I just finished reading one of funniest books I've ever encountered, yet it's a travelogue by a onetime war correspondent. Martha Gellhorn daubs arch asides right and left pointillist-style to construct fully formed tableaux of marveled wonder or abject misery, depending on which apparatchiks were summoned or evaded.
Her admitting to lack of memory on some destinations and inability to read her own scrawled reporter's notes made me love her all the more subjectively. Bonus for actual travelers: her observations ring both true and novel, as few writers nowadays admit to the misgivings of assorted national character worldwide. For all others, you'll spend time with one smart dame who's damned good company.
P.s. the "another" is onetime spouse Ernest Hemingway, reduced to the appellation "Unwilling Companion" much as literary history wrongly has marginalized witty yet perceptive non-fiction writer Martha Gellhorn. Now to locate her war dispatches!