it's full of wonderful descriptions. It's rather like what I was saying about building a mosaic about a country. He does that marvellously, in a description of landscape, then a menu, then a conversation, often humorous or sometimes a bit mad, and then some of the finest architectural descriptions in the language.
Bouvier never wrote another book comparable to this one. I loved it for its humanity, for its footloose feeling. He says somewhere, "You think you are making a trip, but soon it is making you – or unmaking you." And you feel that he's a very vulnerable traveller. I love that sense of not having a planned journey – it might go anywhere. He travelled in this funny little car, a Fiat Topolino. I travelled in Russia in a Morris Marina, which people laughed at, and it secures your independence.
Like many people, I love the idea of this young 19-year-old gypsy going off on foot on his own, with just a pound a week, footloose and fancy free, full of delight at the world and fascination at where he's going.
I chose it for its sheer imaginative quality. I loved it almost as an extension of the travel book in the mind – the travel book that has no responsibility to where it has been because it hasn't been anywhere real, it's been in the realm of ideas and images.
This struck me as a rather different way of travel writing. It is very individual, with stark, short passages. There's very little of him in it. This is his walking journey in lower Patagonia, split between the Argentine and Chile, published in 1977.
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