S Sorrensen
Sandgate, Qld. Friday, 7.05am.
Whatever happened to strolling? You know strolling: walking at a leisurely pace, dressed in clothes not made from oil, and taking time to say hello and enjoy the scenery.
Strolling is healthy, sure, but it’s also a social activity. It reached a public peak in Paris early last century, before automobile traffic wrested control of the Champs Elysee from the strollers, and war turned the stroll into a march.
Here at Sandgate, a seaside suburb of Brisbane, a concrete path follows the curving shore of Bramble Bay. With the shallow water reflecting early sunlight on one side, and with exercise devices (like a big metal thing you can place your foot on while you touch your forehead to your knee) and public barbecues on the other, the path sweeps south to the newly restored pier at Shorncliffe.
Strolling is best done in appropriate clothing. At twilight along the Champs Elysee, one would wear one’s special strolling suit and tie, and twirl one’s promenading cane. The ladies would wear a full skirt with only two petticoats (for ease of movement) and perch a hat upon a mountain of hairpins, to protect against moonburn and blandness.
I hear heavy breathing behind me. And a rhythmic shoe patter. I move to one side and allow a man to shuffle past me. He’s wearing a sweaty t-shirt, shorts and Nike runners. Two white cords connect his ears to his phone which is bandaged to his upper arm. I can hear a beat echoing in his skull. He’s on the path, but he isn’t strolling. He’s jogging. Or running. Or power moving. Or something. But not strolling.
You don’t stroll with earphones (or shorts). Strolling is a rolling meditation. You let go of urgency and amble into the here and now, becoming a part of the world, not separate from it. Strolling is zazen with shoes, a ramble without reason.
Strolling is best done with a companion. That way, you can natter on about stuff of no real consequence (like an election in July). You can ponder meaningful questions (like what happened to the Turrbal people upon whose land I stroll? There are no Indigenous people on this path). You can stop for a pipe behind a gum.
You can point to a waterbird which has just popped up from the bay with a fish in its beak. You and your companion can pause your sauntering for a moment (saunter pausing is all part of strolling) and share the excitement: Wow! There’s still wildlife in Queensland. Who’d have thought…
No-one here is strolling except my companion and me. Everyone else (and it’s busy here) is running. Or kissing their knee at a designated knee-kissing post. Or doing arm stretches against a gum that smells funny.
Bring back strolling, I say. And wear suitable strolling attire. Something made from plant material is good. I’m finding my corduroy jacket and hemp slacks quite comfortable for strolling, and they’ll be perfectly suitable for cafe latte in the funky cafe across the road, when my strolling takes me there.
Strolling incorporates coffee, conversation and children. Yes, children can stroll with you. But there are no kiddies here, now. Children don’t do morning runs with a heart rate app and step counter.
Or do they?
Down the path comes a man, running hard. He wears runners, of course, and short shorts split to the hip. That’s all. His chest hair is matted with sweat, and his man breasts bounce. He’s definitely not a stroller.
But this man has a child with him. A small child. And it’s… in a stroller. He’s pushing the stroller at speed.
A runner with a stroller.
Oh, the irony.
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