There are two aspects to this disappointing book.
Firstly, it is sad that Lonely Planet, which started as an honest guide for independent travellers, now turned into a money-making machine which sells everything but extended warranties on domestic appliances. This book is a collection of leftovers which were left out not because they don't fit in any of the guides but truly they do not belong anywhere.
Now, they thought, we will put some crap together and never mind that it's really poor writing the suckers will buy it 'cause we've got the BRAND!
This book can be educational: it shows, quite graphically, how tedious a journey can be if you are an immature good-for-nothing whose major (and sole) cultural experience is getting drunk with any foreigner in a third-world country who is happy for you to buy him a drink, and whose sole criteria for picking out a destination is whether you can get to a suitably exotic-sounding country cheaply so that you have stories to tell when you get to your next cheap destination and get drinking there.
Oh, and don't forget, for most of the dramatic personae in the book the highlight of any trip when you wake up in a Russian monastery with a bad hangover from Mongolian intestine vodka (or whatever) that you had with Malaysian ex-convicts last night and then you miss your plane because you are two hours late for your onward flight. This is, like SOOOO hilarious. What to do then? Why, you get drinking with a blind Ukrainian pilot's mate and eventually they get you on a military plane and get you out of there. Never mind that, you get REALLY plastered on that plane! How's that for fun?
These are not very good stories from people who less than accomplished writers. Ordinarily, you can get that sort of narrative at a local bar at around 10:30 p.m. The book is an absolute waste of money.