First of all the confession. I only read the first 163 pages of this book, I did not read the last 60. Therefore please note that my assessment is based on those first 163 pages only. I decided to read this book as a result of an article by Pico Iyer about a trip he made to Bolivia with a banker friend. It was both interesting and funny. At the end of the article, it mentioned that he had written this book, and so that day I was down at the local bookshop to buy it. The book (read first 163 pages) is essentially a collection of short stories which cover experiences of travel or possibly sensations of travel and the related feelings of displacement, as opposed to travel adventures. I was once told that no matter how well written a book is, without a good story it will fall flat on its face. The stories in this book are well written, but are equally the most monotonous, tear jerkingly boring stories I have ever read in my life with a dash of holier than thou preachiness thrown in for good measure. Okay, fairly harsh, there is a moderately interesting story about another trip to Bolivia, and a mildly interesting one about the Dalai Lama (though nothing here we didn't already know) hence the two stars rather than the one. I hate not, and very rarely fail to finish reading a book, but I began to dread having to read this. I was unsure what to take from each essay. I feel I know little more of Leonard Cohen, Tibet or Oman than when I started, and without any inclination to find out more. Apologies, a truly bad read.