A Fantasy of Mediterranean Travel — Reading Notes

A Voice That Mixes Sacred and Sardonic

Bayne’s prose moves easily from biblical references to contemporary jokes. In the scarab passage, he notes that genuine scarabs “have lain beside a Pharaoh in his grave long before Noah thought of laying the keel of his Mauretania”—a steamship anachronism that collapses millennia into a punchline. He compares archaeological excavation to Nevada mining: “sometimes they ‘strike it rich.’” This irreverence extends to the Bedouin at the “Good Samaritan” Inn, who claims to have killed Napoleon at Waterloo. Bayne calls it “the grandest and most daring lie I had ever heard” and rewards it with a quarter. The humor is dry, self-aware, and consistently undercuts any potential solemnity.

Structure: A Cruise, Not a Chronology

The book follows a cruise itinerary, but the excerpts suggest Bayne arranges material by theme or comic set-piece rather than strict chronology. The reception scene in Jerusalem, for instance, is less about the city’s history than about social awkwardness. The Dead Sea chapter includes a photograph caption: “THE DEAD SEA WITH THE LONE FISHERMAN IN FRONT. HE HAS JUST HEARD THAT THE FISH ARE NOT BITING AND IS SOMEWHAT DEPRESSED IN CONSEQUENCE.” This caption, like the text, treats a biblical site as a stage for a one-liner. Bayne also includes contemporary political events: the hanging of “three leaders of the Armenian massacre on the Galata Bridge” in 1909 appears in the illustrations, grounding the fantasy in recent news.

Recurring Details: The Author as Anti-Tourist

Throughout the excerpts, Bayne positions himself as a slightly bumbling outsider. He asks for the wrong lamp, he pays for a tall tale, he describes the “protection” payments to Bedouin chiefs as “Gilbert and Sullivan” comedy. He is not a heroic explorer but a man who “put his foot in it.” This self-deprecation is a deliberate rhetorical stance, contrasting with the grand settings. The illustrations also reinforce this: one shows “THE MOOSKI” in Cairo, described as a market where “every minute is a bargain day.” Bayne’s eye is drawn to the transactional, the absurd, and the human-scale detail rather than the monumental.

What the Excerpts Leave Unclear

The excerpts cover only the Jerusalem and Jericho sections, plus the opening matter. The full book includes stops in Madeira, Spain, Algiers, Malta, Greece, Turkey, Asia Minor, Egypt, Messina, Naples, Pompeii, Rome, Villefranche, Nice, Monte Carlo, and England. It is impossible to know from these excerpts how Bayne handles the earlier or later ports. The tone may shift, or the “fantasy” of the title may become more pronounced. Readers should expect a consistently personal, anecdotal style, but the balance of humor, history, and description across the entire itinerary remains to be discovered.

Bayne’s A Fantasy of Mediterranean Travel rewards readers who enjoy travel writing that prioritizes personality over piety. The excerpts suggest a book best read in short bursts, savoring the comic set-pieces and the author’s distinctive voice. Pay attention to the captions and asides; they often carry the punchline. And if you find yourself at a reception where ancient lamps are distributed, think twice before requesting a “foolish virgin.”

There’s something touching about how Bayne treated a dusty roadside shrine with the same quiet curiosity as a crowded bazaar—everything worthy of notice, nothing needing reverence. It reminded me of an older companion volume, The World and Its People, Book VII: Views in Africa — Reading Companion, whose plainspoken wanderings felt similarly unhurried, like a lantern passing slowly over unfamiliar walls.