I was introduced to the art of flânerie by John Baxter’s book The Most Beautiful Walk in the World: A pedestrian in Paris.
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Baxter, an Australian-born writer, journalist and film-maker, has lived in Paris since 1989.
There, by accident, he became a guide taking walking parties on literary tours through the streets of a city that he had come to love. The book describes his experiences in that role.
I enjoyed it in part because I have been to Paris several times and so knew many of the places and some of the stories he wrote about. It’s a well-written, easy-to-read book. I was also interested in a professional sense since I see part of my role as a storyteller.
Baxter used the concept of the flâneur - literally the stroller, lounger, saunterer - to introduce his view of the pedestrian in Paris. The term itself derives from the Old Norse verb flana “to wander with no purpose”.
The term itself derives from the Old Norse verb flana “to wander with no purpose”.
However, it was in 19th century Paris that the flâneur became a cultural icon, someone who wanders the streets as an observer and philosopher, an urban explorer, a connoisseur of the street.
I was immediately attracted to the idea of flânerie. It provided a perfect justification for my habit of just wandering, following my nose to see what I could find. It justified a sometimes insatiable curiosity that could verge on sticky-beaking. I was now engaged in a respected cultural practice! Most of all, I liked the idea of combining history with current observation.
We are surrounded by history if only we could see it.
The drive between Armidale and Sydney via Thunderbolt’s Way is a fascinating history lesson in its own right, embedded as it is in 30,000 years of human history. The streets of our towns and villages, the country side itself, are full of hidden stories.
To discover those stories you need to stop, to stroll, to observe and then to investigate. In fact, you need to become a flâneur!
In recent columns, we have been talking about aspects of domestic life, most recently Australian’s love of meat.
In the days before refrigeration, meat had to be killed locally to ensure that it did not spoil. Well, perhaps not spoil to much, for by the end of a hot day the meat could already be spoiling, beginning to turn black.
Animals might be killed just outside the town or on the butcher’s premises. The demand for meat meant that there were multiple butcher’s shops often co-located with a small general store, each one strongly favoured by particular customers.
Most have gone, victims of changing tastes and the rise of the supermarket. Still, if you walk your town you may be surprised how many of the buildings themselves survive.
Jim Belshaw’s email is ndarala@optusnet.com.au. He blogs at http://newenglandaustralia.blogspot.com.au/ (New England life) and http://newenglandhistory.blogspot.com.au/ (New England history)