Download A Time of Gifts: On Foot to Constantinople: From the Hook of by Patrick Leigh Fermor PDF

By Patrick Leigh Fermor

On the age of eighteen, Patrick Leigh Fermor trigger from the guts of London on an epic journey—to stroll to Constantinople. A Time of Gifts is the wealthy account of his adventures so far as Hungary, and then Between the Woods and the Water keeps the tale to the Iron Gates that divide the Carpathian and Balkan mountains. Acclaimed for its sweep and intelligence, Leigh Fermor’s ebook explores a amazing second in time. Hitler has simply come to strength yet battle remains to be forward, as he walks via a Europe quickly to be without end changed—through the Lowlands to Mitteleuropa, to Teutonic and Slav heartlands, throughout the baroque continues to be of the Holy Roman Empire; up the Rhine, and all the way down to the Danube.

right away a memoir of coming-of-age, an account of a trip, and a stunning exposition of the English language, A Time of Gifts can also be a portrait of a continent already displaying ominous symptoms of the holocaust to come back.

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Read Online or Download A Time of Gifts: On Foot to Constantinople: From the Hook of Holland to the Middle Danube (Journey Across Europe, Book 1) PDF

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Extra resources for A Time of Gifts: On Foot to Constantinople: From the Hook of Holland to the Middle Danube (Journey Across Europe, Book 1)

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What’s more, we’d been raised to assume that one day we would in fact conquer the world. Claire and I had come of age during that rare moment in human history when little girls were pumped full of the steroids of feminism, told en masse that we could do anything, be anything, go anywhere. ” Whenever we’d read books about bold, romantic, heroes who’d sailed the oceans, climbed the mountains, and ventured into uncharted territories, we’d been supremely irritated that almost none of them had had a vagina.

She had an opalescent complexion, like milk glass; you could see the fine blue veins at her temples. In the queasy fluorescence of the guesthouse, her hair looked almost green. We paid Chung seventy Hong Kong dollars apiece, and he handed us keys to two small, adjoining rooms. And there we were: officially ensconced in Asia. I closed my door and dropped my backpack on the floor, the thunk reverberating off the tiles. I sat down on the bed. In a few minutes, Claire would come over to uncork the champagne we’d brought to toast our arrival.

With that, she hung up. I stood there incredulous, the gunmetal receiver heavy in my hand. Mr. Chung waited respectfully off to the side, pretending to sort a pile of tourist brochures. Of all my family members, my grandmother had always been my staunchest ally. For years, she’d fancied herself a Communist. When she wasn’t berating her housekeeper—whom she degradingly called “the domestic”—she’d sit back in a crushed velvet armchair with an enormous gin and tonic and speak glowingly of Trotsky.

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