Author Joel Stratte-McClure regularly describes the walking, writing and marketing efforts surrounding the preparation and publication of “The Idiot and the Odyssey: Walking the Mediterranean” during exposes and readings at venues throughout the world. His next appearance is in Paris on February 13. Here are the excerpts he read to a recent Writers Group in California.
From Page 3:
“Call me Homeric, philosophic or poetic. Or accuse me of embarking on a
foolhardy quest, a lark, an escape, an act of maniacal ego or even some sincere
spiritual soul searching. But there are actually several legitimate reasons that I’m
launching a walk around the Mediterranean Sea.
I’m in the middle of a melancholy divorce, mired in an emotional and spiritual
cesspool and greatly in need of a cosmic uplift. As a jaded journalist, even exotic
assignments smack of déjà vu and I’m desperately seeking an extended adventure
on unexplored turf. I also love to hike and this multipurpose expedition – which
I call a MedTrek not only because it’s about the Mediterranean, but also because
it’s meditative and, hopefully, medicinal – will enable me to reflect, stay in shape,
forge new friendships and perhaps have a life-changing adventure or two.....”
From Page 29:
“The responses to these inquiries, as well as more personal and profound
uncertainties, will invariably be delivered throughout the duration of my
quest. But I decide to check into the monastery to begin to figure things out.
Why not? I like monks because they are, in so many ways, my kinda guys.
Early to bed and early to rise, they lead quiet, structured and disciplined lives.
Silent and humble, they pray, meditate, chant and are ecologically minded.....”
Page 111:
“Two kilometres after Marseillan-Plage is Le Cap d’Agde’s ‘nudism obligatory’
beach. Although unsure what to do with my pedometer, I find myself walking
completely naked with a full backpack and try to stand as erect as possible despite
the weight. I decide to spend a night in the gargantuan nudist resort that, like the monastery in Cannes, has its own simple guidelines and, excuse the expression, a unique hang-loose lifestyle....”
Page 251:
“After trekking over 3000 kilometres, the earth finally moves. Or, rather,
the unstable ground beneath the dangerously narrow goat path on this steep
mountainside perched above the glistening sea moves. Then crumbles. Then
collapses. Then disappears.
I fall off the cliff, bouncing off boulders like a pitched pebble. Just before I hit
the rocks below, I hear Luke screaming, “Oh no, Dad! Oh, my God!”
When I come to, sprawled on the stony seaside, I don’t notice the blood
running down my face, the gash in my left hand, a scraped right shoulder,
twisted left ankle or my badly bruised body. I don’t even realise that I’m still
in danger, lying right in the path of an oncoming rockslide initially caused by
my descent and worsened by some curious goats. For some mysterious reason,
I remember that goats were symbols of fertility in ancient Greece. Don’t ask me
why I think these things at moments like this....”
Photo: Author Joel Stratte-McClure and his son Luke MedTrekking in Morocco just before his fall.
