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Lonely Planet A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush
Eric Newby describes his travels in the mountains of Afghanistan. He has also written "The Last Grain Race", "Slowly Down the Ganges", "Love and War in the Apennines" and "On the Shores of the Mediterranean".
255 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1958
About the author
Eric Newby
56 books149 followersGeorge Eric Newby CBE MC (December 6, 1919 – October 20, 2006) was an English author of travel literature.
Newby was born and grew up near Hammersmith Bridge, London, and was educated at St Paul's School. His father was a partner in a firm of wholesale dressmakers but he also harboured dreams of escape, running away to sea as a child before being captured at Millwall. Owing to his father's frequent financial crises and his own failure to pass algebra, Newby was taken away from school at sixteen and put to work as an office boy in the Dorland advertising agency on Regent Street, where he spent most of his time cycling around the office admiring the typists' legs. Fortunately, the agency lost the Kellogg's account and he apprenticed aboard the Finnish windjammer Moshulu in 1938, sailing in what Newby entitled The Last Grain Race (1956) from Europe to Australia and back by way of Cape Horn (his journey was also pictorially documented in Learning the Ropes). In fact, two more grain races followed the 1939 race in which Newby participated, with the last race being held in 1949.[2]
Newby was born and grew up near Hammersmith Bridge, London, and was educated at St Paul's School. His father was a partner in a firm of wholesale dressmakers but he also harboured dreams of escape, running away to sea as a child before being captured at Millwall. Owing to his father's frequent financial crises and his own failure to pass algebra, Newby was taken away from school at sixteen and put to work as an office boy in the Dorland advertising agency on Regent Street, where he spent most of his time cycling around the office admiring the typists' legs. Fortunately, the agency lost the Kellogg's account and he apprenticed aboard the Finnish windjammer Moshulu in 1938, sailing in what Newby entitled The Last Grain Race (1956) from Europe to Australia and back by way of Cape Horn (his journey was also pictorially documented in Learning the Ropes). In fact, two more grain races followed the 1939 race in which Newby participated, with the last race being held in 1949.[2]
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May 29, 2016
A great classic in adventure travel writing, sort of a precursor cross between Theroux and Bryson. A Mayfair fashion executive, who moonlights as a magazine travel editor, reaches out to a Foreign Service buddy in 1956 to travel to the remote Afghanistan province of Nuristan and attempt to scale an unclimbed mountain in the Hindu Kush. It has a nice balance of humor, dangerous thrills, and personal encounters with fascinating geography and peoples. Entertaining with little lightning flashes of experience that seem to elucidate the human condition, both its wonders and its follies.
The start of this memoir was particularly fun. We join Newby amid the chaos of his company preparing for an upcoming big fashion show, including usable models of impossible dresses for the runway and catalogues. In the middle of this mayhem, Newby suddenly reports sending a cable to his friend Hugh Carless at his job with the State Department in Rio de Janeiro:.
CAN YOU TRAVEL NURISTAN JUNE?
It had taken me ten years to discover what everyone had been telling me all along, that the Fashion Industry was not for me.
From this launch point comes a perfect example of Newby’s deft skills in capturing characters with a flurry of impressions and metaphors. Her is his first sight of a pushy female buyer from New York City in the process of disrupting company operations with her histrionics and scehemes:
Miss Candlemass was about nine feet high and hidden behind smoked glasses in mauve frames studded with semi-precious metal. She was like a lath, with very long legs, just too thin to be healthy, but she was very hygienic, smelled good and had fabulous shoes and stockings. With her dark glasses, the general effect was that of being engaged in watching an eclipse of the earth from the moon.
The first embarrassing reality he has to deal with is that Carless may be an obsessive wonder in outfitting their expedition but he has exaggerated his skills in mountain climbing based on a brief excursion to Nuristan when he was with the Kabul embassy. They have to take a detour to Wales for a crash hands-on education led by a trainer they hire and supplemented by peer guidance from a zany pair of intrepid college-age women climbers. It was lots of fun to experience them learning the arts of rappelling and belaying, but we can only shake our heads over their inadequate preparation in mastery of glacier hopping in spikes or in carving ice stairs. After completing a milestone Newby asks the instructor on its difficulty rating:
“Moderate.”
“How do they go? I’ve forgotten.”
“Easy, moderate, difficult, very difficult, severe, very severe, exceptionally severe, and excessively severe.”
Getting to Nuristan was half the fun. A big part of the journey was a driving trip from Istanbul to Kabul through thousands of miles of Turkey and Iran and then Afghanistan, followed by a foot journey with horses through high country and many a rickety bridge over streams and gorges. Though Nuristan is located only about 100 miles northeast of Kabul, it is accessible only by passes at 15,000 feet elevation that are closed most of the year. All Hugh’s language skills in Persian and limited Pathan are of little help with the Tajik tribal communities pass through. They are superstitious and fearful about the Kafir people of the Panjshir Valley on the other side of the pass on the plan for crossing. When Carless made his foray, he believed he was the first Brit to go there since 1891. All they have is a British imperial gazetteer entry about how the province was called Kaziristan in 1895, meaning “The Country of the Unbelievers”, i.e. the reclusive descendants of Kazirs, a people who centuries before resisted Islamic conversion by the Ottomans and now were projected as living like bandits and treating women as “practically slaves, being to all intents and purposes bought and sold as household commodities”.
The Panjshir Valley in northeast Afghanistan with Newby’s target mountain Mir Shamir in the distance.
A horse expedition in the high country near Mir Shamir, showing the rough terrain bordering a glacier similar to that of the trek Newby made.
Through all the shenanigans and crises that ensue, we learn a little about the cultures and geography encountered and very little about the flora and fauna. Newby has nice comic timing for his narrative of events. It did feel like a wonder of heroic foolishness for them to get as far as they got, within 300 feet of the top of the 18,000 foot Mir Shamir. His critical asides can sometimes verge on caricature or stereotype in a way that seem a bit politically incorrect by today’s standards. For example, when he imputes menace or laziness or slovenliness in perception of their treatment or actions by the local people encountered on the journey. But I can see the point of wariness over menace in many cases, and the warmth of his heart in general toward people caught in poverty comes through. Also, he is often the ultimate butt of his humor as the one responsible for the insane quest in the first place and mistakes in first impressions.
Self-deprecation is the supreme redeeming factor of Newby’s tradition of British humor, which otherwise can challenge its becoming an acquired taste. The tale of this harrowing mission was great entertainment and made me appreciate people and places off the beaten path.
The start of this memoir was particularly fun. We join Newby amid the chaos of his company preparing for an upcoming big fashion show, including usable models of impossible dresses for the runway and catalogues. In the middle of this mayhem, Newby suddenly reports sending a cable to his friend Hugh Carless at his job with the State Department in Rio de Janeiro:.
CAN YOU TRAVEL NURISTAN JUNE?
It had taken me ten years to discover what everyone had been telling me all along, that the Fashion Industry was not for me.
From this launch point comes a perfect example of Newby’s deft skills in capturing characters with a flurry of impressions and metaphors. Her is his first sight of a pushy female buyer from New York City in the process of disrupting company operations with her histrionics and scehemes:
Miss Candlemass was about nine feet high and hidden behind smoked glasses in mauve frames studded with semi-precious metal. She was like a lath, with very long legs, just too thin to be healthy, but she was very hygienic, smelled good and had fabulous shoes and stockings. With her dark glasses, the general effect was that of being engaged in watching an eclipse of the earth from the moon.
The first embarrassing reality he has to deal with is that Carless may be an obsessive wonder in outfitting their expedition but he has exaggerated his skills in mountain climbing based on a brief excursion to Nuristan when he was with the Kabul embassy. They have to take a detour to Wales for a crash hands-on education led by a trainer they hire and supplemented by peer guidance from a zany pair of intrepid college-age women climbers. It was lots of fun to experience them learning the arts of rappelling and belaying, but we can only shake our heads over their inadequate preparation in mastery of glacier hopping in spikes or in carving ice stairs. After completing a milestone Newby asks the instructor on its difficulty rating:
“Moderate.”
“How do they go? I’ve forgotten.”
“Easy, moderate, difficult, very difficult, severe, very severe, exceptionally severe, and excessively severe.”
Getting to Nuristan was half the fun. A big part of the journey was a driving trip from Istanbul to Kabul through thousands of miles of Turkey and Iran and then Afghanistan, followed by a foot journey with horses through high country and many a rickety bridge over streams and gorges. Though Nuristan is located only about 100 miles northeast of Kabul, it is accessible only by passes at 15,000 feet elevation that are closed most of the year. All Hugh’s language skills in Persian and limited Pathan are of little help with the Tajik tribal communities pass through. They are superstitious and fearful about the Kafir people of the Panjshir Valley on the other side of the pass on the plan for crossing. When Carless made his foray, he believed he was the first Brit to go there since 1891. All they have is a British imperial gazetteer entry about how the province was called Kaziristan in 1895, meaning “The Country of the Unbelievers”, i.e. the reclusive descendants of Kazirs, a people who centuries before resisted Islamic conversion by the Ottomans and now were projected as living like bandits and treating women as “practically slaves, being to all intents and purposes bought and sold as household commodities”.
The Panjshir Valley in northeast Afghanistan with Newby’s target mountain Mir Shamir in the distance.
A horse expedition in the high country near Mir Shamir, showing the rough terrain bordering a glacier similar to that of the trek Newby made.
Through all the shenanigans and crises that ensue, we learn a little about the cultures and geography encountered and very little about the flora and fauna. Newby has nice comic timing for his narrative of events. It did feel like a wonder of heroic foolishness for them to get as far as they got, within 300 feet of the top of the 18,000 foot Mir Shamir. His critical asides can sometimes verge on caricature or stereotype in a way that seem a bit politically incorrect by today’s standards. For example, when he imputes menace or laziness or slovenliness in perception of their treatment or actions by the local people encountered on the journey. But I can see the point of wariness over menace in many cases, and the warmth of his heart in general toward people caught in poverty comes through. Also, he is often the ultimate butt of his humor as the one responsible for the insane quest in the first place and mistakes in first impressions.
Self-deprecation is the supreme redeeming factor of Newby’s tradition of British humor, which otherwise can challenge its becoming an acquired taste. The tale of this harrowing mission was great entertainment and made me appreciate people and places off the beaten path.
Read
May 1, 2019This is a good light read.
Working in the clothing industry in 1950s London the author and his friends hit on the idea of having a mountain climbing adventure in Afghanistan. Why not after all? This is the 1950s, they'd never had it so good, and there were still years to go before the Profumo scandal.
Knowing nothing about mountain climbing and about as much about the Hindu Kush, they still think it's a good idea to attempt some peaks in Afghanistan but they do have a couple of days practise on a large rock in the UK beforehand .
They are horribly unprepared for what they find. Not just because of their almost total lack of climbing skills but also on account of the temperatures and the harsh environment. At one stage they are so cold that they need one of their guides to unbutton their clothes for them .
Finally they descend into Nuristan and are overwhelmed by a crowd of over friendly Nuristanis, one of whom tests the shock and pressure proofness of the author's watch by dropping it into their bubbling cook pot. I don't recall how well or poorly the watch performed but I doubt if many watches are soup proof.
Entertaining read, won't teach you much about mountain climbing, often humorous.
Working in the clothing industry in 1950s London the author and his friends hit on the idea of having a mountain climbing adventure in Afghanistan. Why not after all? This is the 1950s, they'd never had it so good, and there were still years to go before the Profumo scandal.
Knowing nothing about mountain climbing and about as much about the Hindu Kush, they still think it's a good idea to attempt some peaks in Afghanistan but they do have a couple of days practise on a large rock in the UK beforehand .
They are horribly unprepared for what they find. Not just because of their almost total lack of climbing skills but also on account of the temperatures and the harsh environment. At one stage they are so cold that they need one of their guides to unbutton their clothes for them .
Finally they descend into Nuristan and are overwhelmed by a crowd of over friendly Nuristanis, one of whom tests the shock and pressure proofness of the author's watch by dropping it into their bubbling cook pot. I don't recall how well or poorly the watch performed but I doubt if many watches are soup proof.
Entertaining read, won't teach you much about mountain climbing, often humorous.
September 17, 2020
The "Hindu Kush" is the western part of the Himalayan Construct at Central Asia and the "top of the world." (Everest, K2 and similar record-breakers lie farther east). We Americans don't use that term so much, but consider that the Khyber Pass is part of the Hindu Kush.
This 1958 travel account by Eric Newby is a kind of cross between the tough-it-out, Wilfred (MARSH ARABS) Thesiger type of journal that pits a Westerner against a nearly impossible environment (here: the world's most forbidding mountainscapes), and the more modern, "around the world in a bad mood" account that has as much to do with the interpersonal relationships of Newby to his crew -- and to the rapidly changing cast of Afghani locals -- as with alien terrain. Newby found himself stuck in postwar England in a purely decorative field, and takes on this trek mainly to relieve his boredom, or so it seems. Yet when he's out in the field, suffering his most physically, he's having a hell of a good time, and he relates these contradictions memorably.
HINDU KUSH is sophisticated, funny, has drive, and is immensely informative about a country (Afghanistan) that is such a crazy-quilt of religions, cultures and languages that it helped me understand why, even today, no invading empire can get a handle on it. That was true at the time of THE GREAT GAME, and it's still true. However, this book is just a joy to read, and after several years of low-key lobbying I still hope someday to get my book-buds here to read it as a group! All in all: British wit, intrepedity and style, scenic gorgeousness, third-world encounters of an unpredictable kind -- if you like any of these and, of course, travel memoirs, A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush is not to be missed. I do wish more Americans knew about it.
from the book:
After four hours on the road, we came to the village of Safed Jir. Here the doorways of the houses were high with pointed arches, the wooden doors decorated with fretted work and painted cabalistic signs. We rested on a low wall and were soon surrounded by a horde of old men and children. Some of the children had blue eyes. Not all the women veiled themselves and some giggled archly, like girls inviting attention on a high street. But all this pleasantry came to an end when Abdul Ghiyas [their guide] arrived, shouting to them to veil themselves in the presence of idolatrous unbelievers, and we were known for what we were, unrighteous ungodly men. (p. 125)
This 1958 travel account by Eric Newby is a kind of cross between the tough-it-out, Wilfred (MARSH ARABS) Thesiger type of journal that pits a Westerner against a nearly impossible environment (here: the world's most forbidding mountainscapes), and the more modern, "around the world in a bad mood" account that has as much to do with the interpersonal relationships of Newby to his crew -- and to the rapidly changing cast of Afghani locals -- as with alien terrain. Newby found himself stuck in postwar England in a purely decorative field, and takes on this trek mainly to relieve his boredom, or so it seems. Yet when he's out in the field, suffering his most physically, he's having a hell of a good time, and he relates these contradictions memorably.
HINDU KUSH is sophisticated, funny, has drive, and is immensely informative about a country (Afghanistan) that is such a crazy-quilt of religions, cultures and languages that it helped me understand why, even today, no invading empire can get a handle on it. That was true at the time of THE GREAT GAME, and it's still true. However, this book is just a joy to read, and after several years of low-key lobbying I still hope someday to get my book-buds here to read it as a group! All in all: British wit, intrepedity and style, scenic gorgeousness, third-world encounters of an unpredictable kind -- if you like any of these and, of course, travel memoirs, A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush is not to be missed. I do wish more Americans knew about it.
from the book:
After four hours on the road, we came to the village of Safed Jir. Here the doorways of the houses were high with pointed arches, the wooden doors decorated with fretted work and painted cabalistic signs. We rested on a low wall and were soon surrounded by a horde of old men and children. Some of the children had blue eyes. Not all the women veiled themselves and some giggled archly, like girls inviting attention on a high street. But all this pleasantry came to an end when Abdul Ghiyas [their guide] arrived, shouting to them to veil themselves in the presence of idolatrous unbelievers, and we were known for what we were, unrighteous ungodly men. (p. 125)
March 19, 2021
Do we live in a world that has lost the capacity for wonderment?
Imagine.
After a good few years in the printing industry I had had enough. I had been worn down by the daily grind. One day it was actually all too much, and I thought enough was enough! I rang up a mate and his phone went to message bank I blurted something stupid like let’s climb a mountain in the middle of nowhere or or or or! ……..any ideas?
Not expecting anything more I get a reply. All arranged, off we go, …………!
Imagine that.
Eric Newby by perchance had, in real life, something similar happen to him in 1956. He had had enough of the rag trade, talked to a great mate, Hugh Carless, and next minute they were off to climb a little hill in a nearby county. Something like that anyway.
The witty narrative that is the first chapter had this reviewer enthralled and with that I was looking for words that were to describe my thoughts as to the magnificent adventure that Newby tells us. About how he and Carless do what to me is the unthinkable, walk to and then climb a mountain in a place that few Europeans had ever ventured at the time, the Hindu Kush.
Words?
How about a word, wonderment.
With Nuristanis racing “…..over the grass towards us at a tremendous pace, dozens of them” in what was then described as them giving “…an extraordinary impression of being out of the past” Newby tells of them finding Carless’ telescope. He writes that “In a world that has lost the capacity for wonderment I found it very agreeable to meet people to whom it was possible to give pleasure so simply.” After various trials and tribulations wittily told about retrieving his watch from one member of the tribe Newby sadly writes that as they leave it was “…..characteristic of these people that their interest in strangers was exhausted as quickly as it was born.” An unfortunate turn of phrase it could be suggested because I could add that he may have described humanities condition in general; cheap thrills and then a quick loss of interest.
But then there maybe just those such as Newby who do find a permanent sense of wonderment in the world we inhabit. That is why we read their travel writing, to get that sense of amazement and bewilderment about the world that once was, is now and maybe even what could be the future.
This is a great travel book that has stood the test of time. At 248 pages it never overstays it welcome. It has a little of everything that anyone would want, jaunty self-depreciating wit, superb geographical descriptors’ and a little of the local history.
Highly recommended to anyone looking to see or seek wonderment.
Will I get out of my office and do anything as impulsive as Newby and Carless?
Will I hell! I’m far too much of a pansy.
Imagine.
After a good few years in the printing industry I had had enough. I had been worn down by the daily grind. One day it was actually all too much, and I thought enough was enough! I rang up a mate and his phone went to message bank I blurted something stupid like let’s climb a mountain in the middle of nowhere or or or or! ……..any ideas?
Not expecting anything more I get a reply. All arranged, off we go, …………!
Imagine that.
Eric Newby by perchance had, in real life, something similar happen to him in 1956. He had had enough of the rag trade, talked to a great mate, Hugh Carless, and next minute they were off to climb a little hill in a nearby county. Something like that anyway.
The witty narrative that is the first chapter had this reviewer enthralled and with that I was looking for words that were to describe my thoughts as to the magnificent adventure that Newby tells us. About how he and Carless do what to me is the unthinkable, walk to and then climb a mountain in a place that few Europeans had ever ventured at the time, the Hindu Kush.
Words?
How about a word, wonderment.
With Nuristanis racing “…..over the grass towards us at a tremendous pace, dozens of them” in what was then described as them giving “…an extraordinary impression of being out of the past” Newby tells of them finding Carless’ telescope. He writes that “In a world that has lost the capacity for wonderment I found it very agreeable to meet people to whom it was possible to give pleasure so simply.” After various trials and tribulations wittily told about retrieving his watch from one member of the tribe Newby sadly writes that as they leave it was “…..characteristic of these people that their interest in strangers was exhausted as quickly as it was born.” An unfortunate turn of phrase it could be suggested because I could add that he may have described humanities condition in general; cheap thrills and then a quick loss of interest.
But then there maybe just those such as Newby who do find a permanent sense of wonderment in the world we inhabit. That is why we read their travel writing, to get that sense of amazement and bewilderment about the world that once was, is now and maybe even what could be the future.
This is a great travel book that has stood the test of time. At 248 pages it never overstays it welcome. It has a little of everything that anyone would want, jaunty self-depreciating wit, superb geographical descriptors’ and a little of the local history.
Highly recommended to anyone looking to see or seek wonderment.
Will I get out of my office and do anything as impulsive as Newby and Carless?
Will I hell! I’m far too much of a pansy.
January 11, 2008
Page 166 of the Picador edition of A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush ranks among the funniest things I've ever read. On it, Newby quotes from a phrasebook of the Afghan Bashgali language, which apparently contains opening gambits like 'How long have you had a goitre?', 'I have nine fingers; you have ten', 'A dwarf has come to ask for food' and 'I have an intention to kill you', which made me laugh so hard I actually dropped my copy of the book. One day I hope to lay my hands on the phrasebook from which Newby quotes here. Which may prove hard, as it's over 100 years old and devilishly obscure.
While not as hilarious as the quotes listed above, the rest of A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush -- about the author's impromptu trip to Afghanistan's Nuristan region, one of the most inaccessible parts of the world -- is pretty damn entertaining, too. You see, the road from Kabul to Nuristan is rather mountainous, and the author and his companion aren't exactly experienced mountaineers. They are an haute couture salesman and a career diplomat, respectively, whose only serious climbing experience prior to setting off for Afghanistan is a two-day crash course in Wales. Needless to say, this leaves them woefully unprepared for the majesty of Mir Samir, a tall and windy peak they have vowed to climb. Their misadventures on the mountain, described in a witty, self-deprecating and quintessentially British style, make for interesting reading. So does the rest of their trip. The book gets off to a slow (albeit entertaining) start, but once the actual expedition gets under way, it gets better with every page. Newby is an excellent writer with a keen eye for character, beauty and absurd dialogue. His descriptions of the scenery and the eccentric characters they come across are superb, as are his underplayed but impressive tales of woe. And boy, do the author and his friend come to woe. Yet despite the setbacks they persevere, and in the end they're rewarded for their perseverance with a chance encounter with the great explorer Wilfred Thesiger, who kindly calls them a couple of pansies.
If I have any quibbles with the book, they concern the ending, which is rather abrupt and leaves a lot of questions unanswered. The rest of the book, however, is excellent, especially the second half. Highly recommended to armchair travellers and real explorers alike.
While not as hilarious as the quotes listed above, the rest of A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush -- about the author's impromptu trip to Afghanistan's Nuristan region, one of the most inaccessible parts of the world -- is pretty damn entertaining, too. You see, the road from Kabul to Nuristan is rather mountainous, and the author and his companion aren't exactly experienced mountaineers. They are an haute couture salesman and a career diplomat, respectively, whose only serious climbing experience prior to setting off for Afghanistan is a two-day crash course in Wales. Needless to say, this leaves them woefully unprepared for the majesty of Mir Samir, a tall and windy peak they have vowed to climb. Their misadventures on the mountain, described in a witty, self-deprecating and quintessentially British style, make for interesting reading. So does the rest of their trip. The book gets off to a slow (albeit entertaining) start, but once the actual expedition gets under way, it gets better with every page. Newby is an excellent writer with a keen eye for character, beauty and absurd dialogue. His descriptions of the scenery and the eccentric characters they come across are superb, as are his underplayed but impressive tales of woe. And boy, do the author and his friend come to woe. Yet despite the setbacks they persevere, and in the end they're rewarded for their perseverance with a chance encounter with the great explorer Wilfred Thesiger, who kindly calls them a couple of pansies.
If I have any quibbles with the book, they concern the ending, which is rather abrupt and leaves a lot of questions unanswered. The rest of the book, however, is excellent, especially the second half. Highly recommended to armchair travellers and real explorers alike.
May 6, 2021
If you read any mountaineering books, you would know that they quickly become boring, even if you are an aspiring mountaineer yourself. These books share a similar pattern: travelling to an unfamiliar place, setting up camp, suffering extreme hardships, ignoring danger, persevering despite atrocious weather conditions, ecstatically reaching the summit, surviving against all odds. Maybe losing a few people, or limbs, or at least digits in the process.
This pattern became so obvious that in 1956 W. E. Bowman wrote a satire on all such books called The Ascent of Rum Doodle.
Eric Newby must have been aware of the curtain being drawn on mountain adventures in written form, so he structured his book in very different way. Instead of presenting himself and his partner Hugh Carless as mountain conquering heroes, he honestly depicts themselves for what they really were - two self-indulgent clueless men who impose themselves on locals in a poor nation. They are bullying their way to be dragged up steep mountain valleys close to the high point of their fancy - a mountain top they have not a slight chance of reaching. The account of their adventures written in this ironic self-deprecating way is like a breath of fresh air in the oxygen and imagination deprived atmosphere of mountain literature.
Yet, the humor does not fully save the book. At times the author is trying too hard to be funny, the dialogs are clearly edited and spiced up after the trip. The main drawback though is in the author's inability to observe without bias and reflect on people of another culture that he meets. To his upper-class member eyes they are undoubtfully curious but inferior people, uncultured and dirty, unequal to the aspirations and dreams of the two adventurous imperials. As the author makes fun of himself and his friend, those locals around them are reduced to a complete laughing stock for the benefit of armchair travelers at home.
This pattern became so obvious that in 1956 W. E. Bowman wrote a satire on all such books called The Ascent of Rum Doodle.
Eric Newby must have been aware of the curtain being drawn on mountain adventures in written form, so he structured his book in very different way. Instead of presenting himself and his partner Hugh Carless as mountain conquering heroes, he honestly depicts themselves for what they really were - two self-indulgent clueless men who impose themselves on locals in a poor nation. They are bullying their way to be dragged up steep mountain valleys close to the high point of their fancy - a mountain top they have not a slight chance of reaching. The account of their adventures written in this ironic self-deprecating way is like a breath of fresh air in the oxygen and imagination deprived atmosphere of mountain literature.
Yet, the humor does not fully save the book. At times the author is trying too hard to be funny, the dialogs are clearly edited and spiced up after the trip. The main drawback though is in the author's inability to observe without bias and reflect on people of another culture that he meets. To his upper-class member eyes they are undoubtfully curious but inferior people, uncultured and dirty, unequal to the aspirations and dreams of the two adventurous imperials. As the author makes fun of himself and his friend, those locals around them are reduced to a complete laughing stock for the benefit of armchair travelers at home.
January 22, 2012
It seems like it took me an awfully long time to get through such a short book. I think it was just his writing style and the way he included detail about certain things I wasn't so interested in, such as mountain climbing technicalities.
However, I did enjoy the book and stuck with it because I wanted to know what it was like in this part of the world in the 1950s as compared to the present.
In 1956, the author quit his job in the haute couture industry and trekked with a friend through a region called Nuristan, in the extreme NE part of Afghanistan. They attempted, with virtually no climbing experience, to climb a very challenging peak called Mir Samir.
Along the way they had a great variety of adventures and experiences, not all of them pleasant. They met and traveled with people from many tribal backgrounds and learned much about local customs and traditions, some quite bizarre.
I especially enjoyed reading about some of the small villages they passed through that were practically idyllic at that time and are probably rubble today.
The book definitely has its humorous moments. He quotes from his Bashgali(Kafir) phrasebook, which turned out to be of questionable usefulness.
The funniest phrase: "A lammergeier came down from the sky and took off my cock." (Meaning rooster, not the other kind!)
Can't help wondering when a tourist might have need of that one.
At the conclusion of the trek, the author wrote:
"I had the sensation of emerging from a country that would continue to exist more or less unchanged whatever disasters overtook the rest of mankind."
He couldn't have known how wrong he would turn out to be about Afghanistan.
However, I did enjoy the book and stuck with it because I wanted to know what it was like in this part of the world in the 1950s as compared to the present.
In 1956, the author quit his job in the haute couture industry and trekked with a friend through a region called Nuristan, in the extreme NE part of Afghanistan. They attempted, with virtually no climbing experience, to climb a very challenging peak called Mir Samir.
Along the way they had a great variety of adventures and experiences, not all of them pleasant. They met and traveled with people from many tribal backgrounds and learned much about local customs and traditions, some quite bizarre.
I especially enjoyed reading about some of the small villages they passed through that were practically idyllic at that time and are probably rubble today.
The book definitely has its humorous moments. He quotes from his Bashgali(Kafir) phrasebook, which turned out to be of questionable usefulness.
The funniest phrase: "A lammergeier came down from the sky and took off my cock." (Meaning rooster, not the other kind!)
Can't help wondering when a tourist might have need of that one.
At the conclusion of the trek, the author wrote:
"I had the sensation of emerging from a country that would continue to exist more or less unchanged whatever disasters overtook the rest of mankind."
He couldn't have known how wrong he would turn out to be about Afghanistan.
March 12, 2021
Topsy Turvy. I started off not really liking the two main protagonists - they came across as a couple of English upper class twits who think nothing of buying a car and driving it to Tehran. Hardly the norm in 1950s Britain. But, slowly Eric's self-deprecating humour and the warmth he shows to the rest of his party won me over.
Some of the attitudes and language is pretty dated, but apart from that I think the book has stood the test of time remarkably well.
Some of the attitudes and language is pretty dated, but apart from that I think the book has stood the test of time remarkably well.
December 12, 2016
I first read this over 40 years ago and it may have been the book that got me interested in this genre. This is travel writing as it should be, witty, dry and self-deprecating: two young Englishmen set out to walk through Afghanistan not that long after WW2, utterly unprepared yet prepared for anything.
I’m only adding this note because I recently re-encountered that wonderful incident Newby tells against himself where they happen to meet Wilfred Thesiger, the legendary solo explorer of the Middle East; and I’d recently read in Among the Mountains that Thesiger wrote of the same incident (and how very English for the two to meet like that!)
Thesiger invited them for a meal and to spend the night in his company. They were rather overawed and wondered what Thesiger thought of them, being so callow and inexperienced. They found out when they unrolled their mattress pads: Thesiger, who probably just hollowed-out a depression in the gravel to sleep, observed contemptuously, “God, you must be a couple of pansies”.
I love this story and the way Newby tells it. You just have to remember it was written in a different age, long before political correctness and cultural sensitivity; and before Afghanistan became off-limits to casual travel that means it probably is impossible to ever repeat a journey like this.
I’m only adding this note because I recently re-encountered that wonderful incident Newby tells against himself where they happen to meet Wilfred Thesiger, the legendary solo explorer of the Middle East; and I’d recently read in Among the Mountains that Thesiger wrote of the same incident (and how very English for the two to meet like that!)
Thesiger invited them for a meal and to spend the night in his company. They were rather overawed and wondered what Thesiger thought of them, being so callow and inexperienced. They found out when they unrolled their mattress pads: Thesiger, who probably just hollowed-out a depression in the gravel to sleep, observed contemptuously, “God, you must be a couple of pansies”.
I love this story and the way Newby tells it. You just have to remember it was written in a different age, long before political correctness and cultural sensitivity; and before Afghanistan became off-limits to casual travel that means it probably is impossible to ever repeat a journey like this.
July 10, 2021
This book grew on me. The Laurel-and-Hardy-go-to-the-Himalayas type humor in the beginning put me off at first, but once Newby put aside that vibe and just started describing the Edenic beauty of NW Afghanistan he had me. Strange, because all of the momentum here comes from their trek toward the top and not from any authorial or thematic vehicle which he might have used to keep me engaged. For travelogues usually I prefer a little more than ‘we did this then we did that.’ But he opened my eyes along the way to the wonders of an unspoiled land. At times, in fact, the effect of the book reminded me of how I felt reading Hemingway’s 'The Green Hills of Africa,' though the comparison of the books stops there.
My placement in the 21st Century and surrounded by young artists who are struggling at the vanguard of social justice causes made it hard for me to like the two English players here, which perhaps is a little unfair. Their inherent imperialism, and assumed entitlement, and humorous descriptions of ‘primitives,’ which easily could be construed as mocking, nettled my sensitivities. Not to say they did not show respect or admiration, it’s just that they assumed themselves the right to judge what is civilized, and Newby seemed to care little about whether his tone might demean these folk. But, again, he was a product of his time and culture, and it's very possible that were Newby alive today he would handle those passages with more nuance.
It’s quite a writer who can make descriptions of landscapes compelling and somehow keep them from slowing down a book. For that skill alone this book was worth reading.
My placement in the 21st Century and surrounded by young artists who are struggling at the vanguard of social justice causes made it hard for me to like the two English players here, which perhaps is a little unfair. Their inherent imperialism, and assumed entitlement, and humorous descriptions of ‘primitives,’ which easily could be construed as mocking, nettled my sensitivities. Not to say they did not show respect or admiration, it’s just that they assumed themselves the right to judge what is civilized, and Newby seemed to care little about whether his tone might demean these folk. But, again, he was a product of his time and culture, and it's very possible that were Newby alive today he would handle those passages with more nuance.
It’s quite a writer who can make descriptions of landscapes compelling and somehow keep them from slowing down a book. For that skill alone this book was worth reading.
March 16, 2019
Maybe 3-1/2 stars if I were in a better mood.
This was entertaining, although maybe a little too long and detailed, and definitely slightly dated in its attitudes (although not unbearably so).
It made good filler between other books, and took me into the terrain of Rudyard Kipling's story, The Man Who Would Be King, so that was interesting.
This was entertaining, although maybe a little too long and detailed, and definitely slightly dated in its attitudes (although not unbearably so).
It made good filler between other books, and took me into the terrain of Rudyard Kipling's story, The Man Who Would Be King, so that was interesting.
November 16, 2017
A very entertaining travel yarn, reeled off in that classic, disarming British manner--and set in one of the few places left in the world which can still evoke mystery. That strange, steeply mountainous region between Afghanistan, Anatolia, Northern India, and Nepal. Nuristan and Kafiristan.
This travelogue has some of the best anecdotes you could ask for. Misadventures galore. What were they thinking? Two out-of-shape pasty-pale gits thinking they could just stroll up the sides of Mt Everest? It's a wonder they weren't killed.
It's one of 5-6 books I picked up from a free/used book stall and I'm glad I grabbed it, even though I had no particular yen at the moment to read anything of this nature. I'm well rewarded.
One lone chapter only, of dry facts and figures--Chapter 7--but its the most concise history of the exploration of India I've ever encountered, and I will likely keep the book after I've completed it solely for this reason. Fast facts on all the various European expeditions of the 1800s--extremely convenient. Also, the diplomatic history; colonial maneuvering; tales of the various legations and consulates and missions.
An excellent time-waster.
This travelogue has some of the best anecdotes you could ask for. Misadventures galore. What were they thinking? Two out-of-shape pasty-pale gits thinking they could just stroll up the sides of Mt Everest? It's a wonder they weren't killed.
It's one of 5-6 books I picked up from a free/used book stall and I'm glad I grabbed it, even though I had no particular yen at the moment to read anything of this nature. I'm well rewarded.
One lone chapter only, of dry facts and figures--Chapter 7--but its the most concise history of the exploration of India I've ever encountered, and I will likely keep the book after I've completed it solely for this reason. Fast facts on all the various European expeditions of the 1800s--extremely convenient. Also, the diplomatic history; colonial maneuvering; tales of the various legations and consulates and missions.
An excellent time-waster.
November 5, 2018
I guess I have to call this "interesting"... It is very much of its time. This trip was undertaken in the 1950s and remarkable for that alone. For two non mountaineers to travel where they did to climb an as yet unclimbed peak may seem a little foolhardy and that could be an understatement. But they were British damn it :) And there in lies some of the problem for me. It is a personal account of an interesting journey into a very wild part of the world done in a somewhat eccentric way. I often found the narrative lacking when I wanted more detail (and sometimes rambling on when I wanted less).
It is readable and will entertain some. It will frustrate/annoy others. I'm glad I read it and it is "interesting"!
It is readable and will entertain some. It will frustrate/annoy others. I'm glad I read it and it is "interesting"!
September 8, 2016
A travel classic and very funny with it! Two chaps set off to climb a mountain in Afghanistan with no prior experience of climbing mountains.....what could go wrong?
I laughed my socks off!
I laughed my socks off!
January 9, 2009
Newby writes in a now-well-established genre of travel writing: the improbable, disastrous trip taken to an unlikely place by the totally unprepared. He wasn't the first to do this sort of thing -- among others, Peter Fleming's Brazilian Adventure stands out as an earlier blackly comic "bad trip," not to mention Evelyn Waugh and Graham Greene. Today, the torch of the comic "bad trip" is carried by writers such as Redmond O'Hanlon, Bill Bryson, and Eric Hansen.
Like several of the writers mentioned above, a great deal of the charm of Newby's book lies in several key factors. First of all, he's grossly unprepared for the trip, which involves climbing a hitherto-unscaled (and very daunting) mountain. Newby had no climbing experience whatsoever, and his account of taking a crash course in climbing is one of the more engaging sections of the book. Secondly, there's the abrupt change in life situation. His initial position -- as a buyer in the fashion industry -- could not be further removed from the remoter sections of Afghanistan which he visits. (Even there, however, the reader will note that he has a good eye for garments of all sorts.) And finally, there's the "other person" in the story -- Newby's slightly monomaniac friend Hugh Carless. Much of the comedy is at Hugh's expense, for it seems that Hugh's strange fascination with going back to Nuristan to scale a peak that had once defeated him sets the stage for later disasters.
I found the earlier sections of the book (before the actual journey) to be predictably lighter and funnier. The considerable hardships endured on the road are documented in a wry stiff-upper-lip in the best British tradition, but they do rather wear on. I also had great difficulty figuring out where the hell they were half the time, even after consulting the various maps in the book. Perhaps this is my shortcoming, but the second half of the book did seem to run together for me into one long, protracted, miserable march. The bits of interjected historical background and local color, mostly in the form of mangled interactions with various remote tribal people, redeemed it, however.
The four stars here rests on two things: Newby's wonderfully crisp way of describing even the most dreadful situation, often to uproarious effect, and his keen eye for evoking the natural splendor (and brutal conditions) in one of the remotest corners of the world. It's wonderful armchair travel... and, frankly, I'd MUCH sooner be a voyeur by proxy in this part of the world than actually undertake such a venture.
Like several of the writers mentioned above, a great deal of the charm of Newby's book lies in several key factors. First of all, he's grossly unprepared for the trip, which involves climbing a hitherto-unscaled (and very daunting) mountain. Newby had no climbing experience whatsoever, and his account of taking a crash course in climbing is one of the more engaging sections of the book. Secondly, there's the abrupt change in life situation. His initial position -- as a buyer in the fashion industry -- could not be further removed from the remoter sections of Afghanistan which he visits. (Even there, however, the reader will note that he has a good eye for garments of all sorts.) And finally, there's the "other person" in the story -- Newby's slightly monomaniac friend Hugh Carless. Much of the comedy is at Hugh's expense, for it seems that Hugh's strange fascination with going back to Nuristan to scale a peak that had once defeated him sets the stage for later disasters.
I found the earlier sections of the book (before the actual journey) to be predictably lighter and funnier. The considerable hardships endured on the road are documented in a wry stiff-upper-lip in the best British tradition, but they do rather wear on. I also had great difficulty figuring out where the hell they were half the time, even after consulting the various maps in the book. Perhaps this is my shortcoming, but the second half of the book did seem to run together for me into one long, protracted, miserable march. The bits of interjected historical background and local color, mostly in the form of mangled interactions with various remote tribal people, redeemed it, however.
The four stars here rests on two things: Newby's wonderfully crisp way of describing even the most dreadful situation, often to uproarious effect, and his keen eye for evoking the natural splendor (and brutal conditions) in one of the remotest corners of the world. It's wonderful armchair travel... and, frankly, I'd MUCH sooner be a voyeur by proxy in this part of the world than actually undertake such a venture.
May 4, 2022
Mad Dogs and Englishmen
Review of the Harper Press paperback edition (2010) of the Secker & Warburg hardcover original (1958)
This was a quirky and often quite funny memoir of how former fashion buyer Eric Newby and his diplomat friend Hugh Carless travelled through the Nuristan province in north-eastern Afghanistan in 1956 with a goal of climbing the supposedly unclimbable Mir Samir in the Hindu Kush mountain range. The quirky part is that neither of the Englishmen had any previous great experience in climbing, aside from a few days training in Wales prior to the expedition. This makes for all sorts of misadventures with both the climbing and with their encounters with the locals who are the descendants of the pagan culture of the region before it came under Islamic rule in 1895.
Eric Newby (1919-2006) went on to a career of travel writing and is memorialized in this 2010 edition with its Afterword by fellow adventurer Hugh Carless (1925-2011). The Preface by writer Evelyn Waugh was already included in the first hardcover edition in 1958.
The cover of the original Secker & Warburg hardcover edition (1958). Image sourced from Wikipedia.
I read A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush through its inclusion in the 2022 Year of Reading blind subscription from the English language bookstore Shakespeare and Company in Paris, France.
Trivia and Link
Rudyard Kipling's short story The Man Who Would Be King (1888) and its film adaptation The Man Who Would Be King (1975) dir. John Huston with actors Sean Connery and Michael Caine, centre their plots around the Kingdom of Kafiristan which was the pre-Islamic name of Afghanistan's Nuristan province where Eric Newby and Hugh Carless travelled in A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush.
Review of the Harper Press paperback edition (2010) of the Secker & Warburg hardcover original (1958)
This was a quirky and often quite funny memoir of how former fashion buyer Eric Newby and his diplomat friend Hugh Carless travelled through the Nuristan province in north-eastern Afghanistan in 1956 with a goal of climbing the supposedly unclimbable Mir Samir in the Hindu Kush mountain range. The quirky part is that neither of the Englishmen had any previous great experience in climbing, aside from a few days training in Wales prior to the expedition. This makes for all sorts of misadventures with both the climbing and with their encounters with the locals who are the descendants of the pagan culture of the region before it came under Islamic rule in 1895.
Eric Newby (1919-2006) went on to a career of travel writing and is memorialized in this 2010 edition with its Afterword by fellow adventurer Hugh Carless (1925-2011). The Preface by writer Evelyn Waugh was already included in the first hardcover edition in 1958.
The cover of the original Secker & Warburg hardcover edition (1958). Image sourced from Wikipedia.
I read A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush through its inclusion in the 2022 Year of Reading blind subscription from the English language bookstore Shakespeare and Company in Paris, France.
Trivia and Link
Rudyard Kipling's short story The Man Who Would Be King (1888) and its film adaptation The Man Who Would Be King (1975) dir. John Huston with actors Sean Connery and Michael Caine, centre their plots around the Kingdom of Kafiristan which was the pre-Islamic name of Afghanistan's Nuristan province where Eric Newby and Hugh Carless travelled in A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush.
April 28, 2013
(FROM MY BLOG) By 1956, Eric Newby had devoted ten years of his life to working as a dress buyer for a London fashion house. Then one day, he received a telegram from Hugh Carless, a casual friend, asking "CAN YOU TRAVEL NURISTAN JUNE?"
Nuristan -- which until 1896, when its people were forcibly converted to Islam, had been called Kafiristan (land of the infidels) -- is one of the most remote and backward provinces in Afghanistan, nestled in the mountains of the Hindu Kush, northeast of Kabul. Afghanistan itself, at the time, was a nation so primitive that it had virtually no paved roads. Carless suggested not only exploring Nuristan, but also bagging a first ascent of near-by Mir Samir (19,878 ft.).
Newby of course said "yes," walking away from his career in the fashion industry. And thus was born his best-selling travel adventure, A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush.
Although Newby's life to that point had been a bit more adventuresome than his account of it suggests -- distinguished military service, and shipping out as an 18-year-old apprentice on a four-masted sailing vessel carrying grain as cargo between Europe and Australia -- neither Carless nor he had any mountaineering experience. To prepare for their adventure, they took a short course in elementary techniques from some experienced climbers, mountaineers who appeared concerned not only for the pair's safety but also for their sanity.
Newby writes in a humorous, self-deprecating and understated style about their efforts to properly outfit themselves and prepare for what he increasingly realized would be a totally foolhardy ordeal. The early chapters read like "Laurel and Hardy Go Mountaineering." Carless appears insouciant and confident; Newby was in a constant state of panic and alarm.
Their travel cross-country from Europe to Kabul was in itself the adventure of a lifetime. Once past Kabul, and on the trail up into the Hindu Kush, Newby's account becomes less manically funny and more humorously observant of the real dangers and problems they encountered. Newby's feet were blistered and in bandages from the outset, and both suffered from chronic dysentary. The local helpers whom they had secured in Kabul were difficult to deal with, often obdurate and unwilling to do what was asked of them, and difficult to communicate with. (Carless did speak Persian, of which the local languages were variants or dialects; Newby spoke only English.) The pack horses were in poor condition, and often terrified by the trail they were forced to follow.
Despite unspeakable hardships, primitive food rations, and unfriendly villagers, the two adventurers dragged themselves up higher and higher into the Hindu Kush. Facing miseries that would cause many experienced climbers to give up, and needing to pull out a sort of "Climbing for Dummies" manual whenever they confronted a technical challenge, they somehow managed to reach a point just 700 vertical feet below the summit of Mir Samir. They could have continued successfully to the summit but for the lateness in the day and their lack of any equipment for an overnight bivouac -- even turning around at that point, they returned to their camp after dark.
Rather than then returning to England, tails between their legs, they proceeded onward with a difficult climb over a mountain ridge and down into the next valley, thus passing into Nuristan. They had a number of adventures among a people so isolated that they thought Newby and Carless must be Russians, with whom they were familiar as rifle salesmen -- and so wild and incomprensible that Newby feared they must be mad.
The book comes with a sketchy map, hand-drawn by the author, on which the reader can follow a dotted line marking Newby's route. The map, indeed the entire trek, brings to mind Frodo's quest in Lord of the Rings. Although no orcs or dwarves come bounding out of any of the many caves Newby and Carless pass, their adventure is odd enough, and divorced enough from how we picture the world of 1956, that we would hardly have been surprised. Newby even happens upon a faded inscription carved into stone in an unknown tongue -- strangely reminiscent of Tolkien's elvish runes.
Until I had read Newby's book, I'd never heard of Nuristan, despite the fact that the remote valley was the core sanctuary of the Afghan opponents to the Russian occupation in the 1980's. We think of Afghanistan as a bleak, ugly country filled with murderous fanatics. But before the Russian invasion in 1979, Afghanistan was a popular stop on the "hippie highway" to India. Newby's book reminds us of how beautiful and undeveloped much of Afghanistan remains, and of how primitive and isolated many of its people were as late as the Eisenhower era. And, for all I know, may still be.
Afghanistan as a tourist (or trekking) destination may seem improbable any time in the near future. It wasn't so long ago, however, that Americans felt the same way about Vietnam.
Nuristan -- which until 1896, when its people were forcibly converted to Islam, had been called Kafiristan (land of the infidels) -- is one of the most remote and backward provinces in Afghanistan, nestled in the mountains of the Hindu Kush, northeast of Kabul. Afghanistan itself, at the time, was a nation so primitive that it had virtually no paved roads. Carless suggested not only exploring Nuristan, but also bagging a first ascent of near-by Mir Samir (19,878 ft.).
Newby of course said "yes," walking away from his career in the fashion industry. And thus was born his best-selling travel adventure, A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush.
Although Newby's life to that point had been a bit more adventuresome than his account of it suggests -- distinguished military service, and shipping out as an 18-year-old apprentice on a four-masted sailing vessel carrying grain as cargo between Europe and Australia -- neither Carless nor he had any mountaineering experience. To prepare for their adventure, they took a short course in elementary techniques from some experienced climbers, mountaineers who appeared concerned not only for the pair's safety but also for their sanity.
Newby writes in a humorous, self-deprecating and understated style about their efforts to properly outfit themselves and prepare for what he increasingly realized would be a totally foolhardy ordeal. The early chapters read like "Laurel and Hardy Go Mountaineering." Carless appears insouciant and confident; Newby was in a constant state of panic and alarm.
Their travel cross-country from Europe to Kabul was in itself the adventure of a lifetime. Once past Kabul, and on the trail up into the Hindu Kush, Newby's account becomes less manically funny and more humorously observant of the real dangers and problems they encountered. Newby's feet were blistered and in bandages from the outset, and both suffered from chronic dysentary. The local helpers whom they had secured in Kabul were difficult to deal with, often obdurate and unwilling to do what was asked of them, and difficult to communicate with. (Carless did speak Persian, of which the local languages were variants or dialects; Newby spoke only English.) The pack horses were in poor condition, and often terrified by the trail they were forced to follow.
Despite unspeakable hardships, primitive food rations, and unfriendly villagers, the two adventurers dragged themselves up higher and higher into the Hindu Kush. Facing miseries that would cause many experienced climbers to give up, and needing to pull out a sort of "Climbing for Dummies" manual whenever they confronted a technical challenge, they somehow managed to reach a point just 700 vertical feet below the summit of Mir Samir. They could have continued successfully to the summit but for the lateness in the day and their lack of any equipment for an overnight bivouac -- even turning around at that point, they returned to their camp after dark.
Rather than then returning to England, tails between their legs, they proceeded onward with a difficult climb over a mountain ridge and down into the next valley, thus passing into Nuristan. They had a number of adventures among a people so isolated that they thought Newby and Carless must be Russians, with whom they were familiar as rifle salesmen -- and so wild and incomprensible that Newby feared they must be mad.
The book comes with a sketchy map, hand-drawn by the author, on which the reader can follow a dotted line marking Newby's route. The map, indeed the entire trek, brings to mind Frodo's quest in Lord of the Rings. Although no orcs or dwarves come bounding out of any of the many caves Newby and Carless pass, their adventure is odd enough, and divorced enough from how we picture the world of 1956, that we would hardly have been surprised. Newby even happens upon a faded inscription carved into stone in an unknown tongue -- strangely reminiscent of Tolkien's elvish runes.
Until I had read Newby's book, I'd never heard of Nuristan, despite the fact that the remote valley was the core sanctuary of the Afghan opponents to the Russian occupation in the 1980's. We think of Afghanistan as a bleak, ugly country filled with murderous fanatics. But before the Russian invasion in 1979, Afghanistan was a popular stop on the "hippie highway" to India. Newby's book reminds us of how beautiful and undeveloped much of Afghanistan remains, and of how primitive and isolated many of its people were as late as the Eisenhower era. And, for all I know, may still be.
Afghanistan as a tourist (or trekking) destination may seem improbable any time in the near future. It wasn't so long ago, however, that Americans felt the same way about Vietnam.
July 14, 2012
This book made a delightful read for a week resting in the south of France; while Eric and Hugh labored senselessly up a mountain I'd never heard of and through villages full of unpredictable but ultimately missable minor tribes, I reclined on a chaise longue laughing my head off. I think the charm of this book, which is less than riveting in terms of travel discovery or anthropological profundity, is in the hapless and very English "Boys Own" confidence and optimism of the two trekkers. Hugh has Persian but is faced with impenetrable dialects, Eric has ordered boots from Italy that don't actually fit. They irritate each other, and bicker at times like two first-years in an Oxbridge hall, but in fact, both come from less predictable backgrounds and seem to be proving something to themselves as well as to us. In that sense, it's more than a "bad trip" exercise, but a lesson in good humor, wit under pressure and friendship.
To be an explorer means different things to each of us, but they were aiming to shortcut their way into exploration history with a jaunt up a neglected mountain in an utterly unmapped part of the Afghan world. One of the wonderful things about this book is that although they didn't even make it to the summit, their companionship with each other and us is so enjoyable that this book has become a "classic," listed no. 16 among National Geographic's top 100 Extreme Travel Books of all time.
To be an explorer means different things to each of us, but they were aiming to shortcut their way into exploration history with a jaunt up a neglected mountain in an utterly unmapped part of the Afghan world. One of the wonderful things about this book is that although they didn't even make it to the summit, their companionship with each other and us is so enjoyable that this book has become a "classic," listed no. 16 among National Geographic's top 100 Extreme Travel Books of all time.
August 18, 2011
The title of this iconic book summerizes it well.
One does not just take a short walk in the Hindu Kush, take a look at any map.
As EN discovers early on, the beginning and the start are separate events, and the execution
something else entirely. What began as a lark takes on the nature of a grail quest, without the
religious overtones. Eric and his posh, poseur friend Hugh share more with bumbling Don Quixiote
than with the noble knights, and their destination might appear to be more tangible, but their
naivite is matched by their willingness to take great risks.
So here we have two pretentious ill prepared dandies floundering around the mountain, looking for a way to the top, enduring all sorts of rough demands, bullying their way along the trial.
What spoiled the book for me was exemplified by this insidious class trait. I can't trust EN's descriptions of the people he encounters in the wild places, no matter how bluntly detailed, because he doesn't really see them as people. His writing reveals a sense of entitlement limits his vision.
I am uncomfortable and limited by looking at the world through his eyes.
One does not just take a short walk in the Hindu Kush, take a look at any map.
As EN discovers early on, the beginning and the start are separate events, and the execution
something else entirely. What began as a lark takes on the nature of a grail quest, without the
religious overtones. Eric and his posh, poseur friend Hugh share more with bumbling Don Quixiote
than with the noble knights, and their destination might appear to be more tangible, but their
naivite is matched by their willingness to take great risks.
So here we have two pretentious ill prepared dandies floundering around the mountain, looking for a way to the top, enduring all sorts of rough demands, bullying their way along the trial.
What spoiled the book for me was exemplified by this insidious class trait. I can't trust EN's descriptions of the people he encounters in the wild places, no matter how bluntly detailed, because he doesn't really see them as people. His writing reveals a sense of entitlement limits his vision.
I am uncomfortable and limited by looking at the world through his eyes.
January 28, 2016
A travel classic. This is the unbelievable tale of 2 Englishmen who try to make a first ascent of a 19,000 ft mountain in the 1950s. The journey to the peak is through harsh and remote wilderness near Afghanistan. This would be quite formidable for even the most seasoned explorers/mountaineers but our pair were drawing on British grit and not much else.
Allow me- their only climbing experience was a 3 day crash course, when stuck on high glaciers they would refer to their climbing pamphlets regarding how not to kill themselves, the first time the author tried on his climbing boots was at the base of said mountain and no they did not fit and he had bloody feet for the duration of the climb, developed near snow blindness, dodged falling granite boulders, had perennial diarrhea/dysentery and food and water issues. Along with their rag tag bunch of local support staff, this is a tragi-comedy of errors.
Their travel through Afghanistan, Kafiristan, Nuristan, near Pakistan/ Hindustan etc to get to Mir Samir, the mighty peak, provides an intimate glimpse into the lifestyles, history and geography of the various nomadic tribes here. Folks w an interest in mussulman history, Sunni conversion by sword of the infidel Shia, wars and conquests etc will find a lot to chew on.
I was impressed by these two and their stoicism. The writing is clear, crisp and without melodrama. There is no whining. The explorers keep their dry English sense of humor and there are hilarious one liners throughout. They converse w the natives in the local language and collaborate till their goal is achieved. If these two are a microcosm of the great British empire, it is no wonder they colonized the world. Relentless Forward Motion.
Allow me- their only climbing experience was a 3 day crash course, when stuck on high glaciers they would refer to their climbing pamphlets regarding how not to kill themselves, the first time the author tried on his climbing boots was at the base of said mountain and no they did not fit and he had bloody feet for the duration of the climb, developed near snow blindness, dodged falling granite boulders, had perennial diarrhea/dysentery and food and water issues. Along with their rag tag bunch of local support staff, this is a tragi-comedy of errors.
Their travel through Afghanistan, Kafiristan, Nuristan, near Pakistan/ Hindustan etc to get to Mir Samir, the mighty peak, provides an intimate glimpse into the lifestyles, history and geography of the various nomadic tribes here. Folks w an interest in mussulman history, Sunni conversion by sword of the infidel Shia, wars and conquests etc will find a lot to chew on.
I was impressed by these two and their stoicism. The writing is clear, crisp and without melodrama. There is no whining. The explorers keep their dry English sense of humor and there are hilarious one liners throughout. They converse w the natives in the local language and collaborate till their goal is achieved. If these two are a microcosm of the great British empire, it is no wonder they colonized the world. Relentless Forward Motion.
October 27, 2014
I had searched the internet for the best travel book ever and this book showed up on almost every list. How good can a book about two guy hiking up a mountain be? Well, I found out; fantastic, mind blowing great.
Newby writes in short straight clear prose with wry, witty self-depreciating humor delivered with impeccable timing. Time and time again he left me ROFL.
Hugh comes across as this mysterious, aloof, travel partner whom Newby is able to portray with gut wrenching humor. Part of the success of the book is how they play off each other.
The key to Newby's success is he writes straight prose, straight as an arrow, then without warning, slips in a sidebar, related yet not related, that just catches you with no alternative but to set the book down, and laugh.
His style of writing is like building a straight road, and every now and then build a kink in it, then continue to build the straight road, and add another kink at a random spot, then keep building the straight road, and so on.
He intertwines his cast of characters, complex landscapes, diverse cultural customs, and histories like an Oscar winning Director. It isn't what story he is telling, but how he tells it; smooth, seamless, and adventurous.
I breezed through this book at a pace I never expected. I was stunned at how effortless and quick I read it. It flowed smooth like a calm steady river. Once you pick it up you won't want to put it down. You, like me, will find yourself reading it at rapid pace, far quicker than you expected. I compel you to get a copy now.
Newby writes in short straight clear prose with wry, witty self-depreciating humor delivered with impeccable timing. Time and time again he left me ROFL.
Hugh comes across as this mysterious, aloof, travel partner whom Newby is able to portray with gut wrenching humor. Part of the success of the book is how they play off each other.
The key to Newby's success is he writes straight prose, straight as an arrow, then without warning, slips in a sidebar, related yet not related, that just catches you with no alternative but to set the book down, and laugh.
His style of writing is like building a straight road, and every now and then build a kink in it, then continue to build the straight road, and add another kink at a random spot, then keep building the straight road, and so on.
He intertwines his cast of characters, complex landscapes, diverse cultural customs, and histories like an Oscar winning Director. It isn't what story he is telling, but how he tells it; smooth, seamless, and adventurous.
I breezed through this book at a pace I never expected. I was stunned at how effortless and quick I read it. It flowed smooth like a calm steady river. Once you pick it up you won't want to put it down. You, like me, will find yourself reading it at rapid pace, far quicker than you expected. I compel you to get a copy now.
August 25, 2015
I read this book in a rather desultory way picking it up and putting it down for several weeks but it really began to resonate with me during a recent camping trip in the Lake District after putting 2 tents up in the pouring rain late at night and then discovering I had no way of boiling a kettle or making a hot meal.... Of course the English Lake Distruct hardly compares with the Hindu Kush but nevertheless it generated a real sense of empathy.
Eric Newby's impulsive adventure took place over 50 years ago. A postscript penned in 2010 by his travelling companion briefly outlines how the history of Afghanistan over the last half century has impacted on those remote valleys. What began as a rather light hearted travelogue turns out to be an important social history document!
The intrepid pair ended up meeting the eccentric veteran traveller Wilfrid Thesiger along the road. This extra-ordinary encounter rounds off the story in a delightful way.
Eric Newby's impulsive adventure took place over 50 years ago. A postscript penned in 2010 by his travelling companion briefly outlines how the history of Afghanistan over the last half century has impacted on those remote valleys. What began as a rather light hearted travelogue turns out to be an important social history document!
The intrepid pair ended up meeting the eccentric veteran traveller Wilfrid Thesiger along the road. This extra-ordinary encounter rounds off the story in a delightful way.
October 21, 2021
This has to go down as the most bizarre book I have ever read, and as a 60-something booklady, I have read quite a few books, way more than are indicated by this measly reckoning here on Goodreads, only begun 14 years ago.
By every law of God and man, the two intrepid travelers, Hugh and Eric, off for the wilds of Afghanistan in the late 1950s woefully unprepared, out-of-shape, led by unwilling, suspicious, headstrong and often dishonest drivers (not guides!), using horses, not donkeys, encountering every sort of adverse weather, hungry insect, terrifying landform, and assortment of dangerous, perverse and just plain strange humans (although sometimes that was questionable) ever in one geographical location, barely subsisting on the most unpalatable diet you can imagine, should NEVER have survived. And yet they did! Newby wrote this book and with the one camera salvaged from a mullah's mad dash into a river (which had ruined a large supply of their food and equipment, including several expensive cameras) was still able to take a number of interesting pictures.
And yet despite the many tragedies, the book is hilarious! For example:
The food no sooner started to warm up than a whirlwind descended on the amphitheater, which extinguished the stoves and covered everything in dust. To escape from it I moved everything to the shelter of some smelly rocks at the foot of the cliff. In this unbelievably horrid situation I finished cooking dinner.
"Apparently this place belongs to a Nuristani general who lives at Kabul," said Hugh as we digested the ghastly meal I had prepared. "Not Ubaidullah Khan."
"Well if I were a general I'd get a fatigue party to clean it up."
When we finished we gave out chocolate to the watchers, but it was like attempting to feed the five thousand without the aid of a miracle.
It had been among the most awful days I could remember. To escape from the crowds, who showed no signs of dispersing and from the giant mosquitoes that were sucking my blood, I took my bedding to the top of a high rock.
"If anything falls from the cliff, you'll be killed," Hugh shouted up to me.
"Good!"
"Abdul Ghiyas says if you sleep up there you may be murdered."
"It's a risk I'm prepared to take."
He picked up his own bedding and started to move towards the cliff.
"I'm coming up there too."
"Why don't you find a cliff of your own? I need this one all myself."
"All right, I will," he said huffily.
Before falling asleep, having long since lost all sense of time, I looked at the calendar in my diary. The date was the twenty-third of July. Only fourteen days had passed since we had set off from Kabul. It seemed like a lifetime. p.208
Two difficulties (for me) detracted from the overall enjoyment of the story: the similarities among people's names and pinning down the exact geographic location of the party. There were only two maps, one in the front cover and one in the back. It would definitely be worth the effort to read this again with a copy of the maps 'in hand' so flipping back and forth would not be required. A list of characters and their associated role or function or some other defining characteristic would help in keeping the myriad of minor but fascinating characters Hugh and Eric met over the course of their journey.
Fully five stars!
By every law of God and man, the two intrepid travelers, Hugh and Eric, off for the wilds of Afghanistan in the late 1950s woefully unprepared, out-of-shape, led by unwilling, suspicious, headstrong and often dishonest drivers (not guides!), using horses, not donkeys, encountering every sort of adverse weather, hungry insect, terrifying landform, and assortment of dangerous, perverse and just plain strange humans (although sometimes that was questionable) ever in one geographical location, barely subsisting on the most unpalatable diet you can imagine, should NEVER have survived. And yet they did! Newby wrote this book and with the one camera salvaged from a mullah's mad dash into a river (which had ruined a large supply of their food and equipment, including several expensive cameras) was still able to take a number of interesting pictures.
And yet despite the many tragedies, the book is hilarious! For example:
The food no sooner started to warm up than a whirlwind descended on the amphitheater, which extinguished the stoves and covered everything in dust. To escape from it I moved everything to the shelter of some smelly rocks at the foot of the cliff. In this unbelievably horrid situation I finished cooking dinner.
"Apparently this place belongs to a Nuristani general who lives at Kabul," said Hugh as we digested the ghastly meal I had prepared. "Not Ubaidullah Khan."
"Well if I were a general I'd get a fatigue party to clean it up."
When we finished we gave out chocolate to the watchers, but it was like attempting to feed the five thousand without the aid of a miracle.
It had been among the most awful days I could remember. To escape from the crowds, who showed no signs of dispersing and from the giant mosquitoes that were sucking my blood, I took my bedding to the top of a high rock.
"If anything falls from the cliff, you'll be killed," Hugh shouted up to me.
"Good!"
"Abdul Ghiyas says if you sleep up there you may be murdered."
"It's a risk I'm prepared to take."
He picked up his own bedding and started to move towards the cliff.
"I'm coming up there too."
"Why don't you find a cliff of your own? I need this one all myself."
"All right, I will," he said huffily.
Before falling asleep, having long since lost all sense of time, I looked at the calendar in my diary. The date was the twenty-third of July. Only fourteen days had passed since we had set off from Kabul. It seemed like a lifetime. p.208
Two difficulties (for me) detracted from the overall enjoyment of the story: the similarities among people's names and pinning down the exact geographic location of the party. There were only two maps, one in the front cover and one in the back. It would definitely be worth the effort to read this again with a copy of the maps 'in hand' so flipping back and forth would not be required. A list of characters and their associated role or function or some other defining characteristic would help in keeping the myriad of minor but fascinating characters Hugh and Eric met over the course of their journey.
Fully five stars!
July 1, 2013
A fantastic travelogue. The book's difficult to obtain in 'the West', but thank god for the illegal presses in Afghanistan, Pakistan and India. Here, this book can obtained by the 100s.
Newby, mid-level management at some fashion firm, quit his job and convinces an old friend of his, Carless, working in the British foreign service, to visit Nuristan, even today a very undiscovered part of Afghanistan. Newby and his wife meet up with Carless in Istanbul, after driving from London to the Turkish capital. After that, onwards to Tehran, where Newby's wife flies back to England and Newby and Carless continue on what really is the trip of a lifetime.
Newby has a very enjoyable style of writing. Very English, very much tongue in cheek, resulting in the most terrible of circumstances being described as only minor annoyances along the way.
They end their trip on a high note, having survived Nuristan, a rather uninhabitable region of Afghanistan, with a chance meeting with Wilfred Thesiger, a very amazing traveller in his own right, who makes them out for a couple of pansies.
Newby, mid-level management at some fashion firm, quit his job and convinces an old friend of his, Carless, working in the British foreign service, to visit Nuristan, even today a very undiscovered part of Afghanistan. Newby and his wife meet up with Carless in Istanbul, after driving from London to the Turkish capital. After that, onwards to Tehran, where Newby's wife flies back to England and Newby and Carless continue on what really is the trip of a lifetime.
Newby has a very enjoyable style of writing. Very English, very much tongue in cheek, resulting in the most terrible of circumstances being described as only minor annoyances along the way.
They end their trip on a high note, having survived Nuristan, a rather uninhabitable region of Afghanistan, with a chance meeting with Wilfred Thesiger, a very amazing traveller in his own right, who makes them out for a couple of pansies.
February 21, 2017
A fabulous book. The ultimate amateur adventure story, everyone should read it. Eric Newby is irrepressible in his aim to climb the mountains of Afghanistan, Embarking on his poorly planned expedition, with little relevant experience, he has no idea of what disasters await him in the hindu kush. Faced with incompetence, illness and equipment failure they soldier on regardless. The delightfully self-deprecating style of story telling does dampen the spirit of high adventure and sheer grit that keep our heroes going on their quest. It is beautifully told and laugh out loud hilarious. It is one of those books where I found myself trying to read slowly as i approached the end because I did not want to finish it.
December 23, 2016
A bit tough to stay enthusiastic while reading. Though my mind wandered a lot, I still wouldn't consider it boring. Just a bit slow going is all. Plus there was quite a bit of very old British jargon that kept some sentences from making sense. With each chapter I found myself looking up at least one word, phrase, and/or event in order to properly keep up. It's been a long time since I had to do something like that, but I didn't mind. I did, however, find myself laughing out loud several times throughout the entire book.
If you're looking for a book about a climbing adventure, look elsewhere. You'll be disappointed. But if you're looking for information about the land and people of Afghanistan (as I was), then I highly recommend this book. All in all, it was a very good read.
If you're looking for a book about a climbing adventure, look elsewhere. You'll be disappointed. But if you're looking for information about the land and people of Afghanistan (as I was), then I highly recommend this book. All in all, it was a very good read.
Shelved as 'not-for-me'
April 27, 2020******************
*Love and War in the Apennines not-for -me
*A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush not-for -me
*Slowly Down the Ganges 1 star DNF
*Love and War in the Apennines not-for -me
*A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush not-for -me
*Slowly Down the Ganges 1 star DNF
November 21, 2016
I enjoyed this book. Its horrendously British but in a nice charming way. Its a real celebration of naivity, inabilty and grit. Its main strength is Newbys ability to laugh at himself and their situation. The final line is perfect.
January 28, 2015
A very good read, one heck of an adventure, humorous, with insights, local histories, I've always thought those 50's were a special time and place for a trip of that nature..
June 12, 2023
“I was heavily involved on all fronts: with mountaineering outfitters, who oddly enough never fathomed the depths of my ignorance; possibly because they couldn’t conceive of anyone acquiring such a collection of equipment without knowing how to use it…”
Written in 1956, this travelogue is filled with self deprecatory humor and British wit that could often take away the focus from the magnitude of the trip undertaken across free Afghanistan. In the introduction by Evelyn Waugh, he notes how British would half kill themselves just to get away from Britain - an observation that left is chuckling, but then in retrospect made sense given the history.
Eric Newby is in Haute Couture for 10 years now and during one of the sales shows decides to quit his career when he receives a telegram from his friend to meet him in Nuristan. With knowing next to nothing about mountaineering or trekking, the two gentlemen get trained on the basics and then since he has quit his job and no turning back, he urges his friend to go on the trip immediately. What follows is a series of adventures and misadventures that is written in a humorous "Douglas Adamish" way - the highest praise I can muster.
Beyond the writing is the cultural relevance of one of the less understood terrain of Asia - Afghanistan before the Taliban came into being. The region of nomads and tribes who were living peacefully despite their differences in faith, food, religion and dressing(!). The observational difference between Kabul to Nuristan is a stuff of documentaries. The author also usefully adds snippets of history, myth and geography that is worth revisiting.
Since 1993 after the Taliban took over Afghanistan, the country has become closed and associated primarily with religious fanatism to the external world. This book tells a different story of friendly people who will risk their lives to host guests and go out of way to ensure your comfort - despite your best attempts to remain uncomfortable.
Mr.Newby wins your heart with the prose and the entire narrative feels like a fireside story over a drink. Understated, funny and an achievement.
Written in 1956, this travelogue is filled with self deprecatory humor and British wit that could often take away the focus from the magnitude of the trip undertaken across free Afghanistan. In the introduction by Evelyn Waugh, he notes how British would half kill themselves just to get away from Britain - an observation that left is chuckling, but then in retrospect made sense given the history.
Eric Newby is in Haute Couture for 10 years now and during one of the sales shows decides to quit his career when he receives a telegram from his friend to meet him in Nuristan. With knowing next to nothing about mountaineering or trekking, the two gentlemen get trained on the basics and then since he has quit his job and no turning back, he urges his friend to go on the trip immediately. What follows is a series of adventures and misadventures that is written in a humorous "Douglas Adamish" way - the highest praise I can muster.
Beyond the writing is the cultural relevance of one of the less understood terrain of Asia - Afghanistan before the Taliban came into being. The region of nomads and tribes who were living peacefully despite their differences in faith, food, religion and dressing(!). The observational difference between Kabul to Nuristan is a stuff of documentaries. The author also usefully adds snippets of history, myth and geography that is worth revisiting.
Since 1993 after the Taliban took over Afghanistan, the country has become closed and associated primarily with religious fanatism to the external world. This book tells a different story of friendly people who will risk their lives to host guests and go out of way to ensure your comfort - despite your best attempts to remain uncomfortable.
Mr.Newby wins your heart with the prose and the entire narrative feels like a fireside story over a drink. Understated, funny and an achievement.
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