Chapter Twelve explores three endeavors embraced by Rogers in the last decade of his life. His wanderlust and populist desire to gain practical knowledge and meet ordinary people prompted extensive world travel that took him to Central and South America, Europe, China, Japan, and the Soviet Union. These encounters bolstered his staunch anti-imperialism. Rogers also emerged as one of America’s greatest boosters of aviation. Seeing the wide-open skies as a new frontier and airplane pilots as updated version of the self-reliant cowboy, he promoted the development of commercial and military aviation at every opportunity and idolized flyers such as Lindbergh. Finally, Rogers embraced the newfangled media technology of radio. He became the host of a nationally broadcast radio program, first for CBand then for NBC, that allowed him to reach an enormous audience with his humorous reflections on the issues and personalities of the day. Rogers also became entangled in controversy when he used the n-word in one of his broadcasts, undercutting his record of supporting African Americans while forcing him to confront his own casual assumption of white racial superiority.

Historians have tended to view postwar labor migration, including the Turkish-German case, as a one-directional story whose consequences manifested within host country borders. This chapter complicates this narrative by arguing that Turkish migrants were mobile border crossers who traveled as tourists throughout Western Europe and took annual vacations to their homeland. These seasonal remigrations entailed a three-day car ride across Central Europe and the Balkans at the height of the Cold War. The drive traversed an international highway (Europastraße 5) extending from West Germany to Turkey through Austria, socialist Yugoslavia, and communist Bulgaria. Migrants’ unsavory travel experiences along the way underscored East/West divides, and they transmuted their disdain for the “East” onto their impoverished home villages. Moreover, the cars and “Western” consumer goods they transported reshaped their identities. Those in the homeland came to view the Almancı as superfluous spenders who were spending their money selfishly rather than for the good of their communities. Overall, the idea that a migrant could become German shows that those in the homeland could intervene from afar in debates about German identity amid rising racism: although many derided Turks as unable to integrate, they had integrated enough to face difficulties reintegrating into Turkey.

This chapter discusses how British modernists engaged with Europe. It takes account of the wider landscape of modernists active on British soil: the impact of art circulation (including key moments like the vogue for Ivan Meštrović, British performances of the Ballets Russes, and F. T. Marinetti’s visit to England), continental European travel and residence, translation, the rise of disciplines like anthropology, attitudes like ‘Byzantinism’ and ‘primitivism’, and the redrafting of European nation-state boundaries. For key figures such as W. B. Yeats, Wyndham Lewis, and Virginia Woolf, one of the driving forces of British modernism was the question of what Europe is and what it might become if its geographical, cultural, and social boundaries were redefined. British modernists’ interest in Europe was intimately connected to their obsession with borders and boundaries – of spaces, political possibilities, customs, conditions, and humans. Reimagining others and themselves as insiders, outsiders, or in-outsiders, the writers and artists of the period adopted a range of identities (from regional identities to British to European and/or cosmopolitan) and developed corresponding artistic practices.

Travelling and staying on the ‘continent’ has shaped writers’ ideas of Europe and of Britain’s place within Europe; it has also impacted their work and its reception. British writers have crossed the Channel for a multitude of reasons, including health and recreation, education, or the wish to escape from their own country and its conventions and laws. This chapter highlights two periods of high mobility and exchange during times of prolonged peace between Britain and other European powers: the early and mid-Victorian years, and the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. Case studies show how writers’ relationship with Europe is marked not only by their Englishness, but always also by personal circumstances: focusing on Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Mary Howitt attends to women’s places in Victorian literature; for the contemporary period, Julian Barnes and Adam Thorpe are discussed as well-known commentators on France and French culture. The chapter asks what attracted and continues to attract writers to Europe, and in what ways they and their work relate to European cultures and languages.

Can a poem create a world? Among other poets, Wallace Stevens affirms a poem's capacity to make a mountain or even a planet. This chapter examines the history behind the idea of the poem as worldmaking, from Renaissance ideas rooted in antiquity, through Enlightenment concepts such as heterocosm, to modernist ideas of autonomy, including W. H. Auden's “secondary worlds.” Allowing for subsequent historicist, political, and poststructuralist critiques of such ideas, it argues for the enduring value of the concept of poem as worldmaking. Some theorists of lyric have advanced a notion of the poem as a ritualistic event of enunciation and others have held that the poem, even if not primarily mimetic, still evokes a world. This chapter argues for a synthetic model of the poem as enacting an event in language and as also producing a polyspatial, polytemporal world, as exemplified by poems by Patience Agbabi, Margaret Atwood, Tracy K. Smith, and others. Drawing on the field of world literature, it explores how the poem's transnational and transhistorical travel worlds the world. Analyzing a poem by A. K. Ramanujan, it asks about the ethical implications of a poem's worldwide reach.

Swift wrote the most widely reprinted and profound fictional travel account in all literature. This chapter suggests that Swift’s Anglo-Irish status, and repeated travel between England and Ireland, shaped his perspective on travel. The first section of the chapter focuses on Swift’s own travels across the Irish Sea and on Irish roads. The second section looks into the Grand Tour and Swift’s reading of travel narratives. The third section shows how Swift’s reading of first-hand travelogues shaped the larger structure of Gulliver’s Travels. Swift is typical of his period in regarding travel writing as equally enlightening and suspect. He is atypical in being uncertain about his own place in the world, both geographically and professionally. However, it is that very uncertainty that grants Swift the ironic distance necessary to transform the popular form of the travel narrative into a timeless commentary on the human condition.

This chapter provides details of the different kinds of vaccines available (live, attenuated, killed, inactivated, recombinant, subunit, mRNA, DNA and vector) for virus infections (e.g. SARS-CoV-2, HAV, HBV, influenzaviruses, JEE, measlesvirus, mumpsvirus, rubellavirus, HPV, rabies, polio, rotavirus, smallpox, mpox, yellow fever virus) in humans. It details the routes of administration and usage (e.g. pre-exposure or post-exposure, childhood, occupational health, travel and for at-risk groups).

This chapter details the epidemiology, route of spread, symptoms and prevalence, relating to viral infections acquired while abroad (HBV, HAV, HEV, HIV, noroviruses, dengue fever, arboviruses, haemorrhagic fever viruses, rabies).

As with practically everything in 19th and early 20th century Egypt, we must consider the colonial context of foreign ‘viewings’ of the Nile Delta. Tourists pulled to the top of the Great Pyramid by Egyptian guides look down on a scene onto which they project their own recent experiences of Egypt and their knowledge of its history. They look, in the words of Mary Louise Pratt, with ‘imperial eyes’. When they venture into the landscape of the Delta itself, such as on the sporting trips recommended in Cairo of To-Day, they move through a landscape whose infrastructure and, to a certain extent, socio-economic system are the products of imperialism, and also of Egyptian nation-building in an international, imperial context. In this chapter, I shall explore these themes of modernity and imperialism through a superficially innocent genre of writing – the Euro-American travelogue – and a more overtly political genre – the contemporary Egyptian autobiography. For both, the late 19th and early 20th century Delta is in a sense a place of lost innocence, although they survey its landscape from two very different viewing platforms. The tension between the Delta of the shadūf and the Delta of the railway is always present.

Goscelin was born in Flanders but spent most of his life in monasteries in England. He was a great writer of biographies of saints, particularly of early Saxon women. His Book of Consolation is a wonderfully imaginative work addressed to a woman whom he loved after meeting her at Wilton Abbey before she was sent to a monastery in Gaul. Goscelin speaks much of spiritual friendship and the spiritual life, quotes from Christian and classical text and includes fascinating details about medieval life.

While most critics focus their attentions elsewhere, A Passage to India is at least partly a book about tourism and about the sort of interactions that regularly take place between myriad groups as a consequence of this pastime. There is quite a lot of evidence for reading the novel in this way. The first two of the three sections in the book begin with short chapters written loosely in the form of a guidebook introducing geography, geology, history, and cultural differences. Mrs. Moore and Adela Quested are ultimately tourists anxious “about seeing the real India.”1 Their arrival in Chandrapore spawns relationships and drama around which the plot revolves, including a pivotal crisis experienced during an ill-fated excursion to see the Marabar Caves. The book ends with the contrast of religious festival and touristic gaze as the English characters, along with Muslim protagonist Dr. Aziz, watch a festival related to Lord Krishna.

This chapter concerns itself with the Sophists’ professional activities. Their professionalism – especially the claim that they were first to teach for pay – has often been used as the only meaningful characteristic to distinguish them from other wisdom experts. When reviewing the evidence for their professional activities, however, a different picture emerges, one in which the Sophists appear to be less exceptional and more embedded in a broader economy of wisdom than has hitherto been realized. The chapter reviews the primary sources and discusses the difficulty of reconstructing the Sophists’ professional lives based on authors who, like Plato, seem hostile and frequently mention the Sophists in invective contexts. By paying attention to the Sophists’ professional activities, we can gain a better understanding of their social position and the cultural legitimacy accorded them by their contemporaries. How we interpret their professional activities can further help shape our understanding of their contribution to Greek philosophy and their intellectual legacy.

In Gulliver’s Travels Swift tacitly drew his first readers’ attention to two forms of popular fiction: imaginary voyages in the manner of Lucian’s True History, and the pseudo-autobiographical fictitious travellers’ tales made familiar by The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner, ‘Written by Himself’. Contemporaries recognised the rhetorical similarities between the True History and Swift’s ironic manner, and there are clear plot resemblances. There is also evidence that contemporaries associated Gulliver’s Travels with the pseudo-autobiographical narratives made popular by Defoe, perhaps because Swift included the same sort of circumstantial autobiographical detail. Whether this makes Gulliver’s Travels a ‘parodying novel’ is an interesting question. It was routinely included in lists of novels in the century following its initial publication, which suggests that eighteenth-century readers had no difficulty appreciating that, if Gulliver’s Travels was not a novel, it was unquestionably working within a recognisable popular literary tradition.