Monday, 27 August 2012

Mijn zomergasten

En voor de zomer goed en wel begonnen was, was ze al weer bijna voorbij. Ik slaagde er niet in alles te doen wat ik me had voorgenomen. Zoals u heeft gezien is mijn jongste schrijfproject, het schrijven van wandelverslagen van de GR5, vooralsnog onaf. Met mijn proefschrift wil het ook niet echt vlotten - ik worstel nog met mijn tweede theoriehoofdstuk - maar ik heb wel een belangrijke paper geschreven en gepresenteerd op een symposium in Kopenhagen, waar ik ook een aantal nuttige contacten heb opgedaan. Behalve in Kopenhagen zijn we in Boedapest, Wenen, Düsseldorf, Amsterdam en Leiden geweest, waar we genoten hebben van het weerzien met oude vrienden, en van de mooie architectuur. Verder hebben we ons een aantal weken teruggetrokken op het Groningse platteland voor een werkvakantie (een fraai oxymoron, vindt u niet?). Van de meegetorste boeken is slechts een beperkt aantal gelezen, helaas.

Het is niettemin fijn om weer eens wat langer in Nederland te zijn. Verandering van spijs doet eten, zegt men; verandering van omgeving kan nieuwe energie geven. De uitgestrekte groene velden vormen een aangename afwisseling op de bossen en heuvels van Oslo. Het is goed om een grote tuin te hebben (een luxe die ons in Oslo niet gegund is), en te kunnen werken in 's lands mooistgelegen stacaravan - dezelfde waar ik ooit mijn masterscriptie schreef. Het is goed om weer even van dichtbij mee te maken wat er zoal speelt in het moederland - van hartverwarmend olympisch patriottisme ('En hij staat! En ik sta ook! En het hele land staat!') tot tenenkrommende verkiezingsretoriek (een minister-president die grossiert in jijbakken en welles-nietes, en geen verantwoording aflegt voor twee jaar van polarisatie en economische stagnatie, terwijl zijn voornaamste uitdager evenmin concrete oplossingen weet aan te dragen; voorwaar weinig reden voor optimisme). Maar het leukste is toch het jaarlijks terugkerende televisiespektakel: Zomergasten.

Toegegeven, ik heb niet alles gezien. Lang niet. Een kort stukje van de aflevering met Henny Vrienten, op internet; te kort om er een oordeel over te kunnen vellen. Delen van de aflevering met Lidewij Edelkoort, een dame die helaas bleek te grossieren in pretentieuze prietpraat en nietszeggende clichés. En, al heen en weer zappend van en naar het teleurstellende lijsttrekkersdebat, delen van de boeiende aflevering met Adriaan van Dis - een fascinerende verteller, die interessante fragmenten had uitgekozen. Ik hoop volgende week nog het tweede deel van het gesprek met Jolande Withuis te zien.

Zoals elke keer na een geslaagde aflevering van Zomergasten kon ik het niet laten mij twee vragen te stellen. Ik vermoed dat ik niet de enige ben die het zich afvraagt. Ten eerste: als ik presentator van het programma zou zijn, en zes mensen zou mogen uitnodigen, wie zouden dat dan zijn? En ten tweede: als ik zelf gevraagd zou worden als gast, welke fragmenten zou ik dan uitkiezen?

Als ik presentator zou zijn, zou ik de volgende gasten uitnodigen (op alfabetische volgorde): Hans Achterhuis, Marlene Dumas, Femke Halsema, Wim Mertens, Jörgen Raymann en Herman van Veen. Hans Achterhuis is een van Nederlands bekendste filosofen; hij heeft boeiende boeken geschreven over geweld en utopisme, maar ook over de 'markt van welzijn en geluk'. Tegenwoordig werkt hij als 'denker des vaderlands'. Marlene Dumas is een Zuid-Afrikaanse kunstenares, woonachtig in Nederland; ze is wereldberoemd vanwege haar expressieve en expliciete schilderijen, zoals de portretten van Osama Bin Laden en Ulrike Meinhof. Femke Halsema is de voormalige partijleider van GroenLinks, en (naar mijn mening) een van de meest visionaire Nederlandse politici van de afgelopen tien jaar; in politiek Den Haag wordt ze tegenwoordig node gemist. Wim Mertens is een Vlaamse componist, pianist en musicoloog; hij is bekend vanwege zijn minimalistische muziek (stukken als Struggle for Pleasure en Often a Bird) en filmmuziek, waarin hij probeert elementen uit de natuur te verbeelden. Jörgen Raymann is een bekende cabaretier en programmamaker van Surinaamse afkomst; hij is een van de meest prominente vertegenwoordigers van de Nederlandse multiculturele samenleving. En Herman van Veen is een van 's lands bekendste zangers en theatermakers, die al decennia op eenzame hoogte staat. Me dunkt dat ik met deze zes gasten een mooi seizoen Zomergasten kan maken. Nu maar hopen dat ze allemaal willen komen...

Als ik zelf gast zou zijn, zou ik ook een mooie televisieavond samenstellen. Ik zou denk ik beginnen met een fragment uit de film Spirited Away, die ik op vijftienjarige leeftijd in Japan zag, en die de nodige invloed zou uitoefenen op mijn latere interesses: een scène waarin een god naar een badhuis gaat, en waarin noties als rituele reinheid en milieuverontreiniging creatief bij elkaar worden gebracht. Het is de tweede helft van dit filmpje:


Dit zou een mooi opzetje zijn voor een gesprek over mijn interesse voor Japanse cultuur, wat me de gelegenheid zou geven het volgende fraaie fragment te laten zien. Het is afkomstig uit een documentaire van de Duitse filmmaker Wim Wenders, en laat zien hoe plastic modellen van gerechten (herkenbaar voor iedereen die ooit in Japan is geweest) vervaardigd worden:


Dit fragment zou aanleiding geven tot een gesprek over de categorieën 'cultuur' en 'natuur', en de verschillende manieren waarop deze op verschillende plaatsen geconceptualiseerd worden. We blijven nog even in Japan, en bekijken een stuk van de documentaire Satoyama, over 'traditionele' Japanse cultuur-natuurlandschappen (met de voice-over van niemand minder dan Sir David Attenborough):


Tijd voor wat theoretische reflectie op de wijze waarop dit soort historisch gevormde beelden genaturaliseerd worden, en waarop ideologische motieven depolitiseerd worden. We gaan praten over processen van mythevorming, aan de hand van een fraai historisch interview met de filosoof Roland Barthes:


De stap van mythevorming en ideologie naar religie is snel gezet. We komen te spreken over de rol van religie in identiteitsvorming, en in differentiatie. Ik vertel over mijn eerste studiereis, op negentienjarige leeftijd naar Libanon, en hoe dit mijn latere denken over religie beïnvloed heeft. Daarbij heb ik gekozen voor een fragment uit de documentairereeks van Jan Leyers, De weg naar Mekka; aflevering zeven, die zich in Syrië en Libanon afspeelt. Hieronder een ander fragment uit dezelfde documentairereeks, omdat ik de betreffende aflevering niet online kon vinden.


We blijven nog even bij het thema religie-identiteit-geweld, en bij verhoudingen tussen christenen en moslims. Het volgende fragment komt uit Adriaan van Dis' fascinerende documentairereeks over het moderne Indonesië; uit aflevering vier, om precies te zijn, die zich afspeelt op de Molukken.

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Naar aanleiding van dit fragment zou ik iets kunnen vertellen over mijn eigen ervaringen in Indonesië, en mijn familiegeschiedenis.Vervolgens zou ik het veelgehoorde argument dat 'religie' verantwoordelijk is voor geweld kritisch tegen het licht houden, en laten zien dat radicale vormen van religie niet essentieel verschillen van andere vormen van utopisme; ze kunnen een zelfde legitimerende werking hebben als, bijvoorbeeld, nationalisme of communisme. Ik zou dit aantonen aan de hand van een scène uit The Wind that Shakes the Barley, een fascinerende film van Ken Loach over het ontstaan van de IRA, die de toeschouwer confronteert met moeilijke morele dilemma's en simplistisch goed-kwaad denken problematiseert. Hier alvast de trailer:


Maar religie kan ook inspirerend werken. Het kan mensen motiveren zich in te zetten voor een betere maatschappij, en het kan ze tot steun zijn in moeilijke tijden. Ik zou een fragment laten zien uit een interview met Yusuf Islam, beter bekend als Cat Stevens; een inspirerende man, wiens muziek mij nog altijd weet te raken.


Vroeger of later wordt het gesprek dan minder academisch, en persoonlijker. De presentator (wie zou het zijn?) stelt me de onvermijdelijke vraag: 'Wat geloof je zelf?' Ik weet nog niet hoe ik die vraag ga beantwoorden. Maar ik denk dat ik iets laat zien van een documentaire over een andere inspirerende man, een filosoof-mysticus uit het land waar ik tegenwoordig woon, die wijze dingen heeft gezegd over de verhouding tussen mens en natuur: Arne Næss. Ik vertel over wandelen, en over mijn affiniteit met zijn ideeën.


Als we verder spreken over Noorwegen, komen we ook te spreken over het land en zijn maatschappij - en, onvermijdelijk, over de verschrikkelijke aanslagen van juli 2011. Ik laat een fragment zien uit de toespraak van de minister-president, Jens Stoltenberg, die symbool staat voor de wijze en waardige manier waarop de Noorse bevolking gereageerd heeft op de aanslagen.


Waar mijn interesse voor identiteit en ideologie, mijn politieke betrokkenheid en mijn rechtvaardigheidsgevoel vandaan komen? Van Alfred Jodocus Kwak, natuurlijk. En misschien komt daar ook wel de wens vandaan om ooit met een mooi meisje uit een ver land te trouwen, wie zal het zeggen. Ik zal in elk geval de scène tonen waarin Alfred in de trein zit die teruggaat van Afrika naar Waterland. Hij ontmoet daar zwarte eenden, die hem vertellen over apartheid. En hij ontmoet Winnie, de vrouw van zijn leven. Het is een scène die een onuitwisbare indruk op me heeft gemaakt. Ik zag hem als kind, één keer, en ik ben hem nooit vergeten.


Zuid-Afrika en grensoverschrijdende liefde: dan kan ook Stef Bos niet ontbreken. Een beetje religieus gekleurde romantiek, en een bruggetje om over mijn eigen ervaringen met een 'internationale relatie' te vertellen - over onze bruiloft, bijvoorbeeld, en hoe we daar onze eigen interpretatie van traditionele rituelen hebben gemaakt. Hybride identititeit als bron van creativiteit.


En daarmee zou de stap naar Vietnam gemaakt zijn. Ik zou vertellen over mijn tijd in Vietnam, over de grote veranderingen die dit land heeft doorgemaakt, maar ook over de problemen. En ik zou aandacht vragen voor het leed dat de mensen in dit land is aangedaan, doordat de VS er op grote schaal chemische wapens hebben gebruikt, die tot op de dag van vandaag zorgen voor ziekte, verminking en milieuverontreiniging. Dit is een fragment uit een Australische documentaire.


Maar Vietnam is meer dan alleen de oorlog. Ik zou ook iets moois van het land willen laten zien. Bijvoorbeeld een scène uit The Scent of Green Papaya, een prachtige verstilde film over een straatarm maar optimistisch meisje in Saigon dat droomt van een mooie toekomst. Hierbij de trailer:


Als laatste zou ik een fragment willen laten zien uit een recent interview met Aung San Suu Kyi. Ik heb grote bewondering voor de wijze waarop zij jarenlang, vreedzaam maar doortastend, gestreden heeft voor een vrij en democratisch Birma. De prijs die ze daarvoor betaald heeft is hoog geweest, maar ze heeft de hoop nooit opgegeven. Birma staat nu aan de vooravond van grote veranderingen, zo lijkt het. Laten we hopen dat de belofte wordt waargemaakt, en dat dit land een voorbeeld gaat zijn voor andere totalitaire staten, in de regio en daarbuiten.


En zo zouden we de avond wel vol krijgen. Als keuzefilm zou ik moeten kiezen tussen Spirited Away, The Wind that Shakes the Barley en The Scent of Green Papaya. Daar moet ik nog even over nadenken.

Ik kan niet wachten tot ik word uitgenodigd. Maar ik zal nog wel even geduld moeten hebben.

Tuesday, 24 July 2012

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

Sunday, 8 July 2012

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.

Saturday, 30 June 2012

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?

Tuesday, 26 June 2012

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.