Baghdad without a Map and Other Misadventures in Arabia by Tony Horwitz

By Tony Horwitz

This wild and comedian story of heart East misadventure is "a very humorous and regularly insightful examine the world's so much flamable zone. Fearlessness is a worthy caliber in a go back and forth author, and Mr. Horwitz . . . turns out as intrepid as they come".--The manhattan occasions ebook evaluate

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Baghdad without a Map and Other Misadventures in Arabia

This wild and comedian story of heart East misadventure is "a very humorous and often insightful examine the world's such a lot flamable sector. Fearlessness is a precious caliber in a trip author, and Mr. Horwitz . . . turns out as intrepid as they come". --The manhattan occasions booklet assessment

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Oxford English Dictionary Some men follow their dreams, some their instincts, some the beat of a private drummer. I had a habit of following my wife. This wasn't a problem, except for the places she chose to go. First frostbitten Cleveland, where she had a job and I didn't. Then Australia, her parents' home and ten thousand miles from mine. Now, after three years Down Under, Ger-aldine proposed that we move Up Over again—to Cairo. “It's seven time zones closer to America,” she said hopefully.

On the train to Baltimore, I daydreamed of dusty casbahs and caftaned bedouin. The melody of Middle East cities began to enchant me. Fez, Khartoum, Bengazi, Baghdad. I read The Blue Nile. “We must go to the East,” Napoleon declared, shortly before heading off to conquer Egypt. ” He too was almost twenty-nine at the time. Editor #8 handed me his business card, told me to “think small,” and suggested I stop in again—like sometime in the twenty-first century. I told him I'd rather wing it as a free-lancer in the Middle East.

He grabbed my arm and twisted. ” We settled at one hundred, about ten dollars. He scribbled something in Arabic and tossed it into my lap. Yemen license. In a feeble attempt at payback, I took out my notebook and asked for his name and badge number. Then I noticed he didn't have a badge. “I am Ahmed Mohammed,” he said, giving me the name of perhaps a quarter of the male population of Yemen. Then he reached through the window, opened the door from the outside and vanished into the traffic. The scenery at least, improved at the edge of town.

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