* 8 Great Adventure Reads

Thirty-year-old Kira Salak kayaked alone for 600 miles on the Niger River of Mali to Timbuktu—and loved it, according to her 2004 chronicle The Cruelest Journey (National Geographic).

Kira Salak just at the cusp of her 30s took time away from an English PhD to paddle a kayak six hundred miles along the Niger to Timbuktu, following the path of the doomed 18th-century explorer Mungo Park. "Cruelest Journey" matches Park's final expedition with Salak's intention to test herself against the river, to open herself up to the world along its banks. Physical exhaustion and isolation, cultural shock and sickness--- Salak teaches herself to face all those things. This isn't a book about Timbuktu, and the arrival there is an anticlimax. But it is a wonderful meditation on place and what it means to be alone in crowds, and to face the kind of physical ordeals Westerners never see any more.

Travel books are the perfect antidote against quarantine. I find it refreshing to read one written by a woman, as they are very often macho affairs full of testosterone. It is beautifully written, and manages to convey the sense of existential dread that comes from kayaking though a notoriously dangerous land. That said, l don't really understand the motivation behind the journey. Perhaps I'm not adventurous enough.

Reminds me of two things: Aguirre, the Wrath of God and the Camino. In the case of the former, it's not so much Salak's experience as that of Mungo Park, whose own journey down the Niger she uses to inform her own; in the latter, it's the reminder that in the present day one's far flung adventures are often one-way trips (that is, Salak paddled to Timbuktu but flew home afterwards), while for much of history they were by necessity two-way trips. This was something I thought about on the Camino, sometimes; once I reached Santiago, I could hop on a plane anywhere in the world (and, for that matter, could have quit at any point and hopped on a plane—or a train, or a bus), but pilgrims in the Middle Ages (and until comparatively recently) would have had to make their own way home.

Money is a recurring theme here: Salak notes that while she's not particularly affluent herself, she had the backing of National Geographic on this trip (and in any case 'affluence' in the west is very different from 'affluence' in Mali). But I'm also intrigued by observations like this: ...photographers’ rates tend to be quite expensive—anywhere from $400 to $600 a day (writers, on the other hand, are paid only for the finished article, regardless of how many days they spend in the field) (68). This doesn't indicate how much writer vs. photographer earned for this trip (she does say that the photographer offered a very good deal for National Geographic), but, gosh. It says something about what we prioritise, doesn't it?

And money again: probably the thing that is mentioned most—more than the actual physical act of paddling, more than even Mungo Park—is money. Money, and giving it to village chiefs or locals who provide services or food, and so on and so forth. I'm not entirely sure what to make of this; I suspect it's partly Salak's discomfort with being a highly visible white woman, because in a different context (i.e., a wealthier culture) one would not likely mention passing money to someone every time a transaction was made. (There's probably an academic paper to be written on this. Perhaps in an anthro class? A hybrid lit-anthro class?)

I doubt I'll ever make it to Mali, let alone Timbuktu, but—it is quite the storied city, isn't it? And I can definitely see the appeal of making the trip into an adventure.

This is a real adventrue (maybe that's redundant, but I want to emphasize) book. The writer collapses the real time it must have taken her to get down the Niger to a spiritual journey of not-too-many pages. She doesn't romanticise herself or others, but she does empathise, which is nice. Should be read in conjunction with writing by Mungo Park, an earlier explorer who died making the same journey and whose journal at times provides her with inspiration and perspective.

I need to read more of this woman's adventures. She's got a lot of guts & usually travels alone to places most women would not want to be alone in.

Glorious! Kira Salak is an extraordinary being and an amazing writer. What the world needs now.

This non-fiction by a very brave, albeit foolhardy woman who also happens to write beautifully and sensitively.

Miss Kira Salak travelled 600 miles down the Niger in the footsteps of the legendary African explorer Mungo Park, to the fabled city of Timbuktu. What compels men or women to risk their lives on such hazardous journeys?
Miss Salak herself spends many days and hours reflecting on these things as she battled storms, unpredictable currents and occasionally hostile natives in her solitary quest. Every difficult journey is also pilgrimage, where one confronts one's innermost fears and motives. In the end Miss Salak herself found what she calls "grace". She writes:
"Grace, because in my life back home every day had appeared the same as the one before...It had felt like a stagnant life...I want the world to always be offering me the new, the grace of the unfamiliar."
And indeed, "grace" is the right word to describe the feelings Miss Salak evokes in the reader in this beautiful account of her journey.

So I am going to ask the question that seemingly every person who encountered Salak during her journey asked--indeed, even she herself keeps asking: WHY?? Why would a lone American woman choose to paddle 600 miles on the Niger river in a blow up kayak to reach Timbuktu?

The closest answer I found was "I want to avoid that stagnant life. I want the world to always be offering me the new, the grace of the unfamiliar." Well, Ok. I want that, too...but I'm not going to be putting myself into extreme and real danger to get it! Plus I hate bugs too much.

But this part did make me laugh out loud: "Timbuktu. It is the world's greatest anticlimax. After having had such a long and difficult journey to get here, I feel as if I'm the butt of a great joke."

Having spent some time in Africa I was able to picture the river villages and people. I wish some of the photos from the National Geo photographer had been included with the book.

a good vacation book, interesting concept and story about her journey.

I think it would be hard to translate hours of paddling into an exciting book - and the book is a reflection of a journey, rather than an adventure story. This was an honest account from a determined woman. I like that she braided her story with Mungo Park's experience, it helped move things along the muddy history of this land. As a traveler myself I especially appreciated how travel means that you come to look at other cultures, but those cultures also come out to inspect you from their own vantage point and it is not all that pleasant. Her ultimate lesson? I'd say overcoming fear, moving forward at all costs and experiencing some disappointment in the destination that was supposed to be so amazing.

I will keep this book around. I'll have the chance to go to Mali, and after reading this, not by canoe.
So onwards, to the next destination.