While rooting around for books for The Grand Tour, I spotted ‘flâneur’ and immediately went for the bait. I know this word from back in 2012 when I was an ardent Francophile and was reading books like French Women Don’t Get Fat and French Kids Eat Everything. It’s a beautiful word, meaning to meander or stroll through a city without intention, merely walking and observing and letting the life of the city take you where it will. For some reason I thought the author was going to flâner from Lisbon to Norway — i.e. walk — but that’s not the case. This is more of a travel memoir with frequent tangents — and that’s the point, since part of the attraction of flâneuring about is to be open to unexpected discoveries. After leaving Lisbon and Paris, though, there is very little strolling going on: there are instead train rides, EV treks to the Artic, and even kayaking. As Ward and his wife explore Lisbon, the Alps, etc, the reader is treated to all kinds of interesting sidetrails: rebellious art in Paris that resulted in an explosion of buildings decorated by female nudes; a library in Porto that inspired JK Rowling; the role of Wild Men in Europe’s mythology; the history and culture of the Sami people, who range across Scandinavia but who are treated most justly in Norway, etc. Portugal has a larger presence than any other country, bookending the collection of tales: this possible owes to Ward’s Portuguese wife, or perhaps his fondness for Portuguese vino. (I was surprised and amused to learn that ninety percent of European grapes are grafted on to American rootstocks because of aphid protection. That must be so very difficult for the French to live with.) It’s an entertaining read, for the most part, and interesting: Ward isn’t visiting the usual tourist spots in Europe, but rather pointing out strange and wonderful things he finds off the beaten track. It was nice bit of vicarious wandering, unpredictable and varied.

When we checked into our hotel, the Funken Lodge (more swanky than
funky), we were given the polar bear briefing by a cheerful young Irish
woman named Lisa. She told us bears only wander inside the town itself a
couple of times a year. “So, if you see a bear, immediately run into the
closest house or car. Everyone in town is very trusting, and no one locks
their doors,” she said with a smile.

It’s because of these early graves that it is now illegal to die in Svalbard.