La Flâneuse
On directionless wanderings and purposeful observations.
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I lived in Spain for a year while I was studying for my degree and though it was exciting to be living somewhere else, learning a new language and experiencing an unfamiliar culture, I was homesick. Crushingly, desperately homesick. I remember waking up in my windowless room in the flat I shared on Calle de Carranza in Madrid and feeling immediately like I didn’t belong, like I was not supposed to be there. Of course, there’s an argument to say that I was exactly where I needed to be, that I was crying out for the growth and independence that came with navigating life in a foreign country on my own but it didn’t feel that way at the time.
To deal with the homesickness and the grief that comes with feeling out of place, I started to walk. I would leave the flat, walk past the dentist, the corner shop, the cafe and take one of the linear streets heading south. I would head deeper into the tree-lined streets of Malasaña, an area that, in the 1980s, was famous for the movida madrileña, a countercultural movement that grew out of the end of the repressive Franco dictatorship and the freedom that ensued. I walked past the supermarkets and hairdressers, the boutiques and shops selling luxury brands to which my student loan would not stretch.
Finally I would reach Gran Vía, the main artery of the city. I would usually turn right, away from the Fuente de Cibeles perched in the distance behind me and towards Calle del Preciados, just past the enormous FNAC department store. I would continue on until I eventually came to the Puerta del Sol, one of Madrid’s main squares, pausing to look at the statue of el Oso y el Madroño. This statue, of a bear and a strawberry tree, represents the coat of arms of Madrid and sits in the historical centre of the capital. I looked for it on every walk as a way to ground myself in something familiar when my overarching feeling was that I was far from home.
From Puerta del Sol, I would take one of two paths. I would either head left, past the entrance to the Plaza Mayor with its painted buildings and cafes nestled in the arches surrounding the main square. More often than not, I would go right, taking Calle del Arenal, up past the Chocolatería de San Ginés, stopping to sniff the churro-and-cacao-scented air as I passed. I would follow the road all the way to the end and stop outside the Teatro Real. From there, I would head down into the Plaza del Oriente with the view of the Palacio Real opening up before me. I loved to sit in this square and contemplate the comings and goings, watching parents with their young children playing hide and seek amidst the box hedges, people in sharp suits holding business meetings in the cafes, lovers stealing a quick kiss before heading to wherever they needed to be. Even though I was apart, I felt connected. Even though I was alone, I was encircled by the thrust and hum of life in a city.
Sometimes I would continue on, heading up to the Templo de Debod or retracing my steps to visit Plaza de España and the imposing statue of Cervantes overlooking Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, his most famous creations. On other occasions, I would go in the opposite direction, towards the Puerta del Alcalá and the Parque del Buen Retiro, walking among the trees and watching boaters on the lake.
It was during this time that I realised that walking was restorative. Moving my body in the most organic way, in the days before step counts and health apps became mainstream, was the key to helping me cope with a situation that could have overwhelmed me. Instead, I used it to carve a path through the city, watching, noticing, committing to memory things upon which I still reflect, and which give shape to my life, almost twenty years later.
According to the Cambridge Dictionary, a flâneur is defined as:
“someone who walks around not doing anything in particular but watching people and society”.
When the word first appeared in nineteenth-century France, it symbolised a certain affluence and was portrayed by Baudelaire as “a gentleman stroller of city streets” (because who else but a rich man would have had the time to wander aimlessly in Paris in the 1800s?) It represents someone who is part of a place but separate from it; who is directionless but retains the purpose of observing their surroundings, committed to experiencing the life of a city whilst remaining intentionally detached from its intricacies in the moment of observation.
Walking and more specifically, wandering around cities with no pre-determined destination, observing whatever I happen to come across, enjoying the moment for exactly what is presented to me in that moment, is something I still practice to this day. It is one of the best ways I have found to calm my mind, to take me outside of myself when life begins to feel heavy and loud. Aside from the psychological and physiological benefits of exercise, including moving a body that sits behind a desk for countless hours every week, becoming a flâneuse, for me, allows me to indulge my curiosity for new things and new places, to explore and celebrate all there is to learn. It is the best way I have discovered to encourage inspiration, to re-engage with my surroundings and to enjoy simple things - dappled sunlight through trees, a father holding his son’s hand as they walk home from school, an unexpected mural on the wall of a previously unknown building - painting a mental snapshot of the multitude of places, moments and situations in which we exist.
If you are interested in reading more about walking, particularly women’s experience of it, the following books may be of interest. Full disclaimer, I own all of these books but some of them are still making their way to the top of my TBR pile:
Wayfarer by Phoebe Smith
Windswept by Annabel Abbs
The Salt Path by Raynor Winn
Wanderlust by Rebecca Solnit
The Flâneur by Edmund White
Lilian Boxfish Takes A Walk by Kathleen Rooney
Wanderers by Kerri Andrews
I’d love to know: what are your favourite places to wander aimlessly?
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So interesting, thanks for sharing, Victoria! My husband and I have always liked exploring new cities like this - whether on a visit or when moving to a new place. Not doing all the touristy things, but just wandering aimlessly around and taking it all in, noticing the small and beautiful moments and sights. Copenhagen, Frankfurt, Barcelona, Hanover ... - and several times London. 🩷 Walking is something I enjoy very much. For me it's the perfect pace. :)
There is something so grounding and clarifying about walking. It brings me back to the present moment and to the core of my soul, as I experience everything around me as new and inspiring, even if I am walking an old path. Thank you so much for this story and for the book tips! xx