Walk with me

(Warning: reading this post may lead to exercise)

About once a week someone turns up at the office needing a bill paid straight away, or the drillers need to borrow cash for parts until the money get transferred from Romania. It means I end up forking out (mostly because I have company $$$ and hate any of my guys forking out their own) and usually means I have to take a walk down to the ATM or Multibanco or hole in the wall or whatever you wish to call it. Its also the same walk I do if I have to post my water meter reading, or post postcards to you all.

I walk down our street past the dogs which bark whenever anything moves near them and the orange trees we steal from whenever in season. I turn on to the main road and walk past the service station which isnt in service these days, past the primary school with the kids playing football, sitting on the wall looking at these strange adults and yelling at each other, climbing trees. I walk past the old men sat around the cafe and around the old fountain, each with a walking stick, most with flat caps, and the sheepskin jacket (black wool on the outside) traditional to the region, all talking about everything and anything. Sometimes one of the guys we use for earthmoving or the electrician or the carpenter will drive past and wave.

The road becomes cobbled after the fountain so if its morning I walk past the street sweepers, a gang of old ladies in straw hats sweeping the street with a broom. It also narrows a lot which increases the chance of being mown down by an insane Portuguese motorist. Crossing is fraught with danger - we've watched amazed a cat stop, look left, look right, look both ways again and then walk across the pedestrian crossing. Since its happened twice it cant be just a coincidence.

The walk is one of the only "Bill" moments in the day. Its different to the same walk that we do as a group to go to lunch every day, even though its the same walk. At the moment Im alone just before work but I can hear the cars pulling in. Then the conversation and arguing starts, the radio noise, the planning of the day/week/lunch, and a semi-regular trail of people through my door with questions, ideas, receipts, invoices, drilling reports, or just stuff to come and have a look at. Therefore as a break the walk is precious. I have started it in every emotion from tired to angry to frustrated to purposeful to happy to thoughtful. As I walk my mind, my thoughts expand and are released, my mood dissipates.

Some days those thoughts mean I dont see whats around me and could be walking anywhere. Some days I am like a child looking around for every new and different thing. Usually Im just enjoying the sense of being here, of the fresh air and the olive trees on the hill, the town and the people that have become so familiar.

There is this strange stocktake in my mind at the moment of other places I've walked - the walk to school through Hamer Park, along City/Floreat Beach, walking from the mine to camp at Big Bell looking down on the pit, the walks after work through the Pilbara, around the airstrip at Rhodes, the walk along the Swan near Applecross. And not just Perth - the walk up a mountain at Jasper, the drunken stagger through Vancouver, the walk through Highams Park re-tracing steps I trod as a child, through Kreuzberg or Frederichstein, the opposites of sunny, quiet Schwabing and a hectic and crowded New York and then around Ako and Kobe with the strange serene sense of calm in a place that is so crowded and artificial/concrete/glass/neon. Its almost like a wrap-up, a summary and suddenly the question "Is this it?" is in my head. To ignore it I start asking myself what else do I want to see, where else do I want to experience.

What is your walk? Where is it? Go on, go and do it. My challenge for the weekend. Its as easy as walking home from work, into the town centre or to the shops, around the park near your place, going up to a lookout over your town and city or even to the water if you have it. Get out, let your thoughts go and experience your surroundings.