Slice of life

Lonely track in the Montanas Vacias, one of the least inhabited places in Europe.

The in-betweens

There is something special about leaving for a trip from your front door. There’s no “getting there”, be it by car, train, or plane. There is no fracture separating where I live and my experiences from people who I will meet a week, a month, or a year down the line. Only self-propelled travel can truly allow this. In a car or on motorcycle, a sort of bubble is created, where one can choose to go long distances without interacting with their surrounding environment, except perhaps the occasional turn of the wheel. In these vehicles, propelled by fuels drilled up or created somewhere else, you are confined to be on certain roads, and typically the “in-between” of points A and B can be reduced to a glance out of the window or a quantitative measure of time or kilometres. Travel by foot or by bicycle involves constant interaction with the surrounding environment. Foot travel is the ultimate way to experience the linkages between places, as it allows for the greatest number of paths possible, although bicycling offers many paths as well, and being quicker can offer a satisfying sense of progression without creating fractures. When travelling like this, the experience is constant, and begins in familiar “oecumenes”.

Alpuente, perhaps the most beautiful village of Spain

Oecumenes are used by A. Berque to describe spaces of human-environment interaction. Beyond Berque, viewing “place” as D. Massey does, meaning as a process constantly recreated by people, and not a static entity, is a progressive way of thinking about the world. Massey explains that “place”, being a process of constructive interaction between people and their environment, and vice-versa, can be “lived” in multiple ways by different people and their own linkages. Massey explains by this that “place” does not have one singular, true meaning. This is important for many reasons, but firstly I feel like it is an opening. A way to respect that people may inhabit the same place differently, and instead of creating a fracture, creates a bridge.

Art project on disused hydroelectric buildings along the Rio Jucar

Bringing bicycle travel into this is intriguing, as both Massey’s “sense of place” and riding around ignore the fractures that may be placed upon a map. When crossing from France into Spain (a fracture upon the map) it was easy to see how the fracture has been implemented, but also where to find the linkages. Both areas had similar environments (the Pyrenees), spoke Catalan, had similar food, and had a significant amount of travel from one country to the other. Speaking with a fellow cyclist north of Perpignan, he explained that even though he was from Perpignan and his wife was from Olot (a city in Spain), he considered them to be from the same “place”. Of course, the region known as Catalunya spans both countries, and even though a fracture has been created, the links remain.

Jorquera. The Rio Jucar had a particular feel to it.

Fractures

The case of Catalunya is interesting, as there are connections between France and Spain that Spain does not have with… Spain? This is pointing a finger at the independence movement in Catalunya. The construction of a Catalonian identity and many lived experiences are formed by the political processes between these regions, meaning that there is not singular identity and that experiences are ever shifting and never unique. Physical barriers do not necessarily create place. The Catalonia identity crossed the Pyrenees, yet the only thing which made me realise that I had left Catalunya was a lack of graffiti and a change in the language spoken.

Sierra de Cazorla, the most beautiful riding of the trip.

Sierra de Cazorla. Can you spot the deer in this photo?

The great advantage of cycling is that I can see bridges instead of fractures. There is not one place which is completely cut off from another by some invisible border, although attempts to do this are many. First, obvious borders between countries and regions can bring some changes, but they are not universal. Some customs and ways of inhabiting can change within a region, whilst staying similar across borders. In Andalusia, I went through drastically different landscapes, with different architecture and cuisine, yet these areas were all connected by religious practices and interlocking histories (among other things). Second, the use of private property is a way of creating fractures. Land use is a sensitive topic, and hugely contested everywhere on earth. In Mourex, my first stop on the trip, the top of mont Mourex is communal, upon which people work in their environment together, building bridges between themselves and with their environment. The delimitation of areas with private property has become so normalized that it can alienate people from their landscape, rupturing their “Oecumene”. So many times have I cycled through little inhabited places along dirt roads, only to have fences on my right and my left for many kilometres telling me that I could not leave the road, that that was private property. Funnily, the one time that I ignored a private property sign, was where I made a wonderful connection, a bridge.

Desierto de Gorafe, only 40 kms from the last photo.

La Calahorra, before the longest climb of the trip (so far).

Cycling out of Ronda after a few days of rain, I was (once again…) caught in mud. Looking at the map, I noticed that there was a path which would lead me quickly onto the paved road, but that it was on private property. Sick of the mud, I decided to take it anyway. At the end of the path, I was blocked by a gate which directly connected to the road. There was also a house, and I needed to ring from inside the property to ask the owner to let me through. I was seriously worried that they would be angry with me for trespassing onto their property, but was delighted to meet a very kind person who helped my out by cleaning away the huge amount of mud which had accumulated everywhere on my bicycle. We had a nice discussion, even with my broken Spanish, and then I was again along my way. A bridge had been made.

The Sierra Nevada, or Alpujarra, the day after Gorafe… fast changing landscapes

Where 15 kilometres is 1000 miles

When explaining my projected path for this trip, one of the first things most people say to me is “but you’ll need to take a plane or a boat right?”. This is alluding to the separation between Spain and Morocco, between which cycling is not possible. I’ve been intrigued as to why this 15 kilometre (!!!) stretch within a trip which may go to 20’000 kilometres was the first thing which jumped into people’s minds. Taking the ferry from Tarifa, the southern most town in mainland Spain to Tangier, I had barely enough time to wait in line and get my passport stamped before arriving in the port. In terms of distance, both places are extremely close, but they are, seemingly, conceptually far apart.

Tarifa. Morocco, only 15 kms away, looks a bit like Evian seen from Lausanne.

On first glance, the differences between Tarifa and Tangier are quite drastic. One is a quiet, surfer town, populated by people (mostly retirees and vacationers) from all over Europe. The other is a bustling city with people from around Morocco and the world, where many customs and cultures collide outside in the streets, where they meet and speak to each other in many different languages. The religious differences are also striking. The small distance between the continents represents many things to many different people. The strait of Gibraltar can, to many people from Africa, represent the hope of a new future, as well as extreme danger (it’s tragic that people still lose their lives trying to cross). To many people from Europe it can represent a place of recreation (kite-surfing) and the separation of the “first” and the “third” world. (n.b. I dislike these terms and what they represent). In my case, it represented just a small and almost insignificant moment during my trip.

This ferry ride is one of the few times on my trip where I’ll need to advance with motorized transport. For me, it represented only a small obstacle, but also an end and a beginning. The end of Europe and the beginning of Africa. However, the more I think about it, that conceptual fracture of an end and a beginning is quite loaded. Southern Spain and Morocco have been linked for ages, being parts of the same kingdoms. In terms of vegetation and landscape, northern Morocco resembles the province of Cadiz very closely. The idea of a fracture between the two places is created by people who attempt to separate and render those on the other side as “different”. Whilst there are clearly differences between Tarifa and Tangier, how much of these are the result of this artificial fracture?

My impressions of Tarifa and Tangier were that of a place of closings and openings. Tarifa felt closed, where things had to be done in certain ways, with no wiggle room. Where meetings and encounters were hard to come by. Tangier on the other hand felt like an opening. The many different people interacting makes the place feel welcoming and non-judgemental. Trying to find a hostel in the medina, a shop owner asked where I was going, and upon my answer conducted me to the door, alongside a “welcome to Morocco”. In Tangier, which language would be used was also a guessing game. Arabic would be spoken, but alongside which other language? Spanish? English? French? German? All of them? This may sound extremely naïve, and of course there are many fractures within Tangier and in Morocco, but it feels like there is always an attempt to build bridges. It may be a shop owner trying to get my attention, a friendly conversation in a restaurant with a stranger, or someone helping me out figuring out how to load up my SIM card, but the interactions and linkages with others are easy. This felt so different from Tarifa, where everyone needed to stay in their lane, and where interactions could be seen as nuisances in some cases.

I want to be clear that these are my impressions of these two places. I’m not saying that you won’t make wonderful connections in Tarifa, or that you wouldn’t have bad experiences in Tangier. I’m saying that the ease of encounters is greater in one place than in the other.

Cycling in Morocco has so far been very different from cycling in Spain. In Europe in general, there are constructed areas, agricultural areas, and natural areas. There are pretty clear delimitations. In Morocco, it feels much more like a combination of all three at once. This will make it harder to wild camp, but with encounters being easy, I haven’t had to do that so far. Whilst it is a different place, I’ve been made to feel at home. A family near Tafrant hosted me on Eid, and I spent two more rainy days with them, exchanging, sharing, learning. The time with them has been the most heart-warming of the trip so far, and I’m forever grateful to them. Very quickly, it felt as though all these people were old friends and not new acquaintances. This way of going to the other, making encounters, and accepting each other for who we are and sharing is such a positive way of creating links, which is enabled by bicycle travel.

I may have left Spain, but the climbing continues.

The hospitality in Morocco and willingness to make connections continued the next day, when I stopped at a roadside café and was invited to sit with a group of young men. We chatted a bit, and upon leaving they refused to let me pay, and wished me luck on my journey. I’m not sure that someone from the African continent would get the same reception in Europe.

Mohammed and Ziyed. The Laaroussi family made me feel at home.

Difference

I find difference incredible. Different beliefs, customs, lives, and worldviews are what make places interesting. In spite of difference, there are always linkages and bridges which connect, and encounters with acceptance of the other and their difference are what Malcolm Ferdinand would say would “faire le monde”, or “make the world”. I’m concentrating on the difference between Tarifa and Tangier quite strongly in this post, yet differences are everywhere. In Lausanne, there is a different lived experience when you cross the lake, for example. Also, when talking of linkages between people, I do not at all mean it in a paternalistic and potentially loaded/racist “look how much like us they are”, as this only highlights fractures and hierarchies, but in a equitable and respectful way.

Coming around again to the beginning of this post, bicycle travel is something that allows these world-making encounters, which allow for respect of each other. Although I am constantly moving and not tied to one specific place, I’m able to experience and take part in the places of others, learning and sharing. And sweating a bit too. A slice of life along the oecumenes of the world.