Carl Hoffman feels lonely and isolated while traveling the most overcrowded conveyances known to man

In his 2010 novel The Lunatic Express, Carl Hoffman details his five-month journey traveling the world “via its most dangerous buses, boats, trains, and planes.” His desire to embark on such a risky expedition stemmed from the realization that most travel writing focuses on tourism and omits the largest sector of travel: travel as a necessity. Hoffman is an award-winning travel writer, as well as a husband and father. However, at the time of his departure, his home life has begun to unravel.

“For twenty years I had been a stable husband and father, and then I’d snapped. My life suddenly didn’t seem to fit anymore. I was middle-aged with a wife and three children whom I loved but hadn’t been living with for almost a year. A long journey seemed the best solution. The classic move was to leave the world for the exotic to be born anew.”

At first, it seems extremely selfish that Hoffman has decided to put his life on the line to take part in a seemingly careless journey because his life doesn’t seem to “fit” anymore. After all, when you are a father, shouldn’t your first priority be your children? Of course, it’s easy as an outsider to make these judgments. As his story continues, however, one begins to appreciate Hoffman, and maybe even feel emotionally connected to him.

As a travel writer, Hoffman does an extraordinary job of respecting the different cultures in which he is submerged, and in turn he is embraced time and time again by these foreign peoples. “And the more I shed my American reserves, phobias, disgusts, the more they embraced me. In the weeks ahead I would do whatever my fellow travelers and hosts did. If they drank the tap water of Mumbai and Kolkata and Bangladesh, so would I. If they bought tea from street-corner vendors, so would I. If they ate with their fingers, even if I was given utensils, I ate with my fingers.”

On the various overcrowded buses, ferries, trains, planes, etc. Hoffman is constantly shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip with other human beings. He quickly notices the deep connection that most of the people in other cultures have with one another, and this makes him feel more alone and isolated than ever before—especially from his family.

“He looked at me; people were always fascinated that I was traveling alone, without family; it was inconceivable to them. They lived with multiple generations, slept crowded into beds and on floors in tiny apartments or houses, and they would do so their entire lives…I envied that, even as it repelled me—the idea was a central conflict in my life. I had a family, after all, and five of us had lived in a one-bathroom, three-bedroom house—but somehow I’d ended up in my own little apartment. I’d always found crowds compelling, I always liked feeling part of something, so why was I always running?”