Arthur's Many Steps

Revival

2006-02-17T20:39:00.000Z

let's be realistic. i'm not likely to get any more of my london-rome trip writing up here any time soon. but i've been turning over a few ideas lately for ways of keeping up some kind of regular writing practice. i finished with couch surfing a couple weeks ago, and have had income of various kinds trickling in, but half the boxes are still piled in the corner, scraps of wood akimbo. it was all a nice excuse for biding my time.

well, my sister helped kick my ass out of neutral, with this anagram tube map.

i wrote back to her:

my nearest station for all places of residence since moving to london, in chronological order:
centenary chalk
a vax hull
invests seers
squealer slurs (or retard cottonmouth if you go the other way)
imp coil
gender bonus
nether bangle (two addresses consecutively)
energy pen set
escargot news (cause i feel like counting my storage locker)
dark tonsil glands

that was a fun game.
so much for procrastination.
time to get another job.

Still Searching

2005-11-19T01:51:00.000Z

This is my thirtieth post. Imagine that. What? You're still here? And even after my longer silence?

I'm on my fourth sofa. Thanks to past hosts and those who've extended offers. They are so numerous I bet I could keep surfing into the new year without losing any friends.

But I don't want to do that, cause I want to unpack, get rid of lots of stuff, and get on with things. In aid of this objective I have leads on both jobs and flats, but aren't going to say anything about them here for fear of jinxing myself. Yes, superstition is strong.

Do check back in a couple more weeks; there'll be something, even if not much.

Not quite night night

2005-11-02T11:19:00.000Z

OK, I'm back in London, as you know, and pretty busy trying to get my life in order. Obviously the trip is finished. That kind of empties this blog of any purpose, so I'm going to have to put it to bed soon. But I've had requests for posts having to do with the food I ate along the way, and snakes (no, these don't overlap). I also plan to put up the total itinerary as it actually played out, with stats on distance walked each day, that kind of thing. Seeing as I'm still homeless, though, my hustle is directed elsewhere, and all this writing is going to have to wait a bit. If you're interested in it, check back in a couple of weeks.

Otherwise, bon voyage.

Home Sweet Home

2005-10-27T13:49:00.000+01:00

I'm back in London, of course. Oddly, I'm not getting that 'everything looks fresh' feeling I've had on returning here before. Maybe that's because I've lived here longer now than any other place I've been since leaving the nest. Whatever. It wasn't something I was particularly looking forward to anyway. Really, I just wanted to see familiar people again (which I've started) and put my life together.

You can help with this last thing, possibly. I need a job and somewhere to sleep between socialising and working again. Ideally I'll be able to keep plowing the Whitechapel/Bethnal Green/Stepney residential furrow I've been working the last few years, but I can't afford to be too picky. Send it all my way.

As for work, by all means let me know if you or someone you know (of) is looking for a violin/bow maker/repairer, researcher, sound engineer, stage manager, dogsbody, pretty face (I can try).

Happily, I have loads of wicked friends, but more are always welcome. Especially if they have details of the zombie crawl on saturday (which I lost by daft email erasal), or some other kick-ass hallowe'en party.

Stop that train...

2005-10-24T09:12:00.000+01:00

Nobody seems to be able to find ferries that run around Spain and Portugal, so train it is. That puts me in Paris tomorrow, and I do hope to make it to Bar Dix in the evening for sangria goodness. I'll be the one with no hair. That's right, I went through with it and had my whole head shaved by a proper barber. Cheeky bastard left my eyebrows and took my nose (shoddy work), but I still tipped him more than two bits. It was a good shop. The mirrors had loads of looney tunes figurines along the top of them. I forgot to take a before picture, but that's just as well. With three months worth sticking out at all angles I looked pretty lousy.

Felt sharp for the night out, though. As it turns out the sound was weak and nobody danced, but I discovered that I still remember how to drink. Now if only I could remember how to stop.

See you London folk on Wednesday. If you didn't get a flyer for the Pick Me Up party and want to come email me today and I'll forward it on to you when I hit Paris.

Everyone Votes Vespa

2005-10-22T20:48:00.000+01:00

Except my mother, predictably, sensibly.

But no one offered the info I needed, like cost of insurance, likely resale income in the U.K., driver's licence validity, probable gas mileage... But it's a moot point. The bit of research I've done makes it clear that I can't afford it.

Which leaves only two options, since I've not looked at the Easyjet website and I'm bloody well not going to.

I've found ferries from Civitavecchia to Barcelona and from Bilbao to England, but can't for the life of me turn up away to get from the Mediterranean around to the Atlantic. Help!

Alternatively, I'll train and hitch, which will likely put me in Paris for Tuesday night. Paris kids, wanna hang out? I've got a sangria craving only Bar Dix can satisfy.

Once I've got it all figured out I'll post again. In the mean time, I'm gonna try to enjoy being where I am. Might even go dancing tonight. If I can remember how.

P.S.The one about the viper will have to wait. I don't know how to tell it yet. The ending makes me uncomfortable.

20 October 2005

2005-10-22T20:43:00.000+01:00

I decided to diarize again, if only for Thursday. Wouldn't have felt right not to, really. I give you some of it.

*********

[...]
While I ddrink my coffe the manager gives me directions for avoiding the Via Cassia, passing through Campagnolo. But it sounds complicated, longer. So while the highway scares me I think I'll stick to it just to finish as soon as possible.

As I leave at 9 the rain is only light. I count down the first couple of kilometres, 35, 34. About 9:30 it starts to come down harder, under the umbrella of course. Several drops on my trousers, then they're quite wet. The outside of my boots look wet but my feet feel dry still. Then my trousers are sticking to my legs and as it pours down harder still I feel the tops of my socks soak throuth above the boot. Then the water keeps going: down to the ankle, the heel, the arch, finally the toe, and both feet are sodden. Each step seems to squelch.

Now the road is slick, shiny, the gutter a small river, but with my feet soaked through it dowsn''t matter and I carry on straight as long as I can see the ground under the torrent. Only briefly do I think about turning back, waiting for better weather. But I'm wet through, may as well carry on.

Some nice truck drivers swerve over towards the second lane so as not to splash me as they pass, others don't. I can barely hear the traffic over the pounding of water on the umbrella. Sometime, though, I wonder whether a rumble is thunder or a distant truck. 33, 31.
[...]
Another brief stop under an anonymous awning, during which the rain stops completely. I eat the second maple syrup candy, which I'm sure is as potent as lembas cake. The rain starts again but lightly. I mutter to nowhere 'Is that all you've got?' Which is silly, as it starts raining harder, building up to as hard as it was first thing this morning I think, but can't tell as I'm already very wet.

It feels like a country road, hedge rows tight on the sides, but industrial stuff to the left and railroad to the right beyond them. The verge gets muddy, the water murky. In onw place it has pooled and I have to climb through brambles on the side. As I do a larger van goes past quickly and I get the wake from head to toe.

Eventually the 'ROMA' sign, but of course nothing changes. I take a picture anyway.
[...]

*********

Nearly cried when I got to St. Peter's. I didn't look to my right as I skirted around the columnade so as to enter the piazza from the top. It was full of cars, the sky was still grey. There was lots of security around so I couldn't swim in the fountain like I'd hoped to. Maybe it was cowardice, but I just don't particularly fancy spending time in an Italian prison or a Vatican dungeon. I did splash some of the water over my head and felt refreshed, if not satisfied.

At the hostel, a drummer from Montreal appears with news of a baroque ensemble playing that night, featuring Viktoria Mullova, bill of Handel, Vivaldi, Sammartini, Bach. Very tired by that point (the last two days were 42 and 37km respectively), but enjoyed it thoroughly.

Yesterday rained some more, though not as hard. I saw some stuff, went to some places. As cool as Rome seems, I can't help thinking about getting home. Good company in the evening helps.

Today was sunnier, and I've started to think about trying to get a couple weeks' work here, but all the people I've been hanging out with are leavng on Monday too, and it still feels right to.

St. Peter's Or Bust!

2005-10-17T18:23:00.000+01:00

Just finished three short days, now it's three long ones. Left Tuscany yesterday. Have to admit the cypresses weren't doing it for me. Until I got to Sant'Antimo, that is, with the combination with vines and olives. Gnarly oaks too. Still, I already miss the Mediterranean pines on the coast, clinging sometimes to their cliffs. You know the ones I mean. They don't have branches; instead, arabesques.

That's all, as the shop's closing. The story about the 5 foot viper I saw will have to wait.

Ah, modern life

2005-10-12T15:44:00.000+01:00

There's a bird here that has a call that sounds like a mobile ringing in the bag of someone two seats in front of you on the bus.

San Gimignano is famous for being a well-preserved medieval town. Once, it had dozens of towers; now, it has only seven. Not counting the crane. (What are they building in there?).

My first view of the town, over hills with vines and olive groves, was beautifully enhanced by the sight of the provicial prison, and a pass made by two low-flying fighter jets.

But I'm not bitter. Just a little grumpy still from the week of bad weather that only let up as I got to Volterra. Rolled in there nearing 6, getting dark and cold. I find the hostel shut, and don't much fancy walking a couple miles back out of town to the campsite. So I go to the tourist info office, where they confirm that the hostel is closed, but that there's a convent I can stay at. WOOHOO, and Hot-diggety! Turns out it's just a seminary, but I got my own room for hostel price. In the morning I went down to breakfast to find the hall full, unespected for a weekday in off season. Everyone's speaking some slavic language or other. So I'm drinking my coffee, trying to decide whether to try conversation in Italian or English. Suddenly they're all singing! I remind you this was in a seminary, with great arched ceiling, solid acoustics; it sounded glorious. Yay. I found out they're Hungarian, by the bag that held the gift they gave to the fellow who seemed to run the accomodation. In the end, English worked better than Italian, but French got a look in as well.

Several times in the last couple of days people have switched back to Italian after an initial salvo in English with me, which feels pretty good. Even though my vocabulary is still lousy, at least I'm on the right track accent-wise. I need to start learning the conditional, and the future might be handy too, though for the moment I don't have much of one.

No, because now that I'm on my last scheduled rest day, in Siena, I've got only 8 days of walking left (knock on wood), putting me in Rome on the 20th. Which isn't a momen too soon. I'm SOOO ready to go home. But I'll enjoy the last stretch while considering the 4 options for getting back.

1)Combination of hithc/bus/train. Lots of hassle, potientially expensive, but good in that I'd get to visit people in Germany and Paris perhaps.

2)Fly. Probably the cheapest and least hassle, but also the worst environmentally and no fun at all.

3)Buy a Vespa P200 in Rome, ride it back. This is definitely the coolest option but I need help with it. What will the import tax be? Where can I find a cheap one? Will my Canadian class 5 driver's license be enough?

4)Sail the seas. Ferry from Civitavecchia to Barcelona, around to Portugal somehow, on to the Island. Very classy, possibly expensive.

I promised myself I wouldn't book anything until I got to Rome, so weigh in with tips if you've got'em.

Also, noting the date I get to Rome, I should be back to London in time for the next Pick Me Up party, on the 26th, somewhere on Wardour Street. Want to welcome me back? Get yourself there. For a flyer, get yourself on the Pick Me Up Put Me Down list and it should come in the next week or so. And you'll like the list if you like me, I suspect.

I normally like Rob Brezsny, and while he had a wrong spell with me last winter, he's been back on form lately. This week is eerily on, as I'd planned to do something violent to the cheap watch I bought just before leaving London.

Why do I always end up climbing towers on my rest days? And why did it have to be only my last rest day that was rain free (so far, knock on wood again)?

Bought my second book of the trip today. Wasn't going to read anything, but I've stopped diarizing (hence non-sequiturs aplenty) and needed something to make me happy in the evening. So in Forte dei Marmi I picked up 'The Shadow-Line' (Conrad), which this the job a treat, but I'd finished it by the time I got to Pisa. Today, I opted for 'Invisible Cities' (Calvino) because one of the first lines is 'In the lives of emperors there is a moment which follows pride in the boundless extension of territories we have conquered, and the melancholy and relief of knowing we shall soon give up any thought of knowing and understanding them.' which I read at first with 'travellers' for 'emperors'. I wanted something to last me all the way to Rome but I have a feeling this'll be an even quicker read than the Conrad. 'The Portable Dante' (including all of the Divine Comedy on top of La Vita Nuova) would have been ideal but isn't quite portable enough for my shoulders tastes.

Finally, did I do anything in particular to get front-paged by Blogger? I hope there isn't someone out there expecting a pay-off, cause I'm gonna be the one mooching when I get home.

Crooked Town

2005-10-07T12:12:00.000+01:00

15 euros to climg the bastard thing, would you believe it. Gorgeous view, but you sure don't get to stay up for long. I wonder how many pisani/pisane look at it the way I look at the Tower of London--neat for sucker tourists but hardly worth the full cost.

Only 13 days to go, from the looks of it, though the Siena-Rome leg is still a bit vague. Lots of campsites are closed now, plus it's been pretty miserable weather for the last 4 or 5 days, raining a bit every day. So I've stayed in hostels more than before. Just need to figure out where they are for the last couple hundred miles.

With any luck, I'll be back in London just in time for Hallowe'en parties. No idea what I might be, unless the Santa outfits are near the front of my storage locker. Though I'm a bit thin for Santa, so maybe I should follow Luciano's suggestion and walk back. Having lost a bit of weight, I could retrace my steps to find it.

More rest

2005-10-03T18:43:00.000+01:00

Well, I'm still in Riomaggiore. I did try to leave yesterday. The weather was bad enough to cancel all the boats down to Portovenere so I took the drastic measure of catching a train to La Spezia. There, I discovered that all the shops with maps were closed (not entirely surprising on a Sunday), that the hostel was halfway back to Riomaggiore, on the top of the hill with bad bus service and no washing machine and likely no view of the sea. So I turned around and had my rest day here. Tomorrow I'll try to leave again, in spite of not having maps for the whole distance I want to cover, which shouldn't be a problem however as I'm just going to stick to the coast anyway.

If for some currently inconceivable reason I do bounce back here again though, I'm going to take that as a sign and look for work. Otherwise, I'll be in Pisa in a couple of days, and San Gimignano a few later.

Questions for you the readers:
What's with tickets on Italian public transport? Are they a Stupid Tax*? I mean, on the buses I've ridden in cities on rest days, I've seen no ticket inspectors and hardly anyone validates a ticket. On trains at least I get that there are conductors from time to time.

Doctors in the house, this one's for you. I was under the impression that the feet are at their smallest (volume-wise) in the morning after one has been horizontal for a while, swelling a bit during the course of the day as you spend time vertical (hence the better-ness of buying shoes in the afternoon). If I haven't just made this up, why are mine huge in the morning, shrinking steadily as I walk on them?

Also, what's this swelling on my arm? Oh, no, never mind. Just another mosquito bite.

*an explanation of 'stupid tax', from the originator of the term, taken from the 'Christina in London' blog (oh, just google it if you're curious):
When you're stupid (like me), you end up paying various stupid taxes. When most people think of stupid taxes, something like lottery tickets probably comes to mind. This can also loosely be interpreted as a tax on people who can't do math. Alternatively, an economist would argue that there is an extra utility created by the fun of playing, which is why people purchase them, but this isn't central to the arguement here.

Liguria eats and feeds

2005-10-01T17:42:00.000+01:00

Yes, I'm on the coast still. It eats time, film, and money. But oh, how it feeds the soul.

Swam at San Fruttuoso at dusk. And again at Lèvanto. If I'd skipped the Portofino promontory (and San F.) I'd have got to Lèvanto a day sooner. So instead of swimming, I'd have been wetsuited among the surfers whom instead I only watched as I came down the hill into town. A half day board rental was only 15 euros, but when I mentioned to the guy in the shop that it was for the next day he told me the swell was on its way out. Sure enough, when I went to the beach at 7am the next morning the waves were gone. Still, from the two dips I conclude that swimming in the Mediterranean is good for you. This is scientific. I strongly suspected this truth before, and now I have incontrovertible proof.

Cliff jumping is also good for you (though I suspect this requires a strong heart, more tests needed), at least at Riomaggiore, where I was last night. And where I am again tonight, as I doddled too long this morning, only got as far as Porto Venere, so took the boat back since I liked it so much here and because Alberto, the guy I was walking with for the end of the day, offered me dinner in Manarolo, the next town over. Maybe I'll drink with some Croatians later. Yes, I'm more sociable again, after initial shyness in the new language.

Must run and shower before dinner. Tomorrow, boat in the morning to P.V., to check out Byron's grotto, then up to La Spezia, and inland, melancholically. I'll miss the coast; it's been good to me.

A warm breeze

2005-09-25T13:25:00.000+01:00

That's right, these are more salty words wafting your way, don't you wish you were here, too? Ah, the Mediterranean is great, even if hazy while I'm in townnow.

Last Saturday I missed a random soul/funk night. This Saturday I missed Desmond Dekker! And not even because I wasn't in the right town. No, no, I'm in Genova alright. It's just that the doors were at 10, and with two supports d'you think he'd be on before 1am? Neither do I. And after a long haul from Campo Ligure, my feet just couldn't take my weight for that much longer, never mind hold a skank. So just around the time everyone else was going out, I was going to sleep. By the time I get to Rome it'll probably have been 3 whole months without dancing, so when I get back to London someone better find me a Keb Darge night fast or there might be conniptions.

Turin turned out great, and I stayed there rather longer than planned, thanks to a last minute connection from Stephen. A big shout out to the fantastic company of Luciano, Francesca, Milla, Alex, Susanna, Maurizio, not forgetting Stefano. And a general hoorah for having bad weather on a rest day instead of a road day, which meant less crowds at the cheese festival in Bra.

Now I'm on the coast again and it's hot. I might even shave my beard tonight, though I'd planned to grow it until Rome (all the Italian papers last weekend proclaimed the arrival of autumn, but my English blood disagrees). We'll see what the day holds. Already I've bought maps and trail mix, eaten falafel (not Italian, I know, but I needed vegetables), and blagged my way into a museum. I was willing to pay the 9 euros, and spend the time with the paintings, even though I'm not keen on museums for this trip. I just wanted to find the room with the Paganiniana first, make sure I had the right spot. And 'playing' dumb tourist got me into it. So I skipped all the canvas, and spent an hour with the 'Cannon' Del Gesù (that's a violin, for those of you...). I'm gonna try not to geek out on you too much here, but it's really amazing. The modern setup doesn't look quite right, even though it's really well done. And it's too high to get a decent look at the scroll (which seemed bigger than the pictures make it look). Still: soooo gorgeous. I tried to spend some time with the Vuillaume opposite it, also owned by Paganini and sold eventually to one of his pupils, cause hey, it's a Vuillaume. But by comparison it just looked so vulgar, only held me for a few minutes.

What else... Oh yeah. Grapes and dogs. There are a lot of both between Turin and here. The vendemmia started in the area last weekend or early this week, and one kind fellow gave me some freshly picked grapes (dolcetta, and I've forgotten the name of the other kind, should have written it down) as we chatted some more in the town square, having walked the short distance into town from his vines, which supply enough wine for family only, unfortunately for me--the grapes were tasty.

The dogs have been decidedly less friendly. Every villa has at least one, and they're all loud, aggressive. Usually the gate is closed or they're on a chain, but not always. I've had a series of closer and closer calls. So, for the record, if by mischance I should get mauled to death by some rogue beagles, someone better build me a roadside shrine or there'll be some haunting for sure. And if I make it back alive, keep your dog on a string around me as my distrust for the species might take a while to fade.

Since my low mood only lasted the two days from Asti to Acqui Terme I'm back in high spirits (blame the sea air if you like), and it'll be with a happy step that I head along the coast tomorrow, making La Spezia in 4 days or so. Some of you threatened to meet me in Rome, in which case you might like to know that I think I might get there around October 20th, but I can't be too precise just yet.

Right. I need to go have some ice cream to cool down.

I like the Alps

2005-09-17T10:19:00.000+01:00

They are nice. That's all I can say, I'm at a loss for words. And, the internet being what it is, I have no recourse to the wild waving of hands and jumping up and down that might otherwise help.
Highlights that spring easily to mind, in no particular order:
snow(ball)
tasty food, in France and in Italy
mountains (imagine that)
company.

But Leonie flew back to old blighty yesterday, so I'm back on my lonesome, and still in town because yesterday evening was weird. On the bright side, I saw a wine glass player, which I'm taking as a sign that I should be an aquaphonist in the band when I get back to London (Holly, Helen, Robin, others, get yourselves ready!). I also saw the Trio di Torino please a home crowd with a programme of Chausson pieces, at the Teatro Reggio.

It's hot in Turin, too, but I like it less than Geneva, probably because my attempt at going dancing last night (a soul and funk night! right next to the Po river!) came to naught.

The next few days

2005-09-02T13:04:00.000+01:00

Léonie and I went map shopping this morning, and have the next week plotted more or less. We'll be spending nights in the folloing places:

3sep--Mieussy
4sep--Samoens
5sep--Refuge d'Anterne
6sep--Refuge de bel Lachat
7sep--camping in Le Praz
8sep--Refuge des Mottets

Then it's over the pass and down into Italy, towards Courmayeur or La Thuile at first, then through the Gran Paradiso park, and into Turin by the 15th. Internet's likely to be scarce until then.

Geneva is hot. I like it here.

geneva

2005-09-01T14:07:00.000+01:00

back to hunt and peck, now that i'm not in france. that's right i'm at geneva airport waiting for a flight from london to land, with my companion for the alps.

the border was fun, everyone just drives through. i got a 'no you have to walk through the tunnel' when i asked if there was an alternate pedestrian route. silly me for choosing the crossing that goes under the runway. it was dusty.

unlike the haute jura, which was very pretty and very steep. st-claude to gex was 42km if you took the roads so i went the short way, straight over 3 mountains. it was tiring, but i'm still blister free. other stories will come later, as will an updated itînerary before i leave. i refusse to rush to keep on schedule now. hitching a few days ago took me past st-maur, where they boast the largest hedgerow maze in europem which i didn't know until i was 20km past it. if only that man hadn't been so nice and had dropped me off in lons-le-saunier instead. oh well. i'll have to repeat the trip and make sure not to miss it next time. or maybe i'll just drive there someday.

Grins and Laughter

2005-08-25T15:07:00.000+01:00

I seem to have spent a lot of time over the last couple of days, though especially yesterday, grinning uncontrolably or laughing like a fool.

The campsite 'band' here in Dijon play a medley of 'Hey Joe' and 'Guantanamera' grin. Which I listened to all the way through because I was waiting for my 'Steack Frites' (I love French speeling), which, when it finally arrived, was enormous grin.

An Ikea ad (of all things) in a bus stop reads 'Nous vous invitons de découvrir nos produits du tiroir' laugh. Sorry non-French speakers, I'm not even going to try to translate.

In the morning, I got to the top of the hill just south of St-Seine-l'Abbaye and could see for 10 miles or so north east and south grin. It is clearer to me now than ever it was before that landscape painting on a large scale had nothing to do with 'look how pretty this is' (even if on a Courbet-style small scale it might) and everything to do with 'hey, look what I own'. that kind of awe-inspiring bigness just doesn't fit in anything but itself. And furthermore, it's not remotely the same when you reach it by car.

A later ridge, just before descending into Dijon, I crested and felt strong wind in my hair (shut up, there's plenty; it's longer than it's been in 3 years) laugh. Then I walked down into an area called 'Folle Pensée', where I thought crazy thoughts like 'what on earth am I doing here?'

An English couple are standing in front of the goddess Sequana at the source of the Seine with their young son. The father's reading a history leaflet. The son needs to pee. The mother leads him around the outside of the grotto to where there's a nook and a grate, through which the cleaners presumably pass to clean the statue and the pool inside laugh, stifled. Minutes later, the son asks for a coin to throw into the pool to make a wish. On closing her wallet, the mother hurts her hand on the railing and drops her wallet, which teeters on the brink of falling in, a very big wish indeed laugh, badly stifled.

I walked up to a main road from a dirt track and see the sign:
Dijon 10-->
<--Troyes 140
laugh
And hyperventilate. I only left there a few days ago. Am I going that fast? I'm beginning to suspect that it may the doom of everyone who walks for pleasure to feel that they are moving too quickly.

I did have a bit of help on this leg, though I don't think it counts as hitching.

Walking hung over Sunday morning (not fun at all, but, solvitur ambulando, the hang over went away rather quickly), I was 15km on from where I'd stopped the night before. You see, I got to Bar-sur-Seine nearing dark, and finding no campsite, sat down with a beer on a terasse to decide a field and a hotel. But the people at the next table, locals, students home for the holidays, adopted me. Several beers and a trip to the crèperie later, I got a lift with them 15km further south to Courteron to the soirée they were headed for, where there was much grinning and laughter to go with the quantities of great champagne drunk. I even got to see the cellar, as this was the home of a small-scale champagne label. Most fantastic, though, was the great company. So thanks again to the Bourguignons/Bar-sur-Seine/Courteron crew, you were all amazing, even more so if you've bothered to read this far.

And the meal I had the next day in Grancey-sur-Ource thanks to octogenarian Roger Perrier of the Association Française de Randonée Pédestre (French Walkers' Association) will have to wait, as it's getting late and I need to go buy some fancy mustard.

I coulda used a horse...

2005-08-19T18:58:00.000+01:00

...in my assault on Troyes. In fact, there was one there in the field outside of Romilly-sur-Seine, a pretty chestnut brown one with a white diamond on it's forehead. But whatever piracy i get up to, I ain't never gonna be no horse thief, ya hear?

And besides, it only took two and a half hours to get a ride. It was very wet this morning, and I felt weak after yesterday's stupidity of walking 10 hours in heat that had DROPPED to 35° by 5pm. It's still very warm and humid hear in Troyes (nice and cool in the cathedral), and hopefully my tent will have dried by the time I get back to the campsite.

On the plus side, I got a lift from a self-described revolutionary, hunter, ex-union agitator, and occasional vendange worker. So I could maybe do all that grape picking nonsense in Champagne (and what better place), if only it wasn't so far to backtrack. Still looking for more southerly options.

Some may have noticed and not remarked, others not, but I at least have thought to myself, 'Four and a half days by the sea and not so much as a salty toe. What gives?' I don't know, but I got my feet wet at Montereau Fault Yonne a few days ago, even if it was fresh water. Walking along the Seine has been divine, and frightening. Have I turned into more of a river person than an ocean person? Has London's work on me cut that deep? I shudder at the thought, and hope for many hours by the mediterranean.

But first, up to the sources of the Seine and the Ignon, then down to Dijon.

Those of you who've read Stanley Park (and if you haven't, get cracking) may be interested to know that I'll be passing through St-Seine l'Abbaye. I checked the Michelin guide. No such place as the Relais, though this comes as no surprise. There is a restaurant in an old Poste, but I'm poor and it doesn't even get a Bib Gourmand (michelin's value for money icon), and I won't be there on a Sunday, so chances are I'll give it a miss. With any luck, though, I will get the appropriate photo at the source.

Otherwise, the wildlife seems to have shifted from mouse to lizard, though still small enough to be cute. Roadkill I've spotted includes 8 porcupines, 4 rabbits, 2 cats, 1 snake. Very sad, all of them, and I emphasise that I was only a witness to the aftermath and in no way responsible. That said, these boots were made for walking.

With that, gentle reader, I leave you. Of course if there's anything in particular you want to hear about...

Hard Graft

2005-08-15T08:06:00.000+01:00

I'm about to head off from Paris, towards Fontainebleau, Troyes, St-Seine-l'Abbaye, Dijon, ...

Sadly, though, it's clear the money will run out before Rome unless drastic measures are taken. So I'm gonna have to do some work for a few weeks when I get to northern Italy, was thinking along the lines of the vendange (or whatever they call it there), a fish boat, something seasonal I guess.

So, anyone out there got any leads? Quick searches while I've been here in Paris haven't turned up anything concrete (though Genevieve, hero that she is, has a tip on some vineyard).

Go on, make me richer, keep me away a little longer.

Relaxation

2005-08-13T18:33:00.000+01:00

How's that for a view from a balcony?

Staying in Paris is good for you.

Yay Genevieve.

Blisters and other ickyness

2005-08-12T17:11:00.000+01:00

WARNING: IF YOU'RE SQUEAMISH, STOP READING NOW.

Due to popular demand, a few words on the condition of my feet.

At the end of the first day, I took off my socks with some apprehension as my feet were in a lot of pain. I looked forward to the surgery necessary for the use of the fancy blister plasters, which involves lancing the blister (using a sterilized needle, in my case a safety pin held over a lighter for a few seconds), then peeling off the loose skin to expose the burnt part. Then the plaster goes on top of that and stays for just under a week.

Lo, the sole of each foot had several white patches on it, most the size of 10p or 50p pieces (that's quarters or bigger for those of you on the other side). I wasn't about to operate on them without washing them first, but by the time I'd showered they weren't nearly as pronounced as before, so I let them be, and by morning my feet looked completely normal. I'll add here that the white patches were mostly on parts of my feet where the skin was a bit thicker (if not calloused) already--heels, outside of the big toe, balls of the feet.

It was more or less the same story every day until I left England. In Canterbury, however, I tried using one of those wet wipes to clean one spot to try to pop what I thought was surely a proper blister, right after getting my boots off. The needle caught nothing but skin making the surgery entirely useless.

Along the coast in France, the number and size of white patches shrank a bit; I was doing shorter days. Then, I slept in my boots in St-Riquier after a longish day and followed that with my longest yet. So I was certain I'd have something to operate on when I got up to my hostel room in Amiens. Sure enough, my feet were in a right state, with two tiny proper blisters a,idst the blotchiness. But by then I had only enough energy to take a picture (on my lomo, so you'll have to wait a while to see it), no concentration at all to surgerate, and went to sleep. By morning, there was still a trace of the blotchiness, but the blisters had disappeared.

To be honest, I'm not even sure if it's worth the bag space to carry the fancy plasters anymore.

For those of you who might be comforted by knowing that my choices have brought me suffering, let me offer this solace. Both my Achilles' tendons are about twice their regular size (Herzog only had that happen on one side, but he had blisters too so I think I win), and have been for a good week now. This makes getting into and out of my tiny tent kind of painful.

I have a minor rash on each shoulder where the bag rubs. I think this is because my bag is actually designed for someone a bit bigger than me. But this is under control by way of an anti-blister stick that reduces friction (No, Mum, I don't carry moleskine with me).

Also, it's been sunny hay-making time for the last week, so of course I have raging hay fever.

Was that graphic enough for you? Really, all that's left to say is a big thank you to the kind fellow at Black's near Chancery Lane station who helped me pick my boots. Even if they do bother the Achilles, being blister free for the first two weeks is a boon indeed.

Indoors and loving it

2005-08-12T16:27:00.000+01:00

I'm in Paris, yes I am. Lots of factors made this happen sooner than it might have. First, the last two days before Amiens were ridiculously long, and made me hurt. Then, in the area south of Amiens, campsites are thin on the ground; I walked all the way to Chaussoy-Epagny where the map I picked up at tourist info in Amiens showed a camping, only to be told by some locals in a cafe that it was 6km back north and east of there. Grr to backtracking (even if a kindly old fellow interrupted the early part of his session of Ricards to give me a lift up there, narrated in the broken but remarkably solid English he picked up while in the French army 30 years ago). Then, I'm a bit behind schedule. While still having a fixed date to arrive in Geneva (as I'll have company going over the Alps), I don't want to be rushed as I cover the upper reaches of the Seine from Troyes to Dijon.

So yesterday I walked the 10km or so to get to the N1 route and hitched into the Paris suburbs, from where it was a quick bus/RER hop to get into the 14e arrondissement where I'm now holed up at my friend Genevieve's place. Warm bed, internet connection, bakery a few doors down. I'm a happy boy, and it doesn't matter for now that my right knee is acting up.

Bought some good maps from the IGN shop (like Stanford's but only selling their own stuff), so now I'll spend some time chilling out and planning the nitty-gritty of the next couple of weeks. And catching up on sleep.

more war / signs

2005-08-09T13:28:00.000+01:00

oops, i totally meant to mention that there have been many signs of note.

like the one to flandre. checked my map, and it shows up as a swamp, which makes sense i guess. didn't make the detour though, because i can only remember the first few lines of the poem and what else could i do there but recite it. plus, i can't let myself get too distracted by world war tourism or i'll end up hitching to caen, where my grandfather was briefly stationed and where his most often repeated war story is set.

also of note, at a level crossing with 2 tracks:
'attention
un train peut cacher un autre'
(danger, one train can hide another)
which is a fine proverb if ever i've heard one.

and finally,
'plage naturiste
baignade non-surveillée'
which is either generous or ironic, but definitely funny.
(and hard to translate. 'nude beach' and 'swimming' are clear, but the obvious 'unsupervised' isn't as amusing while 'non-surveyed' is daft, but i'm beating a dead horse here i guess)

Sand dunes and salty air (bis)

2005-08-09T12:49:00.000+01:00

i'm in france now, of course, where they have azerty in stead of qwerty with punctuation in all sorts of wierd places, so there goes my touch typing and with it my willingness to use the shift key on a regular basis. typographical pedants, suck it up.

last comments on the english south-east:

the north downs way, which i covered parts of over every day except the first, is well signposted and passes through some really great spots, of which i only covered a few. on the second day, for example, i followed the way, even though it was a bit out of my way, because it took me to Buckland. peaceful, pastoral, picturesque. but no hobbits. i'd have smoked a pipe in their honour but hadn't made such provisions.

the pilgrim's way, another route i picked up for some distance, wasn't as obviously historically rich as you might expect. the physical stuff gets buried auicker in the countryside, maybe. but still, the trees along it have a stranger language than most, more suggestive by half.

was quite antsy to get to france quickly, but can't remember now any of the feeling associated with that. i can tell you that if you're a british mountaineering council member that sea france is much cheaper, and that a lucky rider of the Rodin ferry may have found the first moondog tag i dropped on it.

the history along the coast, from calais right around to berck where i turned inland, is very present, even if quite recent: concrete bunkers every few miles, some still hanging onto cliff tops, others well on their way to the sea floor. i think i took a lot of pictures of them.

a brief interjection, for the list lovers, of places i ate or slept:
calais
cap du blanc nez
wissant
cap du gris nez
wimereux
ste-cécile
étaples
merlimont
berck
villers sur authie
rue
foret montiers
canchy
st-riquier (a quaint little village if ever there was one, though i'm sure the song is more about opal coast places like the two W's above)
...
amiens

i've come across other war history spots by accident. like the morning i went inland a bit to get less gusty wind and less driving rain (but still got rather wet), and came across the commonwealth cemetery just north of étaples. couldn't actually get past the monumental entry as it's rather exposed and the rain was coming at me face on, but quite stiking. and i learned that the soldiers called the town 'eat apples' which amused me.

but it's only august and i was at the mouth of the canche, so instead of apples i ate mussels, yum. and lots of them, as the appetizer i ordered not knowing what it was (called l'étaplois) had them in along with a tasty fish that reminded me of smoked black cod. anyone want to google for me and find out what i ate? i'm running out of time here.

from berck i decided to head inland, slightly first, to villers-sur-authie, then through two enormous days (33 and 45km respectively) to amiens. i made the push as the somme area is pretty dry on campsites, so now i'm having a rest day, with very sore feet. on the plus side, i got to watch the bakery in the square in st-riquier open at 7am (after hearing their alarm clock ring out as i walked past a bit earlier!). i also camped rough for the first time (the reason i was up in st-riquier at stupid o'clock to begin with). won't be properly free til i master that art, but i can't say i'm eager to work on it; sleeping with my boots on wasn't fun.

that's all for now. sorry if there's qny confusion over zords zith w,q,a, or z in them.

sand dunes and salty air

2005-08-04T10:00:00.000+01:00

White horsey white horsey bring us luck bring us luck

2005-07-31T16:43:00.000+01:00

I've seen at least one every day, and said it at the time, but say it now as well, as I'll need all I can get. I didn't think I had a lucky charm, but found that Fernanda had left one in the pocket of my fleece on my last night in London, so I won't need quite as much superstition as I might've. And even less now that I've done four days of over 20 miles each without falling apart, which makes my faith a little less blind.

The first day was the hardest. I officially hate A roads. And wankers who make cracks along the lines of 'I hope that isn't a bomb in your pack'. I kept wanting to reply 'If it was a bomb, would I really be in _insert name of south-east backwater_?' Which is not to say that I dislike the south-east: even Stone and Northfleet have their own kind of neglected beauty. More that I'd hope for a bit of solidarity and friendly spirit rather than knee-jerk xenophobia. Will it be any better when I cross the channel? I have no expectations either way.

But when I crossed the M25 (happily on a flyover and not a subway) I did spit back. But for all the hate I have for London, I'm planning to go back. It's home, and I love it too. It does feel a bid odd to have left just now, though. Seeing the news of the failed bombing at Oval (was that it? no time to fact check) gave a sensation akin to watching the news of Montreal's 1998 ice storm from my flat in Vancouver, but much more frightening. I only caught a bit of the seige mentality that seemed to be forming, and feel like a bit of a traitor to have bailed out. All I can say is that while this blog was initially to keep people from worrying about me, if anything big happens again (heaven forfend), drop me a line, london peeps, so I know you're fine too.

********
All three of the first days were much longer than planned, and not pleasantly so. But when I looked at the map two nights ago and saw I was just over 20 miles from Canterbury, and figured, why not, let's do in four days what I'd planned for five. So here I am resting up a bit

AACK
out of time already.
interesting--no proper blisters yet. more news of that later, though

Away I go

2005-07-26T15:10:00.000+01:00

Spent a fantastic weekend at Truck. Of course it was fantastic, it always is, and all the people there are too. Got to test my flash tent, yes, the one that isn't tall enough to sit up in. I may be a passable contortionist when I get back, and it's really light too!

This is my last moment online. Big thanks to everyone who's sent messages along the lines of 'Go Arthur!'

For those of you in London and for whom this doesn't come too late, I'll be doing a mellow leaving drink in Soho Square this evening, from about 8:30. If I don't see you, well, enjoy the rest of the summer.

Departure

2005-07-19T15:54:00.000+01:00

Wednesday 27 July is the departure date, and anyone who wants to come along for the first few miles (or yards) is most welcome. I'm going to try to leave from in front of Christchurch Spitalfields at 8:00am, walking down towards Aldgate East, along Commercial Road, through the Isle of Dogs to Greenwich, and onwards.

The nearest tube to the church is Liverpool Street, and there are loads of buses in the area.

Let me know if you're coming so that I don't miss anyone.

My Route

2005-07-19T14:52:00.000+01:00

My route, with rough dates, is as follows:

London -- 27 July
Calais -- 2-3 August
Paris -- 11-14 August
Dijon -- 22-24 August
Geneva -- 30 August - 3 September
Turin -- 13-15 September
Genoa -- 18-20 September
Siena -- 28-30 September
Rome -- 7 October

The route taken by James Carty was almost identical to the one I had roughed out, so I used his as a template. There are a few changes to it, though, and I bet there'll be more as I go. I'm working on a way to get a detailed route up, but in the mean time, if you want the full version drop me a line and I'll email you the Excel file.

How you can help

2005-07-16T15:09:00.000+01:00

Do you have a summer cottage in Valgrisenche? A field near Champrougier? A fishmongery in Monterosso? Do you know someone who does? Or do you just like hanging out near the Source d'Ignon?

Any form of assistance is gratefully received, including offers of accomodation, somewhere to pitch my tent for the night, food, company (where I've stopped or on the road), advice, and, not least, moral support from afar.

Or if you feel like it, you can send money through paypal, I won't say no. My email address is arthursmany[insert last word of the name of this blog--hint--starts and ends in 's']@gmail.com. A fancy link may be added here soon if I upgrade my account so that you can use credit cards as well, but registration was easier than I expected.

Postcards Rule

I'd like to reward those who offer support of whatever kind. If my money holds out long enough, I'll send you a postcard while en route if you send me your mailing address. Otherwise, I'll be distributing 4x6 prints once I've got my Lomographs processed on returning to London.

Background

2005-07-16T13:14:00.000+01:00

In October of 1996 I found a copy of Werner Herzog's Of Walking in Ice in a bookshop in Montréal. It's been one of my favourite books since, in it's rambling aggressivity and abbreviated sentimentality. It also drew my attention to the possibility of walking long distances without professional degrees of preparation or training. Some months later I read a transcript of a conversation he had at the Edmonton Film Festival which brought me further under the enchantment of travel under limited means.

When I started my degree in Music Technology (which amounted to building guitars and violins) I knew that I wouldn't get any proper holidays for the next three years; the time would be filled by study or working to pay for it. To calm my itchy feet I would need to plan a big trip for the end. A month or two in, I found a copy of Rebecca Solnit's Wanderlust. I decided an extended walk would do the trick, and settled on Rome as a destination. There was quite an elaborate reason at the time, beyond the fact that all roads lead there. I've forgotten it. But over the last three years, I started telling people what I planned to do, and I've now told too many to back out.

Of course, there's also the fact that I'm not sure if I can make it. This sort of test might unearth some part of me I don't know about. And if not, at least I'll have a few months to figure out what to do with myself next.