Why walking is such a great way to see, sense and stake a claim in the world

Spring is coming, and my London strolls start early. Before breakfast, before the news, and before sitting at a desk all day. The human traffic is low out there, as I open the door in Maida Vale. It’s just after sunrise. Where to, today?   

Well, the mood might take me to Hyde Park; to Camden Town along the canal; to Marble Arch down the Edgware Road. Greenish vista or urban edge – to be decided. After an hour I’m circling back with a keen appetite and a clear mind for the work ahead. And usually I’ve made a habit of setting off alone.  

Except, in recent weeks, I seem to have gained the company of others. Or the company of other voices. Compelling and often funny voices, telling me why, how, and where to walk. For they are the voices let loose: the 50-odd I guided into a book called Globetrotting: Writers Walk the World. 

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Much has been said about footsteps covering the UK, so I went global with this new collection. Following the accounts of men and women who have traversed different parts of the seven continents. Be it for reasons recreational or necessary, rational or outlandish. And I think the voices stay with me because the best walking stories are universal and lasting; whether from the Bahamas in 1492 or Russia in 1982. 

Walking is a great way to see, sense, and stake a claim in the world; we get close to things and things open up on foot. That’s why lots of explorers tread the pages of Globetrotting – how else to record their finds? Charles John Freemont climbs the Rocky Mountains, while Isabella Bird roams the shores of remote Japan. And if he assumes a rather hackneyed pose – hob-nail boots and frosty beard – I still root for polar-explorer Roald Amundsen, who salutes the camaraderie of his men, ready to map out the territories. Hear “much laughter and chaff” over breakfast (cups of hot chocolate), before heading off into the white wastes together. I’ll recall his words when the going gets tough down the Edgware Road. 

City strollers are the polar opposite of Amundsen. They ‘dawdle’ and ‘daunder’ in nonchalant fashion. They delight in getting lost. They are explorers of a sort, but any finds are playful and ironic (a café napkin, a tweeting canary, a face at a window). It’s a dip into the surf of life, says Franz Hessell, as he navigates the teeming streets of Weimar Berlin. Being a trotter too, I want to hear of his adventures across the asphalt. I also like the voices (and insights) of Mark Twain in Geneva, and Taran L Khan in Kabul. On kerbside pranks and lovers’ lanes respectively. 

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Michèle Roberts is one more stroller – through Kyiv. Newly arrived, she takes to the streets to orientate, to look at the buildings and the locals (a middle-aged man escorts his young, high-heeled girlfriend, ‘tittuping’ by). Likewise it’s a walk into the past for the writer, evoking St Michael, St Sophia and St Olga, each with a tale to tell. This is Kyiv of 2010: buoyant and eye-catching, yet who knew what lay around the corner? For me, such a sadness rings loudest in Globetrotting. 

The explorers and the strollers, and I aimed to gather less obvious types. Many of my globetrotters celebrate the joys of footing it – as a means of discovery and sensory pleasure, as a boost to physical health and idea making (Friedrich Nietszche says we think as fast as we move). But there is adversity for a few; their journeys born solely of need. 

I hear a protester in St Petersburg, marching to calls of “Death or Freedom!” And a runaway slave who trails the North Star from southern plantation to northern city. And soon, three further runaways, in the Western Desert of Australia. Molly, Daisy, and Gracie have escaped the constraints of the government camps. Yet despite the distances and hard yards, each girl remarkably retains a sense of play – wasn’t that a ‘Marbu’ we saw in the bush, creature of the Dreamtime? Let’s get out of here!   

They find a home eventually. Don’t we all? It makes me smile to hear a Victorian lady cuss the forests of Ohio. Still, she’s had an adventure beyond compare, has travelled very far from the conventions of the drawing room. Another homeward figure wanders Paris, to seek ‘a dry gutter’, repose in the lotus position, and feel incredibly ‘lulled’. He sounds like a self-styled ‘vagabond’, whose nightly turn along the boulevards is a creative act – a character in his own story. 

Not to follow, though. No, my daily walk is close to Helen Garner’s in the suburb of Flemington, Melbourne, which ends Globetrotting. There are areas of scuzz to negotiate (‘McDonald’s rubbish’), and beauty (‘pitto sporum blossom’), and oddity (‘the witches house’). But more, it’s Garner’s connection with the people around. She meets the good and the bad – an elderly Chinese couple, constantly afoot, and pack after pack of pinging cyclists – who enrich her ambulatory life. You won’t enjoy these moments sitting in a car, looking on. 

I’ll be thinking about this as I open the door tomorrow morning. Heading for Hyde Park? To be decided. 

Globetrotting: Writers Walk the World, introduced and edited by Duncan Minshull is out on 2 April (Notting Hill Editions, £15.99). You can buy it from The Big Issue shop on Bookshop.org, which helps to support The Big Issue and independent bookshops.
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