Modern Living: A Guide to Temple Fielding

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Colosseum." In fact, he devotes a total of only 56 lines to the scenic attractions of Rome, v. 68 to those of Sardinia, and the introduction to his chapter on Italy reads: "In Spain the traveler finds a bullfight, in Denmark he stuffs himself in Tivoli Gardens, in Switzerland he buys a watch, and in Italy he goes to the opera. Allowing for seasonal factors, it's as simple as that." His wide-eyed, hoked-up style and notions about what tourists want to do with their time abroad would probably make Baedeker turn over in his catacomb.

Clutching the Wallet

"If Wall Street continues to woof happily on its financial looms, if the Peking and Hanoi carpetmakers can be taught to weave a softer warp, and if the Soviets don't throw their bearskin rug across more frontiers, then 1969 will be the busiest, dizziest sewing bee in European vacation history," announces the introduction to Fielding's new Guide, published last month. In that same hortatory fashion, Fielding fusses over his readers' clothes ("A sport jacket on an adult is considered improper at the leading restaurants"), warns them about con men ("No matter how dazzling the offer, puh-LEEZE don't change any money on the streets") and coaches them through customs ("Name, rank and serial number only").

Fielding's devotion to his charges is beyond question. He tells them how to beat the airlines out of excess baggage fees (stuff heavy articles into coat sleeves, tie knots in the 'sleeves, carry the coat) and introduces them to the wonders of the old-fashioned bidet (turn on the spray, balance a pingpong ball on it; the ball will stay there for hours). With the panicky provincialism of a country kid clutching his wallet pocket on Broadway, he continually cautions them to count their change in taxis, to drink only bottled beer in nightclubs ("Mickey Finns are far from uncommon"), and to drive carefully. He observes with a shudder: "Your chances of spilling your blood or dying are three and a half times greater on French roads than on American roads."

He makes sure that their days are full. For Mrs. Smith he proposes a shopping tour. And what is Mr. Smith to do while the Missus is sacking the stores? Wink, wink. The girls of The Netherlands "take the honors in the firecracker department," Fielding whispers, and in London, ladies of the afternoon can be located by consulting the "business cards" on street bulletin boards. He defends his genteel pandering on the principle that "people's lives are their private lives. A husband and wife come to Europe, they're together, together, together. They're in a rut. The wife decides to go someplace the husband doesn't want to go. So he'll want to know where he can find a good-looking girl. So we'll tell him. It's part of life and part of travel." On the other hand, the Guide makes a point of warning that "there's a new strain of gonorrhea so hardy that it eats sulfa and penicillin for breakfast."

If Fielding concentrates on the practical and physical rather than on the cultural, there are always other guidebooks to fill the void. J. A. Neal's Reference Guide for Travellers lists 942 books on Europe alone. There are shopping guides, currency guides, and guides that tell parents how to travel