Twelve years on the road

Members may be interested in the following article which appeared in our club magazine way back in 1994.  Since then my wife went on to spend another eleven years on the road.

Sadly, due to advancing years we have finally had to settle down.  Now, with time on my hands I am thinking about writing a book along similar lines.

Your comments would be most welcome.

Thank you. 

TWELVE YEARS ON THE ROAD. 

                                                by 

   Brian Willoughby-McRae 

We had no way of telling, for the sexes are alike, but we felt sure it was the cautious female nuthatch which always took the safer route to reach the food, flying round the far side of the motor caravan standing in the drive. The bolder male took the risky short cut, skimming the nearside of the vehicle, passing neatly through the narrow gap between it and the overhanging rosebushes.  They were old friends and frequent visitors to the peanut feeder hanging from the bird table situated just outside the kitchen window.  It was December and the winter’s first fall of snow had precipitated feverish activity among our regular avian visitors as they competed with the many newcomers driven from the nearby woods and fields by the fresh covering of white. 

Our breakfast was taking much longer that morning, but it was not watching the birds that delayed us.  A less tangible reason had caused us to linger at the table long after the last piece of toast had been consumed and the remaining coffee turned cold.  For we were both aware that once we arose from the table our lives were going to drastically change.  As this was the day that my wife, Deirdre, and I were going to embark on a whole new way of life; we were going to live our dreams; we were going to travel and live full-time in our motor caravan, and in order to do so, we had given up secure jobs and were shortly to relinquish the keys of our comfortable home to strangers. 

The silly thing was, on that particular morning my only concern was that I would miss watching the birds visiting our bird table.  I had built it from scrap wood left over from a d.i.y. project and watching the numerous birds come to feed from it had given us enormous pleasure.  We are both passionately fond of wildlife, particularly birds.  In fact one of the reasons we wanted to travel was to have the opportunity to visit some of the great bird watching areas in Europe and perhaps later, further afield.  However, like so many fears and worries, mine was completely irrational and, as it turned out, spectacularly unfounded. 

We had planned to leave much earlier in the year, during the summer, and had imagined our debut to the travelling life as a slow meander through the sun dappled byways of Europe.  However, the final planning, packing and extricating ourselves from a normal settled existence proved to be extraordinarily difficult and took much longer than we could ever have contemplated.  As a result our final departure was accompanied by much scraping of ice from the windscreen and our journey south developed into a somewhat slipper dash for the sun through a bleak and wintery European landscape.  However, within a few days we descended the southern slopes of the Spanish Sierra Nevada Mountains and were soon basking in the relative warmth and sunshine of the Mediterranean coast. 

That first winter away was a revelation.  Everything was new and exciting.  We explored the whole of the southern Spanish and Portuguese coasts, then crossed over to Morocco, driving south over the Atlas mountains to the very edge of the Sahara before finally camping beside the wild, surf swept Atlantic beaches south of Agadir.  We may have considered ourselves adventurous when we had set out from England but such notions were soon dispelled when we met some of our elderly neighbors on that shore.  Many in their late seventies, regularly made the journey south by caravan or motorhome to enjoy the simple life away from the rigors of a northern winter. 

As spring arrived, like the migrating birds seen flying above in increasing number we followed them north.  Now we were able to meander, synchronizing our progress with the earth journey around the sun and the advance of nature’s annual rebirth unfolding across the northern hemisphere.  Never before had we been able to travel like this.  We had never had so much time and we had to continually remind ourselves to slow down as it was surprisingly difficult to dispel those ingrained feelings that we should always be pushing on and that time was limited.  Nevertheless, gradually we learnt to relax; to live each day to the full, to savour the sights, sounds and feeling of each and every moment. 

For amateur naturalists we found this particularly rewarding.  No longer did we just identify and add species to our lists and look for something new.  Now we had the time to study things in intimate detail; to stand and stare; to soak up the atmosphere of a particular location or habitat.  We found excitement not only in the new and exotic but also delighted in discovering hitherto unnoticed aspects of the so-called common.  We found interest not only in the displays of the beak-clattering white storks greeting each other atop their church tower nests but equally in the house sparrows that had taken up home in the stork’s large untidy collection of twigs and branches. 

Since childhood I have dabbled at drawing and painting; birds, wildlife and the countryside being my favourite subjects. But whereas my previous efforts had mostly been conducted during the long, dark winter evenings, usually studiously copied from photographs, now I was able to sit in the midst of the natural subjects I love; senses tingling, acutely aware of the environment; the sun on my back; the breeze on my face; the smell of damp earth and wild flowers.  I would watch how the light played upon a waving field of grass or danced from sparkling waves.  Listen to the hum of insects and wind rustled leaves.  And in endeavoring to transfer these images to paper I had to look at my subjects, really look, as only an artist of photographer must; carefully noting colour, tone, shadows, shape and texture. Consequently I gained a far more intense perception of the wonders and intricate beauty of my surroundings. 

Our motor caravan was like a magic carpet, waiting to take us where we wished.  But it was also something more.  Not only transport but a home, a home on wheels but a real home nevertheless.  Where ever we found ourselves, be it the centre of a large bustling city, a remote windswept mountain pass or a wild deserted coast, we simply had to pull off the road and step into the cozy interior to be surround by all the comfort and conveniences found in any home; books, tapes, bedding, food crockery etc., it was all there. But even more than that, it had something that no ordinary home, however grand, could possibly have.  They say the three most important things to consider when buying a house are location, location, location.  So having the ability to change our location whenever we chose and with it the view from its windows was something we treasured above all.  And of course, changing locations usually meant a change of wildlife neighbours.  Like a car, a motorhome makes an ideal hide, albeit a more comfortable one.  But it has yet another advantage, for having camped the night in some quiet spot, the local birds and animals totally ignore the vehicle as they start their day and go about their lives, sometime literally inches away.  Indeed, it was not unusual to be wakened by the sound of scraping claws and hopping feet on our roof and on more than one occasion we had an inquisitive avian eye peer through the open roof ventilator. This of course meant that we could do our birdwatching without even getting out of bed a practice, I must admit, in which we regularly indulged. 

So as I look back over the past 12 years a kaleidoscope of unforgettable sights drift across my mind’s eye.  Eating breakfast overlooking the ruins of ancient Delphi, in Greece, while watching a lammergeier drift along a nearby mountain ridge; or seeing an osprey plunge into a Swedish lake to grasp its prey and rise with it held firmly in dripping talons. Parties of screaming swifts cleaving the dusty, golden evening air as they chase each other through the streets of a whitewashed Spanish village;  arctic terns hovering above a gunmetal Scandinavian bay, arrowing down to break the glassy surface as they spot a fish;  multicoloured bee-eaters thrashing their insect prey on Portuguese telephone wires to remove their stings; clouds of Sulphur-crested cockatoos noisily settling into a clump of Australian gum trees to roost; broad tailed hummingbirds in Utah, tiny jeweled marvels hovering on blurred wings to sip from a sugar feeder hung from our wing mirror.  The incredible noise and sight of thousands of flamingos feeding in the shallow, pink flushed water of a Kenyan lake as flotillas of white pelicans indulge in co-operative fishing; swimming in close formation dipping their bills below the surface in unison. 

And perhaps what is so remarkable about all these unforgettable magic moments and many more, too numerous to mention, is that they were all experienced without us even having to step outside our vehicle.  Had I really been worried on the morning of our departure that I would miss seeing the birds visit our suburban bird table? 

When people learnt of our rather unorthodox lifestyle they jumped to some strange, but perhaps understandable, conclusions.  First they believed that we must be very rich in order to be able to travel as we did.  This was certainly not the case and they were very surprised and disbelieving when we told them it had cost us more to live and run a modest house and car in Britain.  Without going into too much financial details there are one or two reason why this was so.  When we lived the more conventional life style the bulk of our income was spent on running the house, heating, telephone, gas, electricity, council tax, insurance, plus the general upkeep, decoration and refurbishments; all eat deeply into our disposable income.  Any savings we accumulated were usually swallowed up for our annual holiday or on some largely unnecessary consumer item which, as a result of slick and glossy advertising, we had fooled ourselves into believe that we could not possibly live without.  But having let our house we discovered that although we made only a small profit from the rent once the agents and tax man had taken their cut, it did cover most of the aforementioned costs. 

We also saved money in other ways; we had no commuting expenses travelling to and from work.  With casual wear the order of the day clothing expenses were negligible.  Needless to say expensive holidays were no long necessary and having adopted a relatively simple and uncluttered lifestyle we were no long tempted by the materialism of the consumer society.  In any case, deciding to do without a television and living and travelling mostly overseas, we found ourselves largely removed from it. 

Our main expense was for the purchase of motorhomes.  Not, I hasten to add, to acquire the latest model, for we always bought used vehicles. But in order to avoid the hassle of shipping vehicles between continents we found it much easier to buy a used motorhome on arrival and sell it just before departure.  This resulted in a couple of astonishingly good deals, for example the camper we bought in Australia and used to travel right round the perimeter and down into the centre to visit Ayers Rock, a trip lasting just under a year, ended up costing us less than the cost of hiring a motorhome for one month.  And bearing in mind the fact that a motorhome is not only transport but also accommodation it gives surprisingly good value. 

The questions we were most often asked is: “Don’t you get tired of doing all that driving? or “Surely you get fed up with being on holiday all the time?” or “You must have got bored, what on earth did you do all day?” 

These questions amused us, but as I have already mentioned, are understandable.  It is difficult for anyone living a normal settled existence to fully comprehend what our life was like and the nearest that they can compare it with is of course being on holiday.  But it is not like being on holiday at all.  It is a way of life, and the biggest difference is time; having all the time in the world.  We did not have to cram everything into a couple of weeks, live out of a suitcase, pack and unpack, sleep in strange beds, travel at peak times or drive through the night to reach some far-off holiday destination or catch the ferry home. 

Sometimes over a month would go by without us having moved a wheel.  In fact before we experienced the luxury of American full utility hook-ups in and a generator, driving sufficient distance in order to charge the batteries proved to be a problem.  Many were surprised to learn that our yearly mileage, certainly in Europe, was often less than many unfortunate commuters endure battling the twice-daily rush hour traffic to work and back plus the annual drive to and from their holiday resort. 

Like everyone else we had to undertake the usual daily routine, do the shopping, cook, eat, wash-up, wash ourselves and our clothes, do the housework, maintain our vehicle and generally look after all the things which we humans seem to need in order to survive on this planet.  However, having reduced our material possessions to a minimum and living a relatively simple life we were able to reduce the amount of time spent on these chores to a minimum.  And compared to the life we had led before allowed us plenty of time in which to enjoy the things which interested us.  

On the subject of interests, it is important to have some kind of project, absorbing interest or goal.  To travel without reason would soon pall.  Call it the work ethic or what you will, travel without purpose would soon disintegrate into tedious boredom. I have already mentioned that I enjoy painting and sketching and of course watching birds and wildlife, the two I find complement each other.  And even if one has no artistic talent I firmly believe that it is quite impossible for anyone interested in natural history to be bored. 

Our earth is teaming with wildlife and there are creatures and plants to be found in the most unlikely places, even in the heart of our busy cities.  For example, I remember an evening spent on the docks at Cadiz. We were in the vehicle queue for the ferry to the Canary Islands and as we waited we were entertained by huge flocks of pied wagtails, silhouetted against a crimson winter evening sky as they headed into the city from the surrounding marshes and countryside in order to roost on the ledges and roofs of the dockside buildings. 

The natural world is a constant delight and also a challenge.  Turn over a roadside rock: what is that small creature beneath? or, what animal caused that mark?  Take a stroll, almost anywhere, and try to name even a quarter of the animals and plants you see around you, let alone fully understand their life cycle and interaction with each other.  It would take a lifetime to discover even a fraction of all there is to know about the infinite complexities of the natural world.  Bored, how can anyone possibly be bored? 

But sadly there are people who have difficulty in filling their leisure time and some to whom retirement, even the thought of it, fills them with foreboding.  Isn’t strange that so many of us feel it necessary to seek further employment after retiring?  Not for financial considerations, but simply in order to have someone else dictate to us how we should fill our time. 

Are we so conditioned that even when we no longer need to earn a living we are incapable of finding ways to spend our own time?  And it’s that phrase “to spend one’s time”, that perhaps encapsulates my philosophy of life.  For it is interesting that we talk about spending time in much the same way as we talk of spending money – as if the two were the same.  But if you think about it there is a big difference.  In the case of money spent there is always the possibility that it can be replaced.  We can earn it, or borrow it or perhaps even steal it.  In contrast, every minute of our time, once spent, is irreplaceable.  It has gone for good.  Nobody can give or sell you one extra second.  Yet so many of us are so very careful or how we spend our money but so tragically careless of how we fritter away our time.  And what is so alarming is that it is impossible for us to know how much we have left in our account.