World Cup 2006

In the Winter of 1974, the German film director, Werner Herzog, walked from Munich to Paris, to visit a dying friend in the hospital. It took him 21 days, and is chronicled in the diary Of Walking On Ice, published in 1978.

The idea of walking a great distance across country(s) greatly intrigued me at the time after reading about this. I even met a retired lawyer who regularly engaged in such activity, and was leaving the next day to walk the length of Florida. Around this time, I read an article about the French government passing a law allowing village churches throughout the country to broadcast the upcoming World Cup matches for free. During the month-long tournament, my idea was to walk from Paris to the final match in Berlin. Along the way I would shoot a documentary chronicling the people and passions found in the small towns I encountered along the way. France wound up placing second in a controversial and hard-played final match against Italy.

I managed to secure the time off from work and bought a plane ticket to Europe for the project. However, that was as far as it got. It was an inspiring story I enjoyed talking to people about, and seemed simple enough, but two things got in my way, deterring me from following through.

Reason #1: I did not know French. As ignorant Americans, we sometimes assume that people everywhere know some semblance of English. However, after a minor altercation with a waiter in a Parisian cafe a few years prior, I realized this wasn't the case. I figured the further remote in the country I got, the less likely I would find English-speakers to interview. I considered bringing along a translator, but aside from the personal nature of the project, I imagined it difficult to find someone competent and compatible at such a late hour.

Reason #2: I am scared of big, angry dogs in unknown locales. In the aforementioned, Of Walking On Ice, Herzog mentioned having to fight off wild packs of dogs during his winter journey I was pseudo-emulating. I have had a few run-ins with big, angry dogs in my life, including once on a leisurely hike in Tuscany a few years prior to this project. I was walking up a road through an old, hilltop part of a Medieval Italian town. A school bus passed me, dropping off some children. Then, as I reached the crest of the hill, a big dog appeared in the middle of the road. Violently barking, his tail down, he was obviously not looking to make friends with an American tourist. I cautiously retreated downhill to the safety of my villa. Another time, I was walking the beach of a Northern Minnesota lake I grew up on, when a big white dog approached, and without warning, bit me on the ass in front of many people. It was only a warning bite, but my pride remained hurt more than if it had mauled my arm off. There are other, more graphically bloody stories, but I digress.

The Takeaway: So, to sum it up, I wasn't about to go gallivanting through an unknown countryside, fighting off wild animals, in order to artfully engage with a local populace who most likely wouldn't know what the hell I was talking about.