Thanks for the feedback and suggestions about my upcoming trip to Edinburgh. After I leave that city, I have a day of train travel to my next destination and then, a few days later, another long day on trains before I get to my final stop before flying home.
And with all that solo train travel ahead, I thought perhaps I might share a journal entry from this past January. On the train from Chambéry-Challes-Les-Eaux (whereI’d overnighted after taking the train from Rome ) from Paris, I decided to record what I saw through the train window — (something like the wonderful accordion-sketchbook Shari Blaukopf painted of her train ridefrom Montreal to Toronto) — instead of continually snapping photos on my iPhone.
Note that I’ve got the date as “January 9, 2017” — in fact, I continued this through ’til January 11th, when the journal ends, and if the month’s entries hadn’t been preceded by those for December 2017, I’d surely be wondering someday if I’d mistaken the year of this trip, and if it really had taken place in 2017 rather than 2018. . .
Anyway, here’s the transcription, after my little sketch, drawn in red ink by fingers stiff with January cold. . .
Waiting for the train to Paris at Chambéry – Challes-Les-Eaux (10:24 it will leave)
And minutes later, speeding out of the station past arrangements of sturdy houses with snow-shedding rooves, enveloped by neat lawns and vegetable plots, mostly dormant for the moment.
And the conductor just by to scan my e-ticket. And I look out the window to see twin waterfalls leaping down the slope to my right.
Mountain slopes ornamented by lively waterfalls
Valleys that open out a rough green, pasturage delineated by rows and copses of winter-bare trees.
A low-lying mist and then wreathing the mountaintops, a heavier cloud cover that the sun pierces occasionally to dramatic effect
Chickens in a back yard
Sturdy homes arranged pleasingly around a spire, working their way down the hillside, cohesive in materials, simple, functional architecture.
A horse below, solitary, in a field.
Meadows, lawns, grass look rough, patchy in their winter state and in the treed areas, the ground is rust-soggy with fallen leaves.
Piles of firewood stacked neatly, metres and metres and metres of it.
And even inside the train, the smell of cows, ensilage, manure. . . .
The book I keep putting down to take photos, to record my impressions here, is Madeline L’Engle’s A Circle of Quiet — She’s already, in the first pages, sent me to find Andrew Marvell’s “annihilating all that’s made / to a green thought in a green shade” [edited to add: I Googled this at the time, found it in Marvell’s “The Garden.”]
And then her comment about her “strange yellow knitted hat from Ireland” — that “it’s amazing what passing the half-century mark does to free one to be eccentric.”
And magical light on the stretched-out gentle slopes of pasturage, rolling in different directions so the sun creates a rich chiaroscura.
What river/stream flows beside us now? No, false alarm — simply ended a long narrow body of water that flowed out between adjoining copses but then was drained in the meadow/lowland.
Interruption from l’Engle, about 10 pages into her first chapter, an argument about timidity as a form of pride. She says, “The moment that humility becomes self-conscious, it becomes hubris. One cannot be humble and aware of oneself at the same time. Therefore, the act of creating . . . is a humble act? . . . Humility is throwing oneself away in complete concentration on something or someone else.”
While I remember taking photos through the window from that train, I seem to have purged them all from my archives — so that instead of a photo record of the journey, I have only the words written in my journal pages — they conjure for me images every bit as powerful, it turns out, as what the photos might have. And I like having the words I was reading included; I love the way my meeting with L’Engle is mixed into my memory of that train ride. . . .
And thinking again about Humility and Hubris. . .
All on a Monday morning.
And now the mic’s all yours — comments?
A very thoughtful post Frances and I have to agree with those comments on humility and hubris. Train journeys are such a collection of moments, images, conversations snatched all in one big patchwork. Your words and images are very evocative of a winter journey through an intriguing landscape. I look forward to hearing about your new journeys in whatever media form you choose. I’m about to share my journey by train from Quebec City to Montreal. B x
Thanks, B. There's just something about riding through a landscape by train, isn't there? I'm keen to read about your journey, which I've only done by car (and in the opposite direction!).
I love riding on trains!
Very interesting article about L’Engle, a very complex person:
newyorker.com/magazine/2004/04/12/the-storyteller-cynthia-zarin
Me too!
Yes, that is an interesting article — quite comprehensive!
Your observations on the train take me right there.
Must read this L'Engle book. I know only "A Wrinkle in Time."
Another writer I enjoy is M.F.K. Fisher, who was quite aware of her status as a Big Thinker on French Life Especially Food. Although she could get a bit pompous, she had so many wonderful observations.
I highly recommend L'Engle's memoirs — I also loved the sequels to A Wrinkle in Time, but it's ages and ages since I've read those.
I've read some M.F.K. FIsher, but winter might be a good time to dip into more. I can forgive a bit of pomposity if they observations are sharp enough.
Well I hope you put that sketch pad down & give me a cheery wave as you speed through York
Wendy from York
I certainly will — I'll be waving energetically at all my relatives 'round Teeside (my dad being from Middlesbrough)
I really found the 3 volumes of the Crosswick Journals insightful. Train travel is a wonderful way of experiencing the countryside. I once travelled from St. Nectaire to Paris (train) Paris to London (flew) King's Cross to Aberdeen (train) to Lerwick (flew).
Before Eurostar and privatization on BritRail, there was tea and biscuits before bed. Will you be travelling from Edinburgh to London by train? Your sketches have certainly progressed.
That's a lot of hops, skips, and jumps, that itinerary — train travel has really changed, but I must count Eurostar as a huge bonus! And yes, in between my flight there and the one home, all my travel will be by train, so Edinburgh to London and then under the Channel. . .
Unsurprisingly, I have been watching the world go by and thinking about hubris A LOT recently. What strikes me every time is that those who place themselves at the centre of the universe have absolutely no concept of the folly of hubris; perhaps, like taxes, it is for the little people. (That didn't work out so well, I recall…) I would enjoy their fall more if I didn't suspect we will all tumble together. You are going to be trundling through the countryside at a beautiful time of year so I hope you take the time to muse out of the window, perhaps with a cup of Yorkshire Tea and a Kit-Kat. I am sure Socrates would have. Happy travels.
Oh, there will be tea! I wish there might be tea served in proper china, but I suppose the powers that gave us Eurostar swept all the china out and replaced it with those cardboard cups that burn the hands. . . A small price, I suppose. Luckily, there's not much anyone can do to ruin a Kit-Kat bar 😉 And the combination will keep me from thinking about hubris in the worst places and the nemesis that will probably, as you suspect, tumble us all. . .
Hubris – always worthy of contemplation.
This is the second post about trains I've read tonight. The other was Barbara at Coastal Ripples. I've not traveled often by train, and never in Canada, but in Spain, France, and Germany.
I just took out a book from the library about Madeleine L'Engle entitled "A Light So Lovely". I'm not very far into it, but it's a collection of thoughts from other authors about L'Engle. A Circle of Quiet is so beautifully written.
I saw Barbara's post — lovely to see our country (although such a faraway province) through a tourist's eyes.
That book sounds interesting — the reviews suggests it looks at the relationship between her creativity and her spirituality.
I think that complete immersion in the creative act is one of the truest states of ego loss–maybe that's what l'Engle meant by humility? I would even say, though this might not seem humble, that working beyond/without conscious ego is the mark of the genuine creative act.
Yes, I'm sure that's what she meant — when you start denigrating what you've made, or are making, you're too conscious of your self to truly be humble. For me the passage recalls some of what Lewis Hyde writes in his classic work on The Gift.