Musings

A couple of weeks ago, I was asked how I had been in terms of general ‘up or down’ over the 3 – 4 months of being mostly on my own. The answer was that over all, I have been very happy to be doing this exploring, and despite doing it solo, but I have enjoyed other travellers’ company or conversations at seemingly just the right time.

Some days, though, I recognise that I am exceptionally on top of the world, eg yesterday, having a great bike ride in the sun, just the right distance, not too hot, beautiful cycle routes along the coast from Benodet to Mousterlin Point, then to Beg Meil and back, then making myself set up on the beach, get the cossie on, to feel the warmth of the sand, and to enjoy the feeling of being in the beautiful clear water of the sea, and confirming how worth doing it was! Then out for a meal unusually in the evening with very pleasant, interesting company.

But this very next morning, I feel I should add to the record for completeness that for a couple of hours at least I felt pretty sad, and unusually for me recognised the need for a good shoulder to cry on. I had a walk and a coffee with another solo camper, and by the time I set off to head for north Brittany, I realised that my mood had lifted and it wasn’t simply due to the fact that I put my upbeat ‘Lovely Day’ playlist on the van stereo!! 🙂 It is primarily to do with the back story, the change in status, I suppose, that every now and again resurfaces and becomes acute.

Anyway, pleased to report that it’s been displaced once more by the usual things – the extremely significant sunshine, the beauty of the next lovely place living up to expectations, and the thoughts and research turning to coming back to the UK as originally planned for most of July and August before journey number 2 – heading south to Italy and possibly Croatia, which is still there on the list.

Not an emotional up or down but ……… have become aware that there are two ways of ‘following’ the blog – ie getting an automatic update when a new post is published; if you have not subscribed as an email follower, I get an email telling me that your WordPress profile name has subscribed, but I don’t get to know your email address and therefore have no way of contacting you. If you want me to stay in touch directly, then I think the only way is to subscribe as an email follower, so that I have your email address, and can reply. Thanks of course to the millions of faithful followers I am now keeping in touch with! Showing my age I know, but slight hints of Dame Edna Everidge, dear viewers.

Wanted to record that one of the things I’ve really missed now into the 4th month of being in the van, is the ability to blast out music and do some bopping to it. The first can obviously be, and is done whilst driving, although I feel this can then compromise somewhat my wanting to take in the landscape etc of the route. But the 2nd can’t, and given that I’m travelling out of season means that the opportunities afforded by village/town Fetes or larger campsite ‘entertainment’ are not there. Any live music events have also been missing apart from my own travel guitar strumming.

As a disco queen in my time, COULD REALLY DO WITH A GOOD SESSION OF GETTING DOWN! 😂

After the first 3 months of travel, I’ve been on my own for up to 6.5 weeks at one time – the first 3 weeks I was with my sister, and for one of those weeks with other extended family also, followed by the week visiting Lisbon and Porto, when my sister again joined.

The following are my reflections (not complaints) on how I’ve experienced this time and its content – for other travellers some or all of this may not of course be applicable:

Mentally and physically tiring – having observed the arrival/set up/take down/days out/departure activities of fellow motorhomers in couples, it occurs to me that doing the whole thing on my own has an impact for example on whether I want to make the effort to use the van as a vehicle for days out from a site rather than as a caravan, or even simply set up the outside table and awning, if I’m only going to be in a place for one or two nights;

to get to every new place, I’ve been the solo navigator, the solo driver of a heavy, 7m long vehicle, the solo motorway toll payer

to set up in a location, I make the arrival contact, select the pitch, determine the positioning of the van, negotiate getting it into/onto a pitch, and the use of ramps to level it, sussing out the services on the site etc

to visit/explore, I am mostly the sole ‘resource investigator’, the bus/train coordinator, and very importantly the KEY HOLDER.

Doesn’t sound like I’m selling this, but becoming mindful of it has enabled me to pace it, and hence enjoy it all better.

Neighbours – these are certainly more impactful I feel than if I were travelling as part of a couple; there have been two specific occasions where I’ve felt distinctly uncomfortable for completely different reasons, and which would not have arisen in my opinion had I been with others; the discomfort may not even have been justifiable – but given my subjective perception, was ‘real’ enough; the beauty of travelling like this is of course that one can move the vehicle even within a location, or simply drive onto the next one, which I duly did.

Both of the above two themes will result in my ‘hiding’ in my wheeled apartment, where I would therefore confirm a perceived british motorhoming stereotype – see post ‘Cock of the Aire’ 🙂

Particularly stressful events – these have been few – from the mountain drives, to equipment repair, but the one that tops it all sits in a continuing context of lack of practice and hence confidence in filling the LPG tank – see separate post. This is necessary to run the fridge when not on hook-up, and cooker, particularly in the latter case given that I damaged my portable induction ring.

Occurs to me, albeit somewhat late, that I may be assuming an understanding of what an Aire is, so by way of a quick explanation – these are glorified car parks dedicated to motorhomes which towns in many countries on the continent have seen fit to provide either for free or for a small car park charge. A different word/phrase is used depending on the country. The word can also describe privately-owned offerings and the rest areas/motorway service areas in France. They usually have water provision, and emptying of grey water – ie dirty waste water, as well as provision for emptying of chemical toilets. Here’s a rather lovely free example by a village called Barcos in the Douro – left-side pictures, and right side is a free aire in a tiny hamlet in the Pyrenees.

After 3 months of travel where I’ve taken advantage of these quite a bit, have decided that the French motorhoming tribe deserve the ‘Cock of the Aires’ designation; it’s their complete assurance, confidence, taking for granted attitude towards the use of these places. This was underlined by Sharon and John’s stories, and the caricature conversation at the photocopier equivalent, ie the aire parking meter – where one such Frenchman declared, after pontificating about Brexit, Margaret Thatcher, the British Empire and Commonwealth, that for all that, Les Anglais se cachent – ie on the aires.

Another way of looking at it would be that indeed I – perhaps speak for my fellow countrymen/women also – am not confident in asserting ones presence from the aire rooftops – rather tentative and not wholehearted about BEING THERE – struggling to rely on the fact that I won’t be moved on in the middle of the night, despite the parking ticket stuck to my windscreen, and whether I should (even if I think I’m able to) squeeze my van into the personal space of the two vans already assertively installed on either side of a space. Yes – as I muse on it, I bet there are books written on motorhome aire behaviours and national characteristics.

Seems to me there are lots of French trundling about in Portugal, loads of Dutch in northern Spain, lots of Dutch/Germans all over, lots of Brits in the Picos – no doubt the Santander/Bilbao ferry factor.

The aire (or Area Autocaravanas) at San Sebastian was very international – in addition to the usual French, Dutch, Germans, there was a smattering of Brits, the odd Austrian, Italian, Danish, Swedish and even a motorhome from Hungary. At one point a Slovakian pick-up truck towing a caravan circled the place, heaven forfend, and there was one ‘pitch’ available, but wouldn’t fit both. Not wanting to make the campervan curtains twitch that obviously to see the decision-making, abit later, when I emerged from hiding…, a proper, kosher, motorhome was parked there, and, phew, the correct order had obviously been maintained, no doubt by the French/Germans. 😉