What a disappointing book after the author's excellent Running for the Hills.
These kinds of travel books need a hook, and superficially the idea of following the swallow's migration from South Africa to Britain is a good one, but what lightweight execution! The author can't be bothered to get the right visas or sort out a viable continuous route across the African continent before his departure so has to interrupt his journey with flights in and out of the swallow's migration route on the way, which rather punctures any narrative flow.
Some of the journey, for example across Namibia, CongoBrazzaville and Cameroon, is interesting and occasionally funny, which makes the rest so much more disappointing.
The overall impression given is that of a barely-travelled gap-year student mooncalf, full of wide-eyed admiration for all things African and Arab while contemptuous of everything white and Western. The naivety and self-indulgence become tiresome very early on, and by the time the author has a hissy fit in Gibraltar, throwing his notebooks into the sea in some kind of Road to Damascus revelation about the evils of his European birthright, this particular reader was ready to call it a day.
An irritating and superficial travel book that taught me little about swallows I didn't already know and (with a couple of exceptions) even less about the countries the author travelled through.