> Babelio : https://www.babelio.com/livres/Espedal-Marcher/422855

I read this book in Danish since I couldn’t get it in English from the library, also I felt that Danish was closer to the original Norwegian.

I have become enamoured of Espedal’s style of writing and am planning to read some of his other books in whatever language I can get them.

On the cover it is proclaimed that the book is a novel, but it in no way reads like that; it reads like it’s a true account of the author’s travels, his various walks, short and long.

Please note that if I quote from the book, it will be my own translation of the Danish translation and the text will thus not necessarily correspond to that in the English translation.

The author loves walking. He also loves writing and reading; he is a cultured, literary man and in the book refers to many of his favourite writers who were also ramblers: Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Soeren Kierkegaard, D,H, Lawrence, Charles Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Heidegger, William Hazlitt et alia. He also refers us to other lesser known authors who have written books about walking, so one ends with a long list of books like the present one.

The book is very personal, He tells us not only of his walking trips, both alone and with friends, but also of his sexual exploits., or some of them. He spends the night in hostels, little huts, hotels, wherever he can find a bed and outdoors.
He writes; “I’ve always loved to sleep outdoors. Find a place on a mountaintop or in a wood, or just outside the house, in the garden beneath a tree, or on the terrace when I’m visiting friends, fold the mattress out and creep into the sleeping bag to lie below the night sky.”

He walks in a suit, his “walking suit”, a blue woollen suit with silver stripes, a gypsy suit, a black shirt, light hiking boots, Italian, yellow suede boots, watertight and of the very best quality.

He tells us of all his adventures and misadventures and the entrancing people he encounters on his travels.

His friend Narve invites him to accompany him walking on the Lycian way, a well-known rambling route around the South Coast of Turkey, He accepts and we hear about how they manage.

Espedal loves to walk and he loves to drink and we hear about that too.

He tells us of the joys of walking.

“ – there’s nothing better than walking: getting from one place to another by yourself, placing one foot in front of the other and entering into a sort of amnesia which at the same time is an intensified sense of presence; we forget that we’re walking, we forget walking itself and the efforts of moving, at the same time as we see and hear more clearly, smell more distinctly, experience everything more intensely: a bird flies up, the sunlight hits the treetops, steam rises from the earth, a small bunch of white anemones lights up.”

“But in a short time our boots gnaw, our clothes are soaked with sweat and the only thing we’re thinking of is where to seek protection from the sun. A hard ascent, burning heat, too many clothes, the weight of our rucksacks, aching muscles, hammering heart and beating pulse, our legs walking, and now not by themselves, we have to press them, force them forward. We have the rule, the agreement that we never complain to each other; even one complaint … is enough to ruin the rest of the day’s march for both of us … we walk alone, each in our own silence.”

I found the book enchanting and exhilarating. Espedal shows us who he is and tells us all his thoughts and about his life. This is one of the best books I’ve read in a long while. I highly recommend that you read it too. ( )

This was one of the more enjoyable reads I have had. Tomas Espedal is a gifted writer. He seems to have taken his craft quite seriously and lives in order to write about it. A travelogue made for walking, and worth every minute it takes to read. ( )

"Everyday tasks: wearing yourself out trying to find something new, a new word, a new sentence, a new book."

Espedal is a walker, or more specifically, a traveller. Rather than allowing the destination to be the objective, each journey he makes is made meaningful by the act of arriving. Almost exclusively on foot, Espedal has travelled numerous European countries (and well beyond) just to discover new things and contemplate the old.

As he travels, he analyzes works by Rousseau, Whitman, Cezanne, Wordsworth, and other philosophers and poets who also live for the journey; he finds a common ground through time with them by either citing their references to exploration or by simply imagining their impressions. His adventures are not first-class, as he actually prefers travelling as lightweight and unburdened as possible, and his taste is not for air-conditioned insulation from the masses that so many people find essential to relax. Instead, his only necessities appear to be cash and a warm coat.

Some travel books get way too narrative: "I did this, then I did this, and later I did this..." No thanks. This is far more interesting. Especially in that he's a writer by profession, and he's able to not just explain where he goes but what he gets out of it. The reader, who may be stuck at home with only a adventurous spirit, can enjoy his work and not feel completely ignorant in the face of his numerous literary references.

Sometimes he talks about the puzzles of travel: how an enormously crowded city may feel lonely, how a perfectly beautiful and tranquil evening may prevent a good night's sleep, and even how the perfect writing desk in an inspirational space can induce writer's block. In other places, he expands on the idea of novelty, how it's not so much where a person ventures to that brings refreshment but simply the act of doing something different: taking an unusual route, sleeping in a different bed, or eating different foods. Routine is the enemy of restoration, and he makes a strong case for wanting to be on the move as much as possible.

Espedal calls the place he lives between journeys a 'waiting room'; a place to wait for the metamorphosis of change. Rousseau talks about the common sensation that most people have, to get away from 'it' all, but who are unable to define what 'it' is. Again, the novelty of the new and unexpected is Espedal's answer to what is needed. Coincidentally, as I read this, Thomas the Tank Engine was on, and Gordon the big engine came to the same conclusion: "a change is as good as a rest." Who knew kid's shows could be so philosophical?

In any case, I completely lost myself in the travel and the ideas and was completely envious of it all. And yet, upon reflection, part of the freshness of what he suggests isn't as accessible as he makes it out to be. Sure, it'd be swell to explore without itinerary or restrictions, yet who actually can do that for more than a few weeks here and there? To travel off the beaten path also means being inaccessible to those who may need you; most people have some sort of commitments to fulfill.

Don't get me wrong, I don't deny the beauty of the journey. In fact, he's the only writer who has put into words the joy I feel at two small hotels that I escape to on occasion, alone, just to hear myself think. And I definitely sense the Nordic feel of his work that reminds me, somehow, of the character of Arvid Jansen in two of Per Petterson's novels. There's definitely a cultural component to the desire for solitude because I've known many people who are completely helpless alone, while others thrive in isolation. ( )