Bryson is the perfect companion with whom to embark on the "grand tour" - as long as you're safely ensconced in an armchair and in no imminent danger of starving to death in Sweden or trying to buy a bus ticket in Bulgaria. Indeed, Bryson's verdict on most of Europe seems designed to deter the average reader from ever venturing outside his or her front door again, lest he or she should inadvertently stumble upon Salzburg ("full of shops selling things that only a tourist could want: Tyrolean crap and Alpine crap and crap crap and, above all, Mozart crap"), Lichtenstein ("there is no reason to go to Lichtenstein except to say that you have been there") or Cologne ("it was comforting to see that the Germans could make a hash of a city as well as anyone else"). Not that he hates everything, mind you: on the contrary, he raves about Capri, and Swiss maps, and - amazingly - Denmark. Bryson fans need fear no disappointments here; and if you're not a Bryson fan yet, it's as good a place to start as any.
