Dear Readers,

Thomas Friedman, Anthony Bourdain, Graham Greene, Margaret Mead, Henry James, Levi-Strauss, Oscar Wilde, Joseph Conrad...None of these brilliant minds have provided praise for THE NAKED TOURIST (especially not the dead ones). But they’re all kindred spirits of sorts with Lawrence Osborne—an ambidextrous dilettante, traveler, and intellectual with crackingly witty, uncommonly profound observations on the art, commerce, and history of travel, globalization, colonialization, cultural anthropology, shoddy room service, and bumpy Jeep rides.

What’s authentic about tourism in the 21st century, when every corner of the globe’s been theme-parked, luxury-resorted, and set-designed in service of the world’s largest economy?  Not much, says this droll, world-weary travel writer. But our narrator hasn’t given up. He subjects himself to a six-month tour across a section of Southeast Asia mythologized past recognition since the Victorian era. He does it all: affluent resorts, spas, spiritual retreats, sex clubs, “back-to-nature” schleps, enemas, cosmetic surgery…ending up in the primordial forest in Papua, New Guinea, where the natives have supposedly never even seen a tourist. A gifted raconteur and observer with unbelievably funny, vivid adventures I wish I’d been on, Osborne ultimately isn’t as cynical as he thinks. Love it when that happens.

Justin Ravitz, Associate Editor, QPB