¡Recuerdos desde Fairbanks! Esto es lo ultimo que sabrás de mi, Wayne. Estoy aquí desde hace dos días. Viajar a dedo por el territorio del Yukon ha sido difícil, pero al final he conseguido llegar.

Por favor, devuelve mi correo a los remitentes. Puede pasar mucho tiempo antes de que regrese al sur. Si esta aventura termina mal y nunca vuelves a tener noticias mías, quiero que sepas que te considero un gran hombre. Ahora me dirijo hacia tierras salvajes.

ALEX

[Postal recibida por Wayne Westerberg en Carthage, Dakota del sur]

Cuando uno conoce la historia de Christopher McCandless, puede tener varias reacciones. La mía fue buscar toda información posible acerca de este chico. En el libro de John Krakauer, se recoge de forma sublime cada retazo de lo que Chris escribió, de lo que sentía y de los autores que más le gustaban. Sin lugar a dudas, muchos pensaran que era un joven soñador con una locura extrema aderezada por las palabras de los escritores románticos. Pero en mi humilde opinión, Chris o Alex, era diferente, tan distinto que era imposible que se refugiara en la sociedad. Tan extremista que se sentía mejor acompañado de ríos y naturaleza plena. Bien es cierto, que al final de su vida, aun estando en paz consigo mismo y su forma de haber vivido, descubrió que es lo que mueve la vida y el como ser feliz. Tarde, pero lo descubrió, se esforzó en buscar eso que a otra gente se le escapa. Fue valiente, un valiente testarudo.

"Si admitimos que la vida humana puede ser guiada por la razón, toda posibilidad de vida será destruida" (Emile Hirsch en “Hacia rutas salvajes” de Sean Penn)

]]> http://muskrat.wordpress.com/?p=799 Wed, 27 Aug 2008 03:25:18 +0000 muskrat http://muskrat.wordpress.com/?p=799

I credit blame Jack Krakauer, Sean Penn, Eddie Vedder, and the Air National Guard for last week.  The latter scheduled the plane on which I decided to catch a "hop" (space available flight).  The former two told a story that haunted me for far longer than it should have, and Mr Vedder I blame for singing about it all the damned time on WZGC in Atlanta.  As succinctly as I can, I will try to relive my brief foray into the wild.

The flight over was on a tanker out of Knoxville, TN.  Believe it or not, I actually quite enjoy flying in this manner, as there are no children or obese people on the back of military cargo planes.  There's no narrow aisle that may or may not be blocked by a beverage cart, and there's no stewardess telling me when I can or can't stand, walk, piss, etc.  Because it's extremely loud, no one can sit next to me and tell me about their grandchildren for 6 hours, either.  I put on hearing protection, spread out the food and drinks I've brought, and read.  It's great.  Like beltin' two homeruns in the same inning and rounding the bases real slowly.

I landed in Anchorage Thursday afternoon, got a rental car (Ford Fusion), and tried to eat at Moose's Tooth but failed (2hr wait).  Tried Glacier Brewhouse and failed (1.5hr wait).  Went to Humpy's and sat right away.  Good beers; pretty good food; great crowd (locals, no tourists like the other two).  I was happy.  Three of us sat and drank for a few hours and then went to an aircrew member's room to sleep (since he was on orders, his lodging was covered by our taxes.  I put a mat and sleeping bag on the floor).

Friday morning about 4:30, Freaky Weasel (hereinafter "FW") and I left for Seward, AK to catch an 8.5hr cruise.  Saw Kenai Fjords National Park from the boat, including a humpback whale, a family of orcas, some porpoises, several diving puffins and murres, sea lions, a sea otter, numerous bald eagles, and some French people.  We stopped on Fox Island for dinner and spent some time in front of Holgate glacier.  Despite the weather's being cold and rainy, it was a good day.  After the cruise, we hiked up to the Exit glacier.  We tried to go to the "toe," but this necessitated walking through a river of glacial runoff of indeterminate depth, and since we were already wet up to our knees, we decided not to continue, but instead followed another trail that lead to a spot along the glacier's edge.  There were posted fines and threats for approaching the glacier, but I don't give a damn.  Drove back to Anchorage (about 2.5hrs) through some of the most beautiful scenery I've ever seen and had pizza and beer at Moose's Tooth about 10pm.  Still daylight outside.  Went to bed.

Saturday morning, we drove about 4hrs north to Denali National Park.  Stopped at a few viewing spots along the Parks Highway to try and see Mt McKinley, but rain and clouds prevented it (as, we learned, occurs during 80% of visitors' stays at the Park).  We hiked Mount Healy, which was categorized as "strenuous," and it was.  We saw some rabbits and ptarmigans on the way.  Nearly spent but feeling quite manly once we'd reached the top, we saw an "older" lady sitting there with her camera.  Instant emasculation.  We hiked along some of the peaks before getting very cold and concerned about continued rain, so we walked back down and set up camp along Riley Creek.

Both of us badly needed showers, so we went into the camp showerhouse.  I was already inside when I saw the sign indicating I owed $4 for this privilege.  I didn't give a damn and dropped trou anyway.  About 10 second later, someone with a European accent knocked on the door and asked me to get out.  I told him I was already showering.  He said he had the key to that shower stall.  I replied that I didn't care; I didn't need the key, as clearly I was already in there and that I badly needed a shower and that he could come polish my balls.  I wasn't sure how long he was going to continue standing there staring at me, so I gathered my things and walked past the closed stalls and settled on the handicapped stall.  I figured the likelihood of a handicapped person's hiking and camping at Denali National Park was pretty low, so I took it.  Mission complete.  We slept in the tent, visited the visitor center the next morning (Sunday), and drove back to Anchorage for the flight home, set for Monday. 

On the way, I drove us 15 miles off Parks Hwy to Talkeetna to try and see Mt McKinley again.  No dice.  I took a picture of the viewing spot anyway.  Was able to eat and drink at the Glacier Brewhouse that night.

Monday, the plane broke for the first time, so we rode around with the aircrew folks and saw Eklutna Lake and hiked a waterfall trail nearby.  Saw a black bear.  Couldn't remember if the black bear is the one I'm supposed to jump up and down and yell at or if I'm supposed to play dead.  Or is that the brown bear?  It glanced at us and walked on.  Airhorns could be heard from the campground a few minutes later.  Went back to Moose's Tooth for more delicious pizza and beer. Tuesday, the plane's fuel line developed a leak.  We were told we'd go Friday at the earliest.  I call my office and have an uncomfortable conversation with a couple colleagues from someone else's cellphone (Verizon didn't work for me the whole trip).  The aircrew were put in a hotel, two to a room.  I decide that instead of paying for an overpriced and undersized motel room, I wanted to 1) see Mt McKinley and 2) make it to Chris McCandless's bus.  The trip changed from vacation to quest.  FW humored me and agreed to come along.

Somehow, I misread the map on page 2 of "Into The Wild" to indicate the bus was near Fairbanks, so we rented a piece of shit Dodge Neon from an independent car rental agency called Midnight Sun.  It already had 60,000 miles on it, and it sounded like a Sherman tank.  And it was purple.  Out of clean clothes, I bought a 3-pack of t-shirts and socks at the Base Exchange and figured my jeans and sweater would be okay for the next several days.  The Neon headed north for a nearly 400-mile trek.  The weather was clear, however, so we were able to pull off at Denali State Park and snap pictures of the 20,000 foot peak.  One goal accomplished.  We appeared to be chasing the setting sun, for as we continued past 11pm, midnight, and even 1am, there was still daylight to the northwest.  We camped somewhere near Fairbanks at nearly 2am.

Wednesday morning, we got up and drove to Eielson Air Force Base to act like we were exercising and use the showers.  We asked the travel office for suggestions for activities in Fairbanks.  Two large women from Michigan suggest panning for gold.  We tell them we didn't bring our kids, thank them, and walk away.  FW checks his voicemail.  Another plane is coming the next morning, meaning we have to be back in Anchorage by 11am.  We're over 6hrs away.  We decide to go to North Pole, AK to buy postcards to send our children.  The senior citizen at the visitor center tells us McCandless shouldn't have been "romanticized" and that his trip was "a waste."  We visit University of Alaska's Museum of the North. I then reach into my backpack to figure out where the Stampede Trail is, and I see the map on page 8 of the book.  It's right by Mount Healy, the mountain we'd climbed four days prior.  I feel like a dumbass, and FW does not hesitate to tell me as much.  We drive several hours south.  See a moose; take pictures.

Finally, we get to Stampede Road.  It's rough.  The Neon travels 8 miles down the road, passing Jeeps and horseback riders along the way as it scrapes along the potholes, mud, and rocks to Eightmile Lake.  Then, the trail turns to a quagmire.  We debate hiking the remaining 10 miles, despite only having a bag of trailmix and one camelbak's worth of water.  It was 5pm.  We head back to try and get mountain bikes or a helicopter.  At Henry's Coffeehouse, FW asks the server about "getting to the bus where that dude died."  He tells us they've had 8 clear days without rain all summer, including the last 2 days.  Thus, the Teklanika River is very high, and the mud and mosquitoes are awful.  He suggests coming back in the winter with sled dogs, closing with, "There's a reason the guy never made it back out." I want to kick Yukon Barista Boy square in the gonads.  I'm mainly just angry at myself for not realizing how close we'd been earlier in the week, when we had more time. 

I did remember, however, that I'd seen a brochure at the "information, tickets, and travel" office at the Air Force Base indicating that Penn filmed the movie in Cantwell, AK, and that the bus used for the movie is still there.  We get in the car and head south, fast, to beat sunset. I drove all over Cantwell, Alaska and found shit-tons of old buses, but none with "Fairbanks City 142" on the side or "Jack London is King" or "Alexander Supertramp, May 1992" inside.  I'm pissed.  FW is making fun of me for chasing a naive narcissist with Daddy issues.  We stop at a gas station and ask the Inuit about the bus.  It's 9pm.  He says when shooting wrapped up, it was given to the city, but that the President of the Chamber now has it on his private property.  I ask where he lives.  Gas Station Man tell us the guy's asleep, as it's after 9pm, and he owns a construction company.  I ask Gas Station Man again where he lives.  I haven't bathed in a couple days or shaved in a week.  I make my eyes turn red like Scott Howard's in "Teen Wolf" when he orders the old man to "GIVE ME...A KEG...OF BEER."  Gas Station Man points to the northeast.  We get in the car and drive around some more, never finding the damned bus.  I'm angry and need a drink. We find Panorama Pizza.  Beer flows like wine.  I get back behind the wheel to go the short distance to the Riley Creek campground.  It's full.  So is every other campground we check along Parks Highway.  It's nearly 2am, the beer has worn off, and I really need to stop driving, despite the fact that we're still 4hrs north of Anchorage and have to turn in our gear and the car before meeting at the plane at 11am.

I start looking for a place to pull of the road to camp when FW yells, "LYYYYYYYYYYNX!"  I slam on the brakes as a lynx (that we both well recognize from the museum earlier that day) stops in the road in front of my car.  He looks angry.  He hisses at me in the headlights and arches his back.  We see his fangs, which are covered in the last weary motorist's blood.  I reach for the camera; he walks off.

Me:  "Okay, I've got to stop.  Let's pitch the tent where those two RVs are parked at the "scenic overlook."

FW:  "Are you kidding?  We just saw a lynx."

Me:  "So, it was half a mile back.  I can't drive any more."

FW:  "I'm not lying down beside you with a millimeter of nylon between that lynx and me.  Did you see that thing?  It would tear us to pieces."

Me:  "We've been camping this whole trip...you weren't scared then."

FW:  "Right, but at campgrounds, there are other campers who cough and sneeze and rustle about, scaring away the animals.  Out here, it's just the two of us that the lynx."

Me:  "Pussy."

Then it started pouring rain, so we stayed in the car and slept 4 hours before driving back to Anchorage and just getting to the plane at 11am, only to have it break down once again.  FW uses Quality Inn points to give us the first night of sleep in beds (notice the plural, you dirty reader) in a week.  I wash enough clothes to get me through the weekend at Bristol, go to sleep early, and board the plane the next day to finally make it back to the lower 48.

--------------

Here's a funny blog featuring writers who don't ramble.  Click, join right quick, and give props to Muskrat and other, more polished, bloggers.

for the person in longing of the weary road, read this book. 

and watch this move.

Há dias venho ensaiando uma forma de falar deste filme de Sean Penn, mas sem absolutamente nenhum sucesso. E isso se deve a uma situação bastante peculiar: no momento em que comecei a assistir o filme tinha uma impressão que se desfez nas semanas seguintes à sessão. Raramente tal evento acontece, o que há é um aprofundamento em minha mente que acaba gerando uma análise mais fundamentada dos mesmos fatores que me levaram a tal impressão inicial... mas uma reformulação, que diabos era isso?

Tenho que dizer que Into the Wild me exauriu completamente durante os dias subsequentes à experiência. Não me lembro de quando um filme obteve similar efeito sobre mim. Em dado momento, estava tão confuso que não sabia se havia gostado, se havia sido uma experiência agradável ou tediosa, destrutiva ou construtiva,  jocosa ou fatigante.

Eu não havia lido muito sobre ele. Sabia apenas que se tratava de um jovem, que aparentemente tinha uma má convivência com os pais. Após graduar-se, sai de casa em busca de uma vida junto à natureza rumo ao Alasca e conhece vários personagens no caminho que mudam seus conceitos e lhe proporcionam aprendizado. Não poderia eu estar diante de uma sinopse mais previsível...podia construir através da premissa toda a trajetória do garoto em termos gerais.

Ao final do filme estava absolutamente extasiado com os rumos da estória e com a sinopse, pra mim,  completamente inadequada. Fui pensar porque tive essa impressão (nossa mente trabalha mais rápido do que nosso possibilidade de processamento dos porquês) e permaneci durante semanas traçando hipóteses e pensando porque raios aquela obra me deixara tão perturbado...

Como fã do processo criativo de personagens, bem como do comportamento humano, acabei chegando na seguinte perspectiva: há algo de diferente em Chris McCandless, algo que destrói minha lógica desse processo de gênese, algo muito difícil de explicar, mas que o torna um contraponto por exemplo à personagem Nikki Grace do "turbulento" Império dos Sonhos, cuja lógica compreende a desordem psicológica da protagonista. Mesmo sendo demasiadamente complexa, há ali uma conexão entre os principais elementos que a compõem, uma rede intrincada de pequenos fragmentos que se interligam de forma estranha, mas coesa.  E sobre os que você não conhece a conexão, você não se importa tanto, se conforma em não conhecer seus significados ocultos.

Sobre Chris não. Há incoerências comportamentais graves e inquietantes, motivações obscuras e comportamentos não tradicionalmente expostos em obras de arte. Ele realmente navega contra a maré, contra tudo que já vi e se torna um personagem muito especial. Alguém que parece não ser criado porque guarda a essência de uma individualidade peculiar que não parece ter sido processada ou compreendida por ninguém. Chris é simplesmente humano demais e isso estava me matando, destroçando meu mundinho de espectador!

Parte desse eco em minha mente foi desfeito quando sobre que era uma estória real, mesmo sabendo que sua vida foi redimensionada em um instrumento concreto (seja o livro, seja o filme). Entendi que parte dele foi deixada ali como uma estrutura complexa demais para ser reanalisada: "melhor reproduzir apenas seus efeitos".

Jovem obstinado a cumprir seu objetivo (que se traduz concretamente em "chegar ao Alasca, não importa como", simplificação absurda e insuficiente de todos os inúmeros fatores que proporcionam a ele essa mudança radical de vida), Chris vê em seu caminho pessoas tratando coisas comuns de forma comum e mesmo as diferenciadas como os hippies, tratando as adversidades com um caminho baseado em regras (diferentes da perspectiva social dominante, claro), mas ainda assim regras. E aí o que mais me surpreende é a forma totalmente atípica dele tratar tais situações e principalmente a convivência com outros seres humanos. A minimização da importância das relações interpessoais (quase cruel, em minha opinião a todos que atravessam sua cruzada), trocada por uma marca perpétua (embora extremamente breve) da passagem de Supertramp em suas vidas conjugada com algumas atitudes supostamente incoerentes com suas crenças o elevam a um nível ilimitado de complexidade.

Reduzi-lo, como já vi por vezes, a "apenas um jovem inconsequente ou idiota" é rejeitar um universo que funciona de forma distinta que o comum e destruir uma experiência no mínimo muito, mas muito interessante. A idéia de tentar compreendê-lo por completo, porém, produz igual destruição, tornando tudo ainda mais desafiador e empolgante.

Belíssima trilha sonora de Eddie Vader (vocalista do Pearl Jam ou ex, não sei bem), fotografia espetacular e tratamento de sensibilidade ímpar de Emile Hirsch e Penn em relação ao homem real que Chris representa Creio que, após todo o processo reflexivo que o filme me proporcionou (e que não consigo reproduzir em um texto nem 10%) posso dizer que Na Natureza Selvagem é emocionante e recomendadíssimo aos leitores do Multiplot!

4/4

Sílvio Tavares

Ron, the old man that Chris McCandless was writing, has a sad story.  Ron was a devout Christian.  When he was a young man, his new wife and their new son were killed.  He was crushed and became an alcoholic for six months.  Then one day he quit, cold turkey.  He thought that becoming a drunk is no way to remember his family.  He quit drinking and became active in his church, but he still had an aching inside from his loss.  Over the years, he sort of became an “adopted” dad for kids at his church.  He supported them through school and he even paid for two of them to go to medical school.  But they eventually all grew up and moved away and left Ron alone again.

Enter Chris McCandless.  Chris comes into Ron’s life and challenges Ron to start living in the present.  The two bond immediately.  Ron loves and admires Chris and he offers to legally adopt Chris.  Chris is leaving for Alaska, so he tells Ron that when he gets back, he will come with an answer.  Then Chris sends Ron the letter challenging him to travel and live and quit mourning the past (see previous entry).

Guess what, Ron actually does everything Chris advised him to do!  Ron moved out to Chris’ campsite and lived like a hobo, waiting for Chris to return.  And Ron was still living at the campsite when he was told that Chris had died in Alaska.

Ron was crushed.  Ron was so crushed that he denounced his faith and became an atheist.  He didn’t think there could be a God if He let great people like Chris McCandless die.

***

I was telling someone this story and as I did I started crying.  It’s heartbreaking and terrifying.  No one close to me has died, but I do know how it feels to be alone.  Every single person I have ever known has dropped me or abandoned me in some form.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve lamented over the fact that I literally have no one to turn to for help.  The only one I have is God, so I related to Ron in that way.
When I read that Ron gave up on God, it broke my heart.  The only place I can feel secure and safe is with God.  I can only imagine how the years of heartache and heartbreak wore on him.  At his wits end, Roy gave up the only thing he had left.  He must have felt so alone.

'Rather than love, fame, than money, than faith, than fairness give me truth' (Thoreau) a fost unul din citatele favorite ale lui Alexander Supertramp, fostul Chris McCandless. Am aflat de el citind despre filmul Into the Wild, facut, dupa o regula show-bussinessului american: poveste reala, o carte best-seller apoi un film (eventual un album sau mai multe: vezi unul dintre ele, al lui Eddie Vedder, Pearl Jam).

In cazul acesta a trecut ceva vreme intre moartea lui Chris, in 1992, si filmul despre viata sa, facut in 2007. Dar asta pentru ca legenda sa este vie iar acum autobuzul acela din salbaticia de dupa Fairbanks City e un loc de pelerinaj. Ca sa nu se mai "puna caramizi orizonturilor".

McCandless a murit pe 12 august (atentie veti gasi mai multe explicatii ale mortii sale, nu o credeti musai pe cea mai 'usoara') scriind cateva randuri din jurnalul sau Beautiful Blueberries constient ca acestea vor fi cele de pe urma. A adaugat ultima pagina din cartea lui Louis L'Amour, Education of a Wandering Man, care cita un fragment din poemul lui Robinson Jeffers, Wise Men in Their Bad Hours:

Death's a fierce meadowlark: but to die having made
Something more equal to centuries
Than muscle and bone, is mostly to shed weakness.
The mountains are dead stone, the people
Admire or hate their stature, their insolent quietness,
The mountains are not softened or troubled
And a few dead men's thoughts have the same temper.

"People who don't dance have never listened to the music."

Powerful lyrics!

"Guaranteed"-Eddie Vedder

On bended knee is no way to be free
Lifting up an empty cup, I ask silently
All my destinations will accept the one that's me
So I can breathe...

Circles they grow and they swallow people whole
Half their lives they say goodnight to wives they'll never know
A mind full of questions, and a teacher in my soul
And so it goes...

Don't come closer or I'll have to go
Holding me like gravity are places that pull
If ever there was someone to keep me at home
It would be you...

Everyone I come across, in cages they bought
They think of me and my wandering, but I'm never what they thought
I've got my indignation, but I'm pure in all my thoughts
I'm alive...

Wind in my hair, I feel part of everywhere
Underneath my being is a road that disappeared
Late at night I hear the trees, they're singing with the dead
Overhead...

Leave it to me as I find a way to be
Consider me a satellite, forever orbiting
I knew all the rules, but the rules did not know me
Guaranteed

"Guaranteed" - Eddie Vedder

Chris McCandless is a college graduate who hates his life. He hates his family (except for his sister). He hates everything that society is. So in order to escape it all, he heads out on an adventure. He burns all of his money or gives it to charity, hops in his car and begins driving. He then dumps his car and begins to walk. And it is while he is walking that he becomes the man that he has always wanted to be.

So many times I watch a biographical movie and find myself wondering what the person might have been thinking while experiencing what he or she might be going through. In this movie, the annoying narrative kept telling me, so I didn't have to think about it. However, the narrative (done mostly by McCandless's sister (actress Jena Malone) through most of the film) is the only thing about this movie I didn't like. I thought the McCandless character was fascinating, and Emile Hirsch was very good (although not brilliant) as the main character. The supporting cast is also top notch (Catherin Keener, William Hurt, Marcia Gay Harden, Hal Holbrook and Kristen Stewart) and the cinematogrophy is fantastic, taking us from the wheat fields of Oklahoma to the barren wilderness of Alaska. Sean Penn directed and wrote the film, so it has his fingerprints all over it! And he did the content proud.

Overall I really enjoyed "Into The Wild". If anything, it made me want to read the book. If I had to complain, I would say it felt a little long and the narrative should been kept out. I don't really need to know every little detail of why this character is behaving the way he is. I understood his hatred for his families wealth and his parents' misguided attempts to make sure his life was perfect. I didn't need another character describing all of his feeling for me. Hirsch was doing a good enough job on his own! But that would be my only complaints.

Overall Rating: B

This book evoked among the book club members opinions as diverse as the Alaskan landscape itself.  The northern wilderness which the subject of the novel, Chris McCandless entered was a land of extremes; extremes that were mirrored in the personality of a young man who in the early 1990’s left his family and former life behind to go on a journey of self discovery.  Motivated by a need to escape the life planned out for him by his parents, Chris’ journey led him into the isolation of the sub-arctic tundra in an attempt to find within himself a place from where he could begin to build the foundation of his life on his own terms. 

            The novel and the novel’s hero were seen as both brave and naive; tragic and pitiful; heroic and self-centered.  The life and accidental death of Chris McCandless trace out in human form the transformation of American culture itself.  From our past as revolutionary frontiersmen to our future as global powers, America itself has constantly searched for identity amongst change.  For a young man driven by his ideals of morality, self-sufficiency, and truth; Alaska presented him with a land, which in physical form represented the shadow side of his personality, with which he choose to dwell and understand before choosing to return to society with its charms, comforts, and pleasures.

            Tragically he did not return from his journey, yet his struggle presents us with an account of the deep-seated human needs which young people will always struggle with as they make their way out from the wilds of youth and into society.

“Ron, I really enjoy all the help you have given me and the times that we spent together. I hope that you will not be too depressed by our parting. It may be a very long time before we see each other again. But providing that I get through this Alaskan Deal in one piece you will be hearing from me again in the future. I’d like to repeat the advice I gave you before, in that I think you really should make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things witch you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give on peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life, Ron, you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter-skelter style of life that will at first appear to you to be crazy. But once you become accustomed to such a life you will see its full meaning and its incredible beauty. And so, Ron, in short, get out of Salton City and hit the Road. I guarantee you will be very glad you did. But I fear that you will ignore my advice. You think that I am stubborn, but you are even more stubborn than me. You had a wonderful chance on your drive back to see one of the greatest sights on earth, the Grand Canyon, something every American should see at least once in his life. But for some reason incomprehensible to me you wanted nothing but to bolt for home a quickly as possible, right back to the same situation which you see day after day after day. I fear you will follow this same inclination in the future and thus fail to discover all the wonderful things that God has placed around us to discover. Don’t settle down and sit in one place. Move around, be nomadic, make each day a new horizon. You are still going to live a long time, Ron, and it would be a shame if you did not take the opportunity to revolutionize your life and move into an entirely new realm of experience.

“You are wrong if you think Joy emanates only or principally from human relationships. God has placed it all around us. It is in everything and anything we might experience. We just have to have the courage to turn against our habitual lifestyle and engage in unconventional living.

“My point is that you do not need me or anyone else around to bring this new kind of light in your life. It is simply waiting out there for you to grasp it, and all you have to do is reach for it. The only person you are fighting is yourself and your stubbornness to engage in new circumstances.

“Ron, I really hope that as soon as you can you will get out of Salton City, put a little camper on the back of your pickup, and start seeing some of the great work that God has done here in the American West. You will see things and meet people and there is much to learn from them. And you must do it economy style, no motels, do your own cooking, as a general rule spend as little as possible and you will enjoy it much more immensely. I hope that the next time I see you, you will be a new man with a vast array of new adventures and experiences behind you. Don’t hesitate or allow yourself to make excuses. Just get out and do it. Just get out and do it. You will be very, very glad that you did.”

In a letter to Ron Franz, an elderly man with whom Alex stays with for a few weeks, he writes:

You had a wonderful chance on your drive back to see one of the greatest sights on earth, the Grand Canyon, something every American should see at least once in his life.  But for some reason incomprehensible to me you wanted nothing but to bolt for home as quickly as possible, right back to the same situation which you see day after day after day.  I fear you will follow this same inclination in the future and thus fail to discover all the wonderful things that God has placed around us to discover.

During my own experiences in college, one of my favorite activities was to go back to campus when almost everyone had finished their classes for the day, sit on a park bench overlooking the immense fields of grass, and watch the sunset.  The sight was truly magnificent, always indescribable.  Afterwards, I was always filled with an overwhelming sense of peace and serenity.  This was one of the most shocking discoveries of my life.  Alex continues to write:

You are wrong if you think Joy emanates only or principally from human relationships.  God has placed it all around us.

Why?  What is this experience?  I would like to stop here and recall a passage from another book entitled, The Golden String, by Bede Griffiths:

One day during my last term at school I walked out alone in the evening and heard the birds singing in that full chorus of song, which can only be heard at that time of the year at dawn or at sunset.  I remember now the shock of surprise with which the sound broke on my ears.  It seemed to me that I had never heard the birds singing before and I wondered whether they sang like this all the year round and I had never noticed it.  As I walked on I came upon some hawthorn trees in full bloom and again I thought that I had never seen such a sight or experienced such sweetness before.  If I had been brought suddenly among the trees of the Garden of Paradise and heard a choir of angels singing I could not have been more surprised.  I came then to where the sun was setting over the playing fields.  A lark rose suddenly from the ground beside the tree where I was standing and poured out its song above my head, and then sank still singing to rest.  Everything then grew still as the sunset faded and the veil of dusk began to cover the earth.  I remember now the feeling of awe which came over me.  I felt inclined to kneel on the ground, as though I had been standing in the presence of an angel; and I hardly dared to look on the face of the sky, because it seemed as though it was but a veil before the face of God.

Rabbi Abraham J. Heschel in his book, Man Is Not Alone, would call this sudden, awakening demeanor in a person: reverence.

Reverence is one of man's answers to the presence of the mystery.  This is why, in contradiction to other emotions, it does not rush to be spoken.  When we stand in awe, our lips do not demand speech, knowing that if we spoke, we would deprave ourselves.  In such moments talk is an abomination.  All we want is to pause, to be still, that the moment may last.

When I would sit alone and watch the sunset, I was always amazed by the number of people who would stare at the ground and simply walk from a finished class to an awaiting car, without casting so much as a glance at the wondrous spectacle draped before our eyes.  Like Alex, I seemed to be surrounded by people comparable to Ron who desired nothing but to bolt for home as quickly as possible, right back to the same situation which you see day after day after day. 

And yet, I was never deterred nor was Alex by the lack of reverence in others.  Day after day, I continued to watch the sunset, alone.  Day after day, Alex continued to be drawn by nature, into the wild, alone.  Charlie, a man who met Alex in Arizona, said that Alex was a young man who:

"didn't like to be around too many people[...]Temperamental.  He meant good, but I think he had a lot of complexes--know what I'm saying?  Liked to read books by that Alaska guy, Jack London.  Never said much.  He'd get moody, wouldn't like to be bothered.  Seemed like a kid who was looking for something, looking for something, just didn't know what it was."

Re-reading this experience of Bede Griffiths made me pause and wonder:

[I] would generally go out alone each day and find some place where [I] could sit in solitude, and read or write or just meditate...[For] the most part it was just the presence of wild nature which [I] sought and the sense of being alone between the hills and the sky and the sea.  It would be difficult to define exactly what [I was] seeking but I think that in an obscure way without knowing it [I was] seeking God.

Whoever, therefore, is not enlightened by such a splendor of created things is blind;

whoever is not awakened by such outcries is deaf;

whoever does not praise God because of all these effects is dumb;

whoever does not discover the First Principle from such clear signs is a fool.

Therefore, open your eyes, alert the ears of your spirit, open your lips and apply your heart

so that in all creatures you may see, hear, praise, love and worship, glorify and honor your God.

While reading, I came across a paragraph that made me stop and ponder:

"You could tell right away that Alex was intelligent," Westerberg [a former employer of Alex] reflects, draining his third drink. "He read a lot. Used a lot of big words. I think maybe part of what got him into trouble was that he did too much thinking. Sometimes he tried too hard to make sense of the world, to figure out why people were bad to each other so often. A couple of times I tried to tell him it was a mistake to get too deep into that kind of stuff, but Alex got stuck on things. He always had to know the absolute right answer before he could go on to the next thing."

I can relate to Alex's idealism and frustration. As far as I can make out the problem arises when you are able to see the profound and beautiful potential of what life can or should be and reality hits you square in the face. All you are left with is a headache and a horrifying question: "Why does the world have to be this way?"

"Why does the world have to be this way?...Why are people so bad to each other so often?"

I am reminded of a similar contrast written by Leo Tolstoy in his last novel, Resurrection. First, Tolstoy paints a picture of what true life holds before our eyes:

The sun shone warm, the air was balmy, the grass, where it did not get scraped away, revived and sprang up everywhere: between the paving-stones as well as on the narrow strips of lawn on the boulevards. The birches, the poplars, and the wild cherry trees were unfolding their gummy and fragrant leaves, the bursting buds were swelling on the lime trees; crows, sparrows, and pigeons, filled with the joy of spring, were getting their nests ready; the flies were buzzing along the walls warmed by the sunshine. All were glad: the plants, the birds, the insects, and the children.

This scene seems very marvelous and wonderful to me: full of life, rejuvenation, warmth, joy, and laughter. However, Tolstoy continues:

But men, grown-up men and women, did not leave off cheating and tormenting themselves and each other. It was not this spring morning men thought sacred and worthy of consideration--not the beauty of God's world, given for a joy to all creatures--this beauty which inclines the heart to peace, to harmony, and to love--but only their own devices for enslaving one another.

The term that comes instantaneously to my mind is blind. Are we, as human beings, blind? The answer seemed obvious to Alex. Alas, the world is full of blind men and women, and so the dreamer, the idealist is forced to see a disappointing reality, a reality of failed potential.

The rabbi, Abraham J. Heschel, writes most profoundly in his book entitled, God In Search of Man:

Among the many things that religious tradition holds in store for us is a legacy of wonder. The surest way to suppress our ability to understand the meaning of God and the importance of worship is to take things for granted. Indifference to the sublime wonder of living is the root of sin.

Perhaps, this answers the why that Alex seemed so desperately to cleave to and analyze. Unfortunately, this can never be the ending but only the beginning. The real question that seems to face each and every one of us is this: How are we to respond to such a failed existence? How are we to move on ahead in life, even though life is a sort of nightmarish fairytale? How are we to live with our disappointments and frustrations? How are we to live with the blind?

"There is a pleasure in the pathless woods;

There is a rapture on the lonely shore;

There is a society, where none intrudes;

By the deep sea, and music in its roar:

I love not man the less, but Nature more...

Há um tal prazer nos bosques inexplorados;

Há uma tal beleza na solitária praia;

Há uma sociedade que ninguém invade;

Perto do mar profundo e da música do seu bramir:

Não que ame menos o homem, mas amo mais a Natureza..."

      Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

      Canto IV Stanza 178

      - Lord Byron

"Se admitirmos que a vida humana pode ser regida pela razão... está destruída a possibilidade de vida."

(Leon Tolstói: Guerra e Paz)

Terminei de ver Into The Wild (Na Natureza Selvagem) com o coração esmagado. O filme, com roteiro e direção do Sean Penn, ficou pouco tempo em cartaz no Rio. Acabei só podendo ver em DVD. É baseado no livro com mesmo nome de Jon Krakauer sobre a vida do maluco Chris McCandless, que literalmente largou tudo e se meteu no meio do mato. Até de rasgar e queimar dinheiro ele foi capaz (conheço gente que choraria vendo uma cena assim). O sujeito acaba de se formar na universidade e larga a família, abandona o carro na estrada, queima o dinheiro junto com os documentos, fotos, lembranças e os laços com o passado. Isso vindo de um cidadão da civilizaçao do consumo, onde tudo é business já é um feito e tanto. Uma futucada num tremendo tabu.

Fico pensando naquele Burning Man Festival, onde, por um de seus princípios básicos, o comércio é proibido. Vários malucos se reúnem uma vez por ano no meio do deserto de Nevada para se expressar, fazer música, arte, amor, manifestos e tal. E todos levam tudo o que forem consumir, pois no local não rola comércio ou negócios. Trata-se precisamente de um evento do não-consumo. É um encontro para se doar.

Entre citações de Boris Pasternak, H. D. Thoreau e outros autores, nosso louco herói Chris (que adotou o nome de Alexander Supertramp, o super-vagabundo) viaja por desertos, corredeiras, estradas, montanhas e florestas, colecionando pedaços preciosos de vidas. O encontro dele com o homem idoso que mora perto do deserto é a parte mais tocante para mim. Num espaço de alguns meses, transformou outras vidas que encontrou no caminho, não só a dele.

Há algum anos, li um comentário no painel de críticos do JB sobre o filme "Closer" (aquele muito bom, por sinal, com o Jude Law, Natalie Portman etc.). Era uma frase curta do Tárik de Souza que formulou um termo perfeito para sintetizar o filme: um "sinceriocídio". Um despejo brutal de sinceridade entre os casais. No caso de Into The Wild o que ocorre  (perdoe o meu abuso neologístico) é um lucidocídio. Uma overdose de lucidez. Chamo ele de maluquinho, mas na verdade buscava uma lucidez intensa. Uma conexão de alta velocidade e ininterrupta com a vida, a natureza, as pessoas.

McCandless desejou a vida com fervor. E bem... seu cálice transbordou.

E tem a música do Eddie Veder que por si só é uma experiência única. Ganhou o Globo de Ouro. Assista ao filme com o volume alto. É uma das trilhas sonoras mais bonitas que já ouvi.

Links para saber mais...

AN AESTHETIC VOYAGER WHOSE HOME IS THE ROAD

O site oficial do filme é excelente. Tem o roteiro da viagem do maluquinho, ilustrado por imagens e citações literárias que são a cara do personagem. Como essa: "We are, finally, all wanders in search of knowledge. Most of us hold the dream of becoming something better than we are, something larger, richer, in some way more important to the world and ourselves. Too often, the way taken is the wrong way, with too much emphais on what we want to have, rather than what we wish to become." - Louis L'Amour, Education of a Wandering Man

Sobre o maluquinho beleza

Nesse vídeo no Youtube  uma reportagem do canal ABC conta a história do maluquinho Chris Mccandless. É só um trecho, na verdade, pois quem postou o vídeo vende o negócio inteiro em DVD.

Site oficial do Burning Man Festival

A próxima edição do evento é agora em agosto.

* Recomendações Top3

1 - Filme: Into The Wild (Na Natureza Selvagem), de Sean Penn. Com Emille Hirsch (o Speed Racer), William Hurt e outros.

2 - Música:Trilha Sonora do filme Into The Wild, de Eddie Veder

3 - Destino: Ibitipoca/MG (a 1 hora de Juiz de Fora) - para respirar um pouco de natureza selvagem antes que ela acabe

So, we got Rebecca to watch The Big Lebowski. Well, half of it. It was late and she had to leave the next morning. We woke up early Friday morning to make sure she got to the airport with plenty of time to go through security and customs, which they ended up doing in the US anyway, I left Rebecca at the security entrance and headed back into City Center where I took the train to Booterstown, where Bashir works. We had agreed to meet for lunch, but as I had several hours until then I walked along a footpath near the beach to Black Rock, where we were to meet. I stopped at one point, went up some stairs and down to the other side to dip my feet in the cold water. I had wanted to do so since our arrival in Ireland. I love the feeling of sand beneath my feet, between my toes, soft and grainy, molding to each step. I was completely alone too. I had passed maybe 3 people along the path, and no one was here. I enjoyed the solitude. The only sound was the wind lapping slowly against the water, and the water in turn creeping up the sand. I enjoyed the wind against my face, blowing my hair lightly from side to side. I enjoyed the water momentarily freezing my ankles. And for a brief moment, I thought, I could die here, and no one would know. The nearest houses were really only a few hundred feet away, just over the wall, and yet, there was complete solitude. I felt separated from everyone and everything. I felt calm. This was not the same feeling of solitude I get in NY, where despite the crowds, the hundreds upon hundreds of people, I still feel alone. And every now and then I want to shriek and scream. I want to yell Fuck you NY!!! But not in Ireland. This was a different alone.
Bashir and I met for lunch in the small town of Black Rock. I think I may have eaten goat cheese every day I was in Ireland. We ate a quick lunch and instead of taking the train back to Booterstown, which was a 20-minute wait, we walked back in about 15. I went up to Orix with him to say bye and passed on my “I’m a Batman Crime fighter” for Katherine to give her son Christopher, who is known as Batman and Batsy. I headed back into Dublin and spent some time relaxing at Bashir’s and getting my stuff together. Not that there was a lot to get together. When Bashir returned we headed to the Ferryman to watch that night’s match, then back to his place to finish The Big Lebowski.
We spent Saturday watching movies. I really did not want to o anywhere because I get anxious before a flight and wanted to make sure I was on time. It’s not even the flight itself that makes me anxious, but airports. Not only am I now used to being treated like a threat, but airports are like hospitals, cold and sterile, uninviting, and filled with supposed experts who can never give a direct or clear answer. Our flight now had to stop in Shannon to pick up people whose plane was experiencing technical difficulties. When I got on the plane and saw just how empty it was, and then saw that everyone in Shannon filled it up right quick, my suspicions were confirmed. They had already planned this stop. How else would they have known to not fill up the Dublin flight?
But compared to Rebecca’s experience, my flight was heaven, even if they did show us Fool’s Gold, a movie so bad I could not even zone out to it, but had to sleep. While Bashir and I were at the Ferryman Friday night Rachel called saying that Rebecca’s flight was listed as canceled online. That, of course, freaked me out. It had been over 10 hours since I left her at Dublin airport and there was no word from her. I tried to not let on to Rachel that I was scared. That was the last thing she needed. I tried calling Aer Lingus and could not get through. Rachel finally called back as she had been told that Rebecca’s flight went to JFK and then she would be getting home from there. Turns out that that Rebecca’s flight, which was scheduled as 12, was delayed for 2 hours. They were told that in 2 hours an update would be given. So around 2 they were told to wait for one more hour. Then at 3 they were told the flight had been canceled and the options were to either wait until the next morning and try to get on a plane to Dulles then, which was no guarantee, or to fly to JFK and get themselves home from there. Rebecca chose to board the JFK flight and purchased herself a ticket back to Dulles. She, smartly, wrote Aer Lingus a letter about their lack of support for customers and that the situation should have been dealt with differently, so they reimbursed her flight. I have to say; I thought they would fight her on that.
I managed to sleep through most of my flight, which is good because I was feeling a panic attack looming and picking up on some serious nervous energy from the guy sitting next to me. This was the first flight where I had ever gotten nauseous. The pilot dove in for the landing and I swear he did it like 3 times. I felt my stomach jump in waves and I thought for sure I would puke. So I decided to lean forward with my head bent down, and take deep breaths. It definitely helped. Finally we landed and did not have to wait on the plane for too long.
The gorgeous non-humid weather of Ireland made me forget how gross the weather in NY was. I also had managed to forget which station to go to for my train. I literally erased the US from my mind while I was away. But, fear not, I was welcomed back in true US style. I was harassed at customs. Apparently it was suspicious that I packed so lightly for a 9-day trip. After all, this is the US; everything should be done in excess. So I was sent from the first agent to the next, who, upon seeing my scarfed head in my passport picture, proceeded to treat me like shite. He spoke to me like I did not k now English even after having just spoken to me. Awesome. Welcome back, I thought. But I stood there silently and obediently, not quite ready to be sent away for vacation in Guantanamo.

So now it has been almost a month since I left for Ireland. It took me over a week to accept the fact that I was not there. The remaining EuroCup matches helped me to stay connected, as Bashir and I texted and emailed, him watching at the Ferryman and me watching either the game or live commentary online.

Being in Ireland was a reminder of how much I love traveling and how badly I want to go to Iran again. I hope that with one year's time I can be on my way to visiting Iran, and not just Tehran, Isfahan, and Mashad, but Qazvin especially and most of the country. I definitely want to go to the places I am from, where I can trace back. So, County Cork will be visited some day. Every time I have traveled I have evolved, gained some new knowledge of myself, or confirmed things I thought to be true, some I thought to be false, others I merely thought. There are times I feel I could remain completely to myself, as long as I am in motion. And then I think that I do love to share experiences with others. Chris McCandless learned that happiness is greatest when shared, and despite a love for isolation, I do often feel similarly.

I think that even one day away from the things that are familiar can help us to see things differently.

HEALY, Alaska (AP) -- Ron Alexander has long been intrigued with the true story of a young idealist who met his death in Alaska's unyielding wilderness in 1992.

The film adaptation of the book "Into the Wild" only cemented the mystique for Alexander and others heading to Alaska this summer, hoping to retrace the last steps of Christopher McCandless along the Stampede Road near Denali National Park.

Alexander and his fellow travelers want, in particular, to see the old abandoned bus where the 24-year-old Virginian starved to death after more than three months alone in the harsh landscape.

"That's sort of the heart of the story," said Alexander, 44, of Arlington, Virginia. "It's almost like a Jim Morrison grave site, where people just want to go see it."

This is exactly what residents in the interior town of Healy, 25 miles east of the bus, feared with the release last fall of the movie adapted from Jon Krakauer's best-seller of the same name.

They envisioned hordes of copycats making dangerous pilgrimages in the footsteps of a character often seen as a spiritual visionary rather than an ill-prepared misfit, as many Alaskans view McCandless.

People from all over the world have journeyed to the rusted bus over the years. But there are signs this could be a boom year for those captivated by a college graduate who turned his back on his wealthy family for his restless wanderings.

The local chamber of commerce has already received a few dozen e-mails from would-be visitors wanting to track the unmonitored route taken by McCandless to the 1940s-era bus, used for decades as a shelter for hunters and other backcountry travelers.

Former chamber president Neal Laugman warns visitors about a terrain -- about 180 miles north of Anchorage -- with no cell phone service, unpredictable weather, clouds of mosquitoes and the raging Teklanika River, whose swollen banks prevented McCandless from seeking help. Laugman has gotten replies from people who are determined to make it to the bus no matter what.

"I don't want people to go out there and die. It's that simple," Laugman said. "We won't know that they're there until it's too late."

The EarthSong Lodge is among the last developments along the Stampede Road, which eventually gives way to an old mining trail that traverses the Savage and Teklanika rivers, although the Teklanika is often too high and swift to cross.

As the weather warms, lodge owner Jon Nierenberg sees hikers walking past the lodge every couple days, starting the 22-mile trek to the bus. Most of the travelers are young men.

This year, most of his guests are familiar with McCandless. Or rather, Nierenberg said, they're aware of a romanticized figure, a characterization not shared by many Alaskans or others.

Released about the same time as the big-budget movie was the independent documentary, "The Call of the Wild," in which filmmaker Ron Lamothe attempts to debunk what he calls lingering myths about McCandless.

"I don't look at them as nut jobs," said Nierenberg, a musher and former backcountry ranger. "I can easily see where they're coming from. But I think they're sort of idealizing an idea rather than a person."

Alexander, who plans to make the trek with a friend or two in late August, considers himself a bit of a wanderer with a passion for the untamed West. Leaving his urban surroundings as much as possible is crucial for him, said Alexander, a salesman for a Washington, D.C., documentary production company.

Alexander said he'll be much better prepared than McCandless and will visit other parts of Alaska not connected to the doomed young man.

"We're not coming up just to do this little pilgrimage," he said. "This is one little element. We're not completely nuts."

Ridership is significantly higher in the "backcountry safari" offered by Alaska Travel Adventures, which this summer is noting the "Into the Wild" connection.

Also up are the backpackers tramping past a cooking camp where safari riders stop for a wilderness meal, said manager Nick Prosser. Many hikers heading back are dehydrated, blistered and "pretty beat," he said.

Prosser, who has read "Into the Wild" and seen the movie, plans to hike out to the bus himself before he heads back home to Celina, Texas, at the end of his seasonal job.

"I just would like to go for the adventure," he said. "I'm up here. I might as well go."

Creo que soy del segundo grupo. Me he quedado totalmente fascinada por sus palabras, por las cartas que enviaba a sus amigos, por las frases de su diario y las citas que remarcaba de grandes escritores. Era demasiado inteligente para este mundo consumista e injusto. Era un espíritu libre que amaba la naturaleza, quizás amaba más a las montañas, ríos y árboles que a los propios seres humanos. Alexander Supertramp como así se bautizó, sacrificó su dinero quemándolo, sorprendiendo a todos aquellos que aspiraban en la vida a tener un Porsche. Chris conoció el mundo, navego por el Golfo de México, se adentró en Colorado, trabajó en una granja, en un McDonadl´s, lo justo para poder sobrevivir y llegar a Alaska. En su travesía conoció a mucha gente, vagabundos, hippys, ancianos, y todos los testimonios que en el libro se recogen, llegan a la misma conclusión, Alex era muy, muy, especial, excepcional.

Creo que cualquier persona puede leer el libro y lo mejor de su historia es que no dejará indiferente. El espíritu de McCandless queda reflejado en sus cartas, en su diario, en sus profundas palabras. Él siguió la llamada de la selva de su querido escritor, Jack London, y vivió como quiso. Su historia merece una reflexión y animo a cualquier lector que se precie de conocer sus cuatro meses de odisea. No decepcionará.

Autor: John Krakauer nació en Massachussets, el 12 de Abril de 1954. Es un escritor, periodista y montañista, reconocido por sus libros de alpinismo. La revista Outside le encomendó la ardua tarea de escribir sobre la vida de Christopher McCandless. El artículo tuvo tanto éxito que decidió adentrarse e investigar más sobre el misterioso muchacho, el resultado es este libro.

Sinopsis: Este libro se basa en la historia real de Christopher McCandless, un joven proveniente de una familia acomodada de la Costa Este quien, tras graduarse en la universidad, donó todo su dinero a obras de caridad y se embarcó en un viaje por el oeste americano bajo el nombre de "Alexander Supertramp". Dos años después, McCandless fue encontrado muerto en la desolación de Alaska. En su libro, Krakauer traza paralelismos entre sus propias experiencias y motivaciones y aquellas que guiaron a McCandless a su trágico final.

Es un libro muy completo, con mapas que reproducen el itinerario de Chris. No es una biografía enteramente, está ágilmente narrado. Engancha y fascina. Lo recomiendo a todo el mundo que tenga un espíritu aventurero. La historia de Christopher McCandless no dejará indiferente a nadie. Las descripciones de los paisajes nos trasladaran en mitad de los bellos parajes que el joven visitó. Los testimonios son conmovedores y las citas que Chris subrayó de sus libros son geniales. Un libro totalmente fascinante.

"I'm sorry, B." I said, "Who do you mean?"

"Well, these guys--Chris McCandless and Ron Franz--are they gay?"

"What makes you think that?" I asked.

"Well, this old guy--why does he like this other guy so much? Why does he want to help him so much? He doesn't even know him. He is not related to him. Why does he want to help McCandless so much? They must be gay." She said. At this point several students chimed in that they think that McCandless and Franz are gay. Dirty old man and his young prey. Even though there is no textual evidence in Krakauer's book that supports such a reading in any way whatsoever.

I was stupefied. In a way I could see their point--at their age, they have only known eros--the only form of love they know is erotic love. If you follow the Greek and Judeo-Christian scheme of Agape, Eros, Phileo--the three types of love--selfless altruistic love, erotic love, brotherly love--my students probably know only Eros. Of course they know that their parents love them, but it is a biological bond. They love their parents too because it is a biological bond. And it is perhaps the most instinctive and strongest bond there is in the world. Every other kind of bond takes imagination. Parents and children love each other mostly not out of choice. But grandparents love out of choice, because the biological bond is less strong there. So I thought I would point out to them the part in the essay where Franz asks McCandless if he could adopt him--it is a very poignant part of the story--he tells McCandless that he was an only child of his parents, and that his own son had died, and that his line ends with him and he would like to adopt McCandless for his grandson. What do you make of that, I asked. Why does he ask for McCandless to be a grandson and not a son? One generation removed? Do grandparents love out of choice or bond? Do all grandparents love all grandchildren equally? They didn't like that question, I could tell. They were instinctively defensive and said that grandparent-grandchild bond is as instinctive as that of parent-child. But some of the students were beginning to switch their position.

So I pointed them to the part in the story where Krakauer tells us a bit about Franz--that he has unofficially "adopted" several Japanese children and supported them and their education.What does it mean to adopt someone with whom you have no biological bond? How do you love that person? How do you love strangers?

It is a choice. This is a story about choice. I told them.

"It is still weird," B said. A few others agreed. "Why would you want to adopt some kids you have never seen in your life?" She continued. "Why would you want to do that? I can't understand it."

I gave up. They were too young to understand. "You are all too young. You can care for someone very deeply like Franz does for McCandless without any ulterior motives or sexual designs, gay or straight. You know you all have limited life experiences. But that'll change" I told them. I ordered them back to the essay. Let us look at the structure of the essay, I said.

I was angry at Chris McCandless almost the entire time I was listening to the audiobook. He seemed like an out-of-control narcissist with impossibly grand notions about his personal destiny. Only as his sad, pathetic end became imminent did my ire begin to subside. In the film, though, right from the beginning he comes across as a rather appealing person, a free spirit with a generous heart.

Generous, that is, except where is parents were concerned. It was as if cutting off all contact with them (as well as with his sister Carine, whom he professed to love) gave him the power to hurt them that he seemed to crave. But - in recompense for what injury, exactly? In the film, the McCandlesses are shown to have engaged in some knock- down- drag-out battles when Chris and Carine were young children. (This is something I don't remember from the book.) In addition, during the summer between his high school graduation and his freshman year at Emory University, Chris found out that his father Walt had not been fully disengaged from his first wife when he began a family with Chris's mother Billie. (She ultimately became Walt's second wife when he finally obtained a divorce.)

"That meant we were bastards!", or words to that effect, are uttered at that point by Carine in a voice-over narration that I found to be one of the films few weak features. As for the implication that this revelation caused Chris to reject his parents, I don't buy it. I think he was looking to justify a rejection that was already happening; the story of the early infidelity was as good a reason as any, in his young mind, to heap contempt on the heads of two people whom he already viewed as hopelessly compromised by their bourgeous suburban existence.

And there's one other thing. Walt McCandless was a brilliant, accomplished engineer. I think that Chris was afraid that if he chose to compete in any way with Walt, he might not measure up. As a father, Walt McCandless appears to have been somewhat judgmental and rather stern, possibly remote in his aspect - in other words, not in the mold of the touchy-feely, postfeminist Dad. ( I just re-read the last sentence and realized that I could be describing my own father. Perhaps because I was a daughter, and a somewhat sickly one at that, I managed to get enough caring from him to satisfy my needs. He and my mother were cruelly ravaged by old age, and I drew close to him at the end. It was an unexpected gift. )

Into the Wild depicts Chris McCandless's slow, agonizing death with unsparing realism. It was hard to watch - I was riveted but at the same time wanted desperately to avert my eyes until it was finished. My husband and I both felt that Emile Hirsch, in the title role, was completely convincing.

In her review in Salon, Stephanie Zacharek informs us that Jon Krakauer ceded his book's film rights to Chris McCandless's parents. I believe that those rights are worth a great deal of money, and I admire Krakauer for that generous, gracious concession. Likewise, Sean Penn deserves praise for waiting patiently until Walt and Billie McCandless were ready for the story of their son's brief life to be told on film. Penn has amply rewarded their trust with this meticulously crafted, gorgeously photographed work.

[Emile Hirsch as Christopher Johnson McCandless]

Sigur Rós - Glósóli

Aos poucos vou juntando as peças com a ajuda dos meus amigos virtuais e poderia afirmar que existe uma tendência bastante forte apontando outra direção planetária, bem distante das Semanas de Moda, do chamado mercado de consumo de luxo e de Sex and The City, o filme.

O culto ao urbano parece estar perdendo seguidores, a chegada ao poder de uma nova geração muito influênciada pelas questões ecológicas, já sinaliza uma vertente focada num retorno a natureza, na invenção de um neo-primitivo e no resgate do corpo original, sem os exageros, artificialidades e hipertrofia, que se tornaram marcas registradas principalmente da comunidade gay. Esportes radicais ocupam cada vez mais espaço e sair das zonas de conforto, praticando escaladas, arvorismo, trekking, adquirem cada vez mais adeptos.

Quando eu era adolescente, vivenciei um certo hippismo tardio, tendo viajado de carona por alguns lugares, morado de forma comunitária, abraçado árvores e feito agricultura orgânica. Mas tudo isso era gueto, hoje é urgência e sobrevivência.

Considero os músicos, os mais sensíveis para captar e propagar novas tendências comportamentais, principalmente com as facilidades tecnológicas que dispomos para produzir e difundir um vídeo. Coletando no profile do meu amigo virtual, Rodrigo Senra, o Digão, que manja tudo de novas bandas, selecionei e publiquei aqui uma série de movies cuja ambientação está muito mais ligada a natureza e a sua força divina, do que ao universo em desencanto das metrópoles.
Para quem já passou dos 30, apesar das músicas serem ótimas, as imagens podem parecer um pouco piegas, mas não deixam de ser um exercício em busca de uma inocência perdida.
Outro bom exemplo, é o sucesso do livro e do filme Na Natureza Selvagem (Into The Wild, direção: Sean Pean), baseado na história real de um brilhante estudante, que abre mão de tudo, deixa para trás também a sua própria identidade, rebatizando-se Alexander Supertramp; coloca uma mochila nas costas e parte para o Alasca afim de viver uma aventura.

O Vitor Angelo, recentemente tocou no tema ao escrever sobre a campanha publicitária do Tom Ford, que em sua esperteza de marketing, utiliza modelos nus, para falar de moda. Se o urbano está perdendo o encanto e deixa de ser necessariamente "moderno", a tecnologia adquire mais força, o que favorece muito esse deslocamento das grandes cidades, já que podemos trabalhar de qualquer parte do planeta de forma remota. Eu mesmo andei fazendo umas conexões com Barcelona e Lisboa e construimos um belo produto sem nos encontrarmos fisicamente.

Os movies mais significativos talvez sejam os da banda islandesa, Sigur Rós, em especial o belíssimo link na linha acima, que por conter cenas de nudez, não pode estar no YouTube.

Assista também:

dk7-Instone

Esse, eu já publiquei aqui no blog, mas vale rever:

Raz Ohara & The Odd Orchestra - Where He At

The audiobook consists of six discs, and I almost gave up after the first one. I was finding the company of an arrogant, self-absorbed, monumentally selfish young man well nigh unendurable. I stayed with it and I'm glad that I did, although I found it a profoundly disturbing story.

Chris McCandless's odyssey across the West began immediately after his graduation from Emory University. He fetched up variously in the tiny town of Carthage, South Dakota, where he worked at a grain elevator, in the California desert, in Bullhead City, Arizona, where he worked in a MacDonald's, and in several other out-of-the-way places before heading north to Alaska.

And the purpose of all this wandering? Well, there seem to have been several purposes, none of them very clearly articulated. One was certainly to slough off the trappings of the upper middle class existence into which Chris McCandless was born. The child of Walt and Billie McCandless, he was raised in Annandale, Virginia, a suburb of Washington DC. His father was an aerospace engineer of considerable eminence, having among other things designed advanced radar systems for the space shuttle. Chris had a younger sister Carine and six older step siblings from Walt's previous marriage. (Annandale is about fifty miles southwest of where I'm sitting at the moment. I lived there for a year in the late 1960's. It is now part of a suburban agglomeration devoid of any distinguishing features and choking on its traffic.)

From what I read in this book, the McCandlesses did not experience extraordinary friction within the family unit while Chris was growing up. But he was a complicated person, a restless, discontented soul who often seemed at odds with his environment. His relationship with Walt was somewhat touchy. I read somewhere that all boys, as they grow into men, face a reckoning with their fathers. Chris's way of dealing with this reckoning was to flee from it, as far as he could, as soon as he could.

In fact, he vanished from the lives of all of his family members. At the time of his death, they hadn't had word of him for several years, despite having at one point hired a private investigator to look for him. It is this willful act of disappearance that I found enraging. Chris claimed to be close to Carine, yet he froze her out of his life along with his parents, supposedly because he feared that if he contacted her, she would in turn tell their parents something that might reveal his whereabouts.

As Krakauer describes the scene, Carine was utterly desolated when she learned of her brother's death. Chris's parents were likewise crushed. I have to admit, I was a bit surprised by the intensity of their grief, especially where Carine was concerned. Family is family, I know, but I thought that at least one of them would have hardened his or her heart against this young narcissist who had so perversely hardened his against them.

(I am reminded of the novel The Tinderbox, in which a family man whose daughter is a runaway never stops loving her and hoping to find her; meanwhile, the mother's heart has turned to stone where her errant daughter is concerned.)

Into the Wild is not just about Chris McCandless and his ill-fated Alaskan adventure. Krakauer also relates stories of other men whose lives followed a similar trajectory. These were actually fascinating tales. The one I particularly enjoyed was about Everett Reuss (pronounced "Royce") whose solo traversal of the southwestern deserts culminated in his disappearance, in 1934. The last trace of him was found in Davis Gulch, a canyon of the Escalante in Utah, where he had made camp with his two burros. After several months had elapsed, a search party found the burros grazing placidly at the bottom of Davis Gulch. Of the twenty-year-old Ruess there was no sign, and never has been, up until this day.

When I first visited the California desert, I had already heard of Reuss as a result of my reading about the history of the American West. I've always wanted to know more about his brief life and was pleased to encounter him in Krakauer's narrative.

Many are the speculations - some plausible, some farfetched - concerning the ultimate fate of Everett Ruess. On the other hand, we know what happened to Chris McCandless. In his case, the question is not what, but why. Jon Krakauer does not attempt to formulate a conclusive answer to this question; he presents the facts to the extent that they are known and leaves the reader to draw his or her own conclusions. But it would not be quite accurate to say that Krakauer has no particular attitude toward his subject. This is from the Author's Note that prefaces the book:

I won't claim to be an impartial biographer. McCandless's strange tale struck a personal note that made a disapssionate rendering of the tragedy impossible. Through most of the book, I have tried--and largely succeeded, I think--to minimize my authorial presence. But let the reader be warned: I interrupt McCandless's story with fragments of a narrative drawn from my own youth. I do so in the hope that my experiences will throw some oblique light on the enigma of Chris McCandless.

( I personally found the narrative of Krakauer's harrowing mountain climbing experience interesting but over long and therefore unnecessarily intrusive.)

In my estimation, Jon Krakauer seems somewhat in awe of Chris McCandless, believing, apparently, that the young man was in some way preternaturally gifted. Accordingly, Krakauer is bewildered, even hurt, by the vituperation heaped on McCandless in response to his story. The book Into the Wild grew out of an article Krakauer wrote for Outside Magazine: "The article...generated a large volume of mail, and not a few of the letters heaped opprobrium on McCandless--and on me, as well, the author of the story, for glorifying what some thoguht was a foolish, pointless death." He goes on to quote passages from this correspondence. I'm no expert on surviving in the wilderness; still, I couldn't help but agree with some of what was said:

'Why would anyone intending to "live off the land for a few months" forget Boy Scout rule number one: Be Prepared? Why would any son cause his parents and family such permanent and perplexing pain?'

After I'd finished the recorded book, I got the print version out of the library. Krakauer places many wonderful, thought-provoking passages at the beginning of each chapter. Some were from the works of well known authors such as Thoreau, Jack London, and Wallace Stegner; others were by wanderer/explorers with whom I was unfamiliar, like Edward Whymper (Scrambles Amongst the Alps) and John Menlove Edwards ("Letter from a Man"). I was hoping to find a bibliography but there was none; an unfortunate omission, IMHO.

By the end of July 1992, ill and weakened by lack of food, Chris McCandless knew he faced death alone in the Alaskan wild, sheltered only by the derelict shell of Fairbanks Bus 142. Eventually he crawled into the sleeping bag his mother had made for him, and there breathed his last: "He probably died on August 18, 112 days after he'd walked into the wild, 19 days before six Alaskans would happen across the bus and discover his body inside." He was 24 years old.

It is impossible to read the book's concluding chapter and not feel overwhelmed by sadness. In the epilogue, Krakauer tells how he accompanied Billie and Walt McCandless to the scene of their son's death. They placed a memorial plaque just inside the door of a bus; they also left emergency provisions under the bed at the rear of the vehicle.

I'm pondering the possibility of a post entitled "Books That Haunt Me - or that I think will haunt me." Into the Wild will be near the top of the list.

************************************************

Here are two interesting and provocative articles about Chris McCandless: "Into the Wild: The False Being Within" by Craig Medred in Far North Science; and "The Cult of Chris McCandless" by Matthew Power in Men's Journal. The latter piece also offers some intriguing observations concerning the film, which I still have not seen. I guess I'm a bit afraid of it, at this point...

There has been lots written about Christopher McCandless and the mistakes he made. I'm not going to repeat that here, but I will make two points:

Chris McCandless was portrayed in the film as determined to escape the life of western materialism that he was born into. He considered it to be a lie. Why? Well, he discovered truths about his parents that undermined his confidence in them - his father had another family that had been kept secret. He remembered the time when his parents sat he and his sister down around the dinner table and informed them they were going to get a divorce, and they should pick which parent they wanted to live with. The divorce never happened, but the marriage didn't get any happier. He witnessed blazing arguments and even violence between his mother and father. All the time, the family kept up the appearance of a well-kept, happy, loving family, which had fun together, spent time together and went to church together - living the American dream. It is this that led Chris McCandless into leaving, going into the wild to find himself. I guess the message that the film gave to me was that a lack of integrity between inner life and family and outward appearance can be very damaging indeed. It is indeed, living a lie.

Secondly, the film portrayed Chris as leaving to find himself and find happiness. He was convinced the only way of doing this was to go into the wild on his own, survive by himself, and commune with nature. On his way out there he met many interesting people, from farm labourers in South Dakota, to Hippies in Slab City, to a nice old man in Northern California. From each person he learns, and enjoys their company. But he was still convinced that Alaska was the place to go. He headed out beyond Fairbanks and finds an abandoned bus in the middle of nowhere which had previously been used as a hunting shelter. He makes this his home and starts to hunt and scavenge. At one point it seems that he has learned his lesson and found himself, so he starts to make his way home, only to find that a river that he crossed on his way out had swelled and was impassible. He reluctantly returns to the bus. This time he is overcome by desperation and loneliness. At the end of the film, when Chris is dying from starvation - there had been a lack of animals he could hunt for food - he writes in his journal: “HAPPINESS ONLY REAL WHEN SHARED” - and he remembers all the interesting relationships he struck up on his journey out West. I think this is a good point - happiness comes from relationships, with each other and with God, not through achieving tasks or 'finding oneself'. It's a shame that Chris had to be on the point of death to realise this.

The movie itself is beautifully shot - not difficult considering the beautiful surroundings of the countryside of Alaska and the West Coast. The Acting from Emile Hirsch and others is excellent. Well worth watching.

A set of photos from the bus which Chris made his home can be found here.

Volgens de 22-jarige Chris McCandless zou ieder mens het eens moeten proberen. Al je bezittingen achterlaten en helemaal alleen de wildernis trotseren. Jezelf – als test – in een situatie manoeuvreren waarbij je alleen op je hoofd en handen kunt terugvallen. Zo, en alleen zo, kun je ultieme vrijheid ervaren, meent Chris, die zijn wijsheid haalt uit het werk van de natuurfilosoof Thoreau en de wildernis-chroniqueur Jack London.

Alaska lijkt Chris het meest geschikt. Daar zal hij zijn ‘valse ik’ doden en een groots avontuur beleven. Met een zakje rijst en een geweer, maar zonder radio om een noodsignaal uit te kunnen zenden – want dan speel je vals – trekt Chris over de uitgestrekte ijsvelden. Daar, ver weg van de beschaving, treft hij een verroeste en verlaten autobus, die hij betrekt als schuilplaats tegen de winter. En dan blijkt de tol van zijn zelf opgelegde opdracht, het zich meten met de natuur, hoger dan gedacht.

Sean Penn, meerdere malen geroemd als de beste acteur van zijn generatie (1960), toonde met zijn noir-thriller The Pledge (2001) al aanleg te hebben voor spelregie. Met Into the Wild, zijn vierde speelfilm als regisseur, bevestigt hij zijn multitalent. Het filmscript, van Penn zelf, is een bewerking van het gelijknamige boek van de journalist/bergbeklimmer Jon Krakauer. Die beschreef eind jaren negentig de waargebeurde zwerftocht van de Amerikaanse adolescent Chris McCandless. Hoofdpersoon Chris geniet sinds de publicatie een cultstatus onder outdoor-avonturiers.

Sean Penn moest bijna tien jaar wachten voor hij het verhaal mocht bewerken en verfilmen, eerder gaf de familie McCandless geen toestemming. Of de McCandless bang waren dat Penn het mythische gehalte van Chris’ tocht zou uitvergroten, of juist door zou prikken, is niet bekend. Penn doet uiteindelijk beiden.

Into the Wild is deels een barokke, soms ronduit bombastische roadmovie, met overweldigend woest, schitterend in beeld gebracht natuurschoon, en een heroïsche Chris die bovenop bergtoppen staat, terwijl de camera om hem heen cirkelt, en de galmende stem van componist Eddie Vedder (Pearl Jam) over de dalen schalt. Maar al die sterk aangezette stijlmiddelen vergroten ook het contrast met het minder heroïsche, ronduit klungelige verloop van de tocht – de uitgemergelde Chris, die de natuur maar weinig partij weet te bieden en ondanks zijn eetbare-plantenboek maar niet de juiste besjes uit elkaar kan houden.

Into the Wild had makkelijk kunnen doorschieten in een romantisch pleidooi tegen de consumptiemaatschappij of – in tegenovergestelde richting – een grimmige afstraffing van jeugdige onbezonnenheid, maar Penn doet niet aan eenzijdige boodschappen.

Ook de mensen die Chris (onder de hilarische schuilnaam Alexander Supertramp) ontmoet tijdens zijn zwerftocht, voor hij zich terugtrekt in Alaska, krijgen maar moeilijk grip op de jongen. Penn weeft die ontmoetingen knap in zijn continu in de tijd heen en weer springende script. Het levert sterke bijrollen op, onder meer voor Hal Holbrook als eenzame oorlogsveteraan, die Chris liefst als zoon zou opnemen.

De jonge acteur Emile Hirsch, voor het eerst te zien in een hoofdrol, speelt Chris ingehouden, met een blik die gaandeweg verschuift van superieur naar bezeten. Penn laat hem soms heel even recht in de camera kijken, met een uitdagende lach die lijkt te spotten met de kijker – denkt die nou echt een oordeel over hem te kunnen vellen?

Chris is koppig, door zichzelf geobsedeerd, prekerig, ouwelijk én kinderlijk. Maar tegelijkertijd ook oprecht: de eisen die hij de wereld oplegt, gelden allereerst voor zichzelf.

Deze prachtige recensie is afkomstig van Bor Beekman. Het is de beste die ik kon vinden en ik zou het zelf absoluut niet beter kunnen. Toch nog een heel klein beetje eigen inbreng: Into the wild heeft op twee vlakken erg veel weg van het magistrale Brokeback Mountain van Ang Lee. De wijdsheid van de overweldigende natuur in Noord-Amerika komt ook in Penn's nieuwste film schitterend naar voren. De tweede parallel zit hem in de messcherpe afstemming tussen de beelden en de muziek. Waar Gustavo Santaolalla de soundtrack voor Brokeback Mountain schreef, doet Eddie Vedder dat voor Into the wild. De frontsinger van Pearl Jam, de grondleggers van de grunge, heeft een elftal monumentale composities opgesteld voor de film die naadloos aansluiten bij het visuele werk van Penn. Into the wild is dus niet alleen vanwege dat beeld of alleen vanwege de muziek een must-see...juist de combinatie van die twee maakt hem mijns inziens niet te missen.