We moved from a landlocked city to a (smaller) coastal one, partly to get easier access to the ‘great outdoors’ and I am pleased to report “so far, so good”. Our last visitors, whom we had not seen in person for a year and a half, commented that we looked “healthy and happy” – both of which conditions are attributable in no small part to this location. Physical exertion and exposure to daylight no doubt account for the impression of health radiating from me: my body, aging though it is, remains sufficiently serviceable to engage in light, non-competitive activities, such as cycling, kayaking, table tennis and walking. But mostly walking, either solo or in company.
Walking is my preferred exercise, not least because it is simple, flexible and inexpensive. All you need is a minimal degree of physical fitness and no skill is necessary; anywhere will do, no particular itinerary is required; furthermore, costly specialised kit is optional, needed only to deal with extremes of weather or topography. Once these minimal conditions are met, the pleasures of walking extend beyond the physical to the social, if in company, the contemplative, if going solo and the observational, in either case. For instance, it was a walk along the clifftops of Cardigan Bay that aroused my interest in kayaks. Looking down on a colourful cluster of them, sliding along the sparkling blue sea, was a visually arresting experience and one that fired my imagination. I envied the paddlers’ freedom to poke their prows into otherwise inaccessible caves and coves and fancied that they carried scrumptious lunches in waterproof containers, ready to picnic, smugly, in the best spot on the coast. It is true that, so far, my attempt to emulate those adventurous souls has proceeded no further than splashing around our calm little creek, but the vision remains.
During another cliff-top walk, I had a different reaction, as I watched speedboats powering through figure-of-eight manoeuvres. Their drivers were intent on providing their thrill-seeking passengers with a shriek-inducing ride, but at what real cost? My increasingly eco-conscious attitude demanded disapproval and I shook my head accordingly at the unnecessary and excessive burning of fossil fuel. At the same time, I mused on whether the drivers considered this a problem and, if so, had made future plans for alternative employment. Perhaps they could re-train as kayaking instructors. After all, even if their conscience doesn’t get them, the thrill of handling a speedboat must surely pall after a while? Otherwise, they may just carry on until the fuel runs out, I suppose.
More recently, I walked in South Devon with two companions on a route that swung inland before re-emerging at the coast. In the gently undulating rural landscape, June proclaimed its fecundity in spectacular fashion, with a lush, green-toned background of grasses, crops and foliage, against which multitudes of magnificent wildflowers did their colourful best to attract the diminished swarms of pollinators. They certainly attracted our attention. In fact, our admiring comments – typically “Oooh, look at that!” – became so frequent as to render themselves redundant and even, after a while, tedious and so were henceforth banned so as to give other topics of conversation a chance of being aired.
And, although urban walking has its own visual appeal and interest, typically to be found in structures and their embedded histories, wildflowers are now invading even that territory. Many urban authorities have recently adopted bee-friendly regimes, so that their parks, roundabouts and roadside verges, presently untamed by mowing machines, have sprouted hosts of wildflowers aspiring to compete with their country cousins for the attentions of insects and humans alike and transforming the walk to the shops from a chore to a pleasure. Walkies, anyone?
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