Rotsblog walking GR 5 (5): The last story

Sadly, now that several months have passed, I have to admit that my plan to keep a serious walking blog about our last GR5 trip, combining route descriptions with accommodation reviews and philosophical reflections, was too ambitious. I did write stories about the first, second and third day, but then I got busy writing other things (a conference paper on notions of ‘sacred space’ in Japanese academic discourse, a book chapter on Shinto responses to last year’s natural disasters, and of course my dissertation), so I did not have time to write more walking stories – or any blog post, for that matter. As the trip is about four months ago, I do not remember details of the path, landscape or accommodation well anymore, so I have decided not to continue this series. Tant pis; I will try again next time. For now, there is one last, not yet posted route description and hostel review I would like to share (see below). It has been in my drafts folder for months, waiting for me to finish and post it. It is a description of our fourth day in the Jura, and a sequel to the story of day three. 

As for the subsequent days, let me summarise them by saying that:

a) Geneva is one of the worst cities I have ever been to, filled with rude people, top-notch scams and commodity fetishism, living testimony to the lingering validity of Marx’ observations regarding power and capital;

b) The UN are not part of the solution to the world’s problems (inequality, exploitation, environmental destruction, violence), but part of the problem, as they reify and legitimise the very power structures that (co)produce those problems;

c) The area of the French Alps immediately south of Lac Léman is stunningly beautiful, offering magnificent mountain landscapes, and is one of the most fantastic (if challenging) walking destinations I have ever been to – highly recommended, but not for the unexperienced (in any case, bring a walking stick);

d) Meeting wild ibexes on top of a mountain is a pretty cool experience;

e) Many mountain refuges do not open until the end of June or beginning of July, so if you go walking in June (as we did) call ahead to check whether they are open or not (booking accommodation ahead is generally a good idea, as some places only have a few beds – but don’t leave your credit card details, as injuries or bad weather may cause delays);

f) My dad and I have now walked all the way from Pieterburen to Samoëns, and are gradually getting closer to the Mediterranean Sea;
 

View Larger Map
 
g) If you fly back from Geneva airport, do not stay in one of those ridiculously overpriced Genevan hotels, but in a cheap hotel in the neighbouring French city of Annemasse, from where you can go to the airport in an hour and a half or so by taking a bus, tram and trolleybus.

Well then, apropos day 4:


Day 4: Chapelle-des-Bois - Le Bief de la Chaille 

June 17, 2012
24 km  

Fortunately, the fever does not stay very long. On the next day, I feel much better, and we can continue our journey. My carefully designed walking schedule needs to be revised, but so be it - if your body gives you clear orders to take a day off, you have no choice but to obey.  Sadly, though, the delay will have some other unpleasant consequences; the hostel in Geneva that replied to my email by saying I could cancel will later change its mind, and end up charging my credit card for a night we are not spending there. But today, as I have only seen their first email ("so kind of them," I thought naively, not knowing that one day later I will be yelled at and lied to) we are not aware of this yet - had we been, we could have walked to the French-Swiss border and taken a train in the evening. Anyway, we continue our walk, happily and healthily. Today is our last day in the French Jura; we are rapidly approaching Lac Léman, the lake that divides the GR5 into a northern and a southern half. One more day in French forests, before we cross the lake and face our next challenge: the Alps.
 
Chapelle-des-Bois is located next to a high rocky plateau that rises up from behind the village. We choose not to climb the plateau immediately, but continue south for a while, through the village and a lovely green valley. We pass several gîtes and chambres d’hôtes – apparently, this is a popular tourist destination, but as French summer holidays have not started yet it is still fairly quiet. Eventually, we do have to climb the plateau. After a short but steep climb, we enjoy a beautiful view of the valley below. This is the Roche Bernard (1290 metres).
 
The rest of the day, we walk through forest. Dense, mixed forest. It is getting hot, so we are happy to get a bit of shade. The roads are wide; in the winter, they double as cross country tracks. We have lunch – no dry bread, the leftovers from yesterday’s dinner, yummy – near a cottage in the forest. In winter, it provides shelter for skiers, but today it is closed. We play quiz games, chat, and try to ignore the pain in our feet. Then we descend to the border town of Les Rousses. It is an ugly place, that seems to attract the wrong kind of tourists; after an overpriced glass of ice tea, we are happy to leave the place. We pass an old fortress with blatantly nationalistic information panels, then walk for a couple of kilometres on a quiet country road. Finally, we arrive at the youth hostel of Le Bief de la Chaille, peacefully located in between a forest and rolling grassy hills. The border is around the corner, yet nowhere to be seen.
 

Bief de la Chaille youth hostel

Auberge de jeunesse de Bief de la Chaille
*** (3/5)
€25,- p.p., including breakfast 

Fairly basic youth hostel, on a quiet an beautiful location. There are drinks for sale (if you book ahead, they may provide dinner as well, but as we did not do this I am not sure). There is a small kitchen for guests, which is very convenient. The bunk beds and showers are basic but OK (bring your own sleeping bag). Lots of stairs – the room for shoes and skis is inconveniently located two floors below the bedrooms – which can be a bit of a pain after a long day of walking. Nice garden. The breakfast was basic, the bread not very fresh. Not particularly good value, but the place earns extra points for its sustainability: recycling is strongly encouraged, and lights switch off automatically.

Rotsblog walking GR5 (4): Sunny French Siberia

Day 3: Mouthe - Chapelle-des-Bois

June 15, 2012

21 km

Few villages in France are as beautifully located as Mouthe. It lies in the middle of a small green river valley, surrounded by forests, happily isolated from the outside world. This area is called "la petite Sibérie" - apparently because it gets very cold and snowy in winter. Today, however, the weather is absolutely fantastic - warm and sunny, with a gentle breeze.

Mouthe

The walk through the valley is pleasant. After a while, we enter a forest, and follow shady forest paths for a while. Then we leave the forest, and walk through an empty valley. On our left, the forest continues; on our right, there are rolling grass fields. Flowers are in bloom everywhere. Cows are drinking from a nearby stream, their bells tinkling quietly. After two hours or so, we reach the village of Chaux-Neuve.

Between Mouthe and Chaux-Neuve

We are eagerly looking forward to a cup of coffee with cake, but we are not very lucky. Chaux-Neuve does have a gîte-café-restaurant, but it is closed during lunch time; so is the bar-tabac. The only hotel is in the process of being rebuilt - who knows, it may never reopen. Fortunately, though, there is a fromagerie selling local cheese, yoghurt and drinks. We sit on the bench next to it, surrounded by beautiful flowers, and enjoy an early lunch with some delicious locally produced food.

As we are sitting there, an old lady approaches us, and starts mumbling about "putting papers on the grass". I am not quite sure what she is getting at. "Vous êtes Italiens?" she asks disapprovingly. "Parlez pas la langue?" The last time I was told I do not speak French was fifteen years ago, and I am not amused. "Nous sommes Hollandais," I answer. "Est-ce que nous pouvons nous asseoir ici?" "Yes, yes, but I take care of these flowers, so don't put papers on the grass." I finally understand what she means, and I assure her that we will not litter. She nods, walks back to her house, and sits down behind the window to continue spying on us. Too bad she did not notice the fact that one of her neighbours' dogs had used her flowerbed as a toilet.

We continue our walk through the beautifully hybrid Jura landscapes. Fields become forest, forests become fields; nature and culture are intertwined and inseparable. We see several old farms. After a while, the forest gets more dense. We have to climb, but not as much as yesterday. There are no other walkers to be seen. Every ten minutes, a black SUV with a huge dog behind the steering wheel passes by. We wonder what he is doing here, driving around the forest; we also wonder where his human went. Admittedly, for a dog he drives quite well, albeit a bit too fast. We stop at a clearing in the forest, called "Chez l'Officier", and have our second lunch.

The last kilometres go through dense forest. The paths we use double as ski tracks in winter - this is one of France's most popular cross-country skiing destinations. Today, however, it is hot, and we are getting tired. When we arrive in Chapelle-des-Bois - a small village with a pretty church, surrounded by cross-country tracks, located near a high plateau - it is 5 pm. Time for a bath, and a nice dinner.

Review: La Maison du Montagnon, Chapelle-des-Bois

€28,- per night per person in a triple room, including breakfast.

***** (5/5)

Excellent accommodation, ideally located for walking trips (in summer) and cross-country skiing (in winter). The triple rooms are a bit small, but the beds are comfortable and the sheets clean. There is a restaurant where you can have a 3-course dinner for €16,- (with fresh herbs from the garden), as well as kitchen facilities and a dining room (with outside terrace) so you can make your own food. The sauna and steam bath are very nice after a long day of walking. The staff are friendly - when we had to use the internet because of personal circumstances, they kindly allowed us to use their own computer. Nice breakfast buffet. If you are on a long-distance walking trip, this place is ideal for a rest day.

La Maison du Montagnon, Chapelle-des-Bois

The walking body

I.

 Unexpectedly, I got sick. When I woke up in the early morning, I had a fever and a headache. I tried to get out of bed, but I was so dizzy I could hardly walk. I felt hot and was sweaty, yet my body was shivering. It was clear that my body did not want me to continue walking. I had to take a rest, so we had to stay in Chapelle-des-Bois for at least another day.

Why did this happen? I had been walking quite well, the first three days. We had not started too ambitiously - the distances we had walked were average, certainly not too long. My backpack was not very light, but as I did not carry a tent or camping mattress, it was not too heavy either. On the night before, I had not felt bad at all. I had used the sauna and steam bath, which was very nice. Afterwards, we had enjoyed a big dinner with good wine, at a quiet place with a great view. Actually, I had not felt so relaxed in a long time.

It must have been the unusual combination of physical exercise (60 kilometres of walking in three days, with backpack) and relaxation (sauna, steam bath, food and wine) that triggered it. Usually, you do not get sick when you are in the middle of a busy period: you get sick when you have finished your job, leave the busy time behind, and take it easy for a while. Something like that must have happened. Frankly, writing a PhD dissertation is not exactly the same as your ordinary office job - it is quite a responsibility, and a lonely process, for in the end you have to do it all by yourself. The obligation to finish within three years also causes a significant amount of stress, and leaves little time for any peripheral research or writing activities. In addition, living in a foreign country with a strange climate can be demanding at times, emotionally as well as physically. Do not get me wrong: I love my job, I would not want to do anything else, and I am very happy with the facilities and supervision I get here. But perhaps I should not be too surprised if my body occasionally tells me to take a break.

II.

You may not have noticed it, but when I write sentences like "my body did not want me to continue walking" and "my body occasionally tells me to take a break" (as I did in the previous paragraphs), I am making an artificial distinction between "me" - the individual subject - and "my body" - an object, used by "me" yet an ontologically separate entity. Thus, I differentiate between an abstract, imagined self, and the physical aspect of the self. As I imagine my body to be some sort of external agent, I alienate myself from it. My thinking is based on the notion "I have a body" rather than "I am a body". Why am I doing this?

In fact, when writing this kind of sentences, I am standing in a long tradition of thought, going back to ancient Greece. Plato, for instance, famously distinguished between the physical world and the world of ideas. The former, he argued, was a mere shadow of the latter; thus, the world of physical matter, bodies, food and mud was inferior to the world of the mind, the spirit, the good and the beautiful. According to Plato, it was the duty of the philosopher to escape from the material world, and discover the perfect world of ideas supposedly underlying it. In effect, he denied the actual world, while constructing an imaginary perfect world. This dualistic, escapist worldview was embraced by western Christianity, which conceptualised the physical world as sinful and evil, and the imaginary spiritual world as good and desirable. Christian theology denied people their physicality, and continues to do so today (as exemplified by the Catholic church's celibacy myth).

This existential mind-body dualism (including the implicit understanding that the former is superior to the latter) is reproduced in modern philosophy, science, and medical practices. Descartes' famous statement "I think, therefore I am" is illustrative as much as it is foundational. Why define existence on the base of thought? What about "I eat, therefore I am", "I walk, therefore I am", or, pardon my French, "I fuck, therefore I am"? Human beings are eating, walking and fucking subject, as much as they are thinking subjects - perhaps more so. Yet, classical positivist science is founded on the assumption that mind and body are ontologically opposite entities, just like object and subject are. They may be interrelated, but they constitute a dichotomy, rather than a unity.

It took 'Western Man' a lot of time to realise that he does not have a body, but that he is a body. Nietzsche was the first prominent philosopher who severely criticised the mind-body dualism, and the denial of the physical body, defining the history of European thought - but Nietzsche was ahead of his time in many respects. Later, in the twentieth century, the French philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty developed the notion of embodiment, and made the important observation that

one's own body (le corps propre) is not only a thing, a potential object of study for science, but is also a permanent condition of experience, a constituent of the perceptual openness to the world. He therefore underlines the fact that there is an inherence of consciousness and of the body of which the analysis of perception should take account. The primacy of perception signifies a primacy of experience, so to speak, insofar as perception becomes an active and constitutive dimension. (From Wikipedia)

In other words: every experience is bodily (and, as a result, situated and partial rather than objective). Not until recently did this important epistemological insight gain widespread acceptance in the social sciences and humanities. Finally, in recent years, the mind-body dichotomy has been challenged by a number of interesting studies in a variety of disciplines, to the point that it may be appropriate to speak of a paradigm shift. Nevertheless, in common parlance as well as in society, the dichotomy continues to influence ways in which we structure the world. Few people question the distinction between 'mental' illnesses and 'physical' ones, for instance, and we continue to perceive ourselves as souls/minds/spirits inhabiting a body - rather than, simply, as bodies that feel and think. In the end, each and every one of us is a body that eats, walks and fucks as much as it thinks, talks and writes; we are singular and unified, now matter how much we like to alienate ourselves from ourselves. 

III.
If you write a PhD dissertation in a field like mine, you basically spend your working time doing three things: reading, writing, and procrastinating. When you are constantly sitting behind your computer or reading books, it is easy to forget that you are a body; easy to conceive of yourself as merely the product of your thoughts. Not until you get pain in your neck or shoulders do you remember that those thoughts actually take shape in a living body. The body is easily forgotten, easily ignored; your world easily reduced to abstract ideas, where there is little or no place for physical matters (not until they start distracting you from your thoughts, at least).

That is one of the reasons it is good to go on a walking trip. You may get lost in your thoughts sometimes, but you are often reminded of the fact that you are a body, sometimes forcefully. After several hours of walking, it is hard to ignore the soles of your feet, or the blisters on your toes. Your shoulders hurt from your backpack, the muscles in your legs hurt from the climbing and descending. You may catch a cold and get sick. But after several days of walking, you feel yourself getting stronger. Your legs get more powerful, and every day you climb a bit faster. Fat gives way to muscles. Your skin gets tan, you grow a beard (if you are a man), you get more handsome. You eat a lot, you enjoy it, but you do not gain weight as you burn the calories afterwards. You sleep better, and get new energy. You are a body, and you have rediscovered it.

But try not to forget it when you are back home.

A strong walker

Rotsblog walking GR5 (3): Jura landscapes

Day 2: Métabief - Mouthe

June 14, 2012

22 km

Métabief is a well-known skiing destination. There is a number of ski lifts and pistes in the immediate vicinity. In the village itself, there are several shops selling sports gear. There is only one small grocery store, though, inconveniently located on the wrong side of the village, away from our trail. But we do have to go there, as we need to get some food and drinks. By the time we finally leave the village it is already getting late. It is a warm and sunny day, completely unlike yesterday.

Métabief

We start the day with a long and serious climb: the first mountain of the week, Le Morond (1420 m). The first part of the climb goes through forest. Later, we pass half-open grassland. In winter, this mountain is popular among downhill skiers; in summer, it is used by hikers and mountainbikers. It takes about one hour to walk from Métabief to the summit of Le Morond, and the last part of the climb is very steep. When we arrive, we are surrounded by beautiful views; green mountains and valleys, as far as we can see. In the south, snow-covered Alps are floating in the air.

Climbing Le Morond

We continue our walk along a high mountain edge, towards Le Mont d'Or, the gold mountain. The views are absolutely stunning, and we enjoy our walk to the fullest. We are not the only ones walking here - during the summer holidays, this place probably gets very crowded, but fortunately we are early this year. Our trail does not lead us to the summit of Le Mont d'Or; in stead, we turn right, away from the popular mountain edge. The landscape changes. We now walk through hilly grass fields, surrounded by woodland, populated by big cows wearing bells around their necks. Every now and then, we pass a dilapidated old farm building. There is no human being to be seen.

Le Mont d'Or

We get a cup of coffee at the Chalet la Boissaude, a restaurant in the middle of nowhere, then enjoy a late lunch out in the field. Next, we continue our path through the rolling semi-rural, semi-wild landscapes. The grass fields give way to forest, which give way to fields, which give way to forest, and so on. The fields are filled with colourful flowers. The road is uneven, long, and has many holes, caused by the cows walking around here. Our feet hurt, and we play quiz games to get a bit of distraction. Fortunately, the last kilometres go through more dense forest, on easier terrain. At the end of the afternoon, we descend to the source of the river Doubs, and walk into a lovely green valley. We follow the river to the charming village of Mouthe, where we are going to spend the night.

The river Doubs, near Mouthe

Review: Chambres d'hôtes La Chaumière, Mouthe

€25,- per night per person (including breakfast; dormitory-style, no sheets or towels).

** (2/5)

Once upon a time (i.e., ten years ago), many French villages had a so-called gîte d'étape, where walkers and cyclists could spend the night in a bunk bed for around 8 euros per person, and use the kitchen. Today, many of these places have disappeared, while others have been transformed into hostel-type group accommodation, or bed & breakfasts. Mouthe still has a gîte d'étape, but we cannot stay there, as the entire place has been rented by a school class - an annoying practice, that happens all-too-often these days. So we stay in a bed & breakfast, called La Chaumière, that offers a 'special deal' for walkers - a bed in a small dormitory room (four beds), where you are supposed to use your own sleeping bag and towel. However, at €25,- per person, this can hardly be called economical. The room looks pretty, and the shower is hot. Unfortunately, though, the mattresses are old and uncomfortable - for that money, one would at least expect a decent mattress. Breakfast is included in the price - it is basic but OK, except for a disgusting frozen kiwi. In addition, it is quite odd, to say the least, that check-out time is as early as 9am - something we were not informed about when we made the reservation.

Nature-culture landscapes

One of the fundamental myths of modernity is that there is a thing called 'nature' - a category encompassing most non-human animal species, plants and trees, as well as landscapes that do not show obvious signs of human involvement - which is diametrically opposed to things called 'society' and 'culture'. The former is seen as the origin of life, not influenced by human action but preceding it, as 'pure' and 'wild'. The latter is seen as shaped by human action, and antithetical to the former. Forests are generally perceived as 'nature', as they are composed of trees and plants; even though they may have been planted, and even though they may have taken shape in interaction with human farming and foraging practices. Buildings are generally perceived as culture, as they were built by human beings; even though the materials with which they were built were taken from the soil or the forest, and even though they are inhabited by a variety of organisms interacting with each other (humans, dogs, cats, plants, germs, mice, cockroaches and so on).

The distinction between nature and culture has significant consequences for our perception of reality, and for the ways in which we imagine and shape societies and landscapes. It is reproduced by academia (the institutions that produce, sanction and discredit truth narratives in modern society), where the study of 'nature' is carefully separated - by means of institutional, linguistic and subcultural boundaries - from the study of 'culture' (including literature, religion, politics and so on). It is also reflected in landscape production. Planners, policy-makers and politicians have divided space into areas used for 'human population' (culture), industry (culture), agriculture (culture), and 'nature'. Following nineteenth-century American conservationist ideology, 'pure' nature is perceived (by planners and environmentalists alike) as being 'wild' and 'untouched' by human hands. Hence the forced displacement of native communities after the construction of 'national parks', for example in Africa (and the subsequent forestation of savanna landscapes, when there is no more cattle to eat small trees). And hence the lack of interest in rural, agricultural landscapes on the part of most environmentalists, despite their ecological significance.

Recently, the paradigmatic nature-culture dichotomy has been questioned by a number of scholars. They have challenged structures for academic knowledge production, landscape divisions based on a strict nature-culture dichotomy, as well as the anthropocentric bias in the humanities and social sciences. In stead, they have drawn attention to ways in which human societies interact with and are shaped by a variety of non-human (animal, material, microbial) actors. On the other hand, they have also pointed out that many supposedly 'natural' landscapes are 'cultured', have histories, and are co-produced by human actors. Well-known scholars who have contributed to this paradigm shift include Donna Haraway, Tim Ingold, Bruno Latour and Anna Tsing. Their work is intriguing, as it challenges well-established categories. I am currently in the process of reading Anna Tsing's masterpiece Friction, based on ethnographic research in Borneo, in which she looks at the interplay between globalisation, deforestation, environmentalism and spatial practices. Highly recommended.

One of the things I like about walking is that it always makes me realise that landscapes do not obey maps. On the map, space is clearly divided: human settlement is red, roads are yellow, industry is grey, agriculture is light-green, forest is dark-green, water is blue. In reality, though, the boundaries between fields and forests are fluid, as are the boundaries between human settlements and surrounding 'nature'. Cows leave their 'agricultural' land, and walk in the forest, where they change the ecosystem by eating certain plants. Fields are forgotten, give way to trees, and become forest. Other forests shrink, as villages grow and push them away. Meanwhile, however, some houses are abandoned by human beings, and claimed by bats and birds. 'Natural' forests are used by people, who come to log and replace certain tree species by others. Fields used for agriculture, on the other hand, house a variety of species not controlled by human actors; they are inhabited by flowers, insects and 'weeds', who do not care about spatial divisions. In Europe, there are hardly any 'untouched', primeval natural landscapes. Every landscape is historically and culturally shaped, as much as it is shaped by environmental factors. Meanwhile, 'cultural' landscapes - not only those used for agriculture, but also cities - are full of non-human actors that exercise influence on places and their historical development.

When you walk in the Jura, you realise that there is no such thing as a distinction between 'natural' and 'cultural' landscapes. It is not even easy to divide between forest and field, let alone between nature and culture. Nature and culture are intertwined, and take shape in continuous interaction. The landscape has a social history, as much as it is part of a natural environment.

Rotsblog walking GR5 (2): Back to the Jura

Day 1: La Cluse-et-Mijoux - Métabief

June 13, 2012

18 km

We start our walk at the same place where we ended six years ago: La Cluse-et-Mijoux, a village located 5 kilometres south of the town of Pontarlier. You can get here by bus from Pontarlier, which has train connections to other places in France. Alternatively, you can get a direct bus from Fleurier, on the other side of the border, easily reached by train from several cities in Switzerland (including Geneva airport, which has cheap flights to several places in Europe). Do note, however, that train tickets in Switzerland are shockingly expensive - so if you book in advance, it may be more economical to take the train from Paris.

It is a cold and rainy day. Not exactly the best weather for a walking trip, but we are eager to get started nevertheless. The walk starts with a short climb to a nearby fortress. It is a famous place, apparently, but from the road there is little to be seen. The climb is followed by descending a slippery path back to the main road - not recommended in rainy weather - and to the village of Les Angles. We are on our way.

Château de Joux

The Jura is famous for its rolling green fields, its forest-covered plateaus and its lakes. Today, we get to see all three. A steep climb brings us to the top of the first plateau, which has an altitude of approximately 1000 metres. For a while, we walk through the forest. When we come out of it, we are surrounded by green fields, filled with thousands of yellow, white and blue flowers. It is a wonderful surprise. Despite the weather, we have a nice view of the Lac de St Point below. We continue to the village of Montperreux (no shops, but there is a public toilet with tap water behind the mairie), where we have our lunch. So does the hawk (or is it a falcon?) that suddenly dives toward the ground to catch a prey, just a few metres from where we are sitting.

The church in Montperreux, with its typical Jura-style tower.

We continue our walk along the edge of the plateau. The rain has attracted many large snails, which are now crossing our path. My wife suggests that we collect and cook them, but I have never really felt attracted to snails, so we let them be and continue our walk. Most of the time, we are surrounded by forest, but every now and then we get a nice view of the lake. We skip the descent to the village Malbuisson (not necessary, unless you want to spend the night there); in stead, we stay on the plateau, which saves us half an hour. At the end of the afternoon, we leave the forest and pass through some tiny villages and fields, before arriving in the well-known ski resort Métabief. 
 

Review: Hôtel Étoile des Neiges, Métabief

€69,- per night (triple room); breakfast €6,- p.p.

**** (4/5)

Nice hotel, good value. The rooms are clean, fairly spacious, and come with balconies. The restaurant serves good, affordable food (3-course dinners for €20-€30). The breakfast buffet is particularly recommended, as it includes delicious locally produced yoghurt, sausage, cheese, honey and apple juice. Do bring your own shower gel or soap, as the ones offered by the hotel smell like the professional cleaning stuff usually used for toilets.

The physicality of the path

As I wrote in my previous post, when I was a teenager, I walked the Pieterpad - the long-distance walking trail that goes from the north to the south of the Netherlands. One day, a classmate asked me what this path looked like. I did not quite understand her question. "It's different all the time," I said. "Sometimes you walk on a sandy forest path, sometimes on asphalt roads. Sometimes it's grass." She looked at me puzzlingly. "Why didn't they just make the whole path the same?" she asked. "And by the way, how do you get onto this path? Are there any crossings with other roads?" Only then did I understand what she meant. She thought the Pieterpad was, well, a path. A single path, that is, a single physical entity; literally, a road going all the way from the northern to the southern end of the country. I laughed. "No, of course it is not one single path," I said. "We walk on different paths and roads all the time. That's why we have a map, and have to follow the signs. How could you possibly make a separate road, just for this purpose, of a length of nearly 500 kilometres...?" She must have felt a bit embarrassed when she realised her mistake.

However, as I realised later, her question was not stupid at all. On the contrary, it was a very important question, even though I dismissed it at the time. That is, she addressed a crucial topic, usually ignored by walkers yet foundational for their practice: what constitutes the path? What does it consist of? What, incidentally, is the difference between 'path', 'way', 'road' and 'trail'? To many, the Pieterpad, or the GR5 (or El Camino de Santiago, the Shikoku henro, the Appalachian Trail, the Tour du Mont Blanc, and so on), is first and foremost an idea - a symbol, a myth even, the meaning of which extends far beyond the actual physical properties of the road itself. Walkers tend to attribute a variety of spiritual and emotional meanings to the trail, but they are more attached to the idealised notion of it, and to certain memories associated with it, than to the actual road itself. After all, before the trail is walked on, it is merely an abstract notion; afterwards, it becomes a place that only exists in memory (or, rather, a series of dots and moments in memory, retrospectively connected through the notion of a continuous 'path', despite that fact that most of the trail is forgotten as soon as it has been left behind), and gets intertwined with personal narratives of achievement, self-realisation, spiritual growth, frustration or simply 'holiday quality time'. The point is: the trail is an abstract idea, experienced highly subjectively, the physical embodiment of which is taken at face value and rarely reflected upon.

But let's face it: there is something strange about these trails. They are parasitical. Most roads and paths have their own bodies, their own physical matter of which they are made (asphalt, concrete, sand, iron). The New Jersey Turnpike, the Bergen Railway, Route 66 and the Avenue des Champs-Élysées may all have achieved iconic status, the meanings of which far transcend their particular localities, they are (or were) nevertheless real physical roads, embedded in space, embodied in place and matter. Place and matter are essential: it is hard to imagine a New Jersey Turnpike located in Windhoek and made of sand. Thus, roads are physical entities, closely connected to the particular places where they are located. Walking trails, however, are not.They have no bodies of their own. They exist by virtue of the various paths, roads and streets they use. Their shape constantly changes. They are incarnated in the D45, they are incarnated in that anonymous forest path - yet they never become them, as they merely exploit them. Thus, they transcend the paths they use, but they never succeed in becoming independent from them. They are like the bodiless spirit with the mask in Spirited Away, who can only take shape by consuming and temporarily appropriating the bodies of other creatures.

Nevertheless, the GR5 carries more significance than the Grande Rue in Métabief, just like the notion of walking to Santiago de Compostela carries more significance than walking on any given North Spanish coastal road. Walking trails may feed on the roads they use; they also transform them. In any case, there is no denying the fact that the trail is physically embodied, even though it is not a single physical entity. After all, the walker walks not merely in her own mental space, but also in physical space. Moreover, she walks on something: roads, ways, paths and open fields, the shape and texture of which constantly change, but all of which are material. Walking is an embodied activity - not only the act of walking itself, which may seem obvious, but also in the sense that the walking body is not isolated and independent, but constantly interacting with its physical surroundings. Changes in the physical aspects of the path lead to changes in the walking experience. Asphalt roads allow the walker to speed up, but if they are too long, they contribute to painful soles. Uneven paths in grass fields (with holes caused by cows) take up a lot of time and energy. Muddy paths are slippery, and may cause one to fall, or get wet feet, which may lead to blisters. Sometimes, roads are blocked by fallen trees. In sum, navigating different terrains is an integral part of the walking experience. The trail is never without physical shapes, is always embodied, and is constantly changing. 

Sometimes it is good to have a look at the path you are walking on, realise what it looks like, see what it is made of, and feel your feet interacting with it. All-too-often, we tend to overlook the roads we go, obsessed with what we think is our destination. But what if the road itself is the actual destination?

Rotsblog walking GR5 (1): Preface

In the summer of 1995, my father and I embarked on a long-term project. We started walking the Pieterpad, the long-distance walking trail that goes from one of the northernmost to one of the southernmost places in the Netherlands. We did not have time to walk the whole trail at once; in stead, once every year we walked for about five or six days in a row. We always brought our own camping gear, which we carried in our backpacks, and usually stayed at campsites. In 1998, we arrived in Maastricht, and finished the trail. I was fourteen years old.

But that was just the beginning. There was no reason not to continue our walk, and go further south. We decided to follow the GR5, the long-distance walking trail that goes all the way from the Netherlands to Nice. However, the further we got, the more time-consuming and expensive it became to travel to and from the trail. Therefore, in stead of one week a year, we now went walking for about ten to twelve days every second year. In 2000, we crossed the Belgian Ardennes. In 2002, we walked through Luxembourg and Lorraine, to the city of Nancy. In 2004, we crossed the Vosges, and experienced the Alsace region. And in 2006, we walked through most of the French Jura. We were halfway Nice.

In the following years, however, for various reasons we did not have the opportunity to continue walking. For several years, I travelled, lived and worked in another part of the world, and did not have the time or money to go to France for a walking trip. But this spring, I decided I wanted to go for a long walking trip again. And even though my current country of residence has some of the best hiking landscapes in the world, I wanted to continue with that old project of ours. I asked my father, and he happily agreed to join me. We decided to go for about twelve days: five days to walk through the remaining part of the Jura, from Pontarlier to Nyon (Lac Léman); and five or six days for the first of the French Alps, in the Haute-Savoie region, from Thonon-les-Bains to Samoëns. Nhung, my wife, kept us company during the first half of the trip.

We had a great trip. In the course of the following weeks, I will write about our walking experiences. For each of our walking days, I will write one blogpost. Every post will consist of four parts: a brief description of the route, including impressions as well as some practical information; a review of our accommodation; a short note with contemplations of a more abstract and philosophical nature, somehow related to the walking experience; and some pictures. That way, I hope that my posts will be of interest both to people looking for practical information regarding walking the GR5, and to people who just like reading travel blogs. 

More coming soon.