Humanity's memory Writing these words in November the 9th, 2023, it has been three years, eight months and thirteen days since the first case of the SARS-CoV-2 was reported in Norway. The first COVID-19-related death infection in Norway occurred 26 days later. We all know how time flies, but hold on for a second. It has been almost four years since the pandemic took over our lives, changed our travel patterns and dynamics, and brought lasting changes to our workplace arrangements and so much more. Life seemed to stand still while intensifying at the same time. Everything suddenly became (too) proximate to us, and while some of us could not wait to escape the four walls of our homes, others found a deeper sense of comfort in a society with fewer people, cars, airplanes, metros, and trams occupying shared public spaces. Not least, the non-human cohabitants of our shared planet found new possibilities to live their lives in a world less crowded by people. When considering what is important to write about, with, and from, I chose to focus on the temporalities of the "sticky" virus and its accumulation into a global pandemic. Perhaps, thinking about the temporality of COVID-19 can start with memory. Here, I do not refer to memories of our lives occupied by the virus (like I did at the beginning of this text), even though it would make for an interesting piece of writing as well. I am talking about the memory of our humanity. ”Humanity's memory is short, and what is not ever-present fades quickly," said Yale Medicine infectious diseases specialist Manisha Juthani in an interview by Yale Medicine in 2021. How quickly has the COVID-19 pandemic faded from humanity's memory, or has it? How has COVID-19 become occasionally present, and in which situations and contexts? Is there such things as post-pandemic? How can we claim the title of our research project - Traveling Post-Corona? Can it be an opening instead of a closing? While for many of us, COVID-19 seems to be in the past, global news coverage disrupts any future prospect of life without the virus. Before writing this text, I scrolled through the Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation's (NRK) news coverage related to COVID-19. This was to remind myself of the many realities of the virus that keeps on re-creating itself in different variations, traveling, entering, and exiting - emerging and dying, only to take another form to continue living. Scrolling, clicking, and pausing was thus a process of making present. I thought it would be important to share the process of making present with you who are reading. As our time together in the frame of this text is limited, I only trace events since last July 2023 and have chosen only a few among many more. 3rd of July, 2023: Mange får nei til vaksine-erstatning. Efforts to obtain compensation in Norway for illnesses allegedly caused by COVID-19 vaccinations are usually unsuccessful, with a ratio of 1/3. 18th of August, 2023: WHO og USA overvåker ny type koronavirus. A new virus variant, named BA 2.86, has been identified in the USA, Denmark, and Israel. The variant is described as being in a battle against previous variants. Another virus variant war is taking place within our bodies and relations with other bodies. 18th of august, 2023: Ett bekreftet tilfelle av ny koronavariant i Storbritannia. The new BA 2.86 virus variant is entering Great Britain. 24th of August, 2024: 68 millioner i ekstrem fattigdom etter pandemien. The pandemic and "rising prices" (without further clarification) have pushed almost 68 million people into extreme poverty in Asia and the Pacific region, according to the Asian Development Bank. 30th of August, 2023: Den nye koronavarianten er registrert i Sverige. The BA 2.86 virus variant continues to travel north. Four people have been identified as carrying the new virus variant in Sweden. The virus is spreading geographically wide and fast. 30th of August, 2023: FHI: Sannsynlig at ny koronavariant er i Norge. The BA 2.86 virus variant is suspected to already be present within Norwegian borders, even though it has not yet been identified in clinical tests. (Later that day, it was announced that the virus variant had infected people living in Norway.) 6th of September, 2023: WHO bekymret for ny koronabølge. The World Health Organization (WHO) expresses concern about the development of COVID-19 ahead of the winter season in the northern hemisphere and calls for increased vaccination and surveillance. 31st of October, 2023: FHI: Økt risiko for dødfødsel etter infeksjon med covid-19 . A new Nordic study reports that COVID-19 infected women during pregnancy had an increased risk of stillbirth, according to the Institute of Public Health. The increased risk was particularly related to the period when the delta variant of the virus was circulating among the public. Humanity's short-term memory is contested as the virus enters processes of human reproduction. It is contested when we are reminded of COVID-19's complex relations to inequality and poverty. It is contested when the virus becomes intimate with humanity through our living conditions that are guided by nature: those of us living in the North start to gather indoors more frequently as the winter months approach, providing a perfect environment for the virus to live among us, become a part of us. Humanity's memory. What can humanity learn from the mutating virus? Its stubbornness, its evident desire to keep on living, to be a part of our society and the world by causing trouble? Donna Haraway (2016) famously stated how important it is for humankind's survival to learn to live with the trouble. Haraway did not know about the COVID-19 pandemic back then, and these troubling times can take Haraway's theses to new heights. But what does Haraway have to say now? In an interview with Katherine Bryant and Erik Wallenberg back in 2020, Haraway was led by journalists to discuss the ways in which global crises (the pandemic, global warming, and crises of extraction) are all profoundly interrelated and co-constitutive. This came naturally for Haraway, as relationality is at the heart of her legacy. But instead of talking about interrelations and co-constitution in broad, general terms, Haraway painfully situates her analysis of the pandemic. She alerts us to the destruction, oppression, and extraction of lands and their people who have to bend over to serve capitalist developmentalism in pandemic capitals of the world, including the Navajo Nation in the United States. She states: "the pandemic heightens and intensifies the suffering in the face of dependent sovereignty, disinvestment, extraction, and the convergence of these problems" (Bryant & Wallenberg, 2020) - the problems being the different modes of extraction (coal mining, fossil fuel energy production) in lands where their people do not have access to clean water and electricity. Humanity's memory challenged. What Haraway is so skillful at is the way she revisits the pandemic that, at first glance, appears so wide and far-reaching that it escapes our comprehension as an utterly intimate matter that both has its particularities in any given place - its people, histories, futures - and is related to other places, people, lands, histories, and futures. Haraway says: ”So you can connect these crises in place after place. You can start that analysis in cities, too. You can start that analysis from many places of intense convergence of these things. My way of working is always to cite the beginning of thinking someplace, not from the sky, but someplace, and unwind the threads and watch the way they re-tangle. It becomes connected, but it doesn’t work from an overview.” (Bryant & Wallenberg, 2020) As we learn from Haraway's interviews, texts, and public speeches, this situated knowledge - "to cite the beginning of thinking someplace, not from the sky, but someplace" (Bryant & Wallenberg, 2020) - locates yet spreads outwards from particularities. To cite the beginning of thinking someplace forces us to consider the COVID-19 pandemic as related to wide, far-reaching, almost incomprehensible elements. Here, I refer in particular to the burning issues of capitalism. Suddenly, the BA 2.86 virus variation traveling northbound becomes political throughout. To grasp this relation between the intimate, situated, and a system like capitalism requires concepts to guide us. Stay with me here. To talk of the "capitaloscene," as suggested by scholars across disciplines, as a concept to point out the power structures and power imbalances within the profound human imprint on our shared planet, is much needed. Haraway argues that her proposal of the concept "Chthulucene" - "a kind of timeplace for learning to stay with the trouble of living and dying in response-ability on a damaged earth" (Haraway, 2016, p. 2) - does not replace the capitaloscene but works as its companion concept. The capitaloscene guides us to consider how the impact of humankind on planet Earth is tightly entangled with capitalist endeavors, the growth mindset, and the lure of "progress," while "living-with and dying-with each other potently in the Chthulucene," Haraway (2016) states, "can be a fierce reply to the dictates of both Anthropos and Capital" (p. 2). The COVID-19 pandemic, and the different virus variations traveling the world by becoming one with humans and non-humans as its central agents, is as such both an embodiment of capitalism and living-and-dying-with-each other in the world of capitalist ruins. Anna Tsing (2015) sees hope in living in capitalist ruins. However, Tsing, like Haraway, states how "progress stories have blinded us" (Tsing, 2015, p. viii). Referring to the ecological relations (including humans) as the first world and capitalist transformations of the environment as the second world, she has the strength to write about a third world: "like virtual particles in a quantum field, multiple futures pop in and out of possibility; third nature emerges within such temporal polyphony" (Tsing, 2015, p. viii). This third nature is the one she builds in her book, a nature "that manages to live despite capitalism" (p. viii, emphasis added). Humanity's memory. What are the ways in which we have learned to live in capitalist ruins, together-with-and-as-part-of the virus? What are the ways in which we could learn to live... better? Is it the third world that Tsing crafts in her book, and Haraway's Chthulucene, finally an era where we become response-able and learn to practice response-ability (Haraway, 2016)? Response-ability is more than responsibility. Haraway (2016) writes: "response-ability is about both absence and presence, killing and nurturing, living and dying - and remembering who lives and who dies and how in the string figures of naturalcultural history" (p. 28). Humanity's memory. Where and how to go from there? I don't see any other option as tempting to end this text than taking an initiative to dig a deep enough hole into the very nature of "humanity" to see the passageways of other mortal critters that cross with ours. Digging a hole to join others and their passageways is to recognize humanity's earthliness, however shadowed. Digging a hole to join others is not burying our heads underground to stop worrying. Digging a hole to join others is not taking part in a war against a virus (humanity versus nature) but addressing a global emergency. Humanity's memory's short lifespan is, I argue, a story that lulls us humans under its influence into a belief that it is alright to forget. Revisit your local and national news feed where seemingly irrelevant, distant stories start to emerge as intimate. Talk to that friend, relative, or colleague who lives her life in fear of contamination due to her own or a close one's vulnerability in the co-existence with the virus or its certain variation. Don't lull yourself into the simplifying story of COVID-19 merely having to be accepted to be part of our everyday lives without being aware of how it lives with us in different ways, always impacted by unequal relations of power - and the power of the capital. Humanity's memory's lifespan ought not to be short. Referenced literature: Haraway, D. (2016). Staying with the Trouble. Duke University Press. Bryant, K., & Wallenberg, E. (2020). In the Heart of the Storm: An Interview with Donna Haraway. Biopolitics, 23(3). https://magazine.scienceforthepeople.org/vol23-3-bio-politics/in-the-heart-of-the-storm-an-interview-with-donna-haraway/ Tsing, A. L. (2015). The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins. Princeton University Press. The blog post has also been published in Traveling Post-Corona project blog. Hi guys! Camp Quirky is just around the corner and I thought it would be cool to post a blog post I wrote to our larger research project blog (Traveling Post-Corona) at the UiT Arctic University of Norway. :) From this post, you can learn more about what is going to happen in a week's of time in a Camp Quirky Vanlife Festival, which I cannot wait!
Greetings from the Vanlife Landscapes project - a postdoc project of mine under our larger project of Traveling Post-Corona! For the past year, the project has been running this website and more recently an Instagram account (@vanlife_landscapes) where you can learn of the work I’ve been doing together with the vanlife community, tourism actors and destination management stakeholders in the Scottish Highlands and Northern Norway. Vanlife, what some would call a minimalist life on wheels and a growingly popular, to a degree nomadic lifestyle and community whose practitioners choose to live in a home-like converted vehicle either full- or part-time has begun to open to me as lifestyle mobility. As a lifestyle mobility, vanlife challenges any bounded and restrictive conceptualizations of living a life in a van – which makes it also hard to show statistical evidence of the vanlife community. We can read about statistics of new registrations of motor caravans or the trends in the rental market of campervans, as well as the increasing demand for professional conversions of vans, but many things slip away from our urge to grasp this phenomenon. Vanlifers come in different forms, motivations, histories, stories, and worldviews, and their floating presence in the midst of a growingly digitalized world is hard, even impossible, to grasp. In the Vanlife Landscapes project, I’m interested in the ways the vanlife movement is developing and changing our conventional notions of travel, work, leisure, home and destination. I’ve been following the phenomenon especially in British and Norwegian contexts, but social media brings the stories from across the seas to my laptop, supplying endless amounts of vlogs, campervan DIY videos, and stories from the road to my head to get around. I have been utterly curious about the wider trends in buying and renting motorized caravans during the COVID-19 pandemic and how this is connected to local affordances and receptiveness of vanlife. I’m (painfully) aware of the problematics of campervan tourism in honey trap regions such as the Lofoten in Norway, and the Northern Highlands in Scotland, during the peak seasons. I’m aware of the problematics that arise from the collision of interest of travelers and locals which fueled my project in the first place. Thus the choices made about my fieldwork are in line with this problem setting. My project has taken me to the Scottish Highlands and the infamous NC500 route (read more about my journey here) as well as to a scenic coastal region in Northern Norway, Helgelandskysten, with its national tourist route Kystriksveien (see here). This year I will be traveling this national tourist route with a campervan, learning how campervan mobilities become possible together with the landscape, local communities, road network, and infrastructure - including campsites and waste stations. I will also be able to form understanding of how the islands of Helgeland, being tourism destinations themselves, connect with the tourist route and what stories do these connections enable the traveler to become part of. In addition to this I will be visiting Lofoten during the popular Trevarefest to witness (in addition to the festival atmosphere!) the realities of tourism flows and camping practices in the utterly popular destination in Northern Norway which has also known for its challenges regarding overtourism (for challenges regarding Lofoten, see e.g. this article here). Having learned a lot from the vanlife community during the past three years by following people’s stories on the road, I wanted to design a project that would build from the inspiration and knowledge of the worldwide vanlife community that would help to form bridges between campervan travelers and destination management especially in rural regions struggling from seasonal overtourism. These are regions where the needs and desires of the highly spontaneous and independent travelers with vans and motorhomes, and the needs and desires of the local communities, do not necessarily meet. This work is then supporting the work already rising from the vanlife community. We are seeing a wonderful bunch of initiatives and projects that include, for example, Motorhomes and Campervans Against Litter (MACAL) movement, and The Leave it Better Community. In more wider terms, the movement and growing community of Diversify Vanlife is doing a tremendous job in advocating the necessity of thinking and acting sustainably and responsibly when practicing a lifestyle on wheels fueled by a sense of freedom. In a week's time I will be attending Camp Quirky vanlife festival, an authentic, sustainability-focused vanlife festival full of workshops, performances, inspiration, music and space to meet people who share a passion for campervans and the nomadic lifestyle. I will be one of the speakers in the Sustainability Tent at the festival with a theme ”Planet positive travel”, aiming to envision ways together with the festival folk how the vanlife community could be in the forefront of sustainable campervan travel. I hope that we will come up with a constructive response to the criticism many campervan and motorhome travelers face from both the tourism industry relying on conventional understandings of how ”tourism” works, and from communities suffering from overtourism and unsocial behavior by some campers. The outcomes of the project are to be communicated to destination management stakeholders in the Scottish Highlands, Helgelandskysten, Lofoten as well as the North Cape where we have negotiated potential collaboration in the future. Keep yourself tuned to what’s going on in Vanlife Landscapes by following and sharing my blog and Instagram: @vanlife_landscapes. See you on the road! Tarja A wise philosopher once wrote that interesting stories are not those that are already known, but those that have not yet been told. As a researcher, I am pessimistic about there being a story that has not yet been told, because stories are born, renewed, transformed, told, every hour, minute, second in this world. More important, perhaps, is for the storyteller to dare and open herself to stories that she did not yet know existed, but which appear everyday to another. To dare to engage with stories in ways that create new connections, new stories. In this way, stories literally and tangibly become processes of co-becoming. What matters is not whether a story is 'new' or 'old', but how these stories are taken up. What matters are the choices that are made about which stories are heard and which are left unheard. I write to express myself, to become part of a community, without striving to be local in places I encounter. As I engage with this becoming part of something, I am currently writing two texts. One focuses on the rhythmic relationship between the landscape of the Scottish Highlands and a guided trip on wheels. A five-day driving experience (see here) in October 2022 unfolded and continues to unfold for me through the history of the Highlands and unexpected encounters, in the moment, and later, when returned ’home’. Unfolding happens in moments when it is no longer clear where ’home’ is ultimately located. The second text is a text about Træna. It is a text that draws me to the deep end, the experience being so searingly fresh. At the same time, I feel that the experience of last summer - my first visit to this island - has never left me. So this text, this web of emotions, is a continuum from a year ago, continuing to build, like a bird's nest, into which more material is carried until the nest has done its job - providing warmth and shelter for new life, in symbiosis with the rhythmic caring practices of the parent, the caretaker. But this text, it is still so young. It will take a long time to hatch, but the incubation has begun. I travelled to the small island of Træna for the Ta Træna med Storm winter festival in February -23. Actually, my journey still keeps going. I write these words on the train on the way from Mo i Rana to Bodø, and in Bodø in a lively café, from where my journey continues in the evening towards Tromsø. It seems to me that the best stories are born in motion, after all, the focus of my research project is the movement and relationality to the world experienced through different modes of transport. Through this I critically examine what tourism is, has been, and can be. At the same time, the apparent lack of movement on the island of Husøy, an island of just under 500 people 33 nautical kilometres inland, harnessed my thoughts to think about tourism differently. That was the primary goal of my trip, in the looseness I wanted it to be and felt it must be: to think together with the island, its people and its multispecies communities - in plural - about tourism differently. By participating in this small festival in the middle of the winter and storms that have been battering northern Norway for weeks, I didn't want to be a tourist but I couldn't ask permission to be a local. I was something in between. In the same way that my home, today, is something in between. What is it to think differently about tourism? Træna winter festival consists of panel debates, artists in residence (AIR) presentations, music, journey to the neighboring island, joint dinners and lunches, sauna, book discussions, and evening parties. The festival brings together visitors and locals, people with connections to the island from previous years, and new connections are formed in the process through festivals and research, artistic and culinary cultural collaborations. An important part of the festival experience is the process of travelling to and from the island. During this year's festival, Træna was experiencing very stormy weather, causing cancellations in the speedboat schedule, leading to alternative travel arrangements (extra train and bus trips to Mo i Rana and Stokkvågen). Several festival guests had to cancel their trips at the last minute, including two of my friends, Britt and Eman. The festival experience became a solo trip for me, hereby also causing a face-to-face encounter with feelings of 'belonging' and 'being an outsider' in an island without other connections than the ongoing research project and a visit to the island on the summer time last year. What is it to think differently about tourism? Of the seven days I was on the island, four of them were spent at the house of my friend and colleague Britt and her husband. Jullastua and especially its kitchen became so important to me that I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave the sense of home that was born for me around this kitchen, my body moving - tapping into the local rhythms, here and there - in meaningful places on the island. In the shop, the church, Havfolkets Hus, the dance floor at Grendahuset, the ferry, the speedboat, Sanna, Kirkehellern, and the local gym. My body began to create a rhythm with the rhythms of the island and at the same time with the everyday rhythms of local life. I was a tourist in the local, I wanted to be part of it, I wanted to give. I got so much. I returned the ’pant’ bottles and bought a bottle of lemonade. I bought groceries, searched for the store's Beyond Meat veggie steak from the frozen selection, bought my daily protein bars and waited for the coffee machine to heat up, dropping a 10 NOK coin into the machine. I had dinner with my new colleague Christian, drank beers from RAUS bryggeri in Nesna, which Kristian and Hans Petter left me at Jullastua - a place with which Kristian has a much stronger bond than I do. What is it to think differently about tourism? I watched the sea and the uninterrupted movement of the birds as I leaned against the railing of the Joker shop, the railing on a terrace against which I leaned last summer, my tattoos feeling the sun's rays so intense that I had to reluctantly continue my journey. Joker is the only shop on the island, being open on weekdays from 10am to 4.30pm, just as long as you need it. During the festival the shop was exceptionally open extra hours, like on the stormy day when the festival crowd arrived by ferry from Stokkvågen to Træna. In that ferry we swayed left and right together as we took paper waffle plates to the recycling bins and headed for the toilet, taking support from the walls and chairs. What is it to think differently about tourism? (text continues after the picture) The shared programme at the festival, the understanding of what Træna is going through at the moment, the concerns that we carried together as a festival community but for which we had no solution in the moment, carried the days on the island. But hope, that's what we had. I may have been the quietest festival guest, but I was part of you. I wrote, I thought, I talked with you quietly in my mind and in the text that flows onto my keyboard now. On the second day, we started talking. One, two, three encounters led to a common language of dance on the dance floor as DJ Kassett created an atmosphere that united us all. Bass, nostalgia, meeting eyes, smiles on the dance floor. We were one people. And we all wanted to understand what Træna will be in the future. We were one in Kirkhelleren, when Andreas Myksvoll played for us in the dark cave, gently lit by the violet light. Water dripped down my neck. DJ Kassett experienced a larger icefall falling even too close. We continued to listen to the music. DJ Kassett kept listening. Being in the moment. What is it to think differently about tourism? In the process and between spaces, my existence on the island extended to another research group working on the empowerment of coastal communities. I met this group at Grendahuset when they had a small stand there. The group was relaxed, warm, a little academic corner for me, a little safe haven. Meeting this group made me realize the importance of time in finding one's place in a community united by the sea and the future of an island. I am Finnish and speak fluent Norwegian in one-to-one conversations, but large groups and social situations where the Norwegian language with its different dialects circulates beautifully, complexly, in the interaction of people, is too much for me to feel part of the group. I need encounters where it's just the two of us, and then it can be three or four. Encounters can also be gatherings around a common ground, as happened on the opening day of the festival's official programme, when Maiken opened a sofa discussion on the topic of who owns the future of the sea. As a participant, I was able to be one of you, to take part in the reflection on how Træna's journey into the future is going, what it will look like, what we can do to preserve Træna's heritage as a fishing community. The couch discussion was an invitation to be part of the community. What is it to think differently about tourism? On 13 February at 9:16 a.m., I wrote at the kitchen table in Jullastua, which has become my home, as follows: "I reflect on Træna and how the presence of scientists and artists on the island makes the island community vibrant and ever-changing. In 2021, the island had 450 inhabitants, of which 27.3% of the population is of immigrant origin (SSB, 2022). The number of residents with an immigrant background has steadily increased over the years, reaching 20.5% in 2017 (21.3%, 22.3%, 26%, 27.3%). The island's population has remained relatively stable for the past six years. These population figures do not include researchers and artists visiting the island for longer periods of time and their potential research teams, who spend several days, if not weeks or months here, for example during the winter festival. This lifestyle and world is different from many other island communities, where the population is much more static and people do not interact in the same way as on the bustling Husøya Træna. Træna's innovative and fluid, on-the-move character is influenced by concrete actions and motivation, which is linked to the 'face' of Træna, Marit Berghausen. It is clear that this woman, who moved from Finnmark to the island of Træna, Husøya, plays a major role in making Træna what it is today, being a 'window' to new influences and inspiration from outside the island." What is it to think differently about tourism? Marit was at Havfolkets Hus on the day of my arrival. We had never met face to face before, but had chatted via email and Teams. Before I met Marit, I had found a familiar, friendly face in a bar. It was Marthe. Marthe lives on Selvær, a neighbouring island to Husøy, and is in charge of the local grocery shop. This young woman made an indelible impression on me, and it was a pleasure to meet her among the festival crowd. Marit came to say hello to me while I was talking to Marthe. The greeting led to a hug and I felt that was the real start of my festival journey. Also in the confusion I was in amongst the Norwegian-speaking community, in a chorus of speech I didn't yet know how to attach myself to. What is it to think differently about tourism? The moments I shared with you, my reader, are like tiny grains of sand carried ashore by the sea. Among them are questions that I will continue to write about, and to which I will return in the spring. They are the questions that will guide our work with Britt on these small islands of Helgeland, which have an eye to the future and at the same time an important anchor in local history. Theses sands of thoughts evolve to a paper to be presented in Italy, in a Thematic conference on The Ocean and Seas in Geographical Thought. The paper presented is titled Rhythmic worldmaking with the Norwegian Sea, islands of Træna, and havfolk and it will be a story of Træna’s winter festival, experienced as a traveler in-between homes and places. I would love to talk more about what I write, with you, dear reader (maybe over a cold RAUS ipa?). Just get in touch and let's chat. I’m looking forward to our encounters and want to give back in ways that I, and we, can. My journey will take me to Helgeland next spring or early summer, first by land, my means of travel being a tiny home on wheels. From a camper, I will create an understanding of the coastal route of Helgeland and the ways in which travellers create a relationship with the coastal landscape of the Helgelandkysten and the islands and island communities - including those not accessible to vans, campervans, motorhomes and their residents. This trip will add new layers to the dialogue between research projects, and hopefully to the collaboration building between EmpowerUS and Traveling Post-Corona. Who knows, if a home on wheels finds its way to the Trænafestival. Where would be the best place to park a mobile home? And would it be as homely as Jullastua's kitchen? Tarja (In Finnish below!) It's time to start a new year with the project. It's been a while since the last blog post, and for an important reason: studying a complex phenomenon like vanlife from the perspective of tourism mobilities changes one committed to the research. The researcher, in line with feminist pedagogy, becomes part of the complexity being studied, raising a new question of ”who am I”, every day. Everything I ask, everything I write, creates a world of which I am a part. As researchers, we have a great responsibility, even if our work may seem distant and somewhat built on written text. But the reality is different, and even more so if we take our responsibilities seriously. 2023 will be the second year of the project. This year will bring a lot, at least in terms of planning and plans. I have tried to position myself for the coming year in a way that takes into account the uncertainty of life, both in terms of world politics and the pandemic that continues to limit and shape our lives. A lot is happening in tourism at the moment. Despite the opportunity that the covid-19 pandemic has given to rethink tourism and our own travel habits - including our habit of travelling far, for short periods and in peak seasons - tourism has in many ways come back to normal. For example, Christmas tourism has once again reached new records in my home town of Rovaniemi, Finnish Lapland, and international travellers have crowded airports with locals critically discussing the issue on social media. The themes of overtourism are present in research conferences, in call for papers in academic journals and physically experienced in crowded streets and packed cafés. 2023 is therefore a particularly important year to continue the research project on tourism mobilities. The theme of overtourism has become increasingly important in the Vanlife Landscape project. Let's start from Scotland. Since my last blog post, I have had time to travel to Scotland's famous North Coast 500 route, where I spent five days on a guided tour with my indescribably knowledgeable guide Robert from North Coast Explorers (www.northcoast.scot/). The NC500 is a famous circular route in the Scottish Highlands, where it has built on the existing road network, inviting both people from within the UK (England, Wales, Scotland) and international travellers to drive the route and experience the - often breathtaking - scenery of the Highlands. The route is particularly attractive to touring car and campervan enthusiasts and is also renowned among vanlife practitioners, A home on wheels offers the opportunity for spontaneity and the freedom to make travel plans from the road without having to plan every detail in advance. On the other hand, this very spontaneity and freedom poses a challenge to the regions, communities and environment along the route: when campsites are full, mobile homes are parked on roadsides and in car parks not originally designed to serve overnight stays. The infrastructure is not sufficient to serve the travelling masses and, for example, emptying the septic tanks of campervans can become a real project. Human waste has become a problem in the region. The materiality of tourism is thus palpable along the route - even if you wouldn’t want to, well, touch it or smell it. After months of background work and social media monitoring, I decided to focus my research project on the NC500 touring route, and, above all, on the landscape, communities and more-than-human network of actors that live and continuously become-with (Barad, 2008) the materiality of tourist mobilities and vehicles in the Scottish Highlands. This focus will create a dialogue with the development of tourism mobilities in the Helgeland region of Nordland County, Norway, where we are working closely with my colleague Britt Kramvig. My aim for travelling to Scotland in October 2022 was to understand the experience of the popular and overtourism-prone route, and the co-creation of different worlds from the perspective of lifestyle mobilities and posthumanist-relational ontology. I wanted to bring the experience of the route into dialogue with the experiences of the vanlife lifestyle practitioners I have been working with since the early stages of the project. When I traveled, I had the opportunity to experience the NC500 in its full 516-mile length. I wanted to not "complete" the route as it would be against my understanding of the meaning of travel, as well as in light of my ontological standpoints. The ”not completing the route” was reflected in the way my guide Robert had laid out the itinerary for our five-day trip together. It was based on a dialogue that emerged from the longitudinal project of Vanlife Landscapes. The unexpected, non-touristy worlds that make up the Highlands were the things I wanted to understand. And I learned much more than any blog post could tell. As we drove along the route, the NC500 and the Highlands became a complex set of networks that lived in constant motion despite the supposed static nature of paved roads and bridges. It was the end of the tourist season and there were only a handful of travelers on the roads, and we felt privileged to be in the Highlands in the absence of human masses. The mountains, the road, the bridges, the history of the Highlands, were allowed to speak and be heard. In the hot season on the route, campers, cars, motorhomes, motorcycles and bicycles would intertwine with the motivations of tourists, sightseers and mobile lifestyle practitioners to "drive" or "experience" the route. This intertwining would be driven and enabled by a network of hundreds of kilometres of roads, where the materiality of the roads - dual or single carriageway, road condition, construction material - and the enabling and limiting speeds at which they can be driven - would play a key role. Into this complex whole, then (in anything but chronological order) are interwoven the many realities of tourism, the principles, the money, the logic of production and the human individuals and groups that are linked to this logic, both the tourist operators who make a living from tourism, made possible by the NC500 route, and the local inhabitants whose homes have become destinations, with all the consequences that entails. The Scottish Highlands and the NC500 are also linked to the tense relationships between towns and villages, of which the traveller is more or less aware, or in many cases completely unaware. In this complexity, the landscape of the Highlands can be seen as a backdrop to the tourist gaze, a backdrop that 'frames' the journey and the rhythm of movement and stopping - or it can be thought of as a spatio-temporal world, in whose multiplicity lives a multifarious and multiform group of actors whose existence and/or history is often overshadowed/unrecognised by modern tourism narratives. This reflection is in the process of becoming an article in which I hope to create a critical debate on the ways in which route tourism sees landscape and the road as consumable matter. The NC500 and the Scottish Highlands are a relevant site for doing posthumanistically oriented, place-sensitive mobility research and critical tourism studies. I have planned to return to the Scottish Highlands in the coming late summer, this time during the peak tourist season. Then you will read another story of the experience in the NC500.
Vanlife Landscapes will also continue its travels this year to the Vanlife Festival at Camp Quirky in Northamptonshire at the end of April (https://www.quirkycampers.com/uk/campervan-festival/). I am grateful for the opportunity to be a speaker and arranger of a workshop at the festival, where together with the vanlife community we will envision sustainable, meaningful and response-able campervan tourism. As the pandemic continues to be part of our daily lives, you never know when even the best laid plans will be cancelled or modified. I am delighted that my research has been able to take shape as a kind of living organism, combining live, embodied encounters with people and non-human subjects, as well as technology-mediated encounters that allow me to both travel back to Scotland and Helgeland regardless of the time of day or distance. I’d love you to stay tuned for next post. Tarja *** Uusi vuosi, Skotlannin Ylämaat ja tutkijan vastuu On aika aloittaa uusi vuosi projektin parissa. Aikaa on kulunut viimeisestä blogipostauksesta, ja tärkeästä syystä: vanlifen tapaisen kompleksisen ilmiön tutkiminen matkailumobiliteettien näkökulmasta muuttaa tutkijaansa. Tutkijasta tulee feministisen pedagogiikankin mukaisesti osa tutkittavaa kompleksisuutta, nostaen joka päivä esiin uuden kysymyksen siitä, kuka olen. Nostaen esiin huomion siitä, että kaikki, mitä kysyn, kaikki, mitä kirjoitan, luo maailmaa, jota olen osa. Tutkijana meillä on suuri vastuu, vaikka työmme voikin näyttää etäiseltä ja rakentuvan kirjoitetun tekstin varaan. Todellisuus on kuitenkin toista, ja vielä enemmän, jos otamme vastuumme tosissaan. 2023 tulee olemaan toinen vuosi projektissa. Tämä vuosi tuo tullessaan paljon, ainakin suunnittelun ja lukkoon lyötyjen suunnitelmien osalta. Olen yrittänyt asemoitua tulevaan vuoteen tavalla, joka ottaa huomioon elämän epävarmuuden niin maailmanpolitiikan kuin edelleen elämäämme rajoittavan ja muovaavan pandemian kannalta. Matkailussa tapahtuu tällä hetkellä paljon. Huolimatta siitä mahdollisuudesta, jonka covid 19-pandemia on antanut uudelleenajatella matkailua ja omia matkustustottumuksiamme - osana sitä tottumuksemme matkustaa kauas, lyhyeksi aikaa ja kiivaimpina sesonkeina - on matkailu palannut monelta osin ennalleen. Esimerkiksi joulumatkailu on saavuttanut jälleen uusia ennätyslukuja synnyinkaupungissani Rovaniemellä, Suomen Lapissa ja kansainväliset matkailijat ovat kansoittaneet lentokentät paikallisten keskutellen aiheesta kriittisesti sosiaalisessa mediassa. Liikamatkailun (overtourism) teemat ovat esillä niin tutkimuskonferensseissa, akateemisten journaalien call for papereissa kuin fyysisesti koettuna ruuhkaisilla turistien valtaamilla kaduilla ja täysissä kahviloissa. Vuosi 2023 on siis erityisen tärkeä vuosi jatkaa matkailumobiliteetteihin keskittyvää tutkimusprojektia. Liikamatkailun teema on kehittynyt entistä tärkeämmäksi myös Vanlife Landscape-projektissa. Lähdetään liikkeelle Skotlannista. Viime blogipostaukseni jälkeen olen ehtinyt matkustaa Skotlantiin kuuluisalle North Coast 500-reitille, jossa vietin viisi päivää opastetulla matkalla sanoinkuvaamattoman tietorikkaan oppaani Robertin kanssa. NC500 on kuuluisa rengasreitti Skotlannin Ylämailla, jossa se on rakentunut olemassa olevan tieverkoston varaan, kutsuen niin ihmisiä Iso-Britannian sisältä (Englanti, Wales, Skotlanti) kuin kansainvälisiä matkustajia ajamaan reitin ja kokemaan Ylämaiden - usein henkeäsalpaavat - maisemat. Reitti on erityisen houkutteleva matkailu- ja retkeilyautoilijoille ja tunnettu myös vanlife-mobiliteettien harjoittajien keskudessa: koti pyörien päällä tarjoaa mahdollisuuden spontaaniuteen ja vapauteen tehdä matkasuunnitelmia tien päältä ilman jokaisen yksityiskohdan viilaamista etukäteen. Toisaalta juuri tämä spontaanius ja vapaus aiheuttaa haasteen alueille, yhteisöille, ympäristölle, joka reitin varrella on: leirintäalueiden ollessa täynnä mobiilit kodit parkkeerataan teiden varsille ja parkkipaikoille, jotka eivät ole alun perin tarkoitettu palvelemaan yön yli kestäviä viipymiä. Infrastruktuuri ei riitä palvelemaan matkustamassoja ja esimerkiksi retkeilyautojen likavesien tyhjennys voi olla etsivätyötä vaativa projekti. Ihmisjätteestä on tullut alueelle todellinen ongelma. Matkailun materiaalisuus on reitillä käsinkosketeltava - vaikka ei haluaisikaan koskea. Kuukausien taustatyön ja sosiaalisen median seurantatyön jälkeen päätin keskittää huomioni tutkimusprojektissani tähän rengasreittiin ja ennen kaikkea siihen maisemaan, yhteisöihin ja ihmisen ylittävään toimijaverkostoon, joka Skotlannin Ylämailla elää ja prosessinomaisesti tulee yhdessä matkailumobiliteettien ja -autojen materiaalisuuden kanssa. Tämä fokus tulee luomaan dialogin Norjan Nordlandin kunnassa sijaitsevan Helgelandin alueen matkailumobiliteettien kehittämistyön kanssa, jossa työskentelemme tiiviisti kollegani Britt Kramvigin kanssa. Tavoitteeni Skotlantiin matkustamiselle oli ymmärtää suositun ja liikamatkailulle alttiin reitin kokemusta ja eri maailmojen yhteismuotoutumista elämäntapamobiliteettien ja posthumanistis-relationaalisen ontologian näkökulmasta. Halusin tuoda kokemuksen reitistä dialogiin vanlife-elämäntapaharjoittajien kokemusten kanssa, joiden parissa olen työskennellyt projektin alkuvaiheesta saakka. Lokakuussa 2022 sain mahdollisuuden matkata Ylämaille ja sain ensikokemuksen NC500-reitistä sen kokonaisen 516 mailin mittaiselta kokonaisuudelta. Halusin olla ”suorittamatta” reittiä sen ollessa taistellut vastaan ymmärrystäni matkailun merkityksestä sekä myös ontologisten lähtökohtieni valossa. Reitin ”suorittamattomuus” näyttäytyi tavassa, jolla oppaani Robert oli laatinut reittisuunnitelman viiden päivän yhteiselle matkallemme. Se perustui dialogiin, joka syntyi projektini tavoitteiden pohjalta. Odottamattomat, ei-turistilliset maailmat, jotka tekevät Ylämaat, olivat minulle niitä asioita, joita halusin ymmärtää. Ajaessamme reitillä, NC500 ja Ylämaat muodostuivat kompleksisista ihmisen ylittävien verkostojen kokonaisuudesta, joka eli jatkuvassa liikkeessä päällystettyjen teiden ja siltojen oletetusta staattisuudesta huolimatta. Oli matkailusesongin loppu ja kulkijoita teillä oli vain kourallinen, ja koimme olevamme etuoikeutettuja olla Ylämailla ihmismassojen poissaollessa. Vuoret, tie, sillat, Ylämaiden historia, saivat puhua ja tuulla kuulluiksi. Kuumana sesonkina reitillä retkeilyautot, henkilöautot, matkailuautot, moottoripyörät ja pyörät kietoutuvat matkailijoiden, turistien ja elämäntapamatkailijoiden motivaatioihin ”ajaa” tai ”kokea” reitti, ja tätä kietoumaa puolestaan ohjaa ja mahdollistaa satojen kilometrien tieverkosto, jossa teiden materiaalisuus - kaksi- tai yksikaistaisuus, teiden kunto, rakennusmateriaali - ja sen mahdollistama ja rajoittava vauhti, jota kulkuneuvoilla voi toteuttaa - on keskeisessä roolissa. Tähän kompleksiseen kokonaisuuteen sitten (kaikkea muuta kuin kronologisessa järjestyksessä) kietoutuu matkailun monet todellisuudet, periaatteet, raha, tuotantologiikka ja tähän logiikkaan kytkeytyvät ihmisyksilöt ja -ryhmät, niin matkailutoimijat, jotka elävät matkailusta NC500-reitin mahdollistamana, kuin paikalliset asukkaat, joiden kodista on tullut matkakohde, seurauksineen. Skotlannin Ylämaihin ja NC500:n kytkeytyy myös kaupunkien ja kylien väliset jännitteiset suhteet, joista tiellä kulkija on enemmän tai vähemmän tietoinen, tai monesti myös täysin tietämätön. Tässä kompleksisuudessa Ylämaiden maisema (landscape) voi näyttäytyä matkailulle ominaisesti taustakuvana, backdroppina, joka ”kehystää” matkan taittamista ja liikkeen ja pysähdyksen rytmiikkaa - tai sen voidaan ajatella olevan paikallis-ajallinen maailma, jonka moninaisuudessa elää monilajinen ja -muotoinen ”kimppu” toimijoita, joiden olemassaolo ja/tai historia jää usein matkanarratiivien varjoon/ulottumattomiin. Elämäntapamobiliteetit haastavat perinteiseksi muodostunutta kuvaa matkailusta asettamalla jatkuvan (suhteellisesti ajateltuna) liikkeen sekä pidemmät viipymät yhdessä ”työn” ja ”vapaa-ajan” sekoittumisen kanssa mobiliteetin ytimeksi. Tämä pohdinta on muodostumassa para-aikaa artikkeliksi, jolla toivon pystyväni luomaan kriittistä keskustelua reittimatkailulle ominaisista tavoista nähdä maisema ja tie kulutettavana toimijuutena. NC500 ja Skotlannin Ylämaat ovat merkityksellinen paikka tehdä posthumanistisesti orientoitunutta, paikkasensitiiivistä mobiliteettitutkimusta sekä kriittistä matkailututkimusta. Palaan Skotlannin Ylämaille toivottavasti tulevana loppukesänä, tällä kertaa turistisesongin aikaan. Vanlife Landscapes jatkaa matkaansa tänä vuonna myös vanlife-festivaaleille, kohteena Camp Quirky Northamptonshiressa huhtikuun lopussa (https://www.quirkycampers.com/uk/campervan-festival/). Olen kiitollinen mahdollisuudesta päästä pitämään festivaalilla työpajaa, jossa yhdessä vanlife-yhteisön kanssa visioimme kestävää, merkityksekstä ja vastuunottoon kykenevää campervan-matkailua. Koska pandemia on edelleen osa arkeamme, ei koskaan voi tietää, milloin hienoimmatkin suunnitelmat peruuntuvat tai joutuvat muokatuiksi. Olen iloinen siitä, että tutkimukseni on pystynyt muovautumaan eräänlaiseksi eläväksi organismiksi, jossa yhdistyy elävät, keholliset kohtaamiset ihmisten ja monikirjoisen ei-inhimillisen maailman kanssa, sekä teknologiavälitteiset kohtaamiset, joiden kautta pääsen sekä matkustamaan takaisin Skotlantiin ja Helgelandiin kellonajasta ja välimatkasta riippumatta. Ensi kertaan! Tarja 43 tabs open in my two Google Chrome windows
Three screens open on my desktop with two article drafts sharing one screen, this text owning its own screen, and one screen is reserved for a total mess of a manuscript that lives with the twists and turns of life as it opens and closes, teaching me the art of acceptance when asking tough questions A pop-up roofed campervan drawn with a ballpoint pen, joined by a surfaced road and a glooming landscape of a mountain, and an alert eye – meaning of which I have by now forgotten – join me in my seemingly messy yet surprisingly organized office space This is a research project on vanlife What can a researcher do to understand the world which seems ever more mobile, from behind a desktop? Not much, yet quite a bit. This desktop is a remembrance of the part of my messy identity that connects me to academia and the practice, even art, of writing and to something that seems – at least for a fleeting moment – somewhat “stable”. To write, to come to this desktop, is to “put together”, to “reflect”, to “connect” as if things are being put into “one place”. The floating tabs in my Google Chrome are the stage for a “stable reflection from one place”, making the play one of those which one finds quite compelling to watch yet which appears in many moments extremely hard to grasp. What happened with the plot? Anyone? Soon, this floating stage, the “one place” ascribed by the name “academia” and “work”, moves into a temporary room of accommodation, a bus that travels for 6,5 hours by carrying 20 + human travelers and their luggage, and then “home”. “Home” has its own desktop and place of “work”, which is also a social family space for eating and playing cards and boardgames, and of daily chores by (an anonymized) (female) member of the family who tries to rub off the stains of a teacup that was left on the surface of the “home/work desktop/family relations one-place”. Even if you were thinking I’ve now completely lost it, I’m actually talking about my project, Vanlife Landscapes. It’s been now approximately five months since the launch of the project and the floating tabs and reflections of “one-places” are becoming more and more complex as vanlife starts to become an increasingly philosophical question to me. Vanlife, what some would call a minimalist life on wheels and a growingly popular, to a degree nomadic lifestyle and community whose practitioners choose to live in a home-like converted vehicle either full- or part-time has begun to open to me as what Cohen et al. (2015) describe as lifestyle mobility. As a lifestyle mobility, vanlife challenges any bounded and restrictive conceptualizations of living a life in a van – which makes it also hard to establish statistical “evidence” of the vanlife community. We can read about statistics of new registrations of motor caravans or the trends in the rental market of campervans, as well as the increasing demand for professional conversions of vans, but many things slip away from our urge to “grasp” a phenomenon. Vanlifers come in different forms, motivations, histories, stories, and worldviews, and their “floating presence” in the midst of a growingly digitalized world is hard, even impossible, to “grasp”. During the last months in addition to my life behind this real mess of tabs in Google Chrome, I’ve been talking to people with vans, dwelled in a van in my home city of Tromsø, read dozens of media articles of vanlife and watched hundreds of minutes of YouTube material from vanlife. I’ve been smoothing the dogs of vanlife people, had a cup of coffee with vanlife people, and thought about what I mean by “vanlife people”. These encounters and consumed media coverage I have mixed with a question of what does vanlife teach us about the meaning of home? Destination? Tourism? Travel? Work? For some, an affiliation with “tourism” in relation to their lifestyle and identity is a red flag. Some instead call themselves being “a complete tourist” when traveling with their van. Tourism, it seems, seems to have different meanings and it can be approached differently. Also, the concept of work seems to get multiple meanings. For some, work is on the road – in the van – full time, part time, or then there is a break – indeterminate or fixed – from work. Then there are processes of a creation of future work, an open space for discovery of the direction in life and whether it includes work as “we know it”, or work as “something I haven’t tried before but which might be possible”. Imaginaries and realities float and mingle, and structure and discipline go hand in hand with them as vanlife NEEDS structure. Again, structure is a relative noun. The encounters with these people (and their dogs, gosh, the dogs!) have been rewarding and eye-opening. The openness and willingness to discuss the possibilities as well as challenges that come with the package of vanlife that my informants express has made it possible for a small researcher to start building that something that was my desire when the project was only on paper without knowledge of its actual realization: a more complex, nuanced understanding of vanlife. Quite many of my informants (could we come up with a better name?) actually alienate the concept of “vanlife” as they do not feel they want to be identified as representatives of a social medialized phenomenon which feeds with hashtags and amounts of likes. They also might not feel that they “earn” the designation of a “vanlifer” if they do not live in their van full time but use their van in other ways whilst simultaneously owning a house or an apartment. A lot of power is put into a word VANLIFE and it pushes and pulls us – which makes it ever more interesting. I had such inspiring discussions with a wonderful vanlife traveler Emma Winter from UK and her dog Jamie the springer spaniel earlier this month as our paths crossed in Tromsø about the meaning of vanlife and the reasons behind decisions to travel in a van full time. For Emma, it was much about taking a step in life that allows space for reflection, a pause from something that has become a normality. These are not things that happen lightly. Read about Emma’s journey in her blog: https://thewaytoventure.co.uk/ and say hi from me if you reach out to her! Follow also Natalie, Marten and Isa's journey through Europe in Instagram, @ourcamperstories. Isa is accompaning me in the photo of this blog text! So, I wanted to write this blog post to tell you a little bit about the ongoing mess that is the true flavor of a(ny) research project, but also of what is going to happen next. I’m deepening my current knowledge of vanlife by, first, reaching out to the communities of its practitioners and to learn about the meaning of coming together in a lifestyle that includes periods of exclusion from social environment as well as periods of true loneliness, for many. Second, I start to go deeper in understanding the connections between tourism and lifestyle mobilities by taking an established “destination” for many self-drive travelers, including “tourists” (in search of a better word) as well as “mobile dwellers” who are not to be identified as tourists, as my focus. This provides me also a way to start to create understanding of the connections between lifestyle mobilities, the materialities of campervan travel, and the landscape that is shaped by its characterizations through a destination discourse. I also wish to understand better the challenges rising from the increasing amounts of campervans and motorhomes on the roads of Europe and Scandinavia, and as such my choice for this focus entails dimensions of over-tourism. This part of my research is going to take place now before a return to Helgeland in Norway, which is going to happen in Spring-Summer 2023 – I’m looking forward to meeting the landscape, islands and their people again, and now from the perspective of a life in a van! So! I’m currently booking my travel to the UK in the end of September, to take part in South Coast Van Fest https://www.southcoastvanfest.co.uk/ and hopefully learn so much more about the versatile vanlife community and stories of living in/owning/traveling with vans. I’ve expressed my willingness to volunteer in the festival, so fingers crossed that my help will be accepted (even as I am a clumsy researcher who is sometimes slightly alienated from work that requires handiness and practical logic)! After this, my journey will continue to the North, to Scotland’s North Highlands, where I will dig into the history and current state of the infamous North Coast 500 route https://www.northcoast500.com/ with the help of a local tour operator North Coast Explorer https://www.northcoast.scot/. As the NC500 is for many a bucket list destination (and I can see why!), we also need to understand the challenges rising from the mind-puzzling popularity of the +500 miles long route and the growing amounts of motorhomes and vans with their travelers occupying the roads, lay-bys, and attractions. The official webpage of the route states how NC500 is “much more than just a road”. Indeed, but the route is also much more than just a tourist attraction or a canvas for an ultimate road trip. Freelance Writer Gail Anthea Brown from the North of Scotland has written powerfully about the NC500 and the challenges that the local communities and the environment is facing due to the growing popularity of the route. I provide links to her texts below, make yourself a good cup of coffee (or should I say tea!) and read, without haste. You might also want to familiarize yourself with the ongoing research project of PhD student Julian grant called “Living Landscapes of Castletown”. In this project, Julian does community-based research by hearing and sharing the stories of local people living in Castletown and building understanding of the relationship between tourist and local communities around the NC500. Julian, you will be hearing from me soon… let’s have that cup of tea together! Gail Anthea Brown: The North Coast 500 and the Summer of Discontent. https://gailantheabrown.com/2020/08/14/the-north-coast-500-and-the-summer-of-discontent/ Gail Anthea Brown: Poo, Potholes and Park-Ups – Why Highlanders Are Tired of Scotland’s North Coast 500 Route. https://gailantheabrown.com/2021/08/12/poo-potholes-and-park-ups-why-highlanders-are-tired-of-scotlands-north-coast-500-route/ Julian Grant’s project webpage: https://www.castletownheritage.co.uk/Living%20Landscape.htm?fbclid=IwAR1AjuNDA2pfFN_YKNlDyiQ1jAmlJPCgIvF4Habmui0YrJi2HQkahG61IUE. Scott A. Cohen, Tara Duncan & Maria Thulemark (2015) Lifestyle Mobilities: The Crossroads of Travel, Leisure and Migration, Mobilities, 10:1, 155-172, DOI: 10.1080/17450101.2013.826481 Tarja Categories(For Finnish, please scroll down) Stories with seascapes The first blog post of my project takes place at sea, on the journey between Husøy and Bodø, in the northern Helgeland area, in the county of Nordland. I'm writing you digital bottle mail from the sea, defying nausea in the rough weather. The sea has shown me today what the local residents on the small islands of Helgeland have told me about. To travel on the sea in the vicinity of the island of Myken is unpredictable, and often impossible. The small community living in Myken has been left without contact with the mainland for up to two weeks in severe weather. Being part of an island community requires adaptation, patience and faith. You might wonder why the vanlife landscapes project starts at sea and not on land. The sea, speed boats, ferries and Reis Nordland's timetables are an inseparable part of the creation and shaping process of vanlife landscapes. Our broader research project on post-covid tourism connects the land and the sea in the Helgeland region. Helgeland in the Norwegian archipelago is a collection of complex island connections, an area with growing tourism interests and investments. Tourism takes on new forms here and encourages creativity - under the conditions of the size of the islands and their communities. The area is interesting in countless ways, not least from the point of view of examining automobilities. The landscape of many of these small islands is not pierced by roads and highways. If a road is found, it can be one, two or three kilometers long. This does not mean that the size of the island is only to be determined by the length of the road. When we spent two nights and two and a half days on the island of Myken, the road was a communication channel for human settlement and community. There is not a single car on the island, but speedboats and passenger boats come and go, with the island's small harbor acting as a meeting place for mobility. The small island became a big one, as I left the short road behind me. Small paths led to a fell top, and to another, and to a third. The sea which edges were unconceivable by the human eye became an extension of the island's body. Only such a small part of all this, the diversity of life on our planet, is (hu)man-made. And yet we think that the land, the sea, the air and their countless life forms are under our control. Spending time in island communities and in the immediate presence of the sea makes you think differently. We would be nothing without the sea, land, birds, insects, trees. The absence of cars and motorized movement on the island - on land - raises questions about the nature of mobilities, as well as their justification and rationality. The decision to leave the car on the mainland invites you to a world of different rhythms and sensory experiences. Yet, traveling in a car that allows dwelling during a journey, keeping the senses awake, can embody an ontology of slowness, which can become combined with the rhythmicity of island life and the mobilities of the sea in coastal areas and routes. This is where I draw the spiritual, theoretical, and philosophical fuel for this research. I'll be traveling to Helgeland again at the end of the summer. I'll write to you another bottle post, this time also from the road, from Kystriksveien. Welcome to the journey. Tarinoita merimaisemissa Projektini ensimmäinen blogikirjoitus syntyy merellä, Husøyn ja Bodøn välisellä etapilla, pohjoisen Helgelandin alueella, Nordlandin läänissä. Kirjoitan sinulle digitaalista pullopostia mereltä, uhmaten pahoinvointia ristiaallokossa. Meri on osoittanut tänään minulle sen, mistä paikalliset asukkaat Helgelandin pienillä saarilla ovat minulle kertoneet. Merenkulku Mykenin saaren lähiympäristössä on arvaamatonta, ja usein mahdotonta. Mykenin merikansa - havfolk - on jäänyt usein vaille kosketusta mantereeseen jopa kahden viikon ajaksi rajuilla säillä. Olla osa merikansaa vaatii sopeutumista, kärsivällisyyttä ja uskoa. Saatat ihmetellä, miksi vanlife landscapes -tutkimusmatka alkaa merellä eikä maalla. Meri, hurtigbåter, lautat ja Reis Nordlandin aikataulut ovat erottamaton osa vanlife-maisemien synty- ja muotoutumisprosessia. Laajempi tutkimusprojektimme koronan jälkeisestä matkailusta yhdistää maata pitkin kulkemani ja tutkimani polut meren kansan (havfolk), meren, ja merellä käytävien mobiliteettien kanssa, Helgelandin alueella. Helgeland Norjan saaristossa on kompleksisten saariyhteyksien kokoelma, ja kasvava matkailun keskittymä. Matkailu saa täällä uusia muotoja ja kannustaa luovuuteen - saarten ja sen yhteisöjen koon ehdoilla. Alue on kiinnostava lukemattomilla tavoilla, eikä vähiten automobiliteettien tarkastelun näkökulmasta. Monien näiden pienten saarien maisemaa eivät lävistä autotiet. Jos tie löytyy, voi se olla kilometrin, kahden tai kolmen mittainen. Tämä ei tarkoita, että saaren koko olisi määriteltävissä vain tien pituuden perusteella. Viettäessämme kaksi yötä ja kaksi ja puoli päivää Mykenin saarella, oli tie kommunikointiväylä ihmisasutukselle ja yhteisöllisyydelle. Saarella ei ole ainoatakaan autoa, mutta pikaveneet ja henkilöveneet menevät ja tulevat saaren pienen sataman toimiessa mobiliteettien kohtaamispaikkana. Pieni saari muuttui suureksi jättäessäni tien taakseni. Pienet polut veivät kalliolle, ja toiselle, ja kolmannelle. Silminkantamattomiin jatkuva meri oli kuin saaren ruumiin jatke. Vain niin pieni osa tästä kaikesta, planettamme elämän monimuotoisuudesta, on ihmisen rakentamaa. Ja silti me ajattelemme, että maa, meri, ilma ja niiden lukemattomat elämänmuodot ovat meidän hallittavissamme. Saaristoyhteisöissä ja meren välittömässä läsnäolossa ajan viettäminen saa ajattelemaan toisin. Me emme olisi mitään ilman merta, maata, lintuja, hyönteisiä, puita. Autojen ja motorisoidun liikkeen poissaolo saarella - maalla, ei merellä - herättää kysymyksiä mobiliteettien luonteesta ja tiettyjen mobiliteettien oikeutuksesta ja järkiperäisyydestä. Päätös jättää auto mantereelle kutsuu toisenlaisten rytmien ja aistillisten kokemusten maailmaan. Asumiseen soveltuvalla autolla kulkeminen, aistit hereillä pitäen, voi toteuttaa hitauden ontologiaa, joka yhdistyy saaristoelämän rytmiikkaan ja meren mobiliteetteihin rannikkoalueilla ja -reiteillä. Tästä ammennan tutkimukseni henkistä polttoainetta. Matkani käy Helgelandiin uudelleen kesän lopulla, ja kirjoitan sinulle jälleen pullopostia, tällä kertaa myös tien päältä, Kystriksveieniltä. Tervetuloa matkalle kanssani. |
AuthorTarja Salmela Archives
November 2023
Categories |