I first published this post on 28th February 2007, soon after starting a seven-month stint working full-time in a computer company I called “MaxiRam”, in “Babylon Town”. It wouldn’t matter to give real names now, but the pseudonyms were a piece with the nicknames I gave to the people I worked with there: Al Pacino, Ludwig van Beethoven, Kevin, EvilC, Colin Heffer, whose real names I’ve long forgotten, with one exception. I signed my posts with a made-up name too, I thought it was Yves Rochereau, taken from an album of African music, but it was the singer Tabu Ley Rochereau, commemorated in the URL of this WordPress site. I realized it was time to change from Yves to Vincent when I realized that Paul Maurice Martin ‡ thought I was a girl §.
Changing the blog title to A Wayfarer’s Notes marked a new awareness of the power of aimless walking in my life: a benign escape from mundane to transcendental. I submitted to this miracle every lunchtime break from work; used it as a standard of wholeness and sanity to evaluate office interactions, and find them wanting. The open air reminded me I was free. Walking was the symbol of freedom. I could go everywhere unhindered. There were footpaths and stiles.There was even some recreation land for the amenity of Hewlett-Packard employees at Amen Corner on either side of Beehive Lane, reached from MaxiRam across Peacock Farm and over a little footbridge decorated with delightful graffiti. If you carried on you were in Nike territory. I’ve only just realized that the skating rink, ski slopes, hotel and other buildings concentrated in this outlying part of Babylon Town were developed by an Englishman, John Nike, who had nothing to do with the Nike brand of footwear.
With my head in the clouds, intoxicated by such magical places within easy walking distance, I treated my office job as a purely technical task; at which I was slow and in various ways out of date. I guess I was seen as socially disdainful, but that wasn’t exactly true. I disdained the politics and the pulling of rank. I was ready for I-Thou encounters regardless of status, but those who’d play that game were very few. There is more to add by way of introduction to this Babylon Town phase of my life. But for now here’s that post as promised
The idea came to me whilst walking, as all my ideas seem to do. Actually they don’t start as ideas at all. They are impulses or feelings. The conversion into words is a mysterious process, and none more than yesterday.
My daily sojourn in Babylon Town, code name for where I work, is beginning to feel less like exile, and more like just another part of the planet where I feel at home. This is a far cry from how I felt about it on first arriving, as this blog faithfully records, for a blog has this virtue, that whether fact or fiction, it has chronological integrity; I mean it says what was felt at the time.
My midday walks have lately been little more than a necessity for health and sanity, a break from the incessant demands of MaxiRam, my temporary employer. But yesterday something changed that prompted this blog, formerly As in Life . . . to change its name.*
Walking has defined my life from an early age. My mother used to tell a story of how she left me at two years old in a playpen in front of the bungalow in Bassendean where we had our lodgings at the time. When she returned from her errands, I was gone, and mysteriously so was the playpen, designed to fence me in and keep me safe. I was seen by passers-by using it as a walking-frame, determinedly pushing it before me as I aimed straight for the Swan River, which in that Perth suburb was meandering and reedy.
In its every square yard, Babylon Town bears evidence of the planner’s zeal, for its shape was determined on the drawing board, rather than evolving chaotically like most other towns in England. The planners clearly envisaged that the motor-car would be the residents’ main means of transport and the lorry, symbol of industry, the most respected. Overlaid on a structure of fast roads are more recent politically correct cycle-paths weaving through underpasses and across hinterlands of grass.
But where do the people walk? Yesterday in the drizzle I stepped carefully on rain-sodden narrow grass verges, recently disturbed by molehills, and wandered at random till I discovered an underbelly of Babylon Town: a deserted park and lakes and managed wild-life habitats and crumbling steps and piazzas and walls of graffiti—much-needed decoration in some desolate corners. I was glad to see the evidence of humanity, however scruffy, overlaying the tidy intellect of town planners, however well-meaning.
The beauty of walking is that you can get almost everywhere. Most of the “Keep Out” signs apply to motorists. What greater joy than to roam the earth on foot?
I immediately think of those denied this freedom, including my own self for more than ten years, till recently: those in jail, or so immobile they need to be turned to prevent bedsores; or those shut away in a house because their parents are ashamed of their deformities and handicaps.† To be sad on their behalf won’t help them. I’ll walk joyfully and be mindful of all my brothers and sisters especially Paul.‡
Postscript 30th January, 2018:
* changed its name to A Wayfarer’s Notes
† as I saw in Sabah, Malaysia, sometime in the Nineties, visiting some relatives of my then wife.
‡ Author of Original Faith, who had been confined to his room with a mysterious illness from the age of 23. Before that, he’d been a lover of wandering & jogging out of doors, and recalled these experiences in his book. His illness got worse. Around 2011 he reported that his blog with all its comments had been accidentally overwritten, though parts of it can still be traced on the Internet Archive. Today I trawl the Net to discover a report of his death.
When I started this blog in 2006, he was the first reader to comment. He also appended a comment to this post.
§ This is what he wrote in a comment on 26th March 2007:
Well, all I can say is I’m glad I didn’t fall in love, LOL! “Yves” is not a common name here in the States. I guess it brought to mind Yvonne if that’s how you spell it—and Eve, which are both female names, not too common either.
I had one other experience like this but it was set to rights faster. I had a physical therapy appointment with a therapist named “Jan” who turned out to be about six foot three & probably around 230 pounds. Pronounced “Yahn” in the Netherlands and the equivalent of John…
a wayfarer’s notes 
It's odd that “pedestrian” has two meanings: “travelling on foot” and “dull, plodding”.
“Equestrian” was the noble way to roam when the latter meaning was coined. Only peasants went about on foot. Then let me be a peasant!
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when i was in college…i used to walk 45 minutes to reach there after getting down at howrah station. that particular road is so choc-a-bloc that busses use to reach my college after 50 minutes. i used to reach before the busses.
but the most wonderful thing i discovered was that walking is sacred. you can relish the Almighty's creation only by walking.
and they say in india, you slow down, you miss something. you hurry…you miss all. fortunately i didn't miss much. thanks for the post Vincent. loved it.
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I spent 3 months working in Houston, Texas.
The whole area is designed to be traversed by motor vehicle and time is spent inside where air conditioning can make the climate tolerable.
I live in Marin County, California where outdoor activities, walking, biking and jogging are the norm.
So I walked during my time in Houston. The only others I met while walking were people who clearly had no choice but to walk.
The roads had no walkways for pedestrains, in some cases you put yourself in danger by having to walk too close to swiftly moving cars and trucks.
There were often obstacles to overcome to get from one place to another. However, other walkers before me left clear markings as to the safe means of getting through.
I received many odd glances from caucasion drivers who saw me as an anomoly. People of color were the norm with walkers.
However, I never felt threatened in any way by the people I met walling. They greeted me with smiles and an occasional “Hello” or “Hola”.
I fondly recall the times I had there and what I saw, that I likley would not have seen had I not walked.
We should encourage our communities to retain pedestrian walkways and use them ourselves. There is no better way to “see” and appreciate your surroundings, nevermind the health benefits.
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Hullo Vincent, yes walking … that was my love too. As a student, on Sunday evenings when I had nothing to do, I would set out from home and keep walking in some direction until I began to tire, and then turn back. Even 10 years ago, I would go for long walks with my sons (aged 5 and 2). I recall we used to go to a park 1.5 kms away, and look at the Hale-Bopp comet. Once I had gone with my son to Dehradun (in the Himalayan foothills), and one day he was very dejected and sad. We went out for a walk in the woods and coming upon a tiny gurgling stream, I asked him to take off his shoes and dip his feet in the water. Sure enough, his dejection vanished and his face lit up with the delight of the feel of the pebbles and the cold water. Unfortunately, Calcutta does not offer spontaneous walks anyomore, with hardly any pavement space left, and dug up and then scrappily filled in patches all over, making walking most uncomfortable. In Bangalore and Chennai, pavements have been erased altogether to widen roads. But when I'm out of India, I am once again able to simply walk and enjoy and take in the world around me.All walk, such playMakes Jack a fine boy!Bestrama
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Oh how I love to walk. I find myself transported in my mind to either utter emptiness, or to places I conjure up in my dreams, or just appreciating the beauty of everything around me, taking it all in, the full and total experience of it all. Walking as a physical activity feels so natural, so soothing, never forced or difficult, but rather as if the body is fluid and dynamic and full of life and energy. I even at times find myself walking when I have pain for the meditation it affords me offsets the physical experience, and even ultimately sometimes brings relief. Walking in meditation, in contemplation, in joy, in sorrow, in gratitude, in escape, and just for whatever the moment brings…
I love the new blog title (and I loved the old one too)
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Thanks all, & Serenity, I've changed the blog title again!
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I did something similar, when I could still walk – and jog. There was a boy on my counseling roster dying of cystic fibrosis, ten years old. Slowly suffocating.
I used to think of him a lot while I was jogging, soaking up the wind and air and elements. Like I was doing it “for” him or in his honor.
It wasn't anything I did deliberately, it just sort of started itself – he'd come to mind and there was that incredible contrast with what I was then able to do and experience and I'd think of him and wish I could feel for him and send him the feelings.
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Yes Paul, precisely. And I was thinking of you too when I wrote it – and walked.
For the truth is, we are all One. And when the discussion is about Love, giving it or receiving it, I forget sometimes that Oneness is the reason for love. But I forget Oneness less often, indeed I find the Brotherhood of Man (another way to describe Oneness) more inspiring than the Fatherhood of God.
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Beautiful sentiments as always Vincent. There is nothing I enjoy more than a long leisurely walk. It is when I feel most alive and connected to the universe. Thanks to you, being mindful of those that can’t experience the joy of walking is something I will practice and will undoubtedly make my experiences richer. Thanks!
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I have the impression that rural walking is easier and more unchecked in the UK, is this true? Here walking rurally is very difficult because every field belongs to someone who does not permit trespass; you must walk in the road and endure clouds of dust when cars speed by.
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In the United Kingdom, there is a network of public footpaths across the countryside and even through towns. They are marked on maps, marked on the ground with signposts and little arrows, equipped with stiles or gates and protected by law. No landowner is permitted to obstruct a public footpath; but they are for the benefit of landowners too because they help prevent walkers wandering in other places where they are less authorised.
The county councils maintain these footpaths and bridleways (paths where horse-riding is also permitted). But there are other organisations such as the National Trust which also maintain these ways, some of which are prehistoric, such as the Ridgeway Path which is not far from us, and takes you to the Vale of the Uffington White Horse and Wayland's Smithy.
In towns, the public footpaths are often much more direct than the road system because they cut through dead-end roads and go behind back-gardens and so on.
Farmers round here worry about trespass only when it's the pheasant-breeding season. I have a feeling you cannot own pheasants as they are technically wild, so they make great efforts to feed them in winter, protect the young ones from the predatory red kites, all so that they can multiply and be shot by sportsmen.
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