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'Funny, revealing and thoroughly enjoyable' Irish Independent
'Another delightful book - and one, surely, without risk of imitation' Sunday Times
'A relaxed and affectionate book' Irish Times
'Hilarious Gaelic gallimaufry put together by that prince among travel writers, the literary conqueror of the Hindu Kush' Daily Telegraph
'His eternal curiosity in common humanity, his love of obscure facts and random delving into byways of history, mean that he is always entertaining. He carries his readers with him, effortlessly sharing his own enthusiasm' Literary Review
'Although he deplores the increasing uniformity of travel, he writes and travels with a sense of wonder that his 68 years have failed to diminish' Scotsman
'You've had some pretty crazy ideas in your life, Newby, but this is the craziest.' Grandmother Wanda Newby was exasperated after continuous rain, snow, and gales that knocked from her bike. Twice.
To avoid other tourists, Eric Newby had decided that the depths of winter would be the very best time to explore Ireland by mountain bike. More astonishing still, he managed to persuade Wanda, his long-suffering wife and life-long co-traveller, to accompany him - mainly, she admitted, to 'keep him out of trouble'. Lashed by winter storms, fuelled by Guinness and warmed by thermal underwear, their panniers laden with antique books on Ireland, the elderly adventurers cycle the highways and byways, encountering hospitable locals, swaying saints and ferocious dogs.
From the shores of Donegal to the holy mountains, Newby guides the reader on a tale of mishap and magic, all in his own peculiar style of humour and charm, relishing his never-ending curiosity of the world and his insatiable quest for adventure.
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I can't help but concur with another reviewer's comment and add that Newby's occasional and unwelcome patronising comments (on the Irish and the inclement weather) might well result from a bad mood after quill dampening! Why the hapless reader should suffer from his ludicrous choice of travel time (touring Ireland by bike, in the winter, with sketchy preparation) is beyond me.
If you want a refreshing travelogue angle, and Ireland is your cup of Guinness, then try Tony Hawkes' 'Round Ireland with a Fridge' which is more original and wittier.
Mr. Newby is stangely self-centered. The book is a catalog of their travails with little comment on anyone they meet. I assume that he thought this would be humorous and entertaining, but after awhile I wanted him to shut up about himself and go home or get on with describing Ireland. When he does touch on history the descriptive passages seem to be read wholesale out of various guidebooks, which Newby acknowledges and feel like an add on instead of woven into their narrative. There are a few wonderful pages of landscape description but only enough to rate two stars and far too few to justify 298 pages.
I would not recommend this book. Instead read any of the late Thomas Flanagan's three novels about Ireland, The year of the French, The Tenants of Time or The End of the Hunt. Even Ray Bradbury's Green Shadows, White Whale (about living in Ireland while writing the screenplay for John Huston's film of Moby Dick.)
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