Eudaimonia.
I’m on my knees in a field somewhere deep in the Pyrenees. It’s a late Sunday afternoon in July 2018, blue sky and hot – about 33C. Not much is open in France on a Sunday. Even if it were where I find myself after nine hours of riding on twisting mountain roads, there is nothing. I’m out of food and getting perilously close to running out of water.
I’ve been climbing this pass to Cole de la Core for some time — part of heading east for three days. The afternoon sun is beating down on my neck. The relentless click-sticky-click of the skinny Vittoria Rubino Pro tyres as they momentarily stick to the hot tarmac. This is my idea of fun, baking hot and riding to exhaustion. I’m in an uncomfortable heaven. I can stop anywhere. I have a tent, but I need to press on for another 3 hours to stand a chance of making my train back to Paris in three days. I’ve not planned this week-long route in detail other than climbing the Col de Tourmalet and never taking the easy route option.
I need food and water. The change in priorities alters the way I see the world. An apple tree ripe for harvest. A mountain spring on the roadside is a resource. A small field of potatoes across a deep ditch presents the carbs I need for dinner. I jump over the ditch and crawl up the bank on my knees. Completely distracted by my foraging instincts, I miss the triple line of low-lying electric fence. This farmer’s been raided before, and he’s caught me red-handed as I lay tied up in his electric wires, draining his battery into my tired body, spuds and mud in my hands.
I’m on top of Langdale Pikes, sitting on a rock, admiring the view when the fog comes down. It’s August 2015, and rather than sit tight with the others who have made it up here, I decide I’m off. I leap to my feet and run off into the fog. I have spent the day running around the Lake District: paper map, no phone, no warm clothes, no food or water. After a few minutes, I’m lost deep in the mountain mist. I keep moving to keep warm, but every direction looks the same. I’m fit enough to keep running for a few hours, but it’s lonely up here, and I get the sense I’m running around in circles. It feels dangerous, but it’s calming. There is no point in wasting energy on worse-case outcomes. Then I remember my Sunnto Ambit 2. This now antiquated watch has a track-back feature. I switch it on and, with 4% battery life, try to keep a small black triangle on a thin black line on a small screen. It’s a simple interface that has been well-designed. It leads me to places I cannot see but remember. After half an hour, the triangle and the line converge on a 10-foot-wide ravine that takes me down to Stickle Tarn. I can make out the dark water to my right as I descend. I know where I am, out of danger. Ambit 2 dies.
I’m on the 2230 out of Waterloo. Two people are sitting behind me, talking about their antidepressants, phones: apps and battery life, and all the restaurants and flower shops they’d been to in the last few weeks. Then, on to what they’d bought and what they would buy next time. All whilst munching on Burger King. Fortunately, they get off at Guildford. Leaving me with my BK and to reflect on the fragility of being a consumer. I’m worried. I’m a metropolitan softy, too, surrounded by stuff and thoughts of more stuff. I turn on my wifi heater to be warm when I get home. Earlier in the day, I met my uncle in Camden Passage for a trip down memory lane. He’d told me about my grandfather and how, with the Japanese descending on Rangoon (Yangon), he’d walked to Shimla in India — over 2000 miles.
It’s one morning this month, and I am in a deep and meditative state. My mind is not free of thought. I’m building a wooden house and content. Flourishing with sore hands, my nail gun and the promise of eggs and ratatouille for lunch. I remember a recent article on Eudaimonia, a Greek term that is hard to define in a single word, but the best definition is ‘pursuit of virtue, excellence, and the best within us.’
This morning, I read an article about rare fungi on the Isle of Man. At the bottom of the article was a photo of an abandoned stone farmhouse. I stared at the picture. It filled my heart with joy.
What does all this mean? It does say Thoughts for the Weekend on the tin. There is no promise of coherence. But it makes me think about building and making. Walking, loving oneself, and sharing.
Finally, a reminder to send us your Christmas tree photos and win a bottle of wine – email lisa@carlarchitect.co.uk.
This week’s web links include a Eudaimonia, chicken curry, fig rolls and restoring a stone house.
Feel free to let me know if you have any comments or suggestions. You will always find me at carl@carlarchitect.co.uk.
This Week’s Links:
Jay Kannaiyan on Eudaimonia.
Four rare fungi and a stone farmhouse.
And Jay Kannaiyan’s Chicken Curry recipe that I am making tonight.
And his route from Myanmar to India.
Funny, I was only looking at Fig Rolls in Tesco this week, thinking they’d be tasty if I could make them. Then I found this recipe without looking.
An interior designer’s peaceful Christmas retreat on the Stockholm archipelago.
An article on timber-framed houses.
This is a nice mostly peaceful video about restoring a stone farmhouse in Portugal.
£185 for one cocktail glass. Would you ever use it?
A life-saving watch you cannot buy anymore.
