ON THE HIPPIE TRAIL

The well-known TV traveler recounts a sentimental education.

Born a few years too late to have been a classic hippie, Steves nonetheless threw his backpack on and, with an old friend, hit the “Hippie Trail”—a congeries of roads and railroad lines leading across Europe to India—in 1978. This book is built on a journal he kept along the way, one that he forgot until, “stuck at home during the pandemic, I stumbled across it.” Known for decades for amiable PBS travelogues, Steves shows that the young longhair is the father of the man: All of his evenhandedness, generosity, and curiosity are in evidence from the minute he jumps his first train from Frankfurt to Yugoslavia. That’s to say nothing of his resourcefulness, which sometimes involves finessing the rules: In then-Communist Bulgaria, he buys a ticket as far as Sofia but travels on to Plovdiv, convincing the annoyed conductor that he missed his stop. “Relishing my role as the stupid American tourist,” Steves writes, “I really played it up.” The pals brave Turkish highways with a driver they call the Pirate, cross into Iran and Afghanistan, and make it to India, having survived sketchy lodgings and any number of questionable foods. “What did the people think as we waltzed in and out of their lives?” he wonders. The answers are many: One old gentleman whom Steves meets in Kabul observes that a third of the world eats with forks, a third with chopsticks, and a third with their hands, “and we’re all civilized just the same.” It’s a perfect sentiment for this gentle book, which is very much a young man’s, with little bits of purple if not purple-haze prose (“Following this magical procession, we wandered through a timeless village floating in a wonderworld”) punctuating the narrative.

A pleasure for travel buffs, especially those who once plied the Hippie Trail—or wish they had.