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The Arch of Kerguelen: Voyage to the Islands of Desolation
The Kerguelens - isolated French islands in the southern Indian Ocean - were the home of the Arch of Kerguelen, a 1,000-foot-tall stone vault that had confounded navigators for centuries. Jean-Paul Kauffmann finds poetry in the isolation and strangely serene beauty of this land far from the hustle of "civilized" life, where the vast ocean dominates, where the wind reigns and solitude is interrupted only by animals scrambling in the windswept fields by the graves of those who journeyed there before.
- GenresTravelNonfiction
288 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1992
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November 7, 2023
De Kerguelen bestaan nauwelijks. Een oppervlakte ter grootte van Madagascar ligt onder water, onder de Zuidpoolcirkel; enkel een kale versnipperde archipel steekt uit de wiersoep. Op enkele inheemse vogel- en koolsoorten na zijn al haar bewoners inwijkelingen: een honderdtal Franse wetenschappers, ratten, konijnen, honden, maar ook bewust uitgezette moeflons en elanden — en een zalmsoort die ondertussen met uitsterven bedreigd is in Europa.
Gelukzoekers vinden er dus vooral wat ze zelf projecteren; dieren, namen, betekenis. De Franse ontdekker geloofde een nieuw bevolkt continent gevonden te hebben, wannabe-kolonisatoren een tweede Patagonië, socialisten zagen erin een te ontginnen plek die werkloosheid de wereld uit zou helpen, de Duitsers een geheime maritieme uitvalsbasis. Ik zie het als een bewonderenswaardige broeihaard van anti-imperialisme en socialisme (Westerlingen moesten keer op keer de aftocht blazen, het kapitaal krijgt geen grip op de activiteiten van de eilandbewoners, geld wordt er niet gebruikt, 's ochtends kan je er parasailen, 's middags vogels spotten en 's avonds viben). Als puntje bij paaltje komt blijft het gewoon een desolaat kleistrooisel.
Jean-Paul Kauffmann verbleef de jaren 90 enkele weken bij de wetenschappers en soldaten. Voor de lezer uit 2023 is het zalig hun voet- en boottochten te volgen via satellietkaart. Een leeg eiland met enkel zonderlingen op; de enige inheemse trekpleister, een natuurlijk gevormde rotsboog van wel 300 meter hoog, stortte bij het begin van de 20e eeuw in. Een verblijf wordt een opgraving van menselijke rituelen die de eenzaamheid moeten opvangen. Grafstenen, golfplaten hutjes, conserven van 70 jaar oud. En een fenomeen dat in het covid-tijdperk zeer bekend overkomt:
Als het over de kosmos gaat, ben je als schrijver gedwongen je naar haar regels te schikken: wormgaten, exoplaneten, gasreuzen, asteroïden zijn allen wegmarkeringen die aanduiden dat je een inherent onmenselijk terrein betreedt. Maar de Kerguelen is een topografie van beschermende baaien en door regen geboetseerde heuvels met namen als Port Jeanne D'Arc en Volcan du Diable, alsof het om een per abuis vergeten uithoek van Bretagne gaat. Het is geen anti-menselijke, maar een a-menselijke plek. Geen wonder dat Kauffmann zijn trip, die meer weg heeft van een pelgrimage dan een verkenning doorspekt met bijbelcitaten en het eiland behandelt als een heiligdom waarvan we de cultus niet begrijpen. Voor het "hoe" van het leven op de archipel kan je terecht bij de instructies op de zijkant van de conservenblikken en de keurig bijgehouden maar ongelezen rapporten die de gouverneur er jaarlijks opstelt, maar naar het "waarom" hebben de inwoners het raden.
Duitsland betaalt Frankrijk jaarlijks om een soldatengraf uit Wereldoorlog II te onderhouden; een matroos van de kruiser Atlantis overleefde de expeditie niet. De Notre-Dame des Vents heeft een kerkhof met daarin het graf van een moslim, meegekomen uit de Comoren. Een Sovjetsloep ligt zonder verklaring op het strand van Port Couvreux. Hoe meer je in de Kerguelen graaft, hoe meer je menselijke overblijfselen ontdekt, maar het eiland geeft niks meer prijs van zichzelf. Het is een eigenaardige parallel met Freuds worsteling met het onderbewuste: om haar te beschrijven, kunnen we alleen gebruik maken van de woordenschat van het bewuste. Er beweegt iets, maar dit wordt alleen vaagweg uitgedrukt door onze eigen silhouetten. Stanislaw Lem had 't er waarschijnlijk prachtig gevonden.
Boven de volledig onttoverde wereld schittert de rampspoed. De mens kan haar niet opnieuw betoveren, maar op de Kerguelen wordt de verlichting tenminste toegestaan zichzelf uit te putten.
Gelukzoekers vinden er dus vooral wat ze zelf projecteren; dieren, namen, betekenis. De Franse ontdekker geloofde een nieuw bevolkt continent gevonden te hebben, wannabe-kolonisatoren een tweede Patagonië, socialisten zagen erin een te ontginnen plek die werkloosheid de wereld uit zou helpen, de Duitsers een geheime maritieme uitvalsbasis. Ik zie het als een bewonderenswaardige broeihaard van anti-imperialisme en socialisme (Westerlingen moesten keer op keer de aftocht blazen, het kapitaal krijgt geen grip op de activiteiten van de eilandbewoners, geld wordt er niet gebruikt, 's ochtends kan je er parasailen, 's middags vogels spotten en 's avonds viben). Als puntje bij paaltje komt blijft het gewoon een desolaat kleistrooisel.
Jean-Paul Kauffmann verbleef de jaren 90 enkele weken bij de wetenschappers en soldaten. Voor de lezer uit 2023 is het zalig hun voet- en boottochten te volgen via satellietkaart. Een leeg eiland met enkel zonderlingen op; de enige inheemse trekpleister, een natuurlijk gevormde rotsboog van wel 300 meter hoog, stortte bij het begin van de 20e eeuw in. Een verblijf wordt een opgraving van menselijke rituelen die de eenzaamheid moeten opvangen. Grafstenen, golfplaten hutjes, conserven van 70 jaar oud. En een fenomeen dat in het covid-tijdperk zeer bekend overkomt:
Een man met baard, gekleed in de geelgroene parka die iedereen op Kerguelen draagt, laat ons binnen en barst in lachen uit wanneer ik hem vraag waar de studio is. 'Er is helemaal geen studio. Kom maar mee!' Hij neemt ons mee naar een vertrek waar op een tafeltje een gebroken geluidsband in het rond draait en tegen het spoeltje zwiept. 'Er is geen discjockey. Het zijn oude banden, die iemand in een grijs verleden eens heeft opgenomen. Ze worden steeds weer opnieuw uitgezonden. Sommige banden zijn zo versleten dat ze knappen, zoals vanavond. Niemand is geïnteresseerd in de muziek of de stem, het gaat om het achtergrondgeluid.'
Als het over de kosmos gaat, ben je als schrijver gedwongen je naar haar regels te schikken: wormgaten, exoplaneten, gasreuzen, asteroïden zijn allen wegmarkeringen die aanduiden dat je een inherent onmenselijk terrein betreedt. Maar de Kerguelen is een topografie van beschermende baaien en door regen geboetseerde heuvels met namen als Port Jeanne D'Arc en Volcan du Diable, alsof het om een per abuis vergeten uithoek van Bretagne gaat. Het is geen anti-menselijke, maar een a-menselijke plek. Geen wonder dat Kauffmann zijn trip, die meer weg heeft van een pelgrimage dan een verkenning doorspekt met bijbelcitaten en het eiland behandelt als een heiligdom waarvan we de cultus niet begrijpen. Voor het "hoe" van het leven op de archipel kan je terecht bij de instructies op de zijkant van de conservenblikken en de keurig bijgehouden maar ongelezen rapporten die de gouverneur er jaarlijks opstelt, maar naar het "waarom" hebben de inwoners het raden.
Duitsland betaalt Frankrijk jaarlijks om een soldatengraf uit Wereldoorlog II te onderhouden; een matroos van de kruiser Atlantis overleefde de expeditie niet. De Notre-Dame des Vents heeft een kerkhof met daarin het graf van een moslim, meegekomen uit de Comoren. Een Sovjetsloep ligt zonder verklaring op het strand van Port Couvreux. Hoe meer je in de Kerguelen graaft, hoe meer je menselijke overblijfselen ontdekt, maar het eiland geeft niks meer prijs van zichzelf. Het is een eigenaardige parallel met Freuds worsteling met het onderbewuste: om haar te beschrijven, kunnen we alleen gebruik maken van de woordenschat van het bewuste. Er beweegt iets, maar dit wordt alleen vaagweg uitgedrukt door onze eigen silhouetten. Stanislaw Lem had 't er waarschijnlijk prachtig gevonden.
Boven de volledig onttoverde wereld schittert de rampspoed. De mens kan haar niet opnieuw betoveren, maar op de Kerguelen wordt de verlichting tenminste toegestaan zichzelf uit te putten.
October 26, 2020
Whew this was really really good. I'm not sure this book would be for everyone, but man I really loved it. A few weeks ago Cassie gave me a world map and I hung it up on my wall. I pored over it and saw this large island southeast of Africa, but not really near the Antarctic. I proceeded to look up the Kerguelen Islands and got hooked. An island nearly the size of the big island of Hawaii, at a 49 degrees southern latitude comparable to very inhabitable large cities like Paris 48 degrees north, London 51 degrees north or Vienna 48 degrees north. Never permanently inhabited, no shortage of fresh water or land, the temperature rarely drops below freezing, I was incredibly intrigued. I waited a few days to make sure it was not just a passing fancy before buying this book. Its by a French journalist who goes and visits the islands for 4 months in 1992.
The book switches from being an account of Kauffman's own visit to the islands and a history of humans on the islands.
In 1985, Kauffman was abducted and held hostage during the Lebanese Civil War until his release in 1988. Though his time in captivity certainly influenced his psyche, it was not referred to in the book. There is a melancholy that comes through in his writing however.
He tours the islands and gives descriptions of his visits to the important landmarks. I especially enjoyed any description of Mont Ross, the tall glaciated peak on the island. His visit also happened in a pre internet era, I can't imagine how isolated you would feel there. He talks about how there was a radio station on the island that played rock hits, but when he investigated how it got played across Port aux Francais, it was just an old tape brought over from France.
I particularly loved this quote
The island sounds miserable, and no wonder. Its a paradox, its green and filled with unlimited amounts of fresh water and is uninhabitable. The howling wind is awful and awesome. Feral housecats thrive there. The book, and the island itself, feel like a dream, a place that sounds like such an adventure, but could the adventure live up to the expectation. Does cold rain and howling wind and beautiful fjords and hills and mountains only sound appealing when someone else is recollecting it?
The book switches from being an account of Kauffman's own visit to the islands and a history of humans on the islands.
In 1985, Kauffman was abducted and held hostage during the Lebanese Civil War until his release in 1988. Though his time in captivity certainly influenced his psyche, it was not referred to in the book. There is a melancholy that comes through in his writing however.
He tours the islands and gives descriptions of his visits to the important landmarks. I especially enjoyed any description of Mont Ross, the tall glaciated peak on the island. His visit also happened in a pre internet era, I can't imagine how isolated you would feel there. He talks about how there was a radio station on the island that played rock hits, but when he investigated how it got played across Port aux Francais, it was just an old tape brought over from France.
I particularly loved this quote
What we have just performed is an extremely serious act. Simply by naming this valley, we have taken away its untouched state. My companions want me to submit the Mac Orlan Valley to the Toponymy Commission. I'll do no such thing. May this valley rest in peace, forgotten by mankind for a long time to come! They will inevitably brand it one day with a name.
The island sounds miserable, and no wonder. Its a paradox, its green and filled with unlimited amounts of fresh water and is uninhabitable. The howling wind is awful and awesome. Feral housecats thrive there. The book, and the island itself, feel like a dream, a place that sounds like such an adventure, but could the adventure live up to the expectation. Does cold rain and howling wind and beautiful fjords and hills and mountains only sound appealing when someone else is recollecting it?
April 27, 2022
Un livre de voyage comme je les aime surtout quand il nous fait découvrir, comme ici, des lieux où il est difficile de se rendre et dont le nom a lui seul, les îles de la désolation, est déjà tout un programme. Celui-ci est écrit par l’ancien journaliste et grand reporter Jean-Paul Kauffmann. On peut dire sans prendre de risque qu’il a bien préparé son voyage, il a beaucoup lu sur ce territoire et en particulier sur son histoire. Il distille ces connaissances emmagasinées petit à petit au cours de son voyage et de son séjour. Lorsque l’occasion se présente, il évoque les différentes expéditions et en particulier celles menées par celui qui a laissé son nom à cet archipel balayé par les vents.
Il nous dépeint ce paysage dont le meilleur qualificatif semble bien être désolation. Sur cette terre c’est le vent qui règne en maître, il impose sa loi à la nature et tient les hommes à l’écart.
Cette rudesse n’a quand même pas empêché ces derniers, et donc les français, de les coloniser et de marquer ce territoire de façon irréversible en introduisant volontairement ou involontairement des espèces qui mettent en péril la flore et la faune parfois endémiques. Il consacre pleinement le livre à son sujet et ne parle que très rarement d’autre chose, de lui ou de l’actualité, à une exception, lorsqu’il apprend le début de la guerre en Irak, il ne peut réfréner ses réflexes de grand reporter. La langue est belle, le sujet maîtrisé, il ne manque qu’une touche d’humour comme on peut trouver chez Jean Rolin , pour égayer un peu le voyage et le séjour.
Si vous désirez mettre des images sur ces belles descriptions – ce qui semble complètement légitime – pourquoi ne pas ouvrir la BD qu’ Emmanuel Lepage a consacré à son Voyage aux îles de la Désolation.
Également publié sur mon blog.
Il nous dépeint ce paysage dont le meilleur qualificatif semble bien être désolation. Sur cette terre c’est le vent qui règne en maître, il impose sa loi à la nature et tient les hommes à l’écart.
Les insectes des Kerguelen sont aptères. Ils ne peuvent voler en raison de l’extrême violence du vent qui a fini par atrophier leurs ailes.
Cette rudesse n’a quand même pas empêché ces derniers, et donc les français, de les coloniser et de marquer ce territoire de façon irréversible en introduisant volontairement ou involontairement des espèces qui mettent en péril la flore et la faune parfois endémiques. Il consacre pleinement le livre à son sujet et ne parle que très rarement d’autre chose, de lui ou de l’actualité, à une exception, lorsqu’il apprend le début de la guerre en Irak, il ne peut réfréner ses réflexes de grand reporter. La langue est belle, le sujet maîtrisé, il ne manque qu’une touche d’humour comme on peut trouver chez Jean Rolin , pour égayer un peu le voyage et le séjour.
J’écoute le ruissellement infini de la pluie. Il étouffe les indécises détonations du lac Bontemps. C’est un bruit moelleux. Rien à voir avec les vibrations sonores et glottales de l’ondée quand elle s’appesantit sur les branches des arbres ou sur le macadam des villes.
Si vous désirez mettre des images sur ces belles descriptions – ce qui semble complètement légitime – pourquoi ne pas ouvrir la BD qu’ Emmanuel Lepage a consacré à son Voyage aux îles de la Désolation.
Également publié sur mon blog.
April 26, 2018
J'ai adoré ce livre, ses descriptions lancinantes, ses rêves brisés qui ont fait écho à une envie que je ne savais pas que j'avais.
Je rêve d'aller aux Kerguelen et de suivre les pas de Jean-Paul Kauffmann, et de tous les voyageurs passés là avant lui ; de toute façon, dès lors que je retrouve une vague trait commun lié à la Bretagne, je ne peux pas m'empêcher d'y voir un signe.
Le livre décrit magnifiquement ces îles, leur histoire rugueuse et marquée par le mauvais sort et leur âpreté ; mais évidemment, c'est aussi l'aventure intérieure qui compte ici - et je l'ai adorée.
Je rêve d'aller aux Kerguelen et de suivre les pas de Jean-Paul Kauffmann, et de tous les voyageurs passés là avant lui ; de toute façon, dès lors que je retrouve une vague trait commun lié à la Bretagne, je ne peux pas m'empêcher d'y voir un signe.
Le livre décrit magnifiquement ces îles, leur histoire rugueuse et marquée par le mauvais sort et leur âpreté ; mais évidemment, c'est aussi l'aventure intérieure qui compte ici - et je l'ai adorée.
January 20, 2020
In de Indische oceaan, richting de zuidpool liggen de Kerguelen, ook wel Desolation Islands genoemd omdat ze ver weg van de beoonde wereld liggen. Er woont niemand permanent, maar sinds de ontdekking worden er expedities en missies naar uitgerust. Meestal met een wetenschappelijk of militair doel. De schrijver bezoekt de eilanden en verteld de geschiedenis sinds hun ontdekking eind 18e eeuw, wie er allemaal geweest zijn, wie er gestorven zijn en hoe het verlaten land er uit ziet en hoe eenzaam de tijdelijke bewoners zijn.
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July 15, 2024dnf - sexisme
November 14, 2012
French journalist Jean-Paul Kauffmann's 1993 The Arch of Kerguelen, originally published in 1993 by Flammarion of Paris and translated by Patricia Clancy for a 2000 publication by Four Walls Eight Windows, might be the only books I've ever read on the Kerguelen Islands. Even so, I can say with certainty that The Arch of Kerguelen easily sets the standard for all future books, and for all like books.
The Kerguelen Islands, a volcanic archipelago in the Southern Ocean roughly equidistant from South Africa and Australia, were discovered in 1772 by the luckless French explorer Yves Joseph de Kerguelen de Trémarec, eventually included in the Fifth Republic's French Southern and Antarctic Lands. There have been, as Kauffmann enumerates, innumerable plans to humanize the islands, starting with discussion in the salons of pre-Revolutionary Paris on settling dozens of luckless Acadian families in this open land. In the past century, in fact, there has been a more-or-less sustained human presence on the islands for most of the past century: Whaling ships have called at the islands' harbours, people like the Bossière brothers of Normandy have tried to establish human colonies, imported rabbits and sheep have wrought havoc on native vegetation like the Kerguelen cabbage. To the author's surprise, sheep herds and aquacultured salmon and whaling harbours can now be found on these the most isolated of islands.
No humans live there permanently, though, and none will. After several tries, the islands' only human residents are scientists and researchers and support staff, rotated in and out. The Arch of Kerguelen of the title was sighted by Cook soon after the islands' discovery, a great arch tens of metres high that seemed to welcome visitors to an interior notable now for being a void. Here, cartographers may impose names on the blanks in the islands' maps while scientific researchers may here come to perform their delicate experiments, but no one stays, apart from those unfortunately buried in the graves at Port aux Français. Appropriately enough, the great modernizing dream of the Enlightenment, the belief of the philosophes in the flexibility of human beings, broke on the shores of the islands discovered in the Enlightenment's last days. Kauffmann succeeds wonderfully in demonstrating, in a lucid prose style that survived translation, that the land's apparent openness comes not from its openness to humanity but rather because it's structurally irrelevant and unsuitable to humanity, because it is--in his word--"ahuman."
The Kerguelen Islands, a volcanic archipelago in the Southern Ocean roughly equidistant from South Africa and Australia, were discovered in 1772 by the luckless French explorer Yves Joseph de Kerguelen de Trémarec, eventually included in the Fifth Republic's French Southern and Antarctic Lands. There have been, as Kauffmann enumerates, innumerable plans to humanize the islands, starting with discussion in the salons of pre-Revolutionary Paris on settling dozens of luckless Acadian families in this open land. In the past century, in fact, there has been a more-or-less sustained human presence on the islands for most of the past century: Whaling ships have called at the islands' harbours, people like the Bossière brothers of Normandy have tried to establish human colonies, imported rabbits and sheep have wrought havoc on native vegetation like the Kerguelen cabbage. To the author's surprise, sheep herds and aquacultured salmon and whaling harbours can now be found on these the most isolated of islands.
No humans live there permanently, though, and none will. After several tries, the islands' only human residents are scientists and researchers and support staff, rotated in and out. The Arch of Kerguelen of the title was sighted by Cook soon after the islands' discovery, a great arch tens of metres high that seemed to welcome visitors to an interior notable now for being a void. Here, cartographers may impose names on the blanks in the islands' maps while scientific researchers may here come to perform their delicate experiments, but no one stays, apart from those unfortunately buried in the graves at Port aux Français. Appropriately enough, the great modernizing dream of the Enlightenment, the belief of the philosophes in the flexibility of human beings, broke on the shores of the islands discovered in the Enlightenment's last days. Kauffmann succeeds wonderfully in demonstrating, in a lucid prose style that survived translation, that the land's apparent openness comes not from its openness to humanity but rather because it's structurally irrelevant and unsuitable to humanity, because it is--in his word--"ahuman."
November 6, 2024
I'm not sure what I expected from an account of a sojourn in one of the remotest places on the planet, but what I got was (with hindsight unsurprisingly) quite dull.
Kauffman, intrigued by the Kerguelens since childhood, wangles a trip there and tries gamely to make a book of it. But nothing happens (of course), he has no sense of humour, and his prose is sometimes pretentious:
"Could Kerguelen be nothing more than the reality of my life in its pure state? It defies every idea of the picturesque, the exotic, and the voyage. Could I have invented a whole picture of the Desolation Isles before I left France? I carry that kind of devastation within me."
Pauvre toi!
Or this, before he is even there, on the one-week journey by ship:
"Isn't having nothing to do the supreme test, even more than suffering? Whoever can fill the emptiness of his being, when there is nothing more to occupy it, will survive."
Pretty sure most people would take boredom over physical pain.
Kauffman is competent on the history of the archipelago, at any rate its human history. He tries to set up the story of the islands' namesake, the explorer Yves-Joseph de Kerguelen, as a counter-narrative (since nothing is happening to him). Kerguelen seems an interesting character, but Kauffman never gets past this air of intrigue, and is reluctant to speculate. Various other pioneer stories (whalers, troops, colonists) are retold, all more or less of a piece. But there is nothing at all on the geology, and little on the natural history, of the islands. Perhaps this is because of the author's self-proclaimed Luddism:
"Lines of pebbles delicately fitting together form such regularly shaped mosaics on the grey sand that you suspect a human hand has shaped them. Georges assures me, however, that it's a natural phenomenon, but I don't really understand his description. Scientific explanations bore me to death..."
The author spends quite a while surrounded by scientists, but learns nothing from them - neither their stories as people nor as scientists. Indeed, he hardly seems to talk to them at all. One would assume that an adventure like this would generate some insight into the people who live and work in very isolated places. But Kauffman spends most of his time with his nose in a good book, many of which he has brought with him all the way from France. He should have read them before he left, and been more sprightly and curious once he got there.
Happily the book is much shorter than the trip.
Kauffman, intrigued by the Kerguelens since childhood, wangles a trip there and tries gamely to make a book of it. But nothing happens (of course), he has no sense of humour, and his prose is sometimes pretentious:
"Could Kerguelen be nothing more than the reality of my life in its pure state? It defies every idea of the picturesque, the exotic, and the voyage. Could I have invented a whole picture of the Desolation Isles before I left France? I carry that kind of devastation within me."
Pauvre toi!
Or this, before he is even there, on the one-week journey by ship:
"Isn't having nothing to do the supreme test, even more than suffering? Whoever can fill the emptiness of his being, when there is nothing more to occupy it, will survive."
Pretty sure most people would take boredom over physical pain.
Kauffman is competent on the history of the archipelago, at any rate its human history. He tries to set up the story of the islands' namesake, the explorer Yves-Joseph de Kerguelen, as a counter-narrative (since nothing is happening to him). Kerguelen seems an interesting character, but Kauffman never gets past this air of intrigue, and is reluctant to speculate. Various other pioneer stories (whalers, troops, colonists) are retold, all more or less of a piece. But there is nothing at all on the geology, and little on the natural history, of the islands. Perhaps this is because of the author's self-proclaimed Luddism:
"Lines of pebbles delicately fitting together form such regularly shaped mosaics on the grey sand that you suspect a human hand has shaped them. Georges assures me, however, that it's a natural phenomenon, but I don't really understand his description. Scientific explanations bore me to death..."
The author spends quite a while surrounded by scientists, but learns nothing from them - neither their stories as people nor as scientists. Indeed, he hardly seems to talk to them at all. One would assume that an adventure like this would generate some insight into the people who live and work in very isolated places. But Kauffman spends most of his time with his nose in a good book, many of which he has brought with him all the way from France. He should have read them before he left, and been more sprightly and curious once he got there.
Happily the book is much shorter than the trip.
May 8, 2024
French journalist J.P. Kauffmann was kidnapped and held in captivity in Beirut halfway the 1980s. After he regained freedom, he found it difficult getting back to society, and so he departed to the remote island of Kerguelen, one of the French subantarctic islands.
I found his account, which I read in the Dutch translation (by Jelle Noorman), interesting reading. I have visited other remote islands (but not Kerguelen) and can visualise the depressing landscape and harsh weather conditions, the boredom of the few researchers and personnel living there. The history of whalers and explorers who were the scarce visitors, never stops to intrigue me.
This book triggers my curiosity to read other books about this remote island. And hopefully, one day, I'll see Kerguelen with my own eyes.
I found his account, which I read in the Dutch translation (by Jelle Noorman), interesting reading. I have visited other remote islands (but not Kerguelen) and can visualise the depressing landscape and harsh weather conditions, the boredom of the few researchers and personnel living there. The history of whalers and explorers who were the scarce visitors, never stops to intrigue me.
This book triggers my curiosity to read other books about this remote island. And hopefully, one day, I'll see Kerguelen with my own eyes.
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April 30, 2020Aux confins de l'Antarctique, Jean-Paul Kauffmann débarque sur les Kerguelen, tant fascinantes que repoussantes. Autrefois baptisées îles de la Désolation, elles recèlent d'une histoire riche de ses explorateurs passés. Au cours de ses pérégrinations, il nous fait revivre les aventures de sa découverte et les difficultés de sa domestication.
August 29, 2023
I liked it but it really is a desolate book like I was really there. the writing was great and had a journalistic feel to it, but you have to wonder what made him go to such a place. he says why about his love of frontiers which is understandable but I'd like to see more relevant and thought provoking travelogues than these rocks.
December 21, 2016
Exploring why we go nowhere, what we find when we get there and the idea of no-mans-land as a real location. Useful in case you ever go nowhere.
February 7, 2018
Wonderful, calming work. If you want to get away from everything, literally traveling to the Kerguelens may be a bit unrealistic… but reading this exploration of them is a nice, practical escape.
January 30, 2021
Un archipel perdu dans l'Atlantique Sud, qui fascine depuis l'enfance J.P Kauffmann. Le récit d'un séjour de quelques semaines. Un livre à l'image du lieu : beau et froid.
August 13, 2023
He went to Kerguelen - so you don’t have to!
July 17, 2016
I've long had a fascination with the Kerguelen Islands, so I was thrilled to find this book aboout the place. It's part memoir of a voyage to the Kerguelen islands and part hodge-podge-narrative of past explorations and history of the island. A short read and almost has the feel of a sequential collection of essays.
Kauffmann writes well in an a poetic but spare kind of a style. In the beginning of the book I felt irritated with what I took to be whining--he was an intelligent and articulate whiner, but spent a great deal of time complaining nonetheless. But near then end I thought that perhaps what I took for whining is instead more a sense of meloncholy to his perspective. He describes the landscape and feel of Kerguelen beautifully, and the book has interesting musings on deeper issues such as ownership, nature, and exploration.
I'm grateful he took the time to collect the information and write the book. I do wish it were deeper--more detailed. So much of the intruiging incidents about the islands were passed over quickly, without time to get into specifics. Although, in a way the brevity lends itself well to the setting, a place the English named "Desolation Island," a place where the wind blows everything away...
A small selection of quotes:
"I'm going to have a week's forced idleness on one of the most deserted and tempestuous seas in the world. But I suspect that, unlike floating palaces and cruise ships, the Marion-Dufresne will provide the indispensable prelude to getting to know any unknown country: waiting and boredom. Isn't having nothing to do the supreme test, even more than suffering? Whoever can fill the emptiness of his being, when there is nothing more to occupy it, will surive. He will overcome the cruelest torture: time without limit and without end. Pain keeps one occupied; the person who suffers sees himself in his torment. Boredom knows neither variety nor satiety." -p6
"I hate walking. My friends think that I love nature because I have a house in the middle of hte Landes forest. They see me as a sort of Francis of Assisi talking to the flowers and the birds. Of course I'm careful not to contradict them. They imagine I wander all alone along the forest paths like Rousseau, while in actual fact I never move from my own home. A whole livetime is not long enough to explore my own acre. It's much the same with places as with books. I feel a little sad when I look at my library. What is the use of so many books? I know that at the end of my life, only ten or so books will have been really important." -p41
"[The Kerguelen wind] never whistles. There are no obstacles in its path: no trees, no houses, no electric wires, no fences. Instead of filling the air with the sharp notes we are used to in the 'civilized' lands, it gives out a muffled roar. Its voice has the depth and power of chanting in the Greek Orthodox liturgy.
A rumbling, thundery sound is growing louder in the valley. The wind shudders like an avalanche. It's coming down; it will catch us. I feel as though gusts of wind are hitting our backs like falling stones. The ground is vibrating, and I'm frightened: I've never known such a strength of wind.
This valley I thought was dead taught my why the origin of hte world is in the wind." - p51
"Looking at the sky unites the two principles on which our human condition has always been based: hope and the unexpected." - p 73
"When you have lost everything, you can create abundance in your mind; posession has only ever been a matter of the imagination. In point of fact, a free man doesn't posess anything. This endless frustration is the price of freedom. A person who is shipwrecked--or a prisoner--has a rarer priveledge: he has a higher mastery and enjoyment of the most trifling things. He can create a whole world from a book, a piece of metal, a landscape, from himself. In the history of Desolation Island, only Nunn [an englishman shipwrecked on the island for several years in the 1800s] and his companions succeeded in posessing it." -p94
"Owning a Renault 4 is a sign of importance here. You don't have to know how to drive well, but you do have to know how to park properly. You can park anywhere as long as you are careful to have the door facing into the wind. A while ago my driver parked at the weather station without paying attention to the direction of the wind. His door was ripped straight off and few up into the air like a sheet of paper. I heard it fall and bounce on the stones that shine as if they've been lacquered. He calmly went off to retrieve it." -p168
Kauffmann writes well in an a poetic but spare kind of a style. In the beginning of the book I felt irritated with what I took to be whining--he was an intelligent and articulate whiner, but spent a great deal of time complaining nonetheless. But near then end I thought that perhaps what I took for whining is instead more a sense of meloncholy to his perspective. He describes the landscape and feel of Kerguelen beautifully, and the book has interesting musings on deeper issues such as ownership, nature, and exploration.
I'm grateful he took the time to collect the information and write the book. I do wish it were deeper--more detailed. So much of the intruiging incidents about the islands were passed over quickly, without time to get into specifics. Although, in a way the brevity lends itself well to the setting, a place the English named "Desolation Island," a place where the wind blows everything away...
A small selection of quotes:
"I'm going to have a week's forced idleness on one of the most deserted and tempestuous seas in the world. But I suspect that, unlike floating palaces and cruise ships, the Marion-Dufresne will provide the indispensable prelude to getting to know any unknown country: waiting and boredom. Isn't having nothing to do the supreme test, even more than suffering? Whoever can fill the emptiness of his being, when there is nothing more to occupy it, will surive. He will overcome the cruelest torture: time without limit and without end. Pain keeps one occupied; the person who suffers sees himself in his torment. Boredom knows neither variety nor satiety." -p6
"I hate walking. My friends think that I love nature because I have a house in the middle of hte Landes forest. They see me as a sort of Francis of Assisi talking to the flowers and the birds. Of course I'm careful not to contradict them. They imagine I wander all alone along the forest paths like Rousseau, while in actual fact I never move from my own home. A whole livetime is not long enough to explore my own acre. It's much the same with places as with books. I feel a little sad when I look at my library. What is the use of so many books? I know that at the end of my life, only ten or so books will have been really important." -p41
"[The Kerguelen wind] never whistles. There are no obstacles in its path: no trees, no houses, no electric wires, no fences. Instead of filling the air with the sharp notes we are used to in the 'civilized' lands, it gives out a muffled roar. Its voice has the depth and power of chanting in the Greek Orthodox liturgy.
A rumbling, thundery sound is growing louder in the valley. The wind shudders like an avalanche. It's coming down; it will catch us. I feel as though gusts of wind are hitting our backs like falling stones. The ground is vibrating, and I'm frightened: I've never known such a strength of wind.
This valley I thought was dead taught my why the origin of hte world is in the wind." - p51
"Looking at the sky unites the two principles on which our human condition has always been based: hope and the unexpected." - p 73
"When you have lost everything, you can create abundance in your mind; posession has only ever been a matter of the imagination. In point of fact, a free man doesn't posess anything. This endless frustration is the price of freedom. A person who is shipwrecked--or a prisoner--has a rarer priveledge: he has a higher mastery and enjoyment of the most trifling things. He can create a whole world from a book, a piece of metal, a landscape, from himself. In the history of Desolation Island, only Nunn [an englishman shipwrecked on the island for several years in the 1800s] and his companions succeeded in posessing it." -p94
"Owning a Renault 4 is a sign of importance here. You don't have to know how to drive well, but you do have to know how to park properly. You can park anywhere as long as you are careful to have the door facing into the wind. A while ago my driver parked at the weather station without paying attention to the direction of the wind. His door was ripped straight off and few up into the air like a sheet of paper. I heard it fall and bounce on the stones that shine as if they've been lacquered. He calmly went off to retrieve it." -p168
December 27, 2016
Un très bon livre, du journaliste Jean-Paul Kaufmann qui est parti deux mois en "vacances" aux îles Kerguelen, dans l'Atlantique sud.
Un mélange de divagation poétique sur le côté reculé de ces terres, les gens qui font le choix d'y vivre et de l'histoire parcellaire de ces territoires minutieusement reconstitué par Kaufmann. L'histoire est captivante, elle est distillée par petites touches au cours du livre, on y apprend, entre autres, petit à petit la destinée du chevalier Yves de Kerguelen, le découvreur de l'archipel, personnage atypique et aussi attachant mais aussi les baleiniers qui y firent escale, les Fitzcarraldo qui essayèrent, sans succès bien sûr, de les mettre en valeur ou les corsaires allemands qui l'utilisèrent comme base pendant le seconde guerre mondiale. Une histoire palpitante, bien restituée par l'auteur.
Pour le reste, le partie "description" sur le mode poétique des îles, c'est intéressant même si c'est peu en deça : la méditation sur "le pouvoir de nommer", l'omniprésence du vent (qui atrophie les ailes des mouches autochtones) c'est formidable mais on aurait peut-être aimé que soit plus développé les états d'âmes des gens qui y vivent ou les problèmes écologiques auxquels l'écosystème est confronté (par exemple, ceux causés à la flore et faune locale par l'importation d'espèces allochtones, qui n'est qu'effleuré dans le livre).
Petite déception aussi sur la toute dernière page, un paragraphe seulement sur l'arche est ce qu'elle est devenue alors que la plume inspirée de Kaufmann aurait pu en écrire un chapitre entier pour notre plus grand bonheur.
Au final un très bon livre que je recommande, un bel hommage à ces petits morceaux de France du bout du monde sur lequel très peu de gens ont écrit.
Un mélange de divagation poétique sur le côté reculé de ces terres, les gens qui font le choix d'y vivre et de l'histoire parcellaire de ces territoires minutieusement reconstitué par Kaufmann. L'histoire est captivante, elle est distillée par petites touches au cours du livre, on y apprend, entre autres, petit à petit la destinée du chevalier Yves de Kerguelen, le découvreur de l'archipel, personnage atypique et aussi attachant mais aussi les baleiniers qui y firent escale, les Fitzcarraldo qui essayèrent, sans succès bien sûr, de les mettre en valeur ou les corsaires allemands qui l'utilisèrent comme base pendant le seconde guerre mondiale. Une histoire palpitante, bien restituée par l'auteur.
Pour le reste, le partie "description" sur le mode poétique des îles, c'est intéressant même si c'est peu en deça : la méditation sur "le pouvoir de nommer", l'omniprésence du vent (qui atrophie les ailes des mouches autochtones) c'est formidable mais on aurait peut-être aimé que soit plus développé les états d'âmes des gens qui y vivent ou les problèmes écologiques auxquels l'écosystème est confronté (par exemple, ceux causés à la flore et faune locale par l'importation d'espèces allochtones, qui n'est qu'effleuré dans le livre).
Petite déception aussi sur la toute dernière page, un paragraphe seulement sur l'arche est ce qu'elle est devenue alors que la plume inspirée de Kaufmann aurait pu en écrire un chapitre entier pour notre plus grand bonheur.
Au final un très bon livre que je recommande, un bel hommage à ces petits morceaux de France du bout du monde sur lequel très peu de gens ont écrit.
November 29, 2012
This travelogue takes the reader to a most desolate and distant place, Kerguelen Island in the southern Indian Ocean. Yves-Joseph de Kerguelen in 1772 discovered for France this large, rocky subarctic island, with its extensive grasslands but no trees, with birds and sea mammals but no human life. Kerguelen named it Desolation Island, but in the published account of the last voyage of Captain Cook, who briefly stopped there, Kerguelen's name was attached and it stuck.
Today the only settlement is Port aux Francais, a large research center maintained by the French government. Earlier attempts to settle on Kerguelen Island failed (though hope remains the current salmon hatchery will prove viable): twice whalers established a station here, and Frenchmen have tried to support themselves here by raising sheep. The main problem is not so much the cold sub-antarctic weather, tempered by the surrounding ocean, as the huge distance from any settled land, and even more, the constant, powerful, unrelenting wind. Blowing in from the huge expanse of the southern ocean, unhampered by any land, the wind is a constant presence.
Kauffmann's account is laced with emotion and with French overtones, lending it an out-of-the-ordinary flavor. While wanderings across the island and describing his encounters--with a French fisherman escaping a troubled home life, with French paratroopers on a training mission, with scientists and with the "disker" who heads the small community--he also roams through the history of the island and its many personalities. Kerguelen himself emerges as a strange, tragic figure. Praised for his discovery, he was sent back to further explore this new French possession. But things went wrong on that second voyage: it was poorly prepared, poorly carried out, Kerguelen himself never stepped ashore and instead aroused resentment by bringing women aboard. Upon his return he was arrested, tried (probably unfairly) and sentenced to six years in jail.
Many followed him, and not a few died here. It is easy to die on Kerguelen--get lost in the howling winds and in the sudden fogs and snows, or die mysteriously (of scurvy?) as a German researcher did in 1902. Graves are scattered across the island, crosses and memorials whose names are illegible, blasted by the wind and the weather. The Germans landed here in late 1940, armed and ready to capture Kerguelen by force, to serve as base for their raider ships. No one met them, but their ship hit a rock and needed repairs before venturing out again, to fight and be sunk. Later an Australian warship mined the harbor to prevent any return of the enemy.
Today satellites are tracked from Port aux Francais, a base for scientific expeditions and projects. But most of the rest of the island still belongs to raw nature, with scattered evidence of past visitors and settlers--remains of cabins, whalers' cauldrons, a beached ship, also feral imported species that damage the local ecology--rabbits, cats (which hunt rabbits), sheep and reindeer. By and large, the windblown volcanic land is still empty, and the original name "Desolation Island" remains as appropriate as ever.
Today the only settlement is Port aux Francais, a large research center maintained by the French government. Earlier attempts to settle on Kerguelen Island failed (though hope remains the current salmon hatchery will prove viable): twice whalers established a station here, and Frenchmen have tried to support themselves here by raising sheep. The main problem is not so much the cold sub-antarctic weather, tempered by the surrounding ocean, as the huge distance from any settled land, and even more, the constant, powerful, unrelenting wind. Blowing in from the huge expanse of the southern ocean, unhampered by any land, the wind is a constant presence.
Kauffmann's account is laced with emotion and with French overtones, lending it an out-of-the-ordinary flavor. While wanderings across the island and describing his encounters--with a French fisherman escaping a troubled home life, with French paratroopers on a training mission, with scientists and with the "disker" who heads the small community--he also roams through the history of the island and its many personalities. Kerguelen himself emerges as a strange, tragic figure. Praised for his discovery, he was sent back to further explore this new French possession. But things went wrong on that second voyage: it was poorly prepared, poorly carried out, Kerguelen himself never stepped ashore and instead aroused resentment by bringing women aboard. Upon his return he was arrested, tried (probably unfairly) and sentenced to six years in jail.
Many followed him, and not a few died here. It is easy to die on Kerguelen--get lost in the howling winds and in the sudden fogs and snows, or die mysteriously (of scurvy?) as a German researcher did in 1902. Graves are scattered across the island, crosses and memorials whose names are illegible, blasted by the wind and the weather. The Germans landed here in late 1940, armed and ready to capture Kerguelen by force, to serve as base for their raider ships. No one met them, but their ship hit a rock and needed repairs before venturing out again, to fight and be sunk. Later an Australian warship mined the harbor to prevent any return of the enemy.
Today satellites are tracked from Port aux Francais, a base for scientific expeditions and projects. But most of the rest of the island still belongs to raw nature, with scattered evidence of past visitors and settlers--remains of cabins, whalers' cauldrons, a beached ship, also feral imported species that damage the local ecology--rabbits, cats (which hunt rabbits), sheep and reindeer. By and large, the windblown volcanic land is still empty, and the original name "Desolation Island" remains as appropriate as ever.
July 15, 2013
Nova Zembla is er niks bij. Dit boek laat je voelen hoe het is om verder dan ver weg vast te zitten. Op een kale rots. Vandaar de internationale naam van de Kerguelen: "Desolation Islands". Geen gezellig boek. Maar zeker indringend.
April 6, 2014
It was pretty good. Certainly very poetic. I just wish the author would listen to the scientists he befriends about the island, instead of tuning them out like he says he does.
June 15, 2016
un de mes endroits imaginaires refuges. lu et relu.
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