This was written in an ECO campsite. What makes a camp site into an ECO campsite ? Maybe not allowing dirty diesels in would be a start….we half expected to be met by placard waving save-the-earth types as we chugged our way along the backwoods, dirt track lane. No, we were met by a delightful chuck wagon which serves as RECEPTION. As a receptionist, we have encountered worse – cute enough to be allowed a degree of scruffiness and easy-to-understand enough to be acceptable as low tech (except for a surveillance camera!) . Certainly more polite than most doctor’s receptionists!! All the necessary instructions were there – we felt welcomed in a remote, trusted sort of way.
Like grown ups. We then found our allotted spot which was basically “where you like in your field”. All laid back – like a different world. We had a wander, found the toilets and water point and spoke to a guy on a bicycle – turns out he is the owner. What a brilliant place – full of reclaimed stuff which other sites would have binned or burned. We love reusing stuff – although one of us is over enthusiastic in her “might come in handy” collection she is told!
Wandering around the site, we found two Yurts set up for visitors that evening and had a sneaky look in – they are every little girl’s dream of a fairy palace. Well….how THIS little girl would have pictured it anyway. Kinda natural with comfy bits and a slight hint of sparkle – if the little lights work.
Not the sort of site to come to if you want shiny floors and precision planting …this has nettles because they are a “complete ecosystem” for some creatures, no bingo or snazzy bars. We saw a heron alighting from a pond, we heard a woodpecker, we saw dragonflies, we watched bats beginning their evening frenzied feeding, and listened to the mournful twilight hoots of a tawny owl from his perch in the crack willows. It was almost an Eco-crime to have asked for electric hookup. But we did.
And we were under the flight path of both Mildenhall and Lakenheath bases- we saw the huge cargo planes heading for the former and heard the smaller beasts buzzing to the latter. Not “ECO” but exciting!
At a different campsite, Gav bought a pile of dirty books. No, seriously, grubby. Historical novels and reference books which needed a wipe.
This site was quiet…eerily so as there were ten other units in the field. The facilities and pitches were spotless – one got the impression that the plants had a measured distance between them and any with an odd number of flowers were promptly corrected. The pedantic grammar police were delighted to see real filth however: TOILET’S and SHOWER’S as well as a misspelling of their own name – ewwwwwwww! But that is our particular soap box to stand on – we do so with glee (and a wary eye on our own scribblings!). The site was beautifully run, organised and the welcome was comfortingly and efficiently warm like a new blanket which smells of shop rather than home.
All types of site have their place in society. We are accepting of most – every site has a reviewer’s vision of lofty summit and death’s dark vale – it depends on what one is seeking and on one’s emotional eyesight as to what one notices the most each time.
En route to Wales, we invented a new game: we like to wave at other vans/motorhomes – we like it better when they return our cheery salutation. So, we began counting.
It went poorly to begin with. Then we decided that if a fellow “house-on-back” traveller waves first, it counts as two points. We were around 8-4 in front when we found that on the motorways, no-one notices other vehicles unless they are trying to get past them. And that happens a lot with motorhomes…other vehicles trying to get past I mean. We were getting a drubbing – one of us is an Ipswich Town fan and was getting that sinking feeling so we gave up.
Until that is, we got onto a Welsh coastal road and employed some gamesmanship by flashing the headlights and waving madly at oncoming vans – we scored 8 – 3 on one stretch…easy easy!!
A little playlet was composed as follows:
Gaff-the-driver was despondent that no-one would return his cheery waved greeting as he drove his old motorhome around the Welsh hills and valleys. Trudi-the-talker encouraged him…”flash them dear, flash them!” Before you could say “Roberts-the-exhibitionist” , Gaff-the-driver had his skinny arse waggling out the window with a beaming smile. No mean feat whilst negotiating his way around the A493 Machynlleth to Dolgellau coast road. He got plenty of waves that day…good of the local constabulary to join in!
It started as an innocent word, thrown into a sentence: the first drop of rain that started the flood, the tiny ripple which led to a tsunami….one innocent word thrown into a sentence. And with that final straw, the camel’s back snapped asunder and the world ended. Just saying!!!!!
via Faux pas — trudiwordpress
I like to find out what the camera on my phone will do – it can make some funky images. These are a mix of what we saw and what the camera will do.
We always try to brush off minor worries with a cheery - and brave if a little trepidatious - "what's the worst that can happen?".
Dear Traveller, one of the worst things that can happen whilst being away in the van is finding that also sharing the journey, sitting grinning inanely out of the windscreen, is a diarrhoea and vomiting bug.
Especially if there are no toilets nearby!!
See, we have an agreement....no solids in the van toilet. Not that diarrhoea is solid but....you get the idea. How many holes can one dig without leaving the area looking like a mole army battleground? A toxic mole army battleground at that.
The dreaded D/V struck us both whilst we were enjoying a peaceful weekend in the Suffolk countryside in an orderly and pristine campsite. Just making it outside at dark-o-clock to throw up right outside the van door is not conducive to a romantic break. Nor does it endear one to one's fellow field-sharers. Then there is the hurried trot (sorry!) to the camp toilet block ....again and again. Probably leaving a well-worn trail in the camp site's beautifully manicured grass. Never mind what we left in the impossibly clean facilities.
Well....we came home. Having invented a new high number on the Bristol Stool chart, we did not want to share our new found infamy.
“A VW van….a Cree? CREE? What is that?” is what we usually hear when we proudly tell people that that is what we travel around in. They hear “van” and “VW” and assumptions are leapt at with misted-eyed nostalgia and longing. “VW” and “van” invoke teenage dreams of picnics in the woods and wild-fire parties on the beach. It is the CREE bit that throws them.
Then the mist clears….like that sobering moment when you see your parents are also at the beach party.
” oh….so not a proper V-Dub then….not a real one”.
That goes down well with us every time….NOT!
Yes, it is a real one….a Volkswagen “Camper-van” for grown-ups.
It is a camper-van for grown-ups who are prepared to not fit in with any group, sub-group or genre- it is a little enclave all of its own. Too reliable to be a “loved-by-all character” , too clumsy to be cute, too middle-aged-comfortable to be trendy and too old to be hip-hop-and-happening. We love the anonymity whilst mildly (in our grown up way)resenting the lack of recognition.
Being alone in the crowd is great….seriously great….but being ignored is slightly, unnervingly, irritating. We have a hidden craving to be different yet still want that “hey! How are you?” from fellow travellers.
A hidden craving which is not so well hidden sometimes.
We wave madly at other T4 drivers -and see them checking to see whether their indicators are still flashing, saying “What is up with motorhome drivers?”. Those who own those coveted, sweet little brightly-coloured, bunting festooned VW day-vans don’t even see us. Even the vehicle they drive thinks “Just a motorhome….not a proper van”
We use the word “van” and the picture of the iconic “splittie” or “Westie” springs to mind but the Cree is simply not that cute! Bunting doesn’t work in its chunky broad beam. It is a big amiable beast as opposed to a cute playful kitten. But it is still a VW van. The front of a T4 van, with living quarters added. VAN! See ?
Plus….we have a toilet and shower room.
Ok…we drool over photos of those little vans too. We probably want the picnics in the woods and the wild-fire beach parties…well…maybe a barbecue and an early night. But one has to be practical…we wanted room for four small to medium size people when necessary. And not have those people spitting at each other after a day or so of camping. And we wanted to be able to be comfortably spread out. And take badminton racquets. And clean clothing. And somewhere for the lady to dress. You know?
So we chose comfort. Dreams can be planned whilst settling down to sleep comfortably and then lived the next day. We are living our dream without breaking our sleep pattern. Or the bank.
Through the glass…a lot of what is written here will be observations made through the glass of the front windscreen of an old, lumbering, slightly shabby road ship of dreams – our beloved CREE motor-home.
As well as this, THROUGH THE GLASS carries a deeper meaning. Everyone looks at life through glass of some sort – our filters: our experiences, our opinions of what we are looking at, our upbringing and culture, our past and present – even our current mood which changes with the wind. NOT just me is it?? THROUGH THE GLASS will give me the chance to write – prose, poetry, thoughts, rants and general squit. It will allow me to explore my own filters…and challenge them. It will show me how to clean the glass that I look through and see what is really out there…and the possibilities that await.
The CREE will feature heavily in this – it is when traveling in that cumbersome beast that I lose the sense of heaviness which comes with living in this busy-busy rat race. I lose the sense of anxiety that the passage of time brings. I lose my sense of self – the ego sleeps a little more soundly. I lose the cage I created for myself and step outside its confines into a world where anything is possible – a world where I am not frightened to try.
I may even explain the word SQUIT for anyone who is not from Suffolk!
Love – TRUDI