Where the journey is the destination
—
I believe that in youth we are allowed to make mistakes, for how else are we to learn? The author’s steady account of his 2000 mile trek through Italy and to Cape Finisterre, the last point of Europe before the Atlantic takes over, feels like something he had to do but also something into which he fell. Hall is, at his own admission, not the best of planners and his trip begins with capricious dealings with horse owners until he finds the perfect horse; days and nights of trekking with only his horse Sasha, going off path, depending on the kindness of strangers; finding himself wholly unprepared for the journey. After all, who amongst us would be? And then his part stranger, part companion on the road joins him, and now he is not alone, not alone at all.

I never got immersed in Hall’s journey and his motivations to attempt it. There is a sense of entitlement to his tackling something so momentous, so hubristic, and yes, Quixotic that only a white man of a certain age and background might even consider it. I felt a distance between me and the young man who took on the journey that I couldn’t suspend my disbelief, even when good things happened to him; the whole journey, after all, was a choice that he made, and a choice that few of us could even consider, for the world is still not made hospitable to anyone and everyone to take on such an adventure. I can appreciate that this was a feat for anyone, not least for an inexperienced Scot with some sort of quarter-life crisis, but I wasn’t moved by it.

Three stars: well written but not for me.

This is normally a favourite type of book for me. Part memoir, part nature, part reflective. I found I couldn’t connect with the character/author and his journey. It felt a little stilted. Thank you to the author. Thank you to #netgalley and the publisher for an ARC.