_ be well-read, except for those newspapers which, it turns out, she found depressing. She does mention Dante, Thoreau, and Kerouac: her sensibility owes something to the Beats, only it's more upbeat: free-form travel reflects a deep need for renewal, come what may. At its deepest level, Chiang's narrative returns, again and again, to a quest for a sense of belonging in a world which offers no secure promises, by an acutely observant mind and pure heart. As the Cuba tour ends, Chiang has found no place of repose.
Five years later, at the time of the writing of this review, Chiang works as traveling "customer evangelist" for the company that made her bicycle. She has a Web site and three weblogs, where her postings are numerous, energetic, usually cheerful, often wildly humorous, and show a great appreciation of beauty in graphic art. Through support of an orphanage in Peru that she visited on a tour, she has found a cause, and an ongoing connection with children. She gives contradictory impressions of agile energy and calm, of reserve and bold candor. As for the time before she became a world traveler, she indicates little more than that she walked away from a conventional suburban existence in Australia. Maybe she is working Zen-like to keep her readers off-base and on the move, like herself - or maybe not -- who knows? Who cares? Do we have to care?
Her postings do strongly suggest that her disquiet has waned before her creative power. And more power to her. She has let it be known that she is working on another book. Tracking her progression will be interesting indeed.
Bottom line: Chiang's book moved this graying-bearded/40 years since reading the Beats and Existentialists/bicycle tourist repeatedly to laughter, to cries of recognition, and to tears. Read it. And the next one.