Overview
At the stroke of midnight in early January 1993, Simon Mayle and his accomplice, Lenny, left the bitter cold of New York City, their jobs, and their disappointing love lives for the heavenly destination of Rio de Janeiro and the road trip of a lifetime. Their task? To journey from Manhattan to Rio in time for Carnaval. Getting there was never going to be easy, and surviving was definitely questionable: 15,000 miles, thirteen frontiers, two war zones, the Andes, the jungle, corrupt cops, narco-gangsters, Marxist guerrillas, bad food, disease, cheap cocaine, beautiful girls - but none of that worried them. Riding in a newly purchased 1973 Cadillac hearse and disguised as a couple of morticians, the men headed off for a warm-up rendezvous in Mexico City with their third passenger and informally ordained Secretary of Entertainment. Protected by the buffer of their somber vehicle, the buddies cruise through some of the most dangerous countries in the world, entertaining bewildered onlookers along the way. As they soon discover, runs like this pose a few unusual problems for the innocent tourist: Does one pack Mace, or a semiautomatic, with the sun block? Where do you find the perfect eight-foot point-break in El Salvador? More important, where do you score your all-important narcotics in Cali without getting busted?Editorials
Publishers Weekly -
Freelance writer Mayle had a good idea: buy a used hearse, recruit a down-at-the-heels traveling companion and navigate from New York City to Rio. There are several funny moments: imagine Mayle acquiring Hasidic long coats and top hats to maintain the image of the Burial Brothers. In Mexico, Mayle and companion Lenny meet up with Mayle's friend Tarris Hill and drive south, trying to change money with operators who won't take Hill's dubious traveler's checks and bribing their way past border guards. In Colombia, an imprudent coke deal goes awry, and the trio must get out of town quick. Ultimately, Mayle is by himself and acknowledges: "The journey was becoming a chore." Though the book ends with a lighthearted twist (Hill ships back to New York the hearse Mayle had to sell in Rio), the episodes recounted would have served better as a magazine article, especially since the author explains so little about himself. (Sept.)Library Journal
The author, an Englishman, and his two companions, one English, one American, make the trip from New York to Rio de Janeiro for Carnaval in a 1973 Cadillac hearse equipped with a coffin (full of petrol cans) and such mortuary garb as long overcoats, white gloves, and top hats. Mayle's account of the first leg of their journey is highly entertaining, recounting most notably the acquisition of the hearse in Queens, New York, from an owner (not a funeral director) who clearly loves it. Athough the author's setup is good, the follow-through is poor. While Mayle alludes at the beginning to the Latin American fascination with and reverence for the dead, the funerary motif is not carried throughout. The work is neither a useful travelog nor a tale of self-discovery. Skip it.Mary Ann Parker, Calif. Dept. of Water Res. Law Lib., SacramentoIn January 1993, Mayle decided it would be a good idea to drive from New York to Rio for Carnival. On the theory that nobody messes with a funeral, he purchased a 21-foot 1973 Cadillac hearse. After rounding up two other dodgy characters--Lenny, an artist on the outs with his wife, and Tarris, an Australian with connections in the South American import-export trade--and buying top hats and tails to complete the illusion, the long journey south began. Armed with a coffin full of gasoline, several cans of Mace, a seemingly bottomless supply of traveler's checks, and plenty of testosterone, the boys alternately terrorized and were terrorized by locals in Texas, El Salvador, and points in between. Sure, our lads had some close scrapes between bouts of drinking and whoring, but nothing they couldn't lie or bribe their way out of. This is Hunter S. Thompson territory--bizarre, sophomoric, and, yes, very funny. Don't try it at home.
A darkly entertaining, raunchy road trip—New York City to Brazil—by hearse, from newcomer Mayle.
Mayle figured the most sensible vehicle to pilot for the 15,000 miles to Carnival was a hearse, a raven-black, 21-foot behemoth, complete with heavy chroming, fins, and wheelskirts, a vintage '73 dreamboat, sure to "sing like a bird, pull like a train." Narco-gangsters, banditos, the Shining Path, kidnappers: All would give wide berth to the slab of mobile bad karma. He drafted two weird characters—Lenny, the Artist, and Tarris, outlander and road warrior—to share the journey. Stereo pumping, in the guise of traveling morticians, they made their way south. And what might be expected to befall them does: The transmission blows a gasket, they run out of gas, again and again. They argue among themselves, they drink an ungodly amount, there is a minor confusion with a clutch of male prostitutes. Each border crossing is an exercise in bribery, each town sports a sour, stale bar. The boys hit every one of them, alert to the possibilities, fornication on their minds. They even fashion a few rules: Drunk driving is banned, as is drunk dancing on the roof of the hearse. But these fellows enjoy tiptoeing to the edge—fencing some artwork in Bogotá, falling into a police trap trying to score coke in Cali, sinking their testicles into bowls of ice to counteract the tropical heat (an old Sri Lankan trick known to Tarris). When Mayle loses his traveling companions in Colombia, he continues to play it light, the writing remains jazzy and impetuous, but by now there is a decided note of menace in the air, gritty and scary.
A grade B movie on wheels, indelicate and noir.