Month: July 2019

Just before returning to the UK for July/August, my mind was turned to ‘what next’ and I really had a sense of going back to my late teens and early twenties :): doing some travelling on my own – I was a children’s summer camp ‘counsellor’ in New York state, worked on French campsites albeit then not on my own, making decisions particularly post uni about what and where, being an au-pair/nanny in California and then whether to live in Paris or Frankfurt, before I veered off to computing and a career starting in London. The world was indeed my oyster.

And yesterday in my desperate quest for a good bop, I replayed the 17-year old me who used to go to 2-dance floor Blackpool Mecca via the free coach from Preston bus station of a Saturday night to dance the night away – well until 1am in those days !!, before being dropped off close to where I lived because fortunately the coach passed that way – and yes most times solo. The solo nightclub visits, where I’d pay my entry and buy one drink only, continued in my time at Aston Uni. Had to be done for disco dedication.

So fast forward – a mere 40 years!!!!! and under ones own steam under a blue sky, and positive evening sun along the M55, 🙂 and the Mecca being long gone, to the planetary centre of dance – or so the claim goes –

for an 8pm to 1am Soul Party, celebrating a 75th anniversary of Tamla Mowtown.

I quickly realised that my bag and jacket were the same problems as back in the day – ok in a group when bags were placed on the dance floor in the centre, but no good for a group of one. I decided, having already paid £5 for parking to cover a considered staying power of no longer than 4 hours, and then £13 for entry to a music type that wasn’t quite what I wanted!, that I should stuff my denim jacket into my handbag, which contained all my keys, and my passport and pay the cloakroom cost of £2 per item, to be free of all encumbrances. Having handed over the grand sum, I then saw that my bag was hung up very visibly, and more accessible than I’d like and the young girl on duty did not convince me that she would match up to any potential clever fraudster/pickpocket who would of course recognize the value of my bag and what if she needed to go to the toilet? My trouser pockets felt very shallow and my only other options were to store the cloakroom ticket down my bra or pants, which would have been itchy if funky stuff had to be strutted or ones body shaken down to the ground. Fair to say that I then spent the next hour of my residency with my hands in my pocket on the ticket and a bit of cash, occasionally taking the risk of moving them (with my arms) to the music as I joined the Northern Soul homies on that dance floor.

All the tables were occupied when I arrived at about 9pm apart from the balcony, in which case I would have to keep myself, if the music wasn’t able to, on the dance floor, or keep going up and down in full view! The solo me prefers to stand (with hands in pockets), round the side from where I can move as surreptitiously as possible to and from, rather than go and ask an established group if billy-no-mates can sit at that free chair slightly to the side of them. The place was very popular amongst ‘people of my age’, so at least the hurdle of self-consciousness of mutton dressed as ….. did not present itself 😂.

The evaluation of whether I should indeed make the effort to go to this event took into account the fact that Leeds, Harrogate, York, Preston had not turned up any obvious disco nights for the middle-aged, nor were there any festivals happening. I knew that I was taking a risk with a 60s & 70s Soul Party, as part of a Northern Soul series, when what I was really wanting to propel me into hours of murder on the dance floor was their slightly younger siblings, disco and funk. I had also only too briefly clocked that my most suitable shoes (ie the ones I had on in preference to my flip-flops, or walking shoes) were my none northern-soul-shuffling-birkenstock-equivalent sandals. The first two leg movements on the famed floor confirmed that not being able to face going up into my Mum’s loft to do further clothes rifling, was a mistake. This tribe’s behaviours warranted more gliding around than the bump and grind LOL ……. of funk.

Anyway, 60’s soul classics alongside stuff like ‘There’s a ghost in my house’ which took me back to St Anthony’s youth club of about 1975, were cranked out, it was a good atmosphere and people were definitely there to dance. Unfortunately, the music just didn’t do it for me. I decided to leave around 10pm and console myself with a McD’s vanilla milkshake and my playlist via bluetooth on the way back. The quest goes on for Got to Give It Up, and You Make Me Feel blasted out by a fantastic sound system, but I’ll have to dig the shoes out.

For 111 days travelling, I’ve spent approximately a maximum of £4000 with breakdown as below. The maxim ‘two can leave as cheaply as one’ does apply, although I found it more favourable towards solo travellers with in most cases charging for the pitch then for each individual rather than a price for pitch + two individuals as mostly happens in the UK.

Here I am back in my temporary base at my Mum’s house in Longridge, Lancashire, just one day after a fantastic drive (the fact that it was from 21:30 hours of course made the roads pretty empty) up from Portsmouth yesterday. I really enjoyed belting music out given that it was dark and only the driving to focus on, and determined that I must get some dancing in somewhere in the next few weeks.

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Back in English countryside – lovely sunny day, and English (nippy) wind! Remaining wordly goods in the barn to left of Monte2, awaiting a permanent home.

It’s amazing how much I live in the very present. Have I really been trundling around France, Spain and Portugal as far as Cabo de Sao Vicente and Tarifa for the last 3.5 months? No money’s been coming into my bank account, and money has been going out on diesel, so what else have I been doing AWOL from work. Good job I’ve got the blog established to record the places but also the experiences of life in new lanes.

Here are my overall reflections on this time:

Still following my original outline plan of breaking my travels and returning to the UK across the main Summer

The experience has more than fulfilled my expectations; I’ve loved the opportunity and time to see all the beautiful places I have contemplated visiting for years.

Monte2 has been absolutely fantastic – runs like a dream, and loves cruise control (as do I) on all those emptyish roads; campervanning out of season means no booking needed, lots of choice for places to stay, ability to go where the sun is shining, but to escape temperatures of > 30deg when required; I may still get the tow bar removed as it grounds regularly and I’ve never used it, and take the opportunity to get the satnav maps updated from the 2013 road library. I am torn between wanting longer term to swap to a shorter length van with much the same configuration at the front, – because it’s easier to park, drive etc and I don’t need as much space – and wanting to keep Monte2, as it’s such a great van; I feel that I’ve been taking its reliability more for granted, and have relaxed more as time’s gone on when driving, irrespective of its size.

Gastronomy 1 – JB 0; can’t say really that gastronomic adventure has increased significantly! apart from Marcel’s intervention; my diet has in the main consisted of lots of fruit, vegetables, dairy and nuts, with the following essentials:

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I have eaten in restaurants only very infrequently in an effort to restrict spending, but in addition to cheese balls and crisps, as well as toasted baguette for breakfast, I do enjoy preparing decent food in my little kitchen and getting a kick out of using all my equipment assembled over the years!

I will be enjoying the culinary delights of the UK in the form of fish and chips, various pies and pasties and chinese and indian restaurant staples over the next few weeks.

France continues to have my heart, and if it wasn’t for family, I think I’d go for trying to establish a full life there with work etc sooner rather than later. Have ended up speaking quite alot of French; listening to the radio and watching French TV, has improved it alot.

Felt safe for almost 100% of the time, as well as very healthy; have not allowed loneliness head space – reminding myself that I’m there for the Grand Tour, and have family and friends available at the click of a ‘send’; fellow travellers on sites or aires I have found only to be friendly, and I enjoy finding out about their travels, motivations etc.

Most traumatic – the first attempt to fill up with LPG on the continent; this came the day after the adrenalin-flooding experience of fearing the roads icing up at 1600m as we drove unplanned over the Col du Portalet in the Pyrenees with temperatures dropping to 0.5 degrees, wet roads and snowing, then trying to sleep in a rural setting car park outside the town hall in Lescar near Pau, where we were the only campervan; at least my sister was with me for the drive and the overnight!

Losses – feel too smug – so obviously heading for a fall when journeying restarts – as the only thing I managed to leave behind – and twice within the last 9 days – was my soap dish; I am very attached to all my equipment given the amount of research I carry out to find the ultimate combination of sought-after features – yes sad I know – so this soap box had been chosen with care after rifling through the plastic container section of many supermarkets with, most importantly, an attached lid and I think ultimately purchased by my brother-in-law several holidays ago; the first time I left it, I realised just before my departure from the campsite and was able to have reception call the cleaner who returned it; delighted! so to then find it missing again at my last campsite stop was bitter disappointment :);

In the second loss, I was a victim of crime: having stayed in 10s of places all over France, Spain and Portugal, with all manner of expensive equipment left outside mobile gin palaces, I had no reason to be overly protective of my van and stuff when it was very kindly accommodated in the very quiet little campsite next door, during the stay at my Mum’s house; there were no other residents in this site for 5 days, and on the 6th day 2 other motorhomes parked overnight there; when I came to leave later that day, I went to step up into my van and found my little plastic step, which was broken anyway, to HAVE BEEN NICKED! I’m very glad that I had chosen not to leave my chair outside, or my bike off the rack and unlocked; in more charitable consideration, I decided that surely this was a case of the perpetrators using the step to reach the ripe cherries on the adjacent tree, not knowing just where to step (as I have done for several years, attached as I am) to avoid its collapse, and then having caused its complete demise, hiding the evidence and ‘fous -ing le camp’ – the franglais phrase seems apt here 😂

So the travel interlude has started. Will mostly likely split my time between Longridge and Harrogate, maybe do some house hunting, and enjoy time with family and friends, before setting sail again I hope late August.