T he best travel writing is usually about something else—not just been-there and saw-that. There is an inner voyage, even for the atheist, a spiritual experience—if not an encounter with God at least a glimpse into the mystery of life embodied in crumbling walls or crashing waves. The tourist joins a group, rides a bus, hires a guide, buys souvenirs, sends postcards, takes pictures; the traveler carries his reporter's notebook, walks the boulevards, parks and museums alone, scribbles his notes with wine at dinner in a small outdoor café and scours the local newspapers, even if he can't read the language, for some sense of how this town relates to the rest of the world.
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