I'm a fan of Smollett's picaresques Roderick Random and Humphrey Clinker, and even more so of his Englishing of Don Quixote. I also adore his appearance as the cantankerous (Scottish) Brit abroad, "Smellfungus", in Sterne's Sentimental Journey, written in part as a satirical response to this, Smollett's vinegarish account of his two-year tour, an attempt to recover from the death at 15 of his only child and also to benefit his ailing respiratory system. And the dour Scot's antagonistic interactions with the innkeepers, postillions and landlords of the Continent, and his constant unfavourable comparisons of them with their British equivalents, are as much fun as I expected. The French come in for particular abuse, excoriated for their laziness, vanity and above all their shameless pursuit of other (i.e. British) men's wives. The Italians are slightly more agreeable, though sharing their Gallic cousins' absurd religious rituals. Smollett's philippic against duelling is a highlight, as is the incident where he upbraids at length a fellow traveler, believing the poor man to be the local postmaster responsible for assigning him less than adequate horses. There are certain observations on his own countrymen that hold as true today: their despair at not being provided milk for their tea; their self-sabotage through failure to adequately tip; their unaccountable habit of holding aloof each other when they meet by chance in a foreign town.

Smollett's account is dragged down by his fussy insistence on providing complete reports on the local economy and the price of everything everywhere he goes, as well as his meticulous detailing of the ancient ruins and monuments to be found in the South of France and every piece of art he views in Florence. But despite his acerbity and pedantry, he comes across as fundamentally honest and harsh but fair in his judgments. At the very least, dear Smellfungus can't be accused of "going native"! ( )

This is a series of letters sent by Tobias Smollett as he takes a year or so away from England traveling on the continent. The letters are an interesting mixture of sights to see (he especially admires the roman remains of the south of France) and scenery to admire (or otherwise). He's also full of information on the local economy, the food produced, as well as how it is produced, he goes into quite some detail of how to produce olive oil, for example. He also provides details on how much it costs ti travel, to eat, to feed the family, what types of food are particularly good or bad for the area. However it is trials and tribulations with the local inns and hostelries where he comes into his own. A more curmudgeonly correspondent it would be hard to imagine. He does give praise where it is due, only that seems to be in only isolated instances.
I found myself warming to him, he wasn't being unremittingly negative, but had such lovely grumpy interludes. ( )

As others have noted, the famous but cantankerous author set off from Folkstone in 1763 with his wife to travel through France and Italy, noting Inns, methods of travel, prices for the benefit of his friends. He saw little to praise.

Cantankerous, spleen-filled, sickly 42-year old Scottish novelist travels with his Jamaican wife through France and Italy on the Grand Tour circuit. Complains and gripes about everything for two years straight. Fascinating portrait of the man, the time and place. Despite the pessimistic and negative tone (traits one normally wants to avoid in a travel companion) it is perversely entertaining. ( )