Seeing the world up close, honestly

HONEYMOON WITH MY BROTHER: A MEMOIR

By Franz Wisner

St. Martins, $23.95,

274 pages

REVIEWED BY RACHEL DICARLO

Franz Wisner woke up on his wedding day with a hangover. Wine stains dotted his white kitchen chairs. Beer cans were strewn throughout the house. A deck railing had been broken and a random couple was passed out on the floor. But the bride never saw any of it. She dumped him a few days earlier. He just decided to have the wedding anyway — sans bride. So he planned to move all his energy to his job as an executive for the Irvine Company. Except that when he got back to the office he was demoted. He needed a break. So he decided to go on the Costa Rican honeymoon he had already paid for and invite his younger brother Kurt to substitute for the bride.

Over margaritas they had the big idea. Why go home? Why go back to the same boring, monotonous jobs? Why not extend the honeymoon, see as much of the world as possible and in doing so get to know each other as adults? Franz could recover from his failed relationship and Kurt could get over his own recent divorce. So they did what most people can only fantasize about: They sold their houses, furniture, and cars; cashed in on bonuses and equity; got rid of cell phones and pagers (Kurt took a nine iron to his); and bought one-way plane tickets. In two years they saw four continents and 53 countries.

The original idea wasn’t to write a memoir, but to soak up as much travel as possible. That’s why they chose to backpack through third-world countries in Eastern Europe, Asia, South America, and Africa, rather than party at swanky hot spots in France, Italy or Spain.

The concept of “Honeymoon With My Brother” — man gets dumped then gets healed after traveling the world and reconnecting with his slightly estranged brother — had the potential to turn into a whiney, sappy, and/or maudlin story about family bonding and pining for lost love. Luckily that didn’t happen. Mr. Wisner, a first time book author, has adroitly written a funny, highly-readable volume that is maybe nine parts travel and one part personal reflection.

The first leg of the honeymoon through Eastern Europe is more of an upscale adventure than anywhere else. The brothers snatched up a deal from Saab that covered their air fares to the Saab plant in Sweden, insured them as they motored through the continent, seeing the sites and picking up bits of amusing travelers’ tips along the way.

Hint: People in third world countries are awed by the American president. At the Syrian border, a guard demanding extra fees backed down in astonishment when Franz flashed a generic picture of himself with President Bush at a fundraiser. In Bali, a guide only agreed to give them an island tour to see the Komodo dragons if he could keep the same photo. (Luckily they had more.) In Turkey the Wisners found an easy way to put off trinket hustlers: Learn how to say, “I want to buy a kiss” in their vernacular. “It’s a surefire way to drive most saleswomen (and most salesmen) to the other side of the street,” Mr. Wisner explains. In Vietnam they made one of their most important discoveries: Ditching the guide books improves a trip. Talking to the locals is much more effective way of discovering the newest and the best of what’s around.

Some of the best prose is inspired by the characters they meet on the road. In Eastern Europe they discover the Packers — a group of T-shirt and hemp wearing, unwashed, America-bashing, alternative hippie-types. “Bo Derek cornrows and Bob Marley dreadlocks will draw silent, unenthusiastic nods of approval from the community. Rings through noses, eyelids, chins, tongues, and belly buttons barely garner notice anymore … . Henna dyed hands and faces tattooed like Maori warriors are more cutting edge,” Mr. Wisner writes. They’ve often been out for years — status among fellow packers is measured by time on the road. And they take pride in traveling to places without the most basic conveniences. “Man, I haven’t used a toilet for months,” one Packer told them.

Then there are the characters the Wisners meet who show what real poverty is like in countries where tourism, not capitalism, is the dominant economic force. (Hint: a color television doesn’t glow in every window and kids don’t own hundred dollar basketball shoes — or any shoes.)

Mr. Wisner describes a 22-year-old desk-worker at their hotel in Lombok, who had worked in rice fields since she was 12. The sun didn’t bother her. But the snakes and insects in the paddocks and the way her skin rotted after 10 hours standing in the water did. She got paid a dollar a day and had to bring her own lunch. When the hotel opened she begged a friend to help her get a job. Now she is thrilled to make two dollars a day with two free meals.

In Africa, women walk barefoot for miles with 50 pound sacks on their heads. There, the Wisners discover that “personal space” is an entirely American concept. And no one gets upset about a broken down tourist bus, even if they have to give up their seats on the floor to get out and push. They’re just happy for the ride.

During the African leg of the trip, Mr. Wisner shows he is capable of painting pictures with words: “The a happy shirtless boy, no more than seven, legs speckled with clay, ran out of a shack, using all his speed to catch me. After a handful of hollers, a few of his playmates joined from compounds along the road … . The smallest of the group, a little girl, pushed through the others. She wore no more than a bedsheet with some creative stitching that couldn’t hide a bloated belly or limbs that should have been longer. What she didn’t have in size, she had in affection and lan. I started to cry … . Here was Africa.”

One might naturally wonder though, why care about this guy enough to read his 250-page-plus memoir? For starters, travel writing is almost always interesting and “Honeymoon With My Brother” is exuberantly sprinkled with nice colloquialisms and swift turns of phrase that make it a breezy summer read. And Mr. Wisner is an honest writer. He doesn’t skip over his indiscretions or pretend to get over the girl before he actually has. That makes him entirely human, like us, vulnerabilities and all.

Rachel DiCarlo is an assistant editor at The Weekly Standard.