Overview
Ayun Halliday may not make for the most sensible travel companion, but she is certainly one of the zaniest, with a knack for inserting herself (and her unwitting cohorts) into bizarre situations around the globe. Curator of kitsch and unabashed aficionada of pop culture, Halliday offers bemused, self-deprecating narration of events from guerilla theater in Romania to drug-induced Apocalypse Now reenactments in Vietnam to a perhaps more surreal collagen-implant demonstration at a Paris fashion show emceed by Lauren Bacall. From taming the wild dog packs of Bali to requiring the services of a bonesetter in Sumatra, Ayun Halliday offers up the best of her itinerant foibles as examples of how not to travel abroad. For instance, on layover in Amsterdam, Halliday finds unlikely trouble in the red-light district—eliciting the ire of a tiny, violent madam,—and is forced to explain tampons, which she admits, “might have looked like white cotton bullets lined up in their box,” to soldiers in Kashmir—“They’re for ladies. Bleeding ladies.” A self-admittedly bumbling vacationer, Halliday shares—with razorsharp wit and to hilarious effect—the travel stories most are too self-conscious to tell.
Synopsis
Ayun Halliday may not make for the most sensible travel companion, but she is certainly one of the zaniest, with a knack for inserting herself (and her unwitting cohorts) into bizarre situations around the globe. Curator of kitsch and unabashed aficionada of pop culture, Halliday offers bemused, self-deprecating narration of events from guerilla theater in Romania to drug-induced Apocalypse Now reenactments in Vietnam to a perhaps more surreal collagen-implant demonstration at a Paris fashion show emceed by Lauren Bacall. From taming the wild dog packs of Bali to requiring the services of a bonesetter in Sumatra, Ayun Halliday offers up the best of her itinerant foibles as examples of how not to travel abroad. For instance, on layover in Amsterdam, Halliday finds unlikely trouble in the red-light district—eliciting the ire of a tiny, violent madam,—and is forced to explain tampons, which she admits, “might have looked like white cotton bullets lined up in their box,” to soldiers in Kashmir—“They’re for ladies. Bleeding ladies.” A self-admittedly bumbling vacationer, Halliday shares—with razorsharp wit and to hilarious effect—the travel stories most are too self-conscious to tell.
Library Journal
Slip into some Birkenstocks, slap on an Indian gauze shirt, hoist your backpack, and you'll be ready to travel the world with the free-spirited Halliday. Author of The Big Rumpus and creator of the zine East Village Inky, Halliday recounts her wanderings in a style that's breezy and, alas, oblivious to cultural sensitivity. Polite is not a word in her vocabulary, nor is consideration for others a part of her modus operandi. Halliday takes us to locations that include Ocktoberfest in Munich, a drama festival in Romania, the red-light district of Amsterdam, game preserves in Rwanda, a Paris fashion show, Southeast Asian beaches, camel trekking in the Sahara, and a houseboat in India. There's an abundance of bowel problems, a bout with malaria, unlikely wildlife encounters, and various male travel companions (all wimpy, of course). Perhaps Halliday considers immature behavior, ignorance, and irresponsibility funny, but, in the words of Queen Victoria, "We are not amused."-Janet Ross, formerly with Sparks Branch Lib., NV Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.