We are back home. 27 days of travel; 8 countries; 12 national parks and many more reserves; 7150 kilometres; 84 meals on the road; 1100 kilowatts of electricity spent; 25 nights of sleep crawled in the car, parked in strange places. Do these numbers even matter? How do these numbers feel? Like ages on the road. Like going far. Like bending time. Like being a stranger. Like befriending some creatures and lands along the way.
There is something in the materiality of travel. Taking our bones, muscles and clothing that far North, to the Arctic circle and beyond, cannot go unnoticed. Colder mornings, stronger rivers, more lakes, smaller fruits, thicker moss, pricier supermarkets, more saunas, less heat, more modernity, more nuclear power. While celebrating the triumphs of our civilisation over natural limitations, we tend to forget that geography is still a thing.
Our bones feel it. Our senses are still senses of an animal. Under the thick layer of rational buzz, we can still sense with our nose that water is near, that the land is low, that fruits are ripe. Our eyes are still drawn to that blueberry bush on the ground. And a minute later, we are morphed by the late summer forest, and we bend down like an ape to pick that berry.
Our “Symbiotic movement” was about that morphing. Exposing ourselves to the landscapes that unfolded beyond us, from Romania all the way to Finland, looking for the teachings that are so close, yet so distant for two cultural workers and academics traveling with a 3-year-old child. A restless, curious child that made us run, take off shoes, climb trees, dip in cold waters, yell and laugh with the rivers and seas around us.
In the whirlwind of images, sounds and smells of the many territories that welcomed us, there are also islands of peace and tranquillity. Islands of wisdom and serenity that we embraced by sitting for a “class with a non-human teacher”, hoping to hear and feel something different, something strangely familiar, something we might have forgotten. Talking like an animal to a plant, like an animal to an animal, like an animal to a river, we heard stories old and new, wise and silly, big and small, funny or sad. An oak, a willow, a lake, blueberries, reeds, sandstone, a pine tree. Teachers came and left, leaving us with the sense of presence, belonging and sense. We’re listening still to the recordings we have made during the teachings, trying to share the teachings and this approach to all who might be interested to explore. If you are one of those, do sneak in here and listen for a while. More might come soon.
There is so much that the travelling like has gifted us. Appreciation for having walked some of these lands, without a clear destination to reach as fast as possible. A constant reminder of the privilege of having a choice to move, not shower or sleep in weird unsecure places, unlike so many who are on the forced move these days. Thoughts on how to carry the insights from the marshy, moist lands, into our draught exhausted one. And numerous notes on what rewilding cultures might entail if we are to ask non-humans for advice. Thankful for those moments of sharing joy of life and death with distant lands and teachers, we are also thankful that we have the opportunity to stay still for a while.