New Stuff

From time to time I’d like to review books that catch my attention even though they may be tangential at best to the notion of exploration. This is not the case, though, with Duncan Fallowell’s excellent Going as Far as I can which was published in February this year. It is ostensibly a book about New Zealand and a visit Fallowell made there with the fragile hook of finding out about a tour made in 1948 by Lawrence Olivier and Vivien Leigh. These gimmicks are we not tired of them? Chatwin and his Uncle Charlie’s piece of dinosaur skin from Patagonia. That book about Irish fridges and playing tennis with the Moldavian football team. And others, many others. But in this case it works well because it is genuine and guileless. Olivier is a fascinating figure. And it is a strange thought to be in New Zealand of all places touring with a theatre group. It interests and intrigues us.

But the book is really about the minute observation of New Zealand, trying to catch it, trying to convey what it is like and what it’s essence is like. It is a daring book- we can all visit New Zealand for the price of a medium quality fridge- it’s easy, like all air travel. But the author erects and ineffable barrier to entry- his eye, his astute feeling for place. It helps that he isn’t a middleclass or even upper or lower class tosser. He is a beach bum with a classical education, the very best sort of traveler.

Exploration is about discovery. The old distinction between some kind of objective accumulation of fact, the province of the old European explorers (now parodied by the bearded worthies of the British Antarctic survey and other instruments of scientific simulation) and the private discovery of self and a new place and self in a new place is now dissolved. I’m not sure why or how this happened but now we are as interested in Ranulph Fiennes toes and how frostbitten they get as we are in any rock samples he may bring back from the south pole. Perhaps we already have too many rock samples.

The author’s book proceeds as a rather exciting exploration of New Zealand which is new to me and new, also, at the time of the journey to Duncan Fallowell. You feel him pushing out further and further each day- living in the now of new experience which is the addictive edge of travel, easily blunted in exploration, as traditionally conceived, by the unpleasantness of the conditions. Then the exploration begins to falter as social arrangements begin to impose themselves. This is part of the author’s policy of complete and transparent honesty which in the main, the 95% main, serves him very well. But I rather wonder that his accidental persona- gay, single, adventurous- which perfectly suits the best traveler persona (lots of chances for strange and interesting and undomestic encounters) becomes tarnished by the revelation that Duncan, like everyone, would prefer a nice Christmas lunch with friendly friends to the opportunity to meditate alone on a rock with a couple of penguins.

Happy times in domestic surroundings- the warm fug of mince pies baking and chardonnay being uncorked (or some more exquisite wine- the author is clearly an expert)- makes for a kind of literary Wilton carpet experience rather than the ancient oriental weave one was expecting. One flips it over and sees a made in England label and the evidence of machine stitching is all too apparent.

You see the author is planning to stay with people (Bernard and Daisy) who he rather likes and who have a rather nice house- but from a narrative point of view we might prefer people he hates, or loves and who live in a bus shelter or a castle on an island. In the end he doesn’t stay with them but their very existence, the fact that they connect with the author beneath the established weft of his tale is, for me, a minor minus. Maybe I just didn’t like the sound of them. In any case this diversion does not impair the book; it is merely an interesting development and a sign, perhaps, of the limiting effect of a philosophy of writing that pushes honesty (ie. self revelation) ahead of narrative qualities. As Duncan’s pal Matt says, “Australia made sense because I was there for work. But this place doesn’t make sense. Why am I here?”
“Because I’m here and Bernard and Daisy are here.”
“Is that it?”

Fallowell’s prose is as always: supple and sly and very very funny at times; he is probably the master at bringing highbrow down to earth with a choice bit of vernacular and no clunks. He makes Martin Amis look somehow old fashioned, trying too hard. You can enjoy this tome for the sentences alone.

Because the author is gay and single and on the prowl the book has a decent amount of sex in it- a lamentable lacuna in most travel books- even Miller’s Collosus of Maroussi has no sex in it, though maybe Miller is a special case and it’s a good thing. Travel books, whatever they pretend, always stand in some kind of relation to fictional tales. This book is a distant relative of all the quest stories ever written and so the author must find something and preferably someone. He does, in a deft way, and then loses them, it is satisfactorily done but it is not the whole point, it’s just a way of tying up the loose ends. The reality of this book is an honest and hugely successful attempt to make you feel you have experienced what the author has experienced, been where he has been. One trusts his eye, his judgement. A wonderful achievement.

Going as Far as I Can
by Duncan Fallowell
Profile Books
£12.99

Well the no-caffeine lark lasted about two weeks and I have to report that it actually helped long and sustained bouts of low level exercise- there were no highs but no dips either. For hiking in the heat I think no caffeine, or low caffeine is a good idea.

On the forefoot running front I took myself to Alexandria and pounded the beach at Agamy for several days. I think the conversion is complete. The feeling of freedom when running on your toes compared to the woeful plodding on your heels has made me convinced never to return to the old ways- though I did strain a calf muscle when not fully warmed up. The wise suggest toes beget Achilles injuries and heels cause knee and back pain. As long as you stretch enough and don’t go off cold at 6am I think toes are still safer.

Biking- regular forays up the myriad wadis that surround wadi digla have improved my skills and fitness for going up hills in the heat. Now it is getting into the mid 30s degrees C everyday by 11am so fitness training is as much about heat training as anything else.

This is the last instalment of my fitness program- now I aim to sustain this level until the expedition in December.

r.twigger

The fitness program has taken another whacky turn left or east or something. I have given up caffeine. Now as most fitness freaks know caffeine is one of the oldest and truest of performance enhancers. I have been using and abusing this drug for this purpose- ie. getting revved up and doing more – for fifteen years more or less. Time to stop. On the principle of altitude training I figured if I could run far and fast without a ton of coffee sloshing around inside me then I could do even better with- but then why would I? All drugs are a pain in the ass really- you end up paying yourself in their currency rather than doing what you really want to do. But quitting caffeine entails far more withdrawl symptoms than either alcohol or nicotine. Nicotine – though devilishly manipulative of the brain left very few withdrawl symptoms for me (still took 20 years to kick). Caffeineless I feel like a zombie half the time- and now it’s day 3 1/2. How long will it take.

I fell asleep in a coffeeshop after imbibing a cocoa and cheese sandwich- I can see big gains on the weight front approaching. Mainly I drink lemon and honey drinks and cocoa- which may have a drip of caffeine in it but its undetectable if it does. I alternate between feeling terrible and feeling proud of myself. Also my memory is creeping back- very weird this- despite my head feeling slow I find I can recall lots of things much better, as if the caffeine was jamming my recall system up somehow. And it is well known that nicotine aids memory and mine definitely got worse after I gave up smoking (but worth it anyday) but now its returning which is a nice bonus.

Day seven and I’m feeling pretty normal now- more relaxed, slower, not feeling like exercise. But hold on- isn’t this supposed to be a fitness program?

Why do it? I wanted to clear my system right out. I wanted to be free of ‘needing’ my caffeine hit before I did anything. I wanted to be free-er. In fact I see a pattern emerging in this fitness lark- it is a stumbling towards freedom.

I went to the beach at Ain Sukhna, the nearest Red Sea coast to Cairo to have fun and to do some barefoot beach running. Which was brilliant. Look at those people hobbling along the soft sand on their heels like they only just learnt to walk, you used to be like that, but no more…at least you hope so…instead feel good and run on your toes, small strides for soft sand longer freer ones for the hard sand near the water’s edge. At long last I have discovered what runner’s go on about ad nauseum- the feeling of utter freedom and flying as you run. Only happened to me before when running after two deer I once surprised in the woods and now doing the barefoot/forefoot experiment.

The beach at the odious Stella di Mare resort complex is great- long- about 1k from end to furthest end- with clean unstoney sand. The best fun is to be had before 11.30am as the beach is nearly empty- but even on packed Easter Day, one of the busiest of the year, I was doing there-and-back runs every hour or so- must have clocked a good 10km and the strange alchemy of sun, sand, sea and fresh air reversed the normal energy flow, I’ve found this in the mountains too, where, despite the physical exertion you are actually getting charged up by your surroundings. Hottest lunchtime temp: 38 degrees C- but I was swimming and mucking around with the kids in the water so it didn’t really feel that hot- all the runs I did with my tee shirt still wet from swimming- still got sunburnt though despite this precaution.

Oh- why is the resort odious? Too big, too used to dumb tourists, too stupid-rule bound, terrible service- the usual. But the early morning beach is brilliant.

The downside of forefoot running is tight achilles tendons. In the early morning it can be a bit of a killer. I don’t want swollen, tendonitus affected, achilles heels so I am dutifully stretching them out five times each for ten seconds each leaning lower and lower against a wall with the floot flat and toes pointing towards the wall, body and straight leg making the hypotenuese against the floor and wall. Doing this stretching at regular moments all through the day as I fear that twenty years of heel running has left my tendons pretty darn tight.

Knees feel great…so far…forefoot running is so kind to them.

Fitness wise- I can’t think of a better way to train than long beach runs in bare feet- you feel you can keep going forever!

A Startling New development in the potentially tedious field of fitness aquisition…

A strange series of coincidences has lead me into the arcane world of barefoot running.
1. I meet a runner who swears by running flats and not super padded shoes.
2. I see two runners- one running on his heels like most joggers including me and one runnning on air ie. his toes/forefeet.
3. I start running barefoot around my large sitting room and dining room- impossible to run barefoot on your heels.
4. I scour the internet and find a brotherhood of barefoot runners and runners who swear by running properly ie. not on your heels in big Nike trainers.

The problem is: I have thirty++ years of wearing shoes to overcome. If you start running on your toes/frontfoot the strain is high at first. Instead of your knees taking a beating your calves and achilles tendon tighten- because they are the new shock absorbers. But it feels so much better- more natural, more fun, more free feeling. The thinner the soles the better- I am currently running in moccasins. Things suddenly make sense- like why I always found it easier running up hill- because you automatically go onto your toes going uphill.I realise too that unless I’m pursuing the offbeat side of any kind of subject I lose interest fast.

The other key thing is making lots of fast small strides rather than loping great big ones. I think its easier to get your work rate up by increasing stride length than by increasing stride speed, so have a fast default stride at the outset.

robert twigger

Confluence point N25 E28