Sunday 14 July 2013
Friday 12 July 2013
Three crashes, one day.
Having some lunch, out of the way, by the river. A bit of quiet, an opportunity to read. A woman with a pomeranian strolls along, dog yapping. They stop behind the bench, another dog walker stops with her chihuahua. The two dogs yap wildly whilst their owners talk. The little dog is on an extendable lead. I'm trying to read. A cyclist smashes into the back of the bench, just avoiding going into the river. He has hurt his leg, the bike is badly bent. He had got tangled up in the extended lead. Everyone is shocked. The dogs are quiet. The dog owners know they are to blame
Hot afternoon on a small mountain road, no traffic. Stream running close by. A very beautiful stream. Cool clear water. The road has just been resurfaced, warnings about Grit. Car goes by. I go round the corner and can see that the car has hit a tree, and gone into the stream. The driver has climbed out. The car is badly damaged, Driver OK but upset. Police car, and then tow truck arrive almost immediately.
Lovely evening. Two cyclists, helmets and cycling gear, flying down through the town. Getting dark but you could see them coming from a long way off. They shoot through the arch then realised there are steps downward on the other side. Bikes and cyclists come apart. They sprawl either side of my table. One of the bikes was bent but the cyclists seemed OK, hobbling a bit, damaged pride.
The farmer Johannes owns a dairy herd. Twenty cows, each cow has a bell with a different acoustic. Listening out for the bells tell him where each of them are. Johannes says his biggest problem is tourists nicking the bells. Three went last week.
Wednesday 10 July 2013
Tuesday 9 July 2013
Walking into town.
Horses; sirens; scaffolding companies; large dogs; white painted tin fences; recycling; rusting lorries; roof tile suppliers; Amcor (and whatever it is they produce); buses turning round; small dogs.
Ear wigging
Small group of suited business people (men) discuss the politics of the new pope. They are in this town for a conference on wine distribution.
Two groups meet in a suburban street. They discuss mushrooms.
Suplication
Pale blue butterflies everywhere, the colour of unfired porcelain and as delicate. Four anthills, complex piles of pine needles. A small black butterfly with two neat red circles on its wings. Lovely thing, only it wouldn't leave my left knee alone. Fly off, then come back, same knee. After twenty minutes I swotted it. Must have been the steak I ate last night.
Caran d'Ache
This blue felt pen dominated the view for a whole day, everywhere I went it followed me. I couldn't escape.
Monday 8 July 2013
Sunday 7 July 2013
Forty-two days
This week
Ste. Croix: Switzerland: Couvet: Big Storm: La Chaux de-la Fonds. Dry out: Twice: St.Imier: Biel: Solothurn
Chocolate: Absinthe: Gruyere and the outside of an asphalt mine.
Ste. Croix: Switzerland: Couvet: Big Storm: La Chaux de-la Fonds. Dry out: Twice: St.Imier: Biel: Solothurn
Chocolate: Absinthe: Gruyere and the outside of an asphalt mine.
Saturday 6 July 2013
Saturday
Fourty black and white storks spread out across a field of cabbages. Bosch factory in the distance. On the lake a crested grebe carries on regardless in amongst an all male group of swimmers playing Beach Boys hits. Loud. They are wearing plastic Hawaiian garlands. Drink absinthe chasers, then beer.
Hunt the thimble
These routes are maintained by the local rambling group. A good job they do. This diamond was on a pine tree on the ridge between mountains. Very high up, steep drop either side. The diamond and the black outline are in gloss paint. From their regularity I'd say they were stencilled. All this and a light grey undercoat. Three pots of paint, three wet paintbrushes. Must take the whole day.
Friday 5 July 2013
St Imier
The downside to this boom was the dire poverty experienced by the majority of those working in the industry, either in engineering workshops or as outsourced homeworkers. Unions and craft alliances developed to seek better working conditions and sensible wages. A situation similar to those experienced in the sweatshops of Bangladesh, Vietnam, China etc today. Company towns with workers paid twice a year (St George's and St Martin's Days). High interest credit to cover the interim.
St Imier became a centre for radical political thought. The watchmakers of the Jura with their anarchist common sense perspective challenged the dominance of Marx and Engels theoretical form of communism. The Jura Federation even had its own International conference to rival the communist International. The tourist office didn't have any information on this, but around St Imier itself there are information boards explaining the varied political tangles of the period. There was a memorial conference last year at Espace Noire, the anarchist social centre in the town.
Thursday 4 July 2013
Arcadia
This morning a gang rushed over to check me out, I had to make a quick swerve under an electric fence. Not pleasant. You're supposed to shout, but you can hardly hear anything over the racket of their bells. Advice sought.
Similarly with farm dogs. Nasty beasts.
Signage
Measured not in distance, but in time, as on the motorway or telling your mates. Steep mountain walks, how can the going up time be the same as going down? Different age groups, capabilities, lost in thought, butterfly obsessive, lovers in conversation? Dawdler moi, the times must have been worked out by the local speed hill walking team. There goes one now. Set in Helvetica it must be true.
The meeting house for all mankind.
Micheal Irwin escorting people to Switzerland (euphamism), Nile Rogers 'not outrunning death' and Rhydian Brook's no one talks about death. What is there to say that everyone doesnt already know? Instinctively.
thank-you Job.
Wednesday 3 July 2013
Rue de la Serra 39. La Chaux-de-Fonds
Chemin de Pouillerel 12. La Chaux de-la-Fonds
I wish Graeme could have seen this building. He was so proud of the boat they made on top of the QEH. He would have made a good architect. It might have satisfied his urges.
Monday 1 July 2013
Protein plus
All that time, all that goodness, and they haven't been able to come up with one decent tune.
Horses have bells too.
Sunday 30 June 2013
Thirty five days
This week.St-Jean-de-Losne: Dole: Besancon: Ornans: Pontarlier (twice).
A plateau. Canals, rivers, boats and trains, all over the place. Detoured.
Friday 28 June 2013
Bonjour
Labels:
1848,
Bonjour M. Courbet,
Burial at Ornans,
Gustave Courbet
Burial at Ornans
Thursday 27 June 2013
Trip Hazard
Towns in France are ripping themselves apart in their hurry to regenerate, part of this is the reintroduction of trams. If anything is going to kill me it will be a tram. The Silent Killer. Crossing the rails I feel vulnerable, lost. I never know which way to look, A mistake and that's it, the quick way to Zurich.
Peace and Quiet
You are best able to measure the cultural energy of a place by the graphic sophistication of its fly posters, flyers and random stickers. The city council would disagree. Besencon has a pretty good crop.
A few kilometres later
Suddenly it's all change. The hills have arrived. With them the goats, cows with bells, unrestricted pasture, 2 monks in brown habits and a vegetarian option on the menu. All smiles.
Wednesday 26 June 2013
Washing (again)
Tuesday 25 June 2013
Tow path
A beaver sets out across the canal, spots me, double takes to confirm, then submerges. I don't move for ten minutes. No beaver.
Rhine Rhone
Monday 24 June 2013
Suisse
This morning a sign for Geneva on the motorway as it whizzed past. An emotional booster.
Doubs
When the Seine disappeared so too did the Grand Randonnee Two. GR2. The footpath from Le Havre along the Seine almost to Dijon. I have transferred my affections to the Canal de Bourgogne, the River Saone, and from today, the Rhone to Rhine link canal. Walking along canals, though simpler is mentally longer. Relative charms, 1km on a river feels like two on a canal.
The mountains I have been predicting have not materialised. Poor geography studies. Wonderfully flat. Rain storms become visible as cross hatching on the horizon an hour away. Giving time for avoidance, I managed to scrounge a lift on a barge just as a heavy downpour began. Got me past a restricted zone, no towpath due to a chemical factory.
Saturday 22 June 2013
Twenty eight days
This week
Troyes: Chatillon-sur_Seine: Agnay-le-duc: St-Seine-l'Abbaye: Dijon X 3
Full moon over Cote d'Or
Troyes: Chatillon-sur_Seine: Agnay-le-duc: St-Seine-l'Abbaye: Dijon X 3
Full moon over Cote d'Or
Friday 21 June 2013
Country Life
A few things I have learned.
That peaches can be flat and courgettes round.
Overhead power cables go CRICK and then again CRICK when you are enjoying the silence.
Overhead power cables go CRICK and then again CRICK when you are enjoying the silence.
Horses itch lying down. They roll around on the ground. (of course).
That growing corn is a very precise process. (of course). Farm workers measure the fields out and place markers for planting accuracy and harvesting efficiency.
That constant whirr, the grating whirr of forestry workers, sawmills, humble carvers is the collective sound of council employees and local residents strimming back nature.
That blackbird is spoken in all the places I have been to.
Interlude (again)
To chat with friends, have a solstice pancake, listen to the music, and watch the moon rise over Dijon.
Thursday 20 June 2013
1848 (reprise)
Going in the opposite direction to Louis Philippe was Frederich Engels. At the height of the February revolution Engels lost his grip and went for a long walk to Burgundy. It was here that he discovered Chateau Margaux 1848, the classic Bordeaux.
Four white butterflies around a striking blue flower (not budlea). A billowing priest on a 12speed drop handlebar bicycle. Bonjour. Made me jump.
Communications highway
Wednesday 19 June 2013
Chateau d'eau
Red watery things
The man in the garden; he says that to grow tomatoes in England you need an umbrella.
A Green Land
Awoke wolf whistling to the view over the forest. Must be happy. This area is the source of many rivers, inc. the Seine and the St Seine, which adds to the confusion. It also the source of much bottled water, accounting for the rigorous security fencing and large scale tankers rattling down country lanes. If anywhere in France should be kept moist, this is the spot.
Tuesday 18 June 2013
Border country
Into real Burgundy. Chatillon was the border post with Champagne and the anglo-french. In 1598 the castle was demolished at the demand of the towns residents. All the military activity was getting on their nerves.
Glorious weeds
Monday 17 June 2013
Sunday 16 June 2013
Twenty one days
This week. Melun: Montereau: Saint Martin-sur-Oreuse: Aix-en-Othe (twice): Troyes (twice).
The flat half of the journey, foothills and mountains next.
Saturday 15 June 2013
Call of the Wild
This afternoon the wind direction changed. The town smelled of cornfields and rape seed. I ate ice cream.
The real sausage
Three military helicoptors, a field of satellite dishes, a hare leaping through waist high corn, and the most horrendous puffball skirts plus heels.
Une veritable andouilllette de Troyes. Heritage tripe. Chitterlings.
Friday 14 June 2013
Going forward
In the rush to get to the next town, river, country I have to remind myself. STOP. Turn around. The view's often better looking back.
Thursday 13 June 2013
To Spain and back
A newly dedicated pilgrims route to Santiago de Compostela from North Western Europe. Via Paris, along the Seine, river Yonne and Sens. Not exactly direct but got the thumbs up and broad smiles from the cafe owner and a group of pilgrims returning to Holland from Santiago in their vintage Jaguars.
When I tell people of my journey, they nod wisely about the GR2, the long distance east to west path. Switzerland, Suisse yes, yes, no problem. But why are you going to Dijon? Followed by a mime of a lump and more wise noddings.
There are several interlocking graphs of compromise in this pilgrimage thing. The direct route. Noise, fumes, endless lorries versus country roads, river banks and lanes is one. Cost and personal autonomy: hotel Ibis vs small village gites is another. Internet connection, wifi available, another? And possibly style? Solitary walker; sprightly, shorts, chunky boots, mini rucksack, weather shielded map ready to go on one end of the scale and this group of five course bon vivants on the other.
Chaucer (plus Powell&Pressburger and Pasolini) were so accurate in their descriptions. Timeless. A cockerel crowing in the next field says it is time to leave.
Wednesday 12 June 2013
Unspringing
Lizards, blue butterflies, noisey grasshoppers, and rediculously large US cartoon style ants. It must be summer?
Tuesday 11 June 2013
unphased
The man with a van who took me out of the cement works and put me back on track told me that he had walked to Paris, took him three days.
Woman kicking a dryer in the laudrette, I offered kicking advice, she asked if I was English. Pause. The dryer started to spin. We laughed. She'd been made redundant. She was going to New York State to walk. To think, she said.
Alain, in the place I stayed last night, told me Schuberts song cycle Winterreise worked for him. It goes round and comes back to itself, he said.
Sunday 9 June 2013
Fourteen days
This week. Meulan: Nanterre (twice): Paris: Corbiel: Melun:
Although I may have eaten it all, I am now entering the bread basket of France. La Beauce. Where the food is produced that keeps Paris going.
Along the route of the Ibis
Friday 7 June 2013
Pinball
Getting out of towns is difficult, like with supermarkets, they bounce you back in again for some more. Frustrating. New developments, golf courses and ring roads are the main culprits. They have a tendency to block off the footpaths and ancient bridle ways. Makes me wonder where Iain Sinclair was heading when he did his Grande Tour of the M25.
Thursday 6 June 2013
Wednesday 5 June 2013
Discussing happy.
Concluded that pied wagtails, actually not just pied, all wagtails are what makes me happy. Their size, they way they jump about, the way they fly, that they are so determined, work in groups and yet seem so independent. They are the cat of the bird world.
Day Bed
Wooded glade
Previously the places I have got lost in have been ornamental gardens and gravel pits. Until I spent a whole morning wandering around the well charted Bois de Boulogne. My frustration eventually relieved by dramatic, and noisy, police intervention against a long row of family 4x4 vehicles tamely parked on a cute leafy lane. The road was blocked by police cars, flashing lights, sirens etc. In seconds all the parked cars were ticketed then roughly bounced then lifted onto tow away trucks. Whole families, joggers, people eating ice creams emerged from the wooded glades screaming, crying, shouting, some clinging to their cars. One man climbing onto the back of a towtruck trying to uncouple his car. I was warned not to take photographs. It was a nasty business, done with military precision. No lives were lost but prisoners were taken. I had discovered the back streets of Roland Garros, a major tennis tournament was in play,
Tuesday 4 June 2013
Monday 3 June 2013
Mezy
Twinned with Leatherhead
The McDonalds are getting closer together, the yapping dogs smaller and it's more difficult to find a quiet spot to have lunch without bothersome pigeons. The Seine is overfull. It flows over the ornamental bushes and the quaint paths that line the river. The queue in the boulangerie this morning was full of it. What will happen? No rain but the river is definitely rising.
Sunday 2 June 2013
Bridge
Getting up, out of bed not knowing where you are going to stay the next night, what you are going to eat, directing yourself through a country that you don't understand the language can be exciting and beautiful. It is unsettling too.
Your emotions are on the outside. Walking longer distances than usual exhausts you energies. Decisions get made on gut feeling. I left one town and walked seven miles to the next because it was cloudy, the place looked gloomy. The right decision. All the time you are on the look out for clues. The sight of a suburban tower block in the distance lifted me. The ugly bridge over the Seine at Rouen made me gushingly happy. The first sight of Paris...
I've become aware of my body, too aware, particularly my feet. Slight pains or aches could mean the end of the journey. These niggle as you walk. My mind thought I had a blood clot in my ankle, it was a bit of plastic from a price tag in my sock. A real nuisance. My sun tan lotion is waterproof, it makes me sweat in an odd way.
When I have sorted out the end of my day, take off my rucksac, I want to go for a walk. It is difficult to stop. I have been having to deliberately time out, to go nowhere. To sit down, take pressure off my feet. To listen?
Mantes
On my own inside the church of Notre Dame de Mantes la Jolie. A blackbird is chirping away high in the rafters. The acoustics are supreme.
Iain Sinclair
"A walk is a series of questions"
Thank you Jane.
Each day someone in a car has drawn up next to me to ask directions. Personally, the last person I would flag down is a man in sunglasses lugging an embarrassingly large rucsac. Obviously not local. Any conversation only lasts till they realise I am British and sweating heavily.
Saturday 1 June 2013
Tweets
Feeling a bit maudlin this morning. The thought of a street dedicated to bird song lifted my spirits. As does radio4 programme on recordings of birdsong. The advantage of being in France is that it is on an hour later.
Seven days.
I have never walked so far.
Brighton: Newhaven: Dieppe: Totes: Rouen: Poses: Les Andelys: Vernon: Mantes la Jolie.
I seem to have been following two contradictory routes. One taken by ex-king Louis Philippe and his family as they fled Paris for Surrey during the 1848 revolution. His name and image keep cropping up. I passed directions to a museum/ stately home dedicated to the Orleans legitimacy over the French crown. One night I stayed in an olde inn that had his picture on the wall. Freaky or kitsch?
In the opposite direction, I seem to have been following the off-road berghaus route of the Canadian army as it moved en masse into Europe in 1944. Every ultra long suburban avenue in Normandy is named after them, which must be confusing for the postal service. Not much mention of the US or British, perhaps they landed elsewhere or maybe some of the Canadians spoke French and get a better press as a result?.
Wednesday 29 May 2013
Imoville
Large luscious oak forest with one apple tree in blossom. Must have been love.
autoroutes
For much of today I have walked down minor roads that run parallel to autoroutes. The cars and lorries speeding past, me dawdling along. I remembered Autonauts of the Cosmoroutes, one of my favorite books. It matteroffactly documents Julio Cortazar and Carol Dunlops' trip down down the important autoroute from Paris to Marseilles. The Autoroute du Sud. Carol and Julio treat the whole thing as a grand challenge. An expedition. They stop over, sleeping in their van, at every service station, even if they are only a few kilometers from the last. Treating the motorway and the services as a long thin country that they had come across. Adventurers in a foreign land. Never leaving the motorway the journey took them weeks. They got into all sorts of administrative bother, partly because they were inviting friends to visit, with gourmet meals and partly because they were hippies and it was the early eighties.
Thank you Angus.
Sweet n Sour
Disconcertingly, expresso with sugar supplied by Saxo. Too pedantic, or is branding the way language has always renewed it's energy?
Tuesday 28 May 2013
Monday 27 May 2013
Pissoir
Trying to escape Rouen I stumbled upon these public toilets dedicated to Marcel Duchamp. He was born in the city. Whilst I was taking this picture the whole area was glutted by a coach party of US
tourists fresh off the bus. Walking, talking and snapping merrily away at gee. what an amazing building. I think Marcel would have appreciated the humour of the city councils gesture, placing his subterranean monument at the back end of the cathedral made famous by Claude Monets' painterly impressions.
tourists fresh off the bus. Walking, talking and snapping merrily away at gee. what an amazing building. I think Marcel would have appreciated the humour of the city councils gesture, placing his subterranean monument at the back end of the cathedral made famous by Claude Monets' painterly impressions.
The whole wide world
Today a wren, lots of lovely lilac and a very insistent cuckoo. And tripped over a dead mole. Looking up has its disavantages.
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