caim-adventures

[caim-adventures]

SNOOZES, SMILES + SEA

14.02.21

The first interaction we had, since crossing the border, was with a woman walking her dogs across the stream from where we’d parked for a snooze and a snack. She smiled and gave us an enthusiastic “¡hola!”: an unexpected warm welcome, despite the gaudy GB sticker that we were legally required to slap across our van.

We snoozed in the back, while Griff explored his new temporary turf, then set off for Girona, to celebrate our love, and our successful entry into Spain.

Though it was a transient stay, we loved roaming the streets, soaking up the sounds of the (much to our delight) open cafés, restaurants and bars. They weren’t only open; they were buzzing.

The warmth of the sun and the city’s chatter injected hope into our veins - our next chapter had well and truly begun. We devoured delicious galettes and sipped on local wine, filling our hearts and bellies with enough energy to cruise further down the coast.

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[caim-adventures]

VALENTINE’S DAY VENTURE

14.02.21

Timing is something that both Lonan and I are logistically not that naturally gifted at managing, which is a sweeter way of saying we’re shit at it. However, in a more romantic, celestial and mystical sense, we seem to accidentally, absolutely win at it.

After stopping for a few hours to dine and sleep on a wind-turbine-scattered cliff, so close to the border we could almost smell the orange trees, we woke to our cluster of ‘please-don’t-sleep-in’ alarms and set off in the morning darkness.

We were one of very few vehicles on the road, swerving and slithering around the edge of earth where France and Spain meet the sea, counting down the minutes on the map nervously. We had our new negative COVID test results (my 5th nostril invasion), reason-for-travelling letter (from Isla de Crear), and all three of our passports ready for inspection. We discussed plans of exploring The Pyrenees if we were rejected and distracted ourselves with Savage Lovecast stories. We’d come this far; we were fizzing in the cabin of our little moving home.

And just like that, as the sun just happened to rise over Catalunya’s coast, flirting with our frazzled selves, around 7am on a day us Westerners just happen to celebrate love, that this year just happened to fall on a Sunday, we floated across an imaginary line in the land, while the rest of the country (including, apparently, its border police) slept.

We squealed and swore, and pogoed up and down in our seats, like children approaching a theme park, high on Haribo. I thought I daren’t stop driving in case the ‘Welcome to Spain’ sign was a prank.

After an hour or so, once we were absolutely sure we were far enough into Spain that a secret strict border wouldn’t shout “boo”, we answered the three rumbling tummies and three bursting bladders begging us to pull over.

“Welcome to Catalunya, Griff!” What a well travelled cat.

~ ~ ~

[caim-adventures]

CHANGE OF PLAN

08.02.21 - 13.02.21

Sadly, we couldn’t stay as long as we’d hoped in L’Ancienne Pisciculture. With no running water or heating, it was proving too much effort to live there, and we realised we may as well be back in the van, where it’s warm.

We stayed in L’Ancienne Boulangerie (go - it’s fantastic!) for a couple of luxurious B&B nights, to prepare us for leaving for Spain earlier than planned. It was nice to stay in Caunes-Minervois, and to wander around the winding, wiggly streets, feeling like visitors in a village we called home for half a year.

We washed and dried our clothes, towels and sheets at a drive-thru-style laundrette machine in a neighbouring village petrol station. They seem to be quite common in France - often located outside superstores, services, or similarly convenient places - which is such a helpful, accessible and affordable way for people of different circumstances to clean their belongings. For a standard wash, it costs about €4 (detergent included), and you can pay with cash, card or contactless.

I can’t imagine the UK embracing alternate or lower income lifestyles enough to provide facilities like these. In fact, we hear about the government actively making it near impossible for people without homes (van dwellers, sofa surfers or homeless people) to take care of themselves with ease and dignity - from investing in installing inhumane metal spikes across otherwise sleep-worthy spots, to evicting whole van communities.

It's infuriating how people in power so carelessly ostracise those who won’t or can’t - for reasons that are, unsurprisingly, a direct result of other rules and regulations they’ve invented, that barely affect them but destroy others’ lives - live in the way they’ve decided is gospel: man, woman, job, marriage, mortgage, kids, promotion, holiday, promotion, grandkids, retirement.

There are countless other ways to exist in this world, all as valid as each other, and some happen to be kinder to humans, animals, plants, and all that graces this precious planet. Yet, time and time again, disastrous decisions are made by the towering, tantramous* few, that perpetuate a system that kills freedom, happiness, acceptance, generosity, play, community, culture, creativity, nature and, of course, us.

*tantramous is a word I made up to describe the likes of Donald Fart and Boris Jobsworth, and all their vile mates, in a song I wrote called Since When. I feel it portrays their petulance.

~ ~ ~

We enjoyed all we could of L’Ancienne Pisciculture and all its charm, which is abundant, with or without basic facilities. We took Griff on walks, dipped in the river, read by the fire, and packed our summery clothes to head south. We now have an all-weathers wardrobe, from ski suits to sandals, for we don’t know where we’ll end up.

We wished the valley well and waved goodbye once more. Spain: we’re coming for you.

~ ~ ~

[caim-adventures]

L’ANCIENNE PISCICULTURE

07.02.21

As people without an address, it certainly felt like returning home, as we bumped and bumbled down the drive into L’Ancienne Pisciculture. We felt the trees hug us, as the river showed off a fiercer flow, asking us where we’d been.

It was momentous and meaningful to greet the space that took such good care of us between June and November last year, especially with a shifted perspective. November was painfully challenging for us, with Griff’s seizures, our own fractured mental health, the pressure to finish the van in time to return to the UK for our MOT, and an overwhelming wave of loneliness, as we longed for our family of friends.

Returning to an old bedroom feels like time travel to me. I’d left my most worn comfort clothes draped across the end of the bed, as though I wasn’t leaving at all. The stones, shells, and scribbles I’d accumulated over those 6 months were exhibited neatly in a shrine on my chest of drawers: a gift to present me, from past me.

As an achingly sentimental person, flicking through past personal menageries pokes and prods at my heart, and conjures up as much raw emotion as remembering lost loves. Stepping into my space, I’m confronted with a view that’s etched into my memory, transporting me back to how I used to feel when I moved through the room.

Griff was elated - he was back in his jungle. I binned the last remaining ‘Check for Griff’ sign I’d plastered around the house - this one just above his cat flap - when his illness forbid him from going outside.

Just as we flung off our shoes, our sighs echoing through the valley, we learned that the water pump - that (usually) kindly delivers us fresh water from the source deep in the garden - had retired. Consequently, we had no heating; coincidentally we had no gas. It wasn’t quite the reunion we’d fantasised, but we quickly leapt into action mode.

Desperate to soak our scuzzy skin in the beloved bath that soothed us at some of our darkest moments of 2020, on our 8th day of not showering, we committed to boiling buckets and bottles of river water on our little van hobs, to fill the tub. We lit the fire for warmth and spent a handful of hours - while simultaneously cooking and eating dinner - in a conveyor belt system of fetching water, pouring into pans, boiling, filling bath.

Lonan and I make a great team - we naturally slip into symbiotic roles, complementing (and complimenting) each other as we work. No tasks are too gross for us and we giggle as we go. Acknowledging and celebrating each other’s contributions, no matter how significant, helps us to feel rooted, recognised and respected.

It was worth it. We clinked our glasses: a cheers to our efforts that evening, and for everything we’ve done, together and individually, to make it to that moment.

~ ~ ~

[caim-adventures]

A GENTLE REMINDER

06.02.21

Lonan drove a few more hours south, while I worked from my passenger seat office. Our current balance is: he takes us places safely; I earn the food and diesel money along the way.

Our financial situation fluctuates and, like moods and moons, is cyclical. Usually one of us will have something to work on, allowing the other to focus on van TLC, which is a daily necessity - as messy people, we can’t let our washing form mountains, as the little space we have can quickly turn from cute to claustrophobic.

We stopped at a small lake by a mill for our final night on the road before reaching L’Ancienne Pisciculture. Just as we were nestling in to our pasta and wine - music playing softly in the background and candles flickering - the police turned up. Not the harmless neighbourhood watch brigade, but three officers armed with guns, flashing their blue lights on arrival.

Turns out we must have missed the ‘park4night’ location by a few metres, and were on “illegal territory” - arriving in the dark does make it tricky to identify the real life version of the app’s photos.

Perhaps a village local reported a ‘suspicious vehicle’ or perhaps the warm glow oozing from our hatch after the 6pm curfew piqued the police’s interest. I feel it’s unlikely we were parked in someone’s garden, and from experience, we’re acutely aware of the general public’s fear of randomly parked white vans - especially property-owning, middle class, straight couples in their later years, who have a particularly offensive kink for making unnecessary complaints to authoritative figures over mild, fleeting inconveniences. We explained, apologised, and offered to move immediately.

It was as though the lead officer (who was so close to us, he almost had his boot in the door, which in van etiquette is as invasive as a stranger helping themselves to your fridge snacks), smelled our simmering dinner, spotted the date-like atmosphere, and reached the conclusion that we were trustworthy. Griff’s food bowl was accidentally very strategically placed where they were standing, which really added to the wholesome scene they’d stepped into. He asked us where we were heading and told us we could stay for the night, as long as we left in the morning.

As we promised to head off first thing and leave the space spotless, they were already moving on, apparently unfazed. Overall we were immensely lucky that they were very pleasant to us, and that nothing escalated. If we didn’t posses all the privileges that we owe so much of our general safety to, it could have been a wildly different experience.

It was a (fortunately very gentle) reminder that most people aren’t as thrilled that we live in a white van as we are.

~ ~ ~

[caim-adventures]

WOODLAND WANDERING // WONDERING

05.02.21

Waking up in the van to Griff's purr vibrating our chests, with the sun streaming in through the hatch, and a basket full of brunch waiting for us patiently, is delightful.

We have a little morning routine: cuddle Griff while dissecting dreams; slide open the side door, inviting the surrounding beauty inside; don dressing gowns for a quick nature wee; put the kettle on and crawl back under the covers.

Today, to ground ourselves, we took a break from work and wandered around the woods. It was so surreal to splash barefoot in puddles and climb fallen trunks, washing the stress of London off our tired bodies, only having left mere moments ago. We cheered with tears as Griff bounded like a bunny for the first time in two months. We breathed and bathed in the freshness of it all.

For most of the day, and all of the two nights we stayed, we were alone in the woods: a welcome stillness. We stumbled upon some surprises, as we explored what I’m sure would usually be a very popular place, outside of these bizarre circumstances. Though we long for spontaneous socialising, and wish to meet similar-minded souls, there’s something soothing about the sheer openness of navigating an almost empty world.

   ~ ~ ~

There was an abandoned building - most likely old stables - with smashed windows and a slippery staircase that seemingly led to nowhere. Lonan found an old dirty magazine stuffed in the beams of a hut, which was his classroom for the day. Apparently someone else appreciates the solitude here...

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Working from the van has so far been a breeze. We charge up our laptops when we’re driving, so we can either work from the comfort of our sofa or (if the weather treats us) I’ll fashion a floor office out of rugs, cushions and blankets - the ultimate freelancer’s dream.

There have been countless moments where a sense of pride has flushed through my veins, as I acknowledge how long I’ve wanted to live, work and play like this. Of course there have been many sacrifices, and lessons learned, to reach this point, but I feel so grateful to finally feel free, in a way that makes sense to me. I can’t believe my luck that both Griff and Lonan thrive on the road too - how wonderful that we all found each other.

Here’s our washing line for the day.

It’s a simple life - we don’t have a shower, toilet or running water, and our fridge is whatever shade the van creates - but we’re happy in the knowledge that, for now, we wake with the sun, we wash in the sea, and we sleep under the stars.

For the foreseeable, please forward all mail to: White Van, Near the Water, Below the Moon.

~ ~ ~

[caim-adventures]

BONJOUR ENCORE, FRANCE

04.02.21

We glided onto French soil late morning, delirious from the drama, and giddy with excitement for our adventure to begin.

We stopped a couple of times to cook lunch and let Griff wee in peace. He’s so calm while we’re driving - usually curled up on the bed like a fuzzy croissant - until he suddenly wakes, bladder bursting, seemingly without any warning or build up. He darts from the depths of dreamland to desperation in a few seconds, signalling “now” by poking his glorious little head through the hatch to squeak at us.

It’s such an enormous pleasure to travel with Griff - it fills me with joy to introduce him to so many new smells, places, and (if he’s feeling confident) people, although of course the current COVID climate doesn’t allow for much socialising.

~ ~ ~ Here’s Griff diving out of the window for his woodland wee.

Lonan drove for a few more hours, while I worked on a website design job from my passenger seat office, until we found our first home for the night in France: the entrance to a national park. Griff was delighted to finally explore freely, after what must have felt like forever for him.

We cooked dinner, celebrated the next chapter of our lives with some local French wine, and crashed early.

~ ~ ~

[caim-adventures]

LEAVING LONDON

03.02.21

After spending the most delicious birthday (my 31st at a Queer Cabaret show in our favourite basement bar, Doña), Christmas Day (with our gorgeous and generous chosen family at Colour Club House), and New Year’s Eve (sweating in the hobbit sauna, soaking in the fire-warmed outdoor bath, and shimmying in the bell tent ‘club’, on our friend’s slice of heaven on the river), we decided it was time to leave London.

Having indulged in some much-needed, quality friendship time - albeit a little strained at times, due to ever-tightening restrictions - we felt immensely grateful for the precious moments we (and our loved ones) managed to squeeze out of an overwhelmingly tense situation.

December flew by but January, unsurprisingly, seemed to swallow us slightly. Planning socially-distanced, bittersweet goodbyes, moving storage unit (again), and packing the van all proved exhausting for us. We left London almost 3 weeks after we’d originally hoped, but we still feel fortunate for having gained more time, anxiety-inducing and all, with the people who hold us so dearly. ~ ~ ~

Here’s Lonan and Griff parked at our storage unit in Tottenham.

~ ~ ~

To cross the border to France during both a global pandemic and a shameful Brex(sh)it hangover, we needed: → 2x negative test results (valid for 72 hours before crossing) → 1x pet health form (valid for 10 days before crossing) → 2x essential travel forms → 2x no-symptoms declaration forms → plentiful positivity

It was draining, deflating and disheartening, but we did it. We subtly sobbed in our our seats, in front of 20 border patrol police officers, then drove off into the Eurotunnel horizon.

~ ~ ~