I recently joined a cycling trip organised by a wonderful friend. The journey took us from Milan to Venice over 5 days. One of the highlights was cycling to the pretty town of Choggia at the Southern end of the Venetian Lagoon. My only other experience of this area had been a day coach trip to Venice which was HORRIBLE. Don’t do this! You arrive and leave in a mass tourist crowd which obscures the beauty of this gorgeous city. But here in Choggia it was like a kind of mini-Venice, with canals and bridges and the lagoon stretching away towards Venice itself and a nice chill atmosphere.
But still..there was something missing for me.
So, in the morning I went for a quick half hour walk around the block before we were due to get the ferry to Pellestrina, one of the long spits of land that edge the Venice lagoon.
I walked rather aimlessly down the main street away from our hotel, enjoying the sight of cafes filled mainly with men having vociferous conversations with plenty of arm waving. Then my eye was caught by a narrow side street that squeezed between tall buildings, painted in browns and reds and oranges and I knew I had found my walk’s purpose.
As soon I headed down that little street, I started to feel like I was exploring and my mind and senses were alive to everything I was seeing: the image of the Madonna painted onto a wall, laundry in blues and pinks and whites hanging off a line, archways that bridged the streets festooned with plant-filled balconies.
And then as I passed a window, I heard a sound that stopped me in my tracks: the chatter and laughter of children coming from a nursery school and the patient voice of the teacher maintaining order. I stopped there under the window and listened with my whole mind and body, picturing the scene inside the room.
That’s when I realised what I had been missing in my cycle trip: the pace that allows you to stop at any sight or sound that grabs your attention. The possibility to give that sight or sound your full attention. The opportunity to notice, focus on and wonder at the smallest sound and the grandest sight. The mindfulness of walking.
I realised in that moment what a powerful aspect of walking this is. As I continued on my walk it became a sound walk. It seemed like my ears had become hypersensitive to noises around me and I was blown away by the variety of the sounds I heard and what they told me about the world around me. The whole walk was totally immersive.
I finished my walk feeling happy, complete and deeply connected. Connected to what? Well, I’m not really sure! All I know is that I had a strange feeling of dissatisfaction before my walk – like an itch you can’t scratch. And when I finished it was gone. And I felt, well… like me! And like me was enough.