It's a real shame that Douglas Adams never got to write more travel books. As you would expect, this one is very funny, full of wry observation, bemusement, and word-play. But behind the predictable jollity is a serious message: we stick-wielding monkeys have a lot to answer for.
My friend Irish Mick once met Douglas Adams half-way up Kilimanjaro (as one does). Adams and his party were taking it in turns to climb the highest mountain in Africa dressed in a rhino costume, in aid of the northern white rhinocerous (an animal Adams describes first seeing in this book). At the time, Irish Mick didn't recognise Adams—even though he had read several of his books. As it turned out, it was his last chance to see the much-missed author.