I was looking on the internet for walks in edmonton and stumbled across this article. This man lives very close to my apartment I think:
The urban explorer: How Does walking from Whyte Avenue to South Edmonton Common make you feel? That's what our psychogeographer set out to discover
Laurence Miall, The Edmonton Journal
Published: Saturday, March 17, 2007
Is walking from Old Strathcona to South Edmonton Common an adventure, an ordeal, or just plain stupid?
It is Sunday, around noon, and for reasons that are not currently clear even to myself,
I have given up the comfort of my bed in order to lace up my shoes, zip up my coat, load my backpack with a few nourishing goodies, and walk the approximately 13 kilometres to South Edmonton Common -- my first foray into the world of psychogeography.
http://media.canada.com/idl/edjn/20070317/70927-21823.jpg?size=l
Lonely, cold, hungry and feeling like he's doing something vaguely illegal: By the end of his walk from Strathcona to South Edmonton Common, ed writer Laurence Miall was feeling the psychogeographical effects of the suburbs.
Ed Kaiser, The Journal
I did not make that word up, I swear.
First defined by the French philosopher Guy Debord, psychogeography describes the effect of the geography on people's emotions and behaviour. A successful psychogeographical walk removes you from your comfort zone, giving you a fresh perspective on places, or revealing something new.
It's also not a bad way of getting exercise.
To my relief, I step outside to find the sun is shining and it is minus five. You couldn't ask for a finer winter day. I begin walking east from my apartment on 84th Avenue and 106th Street and I immediately "discover" some history at the Bard residence.
This is a brick neo-Georgian house built in the second decade of the 20th century. A plaque tells me that the home's first owner, Delmar Bard, had an automobile turntable installed in front of the garage so that he would not have to reverse his vehicle out of the driveway. That is a brilliant idea. Sadly, the turntable has since been removed.
I wouldn't have learned any of this from inside a car.
Although I am alone for my walk, I am comforted by the knowledge that there are a growing number of people who practise psychogeography.
This means I am not a nut-job.
Members of the Toronto Psychogeography Society organize a walk every Thursday. On the phone from T.O., Shawn Micallef, a society member and writer, describes these walks as "drifts." There is rarely a clear route in mind, and anywhere from two to 25 people will take part on a given day.
"It's like a mobile cocktail party," jokes Micallef. Then, more seriously, the transplanted Windsor native describes how psychogeography has "informed the way I look at the city." My own "drift" has taken me to Whyte Avenue. Julio's Barrio is serving its first customers of the day. I see them enjoying their mojitos, burritos and other things ending in "o." I am a bit envious.
Micallef, who also teaches some courses at the Ontario College of Art and Design, encourages his students to "look at the city as an example of a designed object." He explains that by walking around Toronto, you quickly notice those places where the city was designed with pedestrians in mind versus those places -- especially the post-war developments -- where the design has been oriented towards the automobile.
For now, I am feeling that I'm in a part of Edmonton that has been designed to cater to the needs of the pedestrian. This is especially true of the Mill Creek Ravine, into which I descend after an hour of walking. Here I find the birds chirping and a squirrel scurrying into the trees.
Nature! Only a stone's throw from the street.
In the ravine, on the bridge by 76th Avenue, I find another reminder of Edmonton's history. A plaque tells me that the bridge was built between 1900 and 1902. It is one of the last physical reminders of the existence of the Edmonton-Yukon and Pacific Railway (E-Y&P), which travelled north along the Mill Creek Ravine, across the Low Level Bridge, and was later extended to connect with the Canadian Northern Main Line. The E-Y&P closed in 1954.
I did not know any of this existed. Like a lover, it seems that the more you explore the city, the more it reveals to you. Two years ago, German artist Angela Dorrer led some Edmontonians on a similar walk of discovery. Dorrer and her local companions visited various locations in Edmonton, including a street corner, a parking lot, the Starlite Room, the Epcor grounds, and the High Level Bridge, experiencing different Edmonton-isms on the way.
At the Alberta legislature, for example, the walkers learned about "Purple City," which can be experienced after staring into the lights that illuminate the old stone building. After a minute, you look out at the city, which -- as if by magic -- becomes purple. Dorrer found that many of her fellow walkers, including some who had lived in Edmonton all of their lives, had never heard of Purple City. To them, it was a true discovery.
As I leave Mill Creek Ravine and head down 63rd Avenue, I envy that team of Edmonton psychogeographers, and the shared discoveries.
This is becoming a very lonely experience.
I turn down Gateway Boulevard and even the sidewalk abandons me. I pass an inflatable sign that says, "Golf Sale." It looks like a piece of litter blowing around in the wind.
On Gateway Boulevard, it's easy to see how the design of the city has changed so that it accommodates cars, trucks and vans at the expense of pedestrians. "Urbanism's main problem is ensuring the smooth circulation of a rapidly increasing quantity of motor vehicles," wrote psychogeography's grand-daddy, Guy Debord, in his Introduction to a Critique of Urban Geography, published in 1955. Over a half-century later, nothing has changed.
Two hours in, I stop to look at the view from the Radio CKER building. It is almost overwhelming.
Gateway Boulevard sprawls ahead of me, dead straight, for several kilometres. There is a slow-moving sea of traffic that seemingly has no end. If I were driving like everyone else, I would not have noticed this. It would not even have occurred to me that Edmonton increasingly resembles photos I've seen of Los Angeles.
I cross 51st Avenue, feeling empty and demoralized. As I pass an A&W restaurant, I have my first craving for hamburgers in years. I feel like I've somehow made a terrible mistake. Maybe I should have stopped inside for a quick emotional fix. Micallef's words seem appropriate to this part of the journey. "You feel like you're doing something wrong," he says about the emotional impact of walking the Toronto suburbs. That's how I feel, like I'm doing something wrong. I wish I felt more like a rebel, an outlaw, but I don't. I feel like a sad, lonely eccentric.Do the people in those passing cars think I'm homeless? Walking in this way is not a private act. Hundreds of motorists are witnessing (albeit in brief glimpses) my current existential breakdown.
My walk ends three and a half hours after it began. I arrive at South Edmonton Common, a place only a distant CEO could love. My feet are a little sorer and my face a little colder, but overall, my spirits have improved. It feels good to have ended the ordeal of the last hour, even if a bunch of box stores is the eventual reward. I find myself craving coffee and doughnuts. This is a craving I will not resist. I am going to Tim Hortons.
Was this walk worth it? I consider the words of Will Self, British psychogeographer and novelist. In 2006, he walked from Kennedy airport to the heart of Manhattan, a journey of 40 kilometres. During his walk, he evoked the spirit of adventurism. "In the post-industrial age, this is the only form of real exploration left," he was quoted telling the New York Times. "Anyone can go and see the Ituri pygmy, but how many people have walked all the way from the airport to the city?" Exactly.
How many people can say they walked to South Edmonton Common? This experience can't be bought for any price, but now it's mine.
The urban explorer: How Does walking from Whyte Avenue to South Edmonton Common make you feel? That's what our psychogeographer set out to discover
Laurence Miall, The Edmonton Journal
Published: Saturday, March 17, 2007
Is walking from Old Strathcona to South Edmonton Common an adventure, an ordeal, or just plain stupid?
It is Sunday, around noon, and for reasons that are not currently clear even to myself,
I have given up the comfort of my bed in order to lace up my shoes, zip up my coat, load my backpack with a few nourishing goodies, and walk the approximately 13 kilometres to South Edmonton Common -- my first foray into the world of psychogeography.
http://media.canada.com/idl/edjn/20070317/70927-21823.jpg?size=l
Lonely, cold, hungry and feeling like he's doing something vaguely illegal: By the end of his walk from Strathcona to South Edmonton Common, ed writer Laurence Miall was feeling the psychogeographical effects of the suburbs.
Ed Kaiser, The Journal
I did not make that word up, I swear.
First defined by the French philosopher Guy Debord, psychogeography describes the effect of the geography on people's emotions and behaviour. A successful psychogeographical walk removes you from your comfort zone, giving you a fresh perspective on places, or revealing something new.
It's also not a bad way of getting exercise.
To my relief, I step outside to find the sun is shining and it is minus five. You couldn't ask for a finer winter day. I begin walking east from my apartment on 84th Avenue and 106th Street and I immediately "discover" some history at the Bard residence.
This is a brick neo-Georgian house built in the second decade of the 20th century. A plaque tells me that the home's first owner, Delmar Bard, had an automobile turntable installed in front of the garage so that he would not have to reverse his vehicle out of the driveway. That is a brilliant idea. Sadly, the turntable has since been removed.
I wouldn't have learned any of this from inside a car.
Although I am alone for my walk, I am comforted by the knowledge that there are a growing number of people who practise psychogeography.
This means I am not a nut-job.
Members of the Toronto Psychogeography Society organize a walk every Thursday. On the phone from T.O., Shawn Micallef, a society member and writer, describes these walks as "drifts." There is rarely a clear route in mind, and anywhere from two to 25 people will take part on a given day.
"It's like a mobile cocktail party," jokes Micallef. Then, more seriously, the transplanted Windsor native describes how psychogeography has "informed the way I look at the city." My own "drift" has taken me to Whyte Avenue. Julio's Barrio is serving its first customers of the day. I see them enjoying their mojitos, burritos and other things ending in "o." I am a bit envious.
Micallef, who also teaches some courses at the Ontario College of Art and Design, encourages his students to "look at the city as an example of a designed object." He explains that by walking around Toronto, you quickly notice those places where the city was designed with pedestrians in mind versus those places -- especially the post-war developments -- where the design has been oriented towards the automobile.
For now, I am feeling that I'm in a part of Edmonton that has been designed to cater to the needs of the pedestrian. This is especially true of the Mill Creek Ravine, into which I descend after an hour of walking. Here I find the birds chirping and a squirrel scurrying into the trees.
Nature! Only a stone's throw from the street.
In the ravine, on the bridge by 76th Avenue, I find another reminder of Edmonton's history. A plaque tells me that the bridge was built between 1900 and 1902. It is one of the last physical reminders of the existence of the Edmonton-Yukon and Pacific Railway (E-Y&P), which travelled north along the Mill Creek Ravine, across the Low Level Bridge, and was later extended to connect with the Canadian Northern Main Line. The E-Y&P closed in 1954.
I did not know any of this existed. Like a lover, it seems that the more you explore the city, the more it reveals to you. Two years ago, German artist Angela Dorrer led some Edmontonians on a similar walk of discovery. Dorrer and her local companions visited various locations in Edmonton, including a street corner, a parking lot, the Starlite Room, the Epcor grounds, and the High Level Bridge, experiencing different Edmonton-isms on the way.
At the Alberta legislature, for example, the walkers learned about "Purple City," which can be experienced after staring into the lights that illuminate the old stone building. After a minute, you look out at the city, which -- as if by magic -- becomes purple. Dorrer found that many of her fellow walkers, including some who had lived in Edmonton all of their lives, had never heard of Purple City. To them, it was a true discovery.
As I leave Mill Creek Ravine and head down 63rd Avenue, I envy that team of Edmonton psychogeographers, and the shared discoveries.
This is becoming a very lonely experience.
I turn down Gateway Boulevard and even the sidewalk abandons me. I pass an inflatable sign that says, "Golf Sale." It looks like a piece of litter blowing around in the wind.
On Gateway Boulevard, it's easy to see how the design of the city has changed so that it accommodates cars, trucks and vans at the expense of pedestrians. "Urbanism's main problem is ensuring the smooth circulation of a rapidly increasing quantity of motor vehicles," wrote psychogeography's grand-daddy, Guy Debord, in his Introduction to a Critique of Urban Geography, published in 1955. Over a half-century later, nothing has changed.
Two hours in, I stop to look at the view from the Radio CKER building. It is almost overwhelming.
Gateway Boulevard sprawls ahead of me, dead straight, for several kilometres. There is a slow-moving sea of traffic that seemingly has no end. If I were driving like everyone else, I would not have noticed this. It would not even have occurred to me that Edmonton increasingly resembles photos I've seen of Los Angeles.
I cross 51st Avenue, feeling empty and demoralized. As I pass an A&W restaurant, I have my first craving for hamburgers in years. I feel like I've somehow made a terrible mistake. Maybe I should have stopped inside for a quick emotional fix. Micallef's words seem appropriate to this part of the journey. "You feel like you're doing something wrong," he says about the emotional impact of walking the Toronto suburbs. That's how I feel, like I'm doing something wrong. I wish I felt more like a rebel, an outlaw, but I don't. I feel like a sad, lonely eccentric.Do the people in those passing cars think I'm homeless? Walking in this way is not a private act. Hundreds of motorists are witnessing (albeit in brief glimpses) my current existential breakdown.
My walk ends three and a half hours after it began. I arrive at South Edmonton Common, a place only a distant CEO could love. My feet are a little sorer and my face a little colder, but overall, my spirits have improved. It feels good to have ended the ordeal of the last hour, even if a bunch of box stores is the eventual reward. I find myself craving coffee and doughnuts. This is a craving I will not resist. I am going to Tim Hortons.
Was this walk worth it? I consider the words of Will Self, British psychogeographer and novelist. In 2006, he walked from Kennedy airport to the heart of Manhattan, a journey of 40 kilometres. During his walk, he evoked the spirit of adventurism. "In the post-industrial age, this is the only form of real exploration left," he was quoted telling the New York Times. "Anyone can go and see the Ituri pygmy, but how many people have walked all the way from the airport to the city?" Exactly.
How many people can say they walked to South Edmonton Common? This experience can't be bought for any price, but now it's mine.