I so wanted to like this book. Surely many people harbour a desire to "see the sun fall where it used to rise, buy the ticket, spend the lot" and make this sort of journey. So much of travel writing is about living out vicariously your own dreams in the actions of others, and the very best travel writing can make you feel as if you are there on the road alongside the writer. Sadly this book falls short of this mark in a number of ways. Ultimately, the fragmented, and often brief nature of some of the sections of the book feel like we are reading a blog in print. It all starts so well, with detailed description of the realities of new Russia, and the Trans-Siberian train journey, but becomes slight very quickly. I mean, Canada and Alaska get 9 pages! It's like Burdon himself lost his enthusiasm for writing the sort of travelogue I am sure he dreamed at the start would result from this once in a lifetime holiday. Latter sections of the book are more vignettes, and snippets of local colour without the detail of a context, or background to make the nature of these interesting, or arresting enough. It's a real shame, as the book promised so much. I've backpacked a good bit, and I know that often the actualities of such trips can become onerous and tiring, but in the end, it's always worth it. This book seems to lack the critical distance from the immediacy of the hassles Burdon relates in so many places to make one feel at times that it seems Burdon is wondering himself why he is making the trip. On Kindle, for the price it was OK, and diverting enough to want to finish it, but I think I'd be pretty miffed if I bought the paperback at full price.