One and a half stars for a few amusing anecdotes and breadcrumbs of genuinely interesting trivia, as well as for being a bit of a time capsule peek into what it was like to travel Europe in the 80s/early 90s. But good lord, how boring this book is and how insufferable the narrator. I can't help but wonder if Bryson was going through a rough patch when he wrote this, because this book had none of the charm and intelligence of "A Walk in the Woods" or "In a Sunburnt Country."

Between endless, repetitive descriptions of his train rides and hotels (which he invariably hates), no real discussion of the history or culture present in each country, endless disdain for any European he actually meets, desire to shoot dogs and people for simply existing in his orbit, and his bizarrely lecherous comments ( each chapter features him ogling various waitresses and secretaries, describing their breasts and buttocks...when he's not lamenting the lack of beauty of the local sex workers, of course).... Bryson comes across as bitter and unlikeable. It's no wonder he kept getting the cold shoulder from 90% of the people he met. I would say he exemplifies the Ugly American trope, but by this point, he had been living in the UK for a number of years. Do yourself a favor and read one of his other books instead.