Norway - 1000km solitary, nomadic experience on foot - with a trolley - Full drone footage скачать в хорошем качестве

Norway - 1000km solitary, nomadic experience on foot - with a trolley - Full drone footage

This is part of the material I used to edit "Like a fern between rocks", my 13 minutes film on my 1000km solitary, nomadic experience of Norway on foot - with a trolley (here is the trailer    • Like a fern between Rocks (Trailer) - 1000...   ) No audio, no commentary, just drone footage There is always a strange excitement the days before departure, there is a part of you that postpones decisions and another that tries to calculate all the possible scenarios. There will be mistakes, and you already know that you cannot expect perfection, both because this would mean a very boring journey, where everything has been calculated in advance to the tiniest point, leaving no room for randomness; and because the territories where you are going, however much you have studied them, however much you have tried to understand the geomorphology, will be new, alien, impossible to anticipate. And if you think about it, the great fascination perhaps derives precisely from this, from the inability to foresee everything from the need to put yourself in the game to see how to overcome adversity but also novelty in a way that is functional to the journey, but also creative in the sense of being able to create the possibilities to get out of situations that are new and make them your own, becoming experiences. The reality is that the rucksack is a tetris of opportunities, a tetris of possible scenarios, and on the day of departure these well-organised lines weighed pressed all together reveal themselves in front of you as a single monolith that is your rucksack. What are we forgetting? What is that thing that slips through our fingers that is right there on the tip of our tongues, that you know will turn out to be important at the very moment when you thought you had put it in your bag or you thought you hadn't and that will determine much of the fate of the trip. It is with these thoughts that one tackles another journey, what will then become an intimate personal journey and not a physical one. And it is embarrassing how much we point the finger at the physicality of journeys, so much so that people as a first question ask you if you have trained and I for my part answer that to walk there is no need to train, because walking simply means putting one foot after the other. The big question should be whether you are psychologically, mentally and emotionally ready for the success of this journey because in reality it is as if you were leaving the island of your certainties to put yourself on a raft and face the immensity of the sea, but that sea is your thoughts, and your personality. The great challenge, the one we all fear, is to survive ourselves when we are left alone. Yet we always try to project on the place, on nature, on the landscape, on the mountains, on the cold; we always try to make excuses and external factors in order not to decide to take our foot off the beach and let the raft go. Hardly ever will people who approach this kind of experience come and brag to you about how difficult it is, how hard it was, because the internalisation of the process leads you to downplay what others see. Others see a landscape and a backpack, but if you walk, you only see the shadow of yourself projected in that environment. So how does one prepare for such a journey? How does one deal with the need to be alone? and perhaps one should also ask oneself why one would want to make such a choice. I have said several times that for me, reaching the summits has never been a reason to be proud of myself before others. Of course, reaching the top of a mountain range means looking at the landscape from above, which is undoubtedly a different, new perspective that deserves great attention. But at the same time, the idea that your gaze dominates the landscape gives us a strange vision, a sense of togetherness where we consider ourselves as important as everything we look at. But the reality is that nature exists without us. Maybe I make it very difficult in trying to establish some kind of morality, maybe there is a part of me that wants to remain consistent with what I have learnt from nature, to the point where the way you relate to these journeys leads you to be very cautious in how you narrate them, because they could be misunderstood and so in the end what comes out is a forced humility. I believe that there has to be a right balance between the physical propensity for the activity of travelling and walking and the mental inclination that we have talked about. One of the questions one should ask oneself before embarking on a journey would be: why do we walk? And in a more mundane context but strong in its veracity, it would be to ask whether we enjoy walking or not.