Due West

The Story

The narrative begins with the simple premise that travel is an essential component of a well-lived life, serving as an antidote to the "shapeless idleness" of a sedentary existence. The author sets out on a ten-month voyage that takes the reader across vast oceans and through the distinct cultural landscapes of Asia, the Middle East, and Europe. This is not merely a record of motion, but a deliberate effort to observe the nuances of human existence, from the highest architectural monuments to the daily habits of common folk.

The journey starts in the East, where the traveler navigates the contrasting landscapes of Japan and China. In Japan, he explores the solemn, well-tended shrines at Nikko and the bustling commercial life of Kioto. He observes the unique blending of Shinto and Buddhist traditions, remarking on the resilience of a culture that maintained isolation for two millennia. As the journey transitions to the British-dominated hub of Hong Kong, the tone shifts from the reverence of ancient shrines to the "fast" and energetic lifestyle of an English colonial port. Here, the traveler grapples with the harsh realities of local customs, such as the practice of foot-binding, which he characterizes as a "hideous deformity," and the rigid social stratification that limits his access to domestic life.

Moving southward, the narrative follows a path through the lush landscapes of Singapore, where the contrast between the industrious Chinese merchant class and the "listless" indigenous population is noted. The journey continues to Ceylon (modern-day Sri Lanka), where the sensory experience of the voyage intensifies. The traveler walks through fragrant cinnamon gardens—though he notes with characteristic precision that the scent arises only from the harvesting of the bark—and observes the vast, struggling coffee plantations that define the island’s economy. From there, the trek moves into the heart of India. In Trichinopoly, he documents the juxtaposition of squalid mud-cabin living quarters and the exquisite, highly skilled craftsmanship of the local silversmiths. He then travels north toward the Himalayas, describing the formidable barrier they present to the rest of Asia and the perilous lives of those who attempt to cross them.

As the route turns westward toward Europe, the traveler finds himself in the "Gate of Tears"—the Red Sea—a place steeped in both maritime danger and historical significance. He reaches Cairo, where he marvels at the Summer Palace at Shoobra, contrasting its opulent, eclectic decor with the surrounding natural beauty. The journey then takes a sharp turn into the "barbarism" of Tangier, which the traveler describes as a jarring leap into a world where modern European conveniences vanish entirely, replaced by a dense, chaotic, and often hostile mixture of races and customs.

The final act of the circumnavigation unfolds in Spain and northern Europe. In Granada, the traveler lingers in the Alhambra, finding a level of "tangible poetry" in its Moorish architecture that seems absent in the more rigid structures of Madrid. He describes the vibrant life of the Puerto del Sol and the imposing, austere grandeur of the Escurial. The journey draws to a close as he crosses from Spain into France, eventually reaching Antwerp. Here, he offers a final reflection on the stark, almost biological differences between neighboring nations, pondering why a simple border should so clearly delineate physical traits and aesthetics. He boards a ship for America, concluding his ten-month odyssey with the sentiment that travel, in the end, only serves to deepen one’s appreciation for one’s own country.

The People

• The Traveler (The Author): An observant, educated, and well-resourced gentleman who seeks to sharpen his mind through "ocular demonstration." He wants to see past the facts of chroniclers to find the beauty and mystery of the world. He remains a detached but curious witness, often judging foreign customs by his own standards of Victorian decorum.
• The Colonial Resident: A representative of British power in regions like India and Hong Kong. This figure justifies imperial expansion as a "deliverance" from chaotic or oppressive native rule. They represent the administrative, pragmatic side of the journey, providing the traveler with the political arguments that settle, at least temporarily, his doubts about foreign occupation.
• The Local Craftsman/Merchant: Encountered in cities like Delhi or Trichinopoly, these individuals are shrewd, patient, and highly skilled. Whether they are selling Cashmere shawls or crafting silver, they engage the traveler in a psychological dance, sizing him up to determine the price he is willing to pay. They serve as the custodians of local tradition and luxury.
• The Native Laborer/Peasant: Often viewed from a distance or through the lens of colonial social hierarchy, these individuals form the backdrop of the traveler’s world. They are described in broad strokes, sometimes as "listless" or "objectless" children of the equator, and other times as victims of harsh environments or political instability, rarely given a direct voice in the narrative.

In Its Own Voice

The author emphasizes that travel requires an active mind, not just the passive act of seeing:

"There are others who both see and feel, to whom the simplest object in its suggestiveness may be full of beauty."

Reflecting on the complex and sometimes contradictory nature of the religious and cultural history of the East, he observes:

"It is singular that two nations located so near to each other, both of Asiatic race, and with so many important features in common, should have for two thousand years maintained a policy of entire isolation towards each other."

Describing the process of purchasing luxury goods in India, he captures the delicate, almost predatory negotiation involved in the transaction:

"The shrewd old merchant has mentally taken your measure for this myriad-threaded beauty, and you are captivated."

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the "education of the eye." It posits that facts, while useful, are stagnant until they are experienced through the senses. The author argues that travel is a moral duty for those with the time and money, acting as a safeguard against the stagnation of a small, insular life. The book is deeply concerned with the concept of "civilization," constantly measuring the places it visits against a benchmark of European—specifically British—standards of order, hygiene, and aesthetic harmony.

There is a recurring tension between the author’s desire to find "poetry" in the world and his tendency to view everything through the filter of his own cultural superiority. He finds beauty in the Alhambra because it resonates with his aesthetic sensibilities, but he finds "barbarism" in Tangier because it defies the organizational logic of European town planning. The book attempts to answer a fundamental question: how does one reconcile the vast, often incomprehensible differences between human societies? His answer is largely a mixture of aesthetic appreciation and political rationalization. He seeks to find "harmony" in architecture and history, even while he ignores or dismisses the internal agency of the people living in those spaces.

Furthermore, the work is an inquiry into the nature of national identity. In his closing thoughts, the author questions why neighboring nations, like France and Belgium, should exhibit such distinct physical and cultural characteristics. He frames this as a mysterious, almost biological imperative, suggesting that national character is something deeply rooted in the soil and climate. This belief in the distinctness of peoples underpins his entire voyage; he is not looking for a universal humanity, but rather a catalog of differences that ultimately serves to confirm his own sense of belonging. The "Due West" of the title is more than just a direction; it is a trajectory toward a firmer, more confident sense of home, achieved only by having seen what lies on the other side of the world.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy nineteenth-century travelogues—with all their descriptive lushness and distinct, often rigid, moral viewpoints—will find this a rewarding experience. It captures a specific moment in time when the world felt both vast and increasingly mapped by European interests. The prose is elegant and measured, and the author’s ability to conjure the atmosphere of a spice plantation or the intricate detail of a silver-smithing hut is impressive.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the author’s period attitudes. His descriptions of non-Western cultures are often patronizing, and he holds views on race and gender that are firmly rooted in the Victorian era. He refers to women in the East as "toys or slaves" and characterizes indigenous populations with a detachment that many will find problematic. He does not attempt to hide these biases; rather, he writes from a position of absolute certainty regarding the superiority of his own culture.

Despite these limitations, the book remains a fascinating document. It offers a glimpse into how the "educated traveler" of the 1880s organized the world in his mind. The sections on the practicalities of travel—the difficulty of the Himalayan passes, the bureaucratic maneuvering required to see a palace in Cairo, and the sheer physical exhaustion of a long journey—are handled with a precision that makes the reader feel the weight of the suitcases and the heat of the sun. The difficulty lies in the book's length and its sometimes repetitive structure, as the traveler moves from one city to the next. Yet, for those who value the "observing power" the author prizes, there is a quiet pleasure in his attention to detail. You finish the book not with a sense of having been to these places yourself, but with a clear understanding of what it felt like to be a man of his time, holding the world in his view and, in his mind, arranging it into a coherent, if narrow, understanding of humanity.