Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town by Paul Theroux

I don’t read much travel writing because it makes me feel a little bad. Bad, in a ‘why am I reading about this amazing place, why aren’t I there?’ kind of way. So when I do, I choose my material carefully. This mostly involves staying well away from the “how I cured my mid-life crisis in Tuscany/Provence” books and sticking to the proven favourites like Bill Bryson and Paul Theroux.

Dark Star Safari is Theroux’s most recent travel book, describing his 2001 trip, pithily summarized by the sub-heading: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town. Basically, Theroux traversed Africa from top to bottom in an unhurried pace, using rickety buses, cars, trains and even a canoe to get around. If you know one thing about Africa, you know it is not the kind of place where this is routinely done. It’s difficult. It’s dangerous. Some might say, it’s asking for trouble. As experienced and retold by Theroux, it’s all that, and much more.

This journey was a sort of a homecoming for Theroux, who believes he was shaped into an adult in Malawi, where he worked as a young teacher with Peace Corpse in the 60s. His affection for Africa is obvious from the start, as is his dedication to researched, beautiful and (very) opinionated prose.

Theroux’s traveling style is a Condé Nast Traveler antithesis. He’s determined to stay off the beaten path as much as possible which actually proves quite easy. Beaten paths – literal and metaphorical, are so rare in places he visits, his only options tend to be improvised routes that involve riding on top of trucks or hitching rides with strangers.

He expertly and vividly describes all of his destinations and along the way inserts slices of history to give context and inform. But, most importantly, he talks to everyone he comes across. And I mean, everyone. Nuns, prime ministers, former political prisoners, ship captains, farmers, writers, teachers, prostitutes, shop keepers, all open up to Theroux with their stories. Sometimes harrowing, sometimes inspirational, often both – it is these honest personal histories and commentary on Africa by Africans, that shape the book’s core and make it such a gratifying read.

Another thing I love about Theroux’s writing is how much of himself he puts in it. Opinions, memories, personal revelations are weaved throughout the book, painting a tangible picture of the author. Of course, you can never know how much of it is the real Theroux and how much is authorial manipulation but seeing how he doesn’t always comes across that flattering, I suspect it’s mostly the real deal.

He is worldly, engaging, well-researched, philosophical and happy to candidly describe awkward faux pas and transgressions he finds himself part of. On the other hand, he does sometimes appear as a pompous intellectual, frequently back-slapping himself for roughing it when all these other saps, as he sees it, parachute in and out of Africa for their safaris. He also has a wicked sense of humour, verbally assassinating many who were just asking for it.

Do I want to go to Africa as a result of reading this book? It’s certainly no travel brochure. It seems if you’re going to go to Africa, you can either go in luxury which strikes me as incongruous and providing a false experience of the place or, you can rough it like Theroux did and frankly, I don’t have the guts or the stamina for it. Until I find an acceptable middle ground I am happy to observe it from afar.

One thing it does make me want to do is read a lot more Theroux.