Published by Broadway, 2006, 448 pages

“How do place and character intertwine? Could I feel at home here? What is home to those around me? Who are they in their homes, those mysterious others?”

To find out, Frances Mayes (of Under the Tuscan Sun fame) stayed in rented houses rather than hotels. It changes the dynamics of travel: you shop at the market, cook in your kitchen and get to know the neighbors. “The aromas from your kitchen become a territorial marker: I live here.”

In spite of the title of the book, the towns Mayes chooses are mostly in Mediterranean countries and the UK. She and her husband Ed spend part of their year in Tuscany, renovating a house. The idea comes to her at the end of a holiday. Why don’t they keep moving?

So begins the year of travel. They go to Portugal, Andalucia, Italy, Fez, Burgundy, UK (including Scotland), Greece (including Crete) and Turkey. Like me, Mayes arrives somewhere and imagines what it would be like to live there. She delves into the history, the landscape, the people, and most of all, the food: Mayes is a dedicated foodie. She is often accompanied by the ghosts of long-dead writers from the region, whose books she reads on the journey. They add an extra layer of complexity.

In Naples, a group of musicians inspires a couple to dance a tango on the street. In Fez, Mayes is amazed by the colours in the narrow streets: the women in the djellabas and the spices at the stalls. In Lisbon, a bookshop owner advises Mayes on where and what to eat. And the food: churros con chocolate in Spain, fish fried in “gossamer” batter in Portugal, pizza in Naples (naturally!), couscous with seven vegetables in Fez, and hot toffee sauce and gingerbread in Scotland (recipe included).

Not all the trips are on solid land though. She agrees to a speaking engagement on a cruise ship that sails by Greece. Given that Greece was the inspiration for her travels, I felt she was doing it a disservice by seeing it from what is essentially a floating hotel. The relief when in the next chapter, they go back to being on their own! Turkey is also by boat but with a small group of friends.

Mayes writes lyrically—with a tendency to romanticize. I’d like to end with her description of a Scottish riverside: “The hydrangeas, lining the banks of the languid little river Hiraethlyn, mimicked the flow of water. Blurry, blue reflections doubled the dreaminess. The woods were silent, except for sparkling river sounds. …The late sunlight seemed liquid, a faded watercolor with pastels smearing the sky into the water.”

This review first appeared on Women on the Road.