Walking round the World.The Highway of the Dead

It was walking out of Rome that we picked up a roman road of crucial military importance and dedicated to various cults of the dead. No doubt many a legion stepped out down these pathways and many a weary and beaten prisoner struggled the other way.

This ancient highway , the Appian Way or the Highway of the Dead, proved to be a metaphor for our journey south.  What journeyman throughout time has not had first to walk through some dark tunnel, almost as a prerequisite for what was to come. Often in those darkest moments resolve is shaped that then carries us to distant shores. So it was that those tentative steps out of Rome turned in time, to be the very substance that shaped the wonderful miles that were to follow as we made our way out of one continent into another. The euphoria of the walk to Rome was wonderful, but it is in the dark place of the soul that strength is later found to keep putting one foot in front of another.

Any sportsman or adventurer will tell you that it is in the mind that everything is won or lost. We were no conquerors of mountains or the wild wilderness, but we were still putting much at risk to continue this journey.

To arrive in Brindisi however was very special. We had now walked the length of three nations, England, France and Italy. Looking across the sea we wondered who in generations gone by had also looked to cast their bread upon these waters in the hope of fortune or fame. For us neither were on offer sadly; rather the knowledge that we were on a journey that was shaping our lives and the boundaries and barriers to so much of what we held precious. Greece was next; all 1600 km of her!

Walking round the World-Genoa

Next week we are following a short series featuring Heroes and Villains, given it is the week of Nelson Mandela’s 90th birthday. We will then continue to feature some short stories; extraordinary stories from ordinary people. So if you have a true tale to tell that is about people then email it through to me on stephenlowton@googlemail.com Again, around 400 words is what you should be aiming for. Today we continue our Walking the World Series. I hope it is stirring you as to what is possible when you walk out of your own front door.

Genoa

Genoa, balanced precariously beneath the Alps as they plunge headlong into the turquoise blue of the Mediterranean Sea. Here all the creativity of man lends itself to the awesome forces of nature as tiny villages and towns cling to the rugged coastline.

Genoa, the place that taught the world to trade and whose merchants at one time could be found in China, Syria , Africa and the new world. The place also of secret societies and a leader in the slave trade. Bizarrely for us Brits, the place where the flag of St George can be found flying from the tops of many city buildings. Nationhood and mythology is a complex matter. I know the legend, but who on earth are you St George?

Here the normally tranquil Mediterranean sea stirred angrily, almost as if there was unease in the city at the presence of strangers. We rested in a small cottage down by the harbour, enjoying the companionship of team life, whilst the windows rattled with the storms and we massaged tired limbs into the final third of our journey before 2006 was to conclude. Rome was in sight and we were walking into the wonder of Italy and soon, the magical winter colours of Tuscany.

Whilst walking across Europe and beyond we will have walked through some of the major trading hubs in the western world, not least of which the square mile back in London. There was a time when trade meant the exchange of craftsmanship, be it pots turned on the wheel of the potter or wood shaped by the skill of the carpenter. Now huge sums of money could be made without anyone lifting a finger save for the pressing of tabs on a computer. Questions rose within us as history rises to expose the damage unfair trading has done across the world in generations gone by. Even now as the USA reels from another shaking of the financial institutions we in the west are by no means exempt from the examination. The buffeted shores of Genoa, taking the full impact of the storm that had broken, seemd with hindsight, a warning of what was to come to some of the bastions of western trade.

Our souls however had been enriched from the sights and sounds of a thousand places visited. To walk through yet another city that has touched the world through generations long gone was truly wonderful. What an amazing continent Europe is.

Walking round the World-Monaco

The playground of the rich and the hosts of one of the most spectacular Grand Prix on the circuit; that is Monaco. A tax haven for those who need it least and a country of its own, squeezed as it is between France and Italy. Indeed, within an hour or two we were to put our feet down in three different countries; how strange is that!

I suspect I am biased; jealous I think not, but prejudiced, without a doubt. We were however, distinctly unimpressed with this concrete hamlet of a place. Somehow it felt as if we had walked through many a town or village unknown to but a few, but with far greater beauty than here.  Extreme wealth is so ugly; there would seem to so so few people who can handle the vast sums of money now owned by individuals, and yet retain something of the simplicity of the beauty of life.

For me, I was just glad that as I walked I had friends alongside me and the knowledge of a bed to sleep in at the end of the day. Talk of credit crunches and world banking systems gripped by fear were far from our thoughts as we revelled in the abandon of the journey we were on. This was a great adventure and none of us had any thought of wanting to exchange the freedom we were finding, out on the open roads of Southern Europe.Yes there were and are very real pressures upon many who had linked up with us. None of us are immune to the groans of the world systems. However, thoughts of such challenges could wait for another day. Right now we enjoyed the simplicity of just walking our way through one of the richest real estate areas of the world.

One of the greatest aspects to our journey was anyone could hook up with us. Some did just a few miles each day, others walked from dawn to dusk. It did not matter for the walking was a metaphor for much deeper journeys of the soul. There is indeed a rhythm and synergy that comes between the inner and outer journey. Often the physicality of walking provided the interface. To work hard on the road, and then relax at the end of the day over a beer, enjoying the laughter and intimacy of shared experiences is food for the care worn heart and sustenance to the soul.

The mystery and wonder of Genoa was the next treasure for us to enjoy.