2) "Journeys," by Jan Morris. Morris has written so many great travel books -- the monumental "Pax Britannica" trilogy and "The Matter of Wales," plus books on Venice, Oxford, Spain, Manhattan and Hong Kong, for starters -- that it's difficult to choose just one. But in the end I picked this collection of shorter pieces (other such collections include "Destinations," "Among the Cities" and "Travels") because it embodies the vast range of her talents: an ability to pierce right to the heart of a place and an acute eye and ear for the telling detail; a deep sympathy for both the quirky and the common; an encyclopedic knowledge; and an unparalleled musicality of language that allows her to modulate a reader's journey through page-long sentences without ever losing the trail of meaning.

3) "A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush," by Eric Newby. In this tale of a hastily assembled, hilariously -- and dangerously -- unprepared expedition into a remote region of Afghanistan, Newby personifies a particularly British kind of curiosity, pluck and good humor. And he describes the people and places he encounters with gusto and grace.

4) "Coming Into the Country," by John McPhee. McPhee brings to any subject he chooses -- from oranges to birch bark canoes -- exhaustive research, a meticulous eye and a deep-rooted passion. In this case, his subject is Alaska, and the resulting account of his travels there is the best Alaska book I have ever read. McPhee moves easily from mosquito-infested camp spots to politician-infested corridors, and manages to render with appreciation and precision the mundane complexities of Alaskan life, from fishing and gold mining to the search for a new state capital and everyday attitudes and rites in a bush outpost.

5) "The Great Railway Bazaar," by Paul Theroux. This exuberant adventure liberated a whole generation of travel writers and engendered the American version of a wonderful British literary tradition: the first-person travel narrative. Written before Theroux became the Great American Travel Writer, the book is engaging, ironic, opinionated and intelligent -- an idiosyncratic account of an idiosyncratic journey from London to Tokyo and back again almost entirely by train. As in all his books, Theroux's descriptions and dialogues are dead-on, but this work -- his first travel book -- also embodies a sense of wonder and unselfconscious zest that becomes harder and harder to find in his later travel books.

6) "In Patagonia," by Bruce Chatwin. In this tale of wanderings in Patagonia, portrayed as "the uttermost part of the Earth," Chatwin eschews traditional narrative bridges and explications and presents instead a kind of Cubist portrait of the place: encounter layered upon encounter layered upon encounter. Through tale and legend, offered for the most part without analysis, Chatwin creates an unfiltered, poignant portrait of an isolated, rugged land and isolated, rugged settlers whose roots stretch to Europe and other exotic places, but whose worlds are purely Patagonian.

7) "Video Night in Kathmandu," by Pico Iyer. In this warm, wise and wide-eyed book, Iyer strings together a series of Asian portraits based on relatively quick journeys to Bali, Hong Kong, India, Thailand, the Philippines, China and Japan, among other places. An impressionable, thoughtful and eloquent pilgrim, Iyer limns Asia with an acute sensitivity to the nuances of intercultural contact, the dance of assumption and expectation that ensues whenever people from two different worlds choose to reach out to one another.

8) "No Mercy," by Redmond O'Hanlon. This big book recounts O'Hanlon's ambitious African expedition in search of Mokele-mbembe, a legendary lake-dwelling dinosaur. In a masterful looping, weaving, spinning narrative, O'Hanlon portrays the interminglings of two worlds -- science and spirit -- as the expedition ventures through desolate, disease-ridden villages, swamps and jungles into the rarely penetrated depths of the Congo. A compelling mix of natural history, self-deprecating humor and heartfelt humanity, O'Hanlon's narrative ultimately touches on some of the largest mysteries of connection and transformation that are at the heart of all great journeys.

9) "Two Towns in Provence," by M.F.K. Fisher. The prototype for all the living-the-good-life-in-Europe books to come, this savory story is infused with Fisher's elegant and robust enjoyment of French culture, character and cuisine.

10) "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," by Robert M. Pirsig. OK, I can already hear the click-click-click of emails being written at the mere mention of this declasse pop classic. But consider this: It is the spring of 1976 and you have just passed the school year in Athens, Greece, on a teaching fellowship. You are fresh out of college and you are living in Greece and exploring Europe -- and exploring yourself.

You lived in Paris for the summer and read Hemingway, then you traveled to the Cote d'Azur and read Fitzgerald. Now you're in Greece and you've been reading Henry Miller and John Fowles' The Magus and Cavafy and Kazantzakis and Plato and then someone passes you this book by Robert Pirsig. You have been looking for answers to all the questions, and in this book you find them -- at least some of them.

This is a book about a journey across America, but strangely it is a book about your journey, too -- your European search for roots and meaning. Pirsig's descriptions make you nostalgic for an America you have never known. Even more importantly, his ruminations on the ancient Greeks and their sense of unity, of oneness, make intuitive sense to a young man who had been in an ivy-cloaked academy too long and is just learning that the academy of beach and pine, sleeping bag and ferry, ouzo and feta cheese, is a much better place to be.

So that's my list. Many authors I was tempted to mention are included on Swick's lists -- Colin Thubron, Norman Douglas and Patrick Leigh Fermor, for example.

And then we could begin an entirely new category: great travel fiction. Ernest Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises," F. Scott Fitzgerald's "Tender Is the Night" and John Fowles' "The Magus" come immediately to mind -- and on and on.

Now I'm counting on you to tell me the many great travel books -- nonfiction and fiction too -- I haven't read and should.

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