James Cridland's reading reviewed Ticket to ride by Tom Chesshyre
Review of 'Ticket to ride' on 'Goodreads'
2 stars
Chesshyre starts this book by gently poking fun at train enthusiasts, and tries to claim he isn't one, but with every train he takes he insists on telling us engine numbers and speed details. It's a laborious joke, I assume, but it's one that wears thin quickly as he hurtles round the world on a bunch of trains, and gently pokes fun at the train enthusiasts he meets while protesting slightly too loudly that he isn't one.
Any "travelling on a train" book that starts with a reference to Paul Theroux is already on a hiding to nothing. This isn't a Theroux-like book; the characters Chesshyre meets on the trains he takes are less interesting and less complex than Theroux's. It's probably partly because Chesshyre travels in first class in as many trains as he possibly can, and seems to only talk to other Brits in much of this book. …
Chesshyre starts this book by gently poking fun at train enthusiasts, and tries to claim he isn't one, but with every train he takes he insists on telling us engine numbers and speed details. It's a laborious joke, I assume, but it's one that wears thin quickly as he hurtles round the world on a bunch of trains, and gently pokes fun at the train enthusiasts he meets while protesting slightly too loudly that he isn't one.
Any "travelling on a train" book that starts with a reference to Paul Theroux is already on a hiding to nothing. This isn't a Theroux-like book; the characters Chesshyre meets on the trains he takes are less interesting and less complex than Theroux's. It's probably partly because Chesshyre travels in first class in as many trains as he possibly can, and seems to only talk to other Brits in much of this book. Theroux took the time to learn to speak in Spanish for his trip down to Patagonia, but Chesshyre appears to be the quintessential Brit abroad - only speaking in English and almost always to the British people he discovers.
He gets his come-uppance in Australia. He manages to rub almost every gold-class passenger up the wrong way, for some reason, and beats a hasty retreat to the cheap seats. Reading this chapter, it seems entirely unlike the Australian culture that I know, but also the Aussies don't like airs and graces, and especially don't like aloofness in any guise. His attempt to be apart from the train enthusiasts, who he derides throughout the book, dismally fails here. He writes the entire chapter as some kind of revenge attack on his fellow passengers, pretending that he's no idea why they were all being so mean to him.
Chessyre's as see-through as rice paper, though. Towards the end of the book, he suddenly - and for no real reason - starts talking about how excellent Christian Wolmar is, a fellow train enthusiast and author. Christian is a god amongst men, you'd think after the flowery paragraph that Chesshyre gives. Lo and behold - the quote on the front cover is from Wolmar. Scratch my back, etc.
As you read it you notice Chesshyre has form with writing books about train trips - he's written quite a few already, making his faux protestations about not being an awful train enthusiast even more irritating.
All this isn't to say that this book is worthless. It isn't - it's a relatively easy jaunt through a number of train trips, and some of it is rather enjoyable. Were it not for the aloofness and disengagement with his journeys, it would be rather better.
