Like a third-class coach on a rickety railroad, [The Old Patagonian Express] offers fleeting glimpses of scenic beauty, even more fleeting glances into other people's lives and long stretches of discomfort, fatigue and tiresome companions before leaving you, finally, at a cold dark station in South Godforsaken doubting the trip was worth it….

[Theroux] sees scenic splendors as well, but does not dwell long on them. What he does lavish detail on are his discomforts. The crankiness of Railway Bazaar here becomes a continent-long complaint….

The problem is not just that his tone is irritating. It is that he is so firmly convinced his commonplace complaints are of compelling interest. Theroux is certainly capable of writing well about travel. He has, for example, a sure sense of that secret joy of starting a long trip early in the morning, alone, while others begin their daily routine. "The poetry...