London Stripped Bare

London. The Mother Ship. Headquarters of the Commonwealth Empire and home to more Australian expats than any other city on earth. Many of our friends told us not to bother visiting. They told us it was dark, grey and cramped. Tara and I thought about bypassing straight to France, but then we thought ‘what the hell’, let’s embrace the place. It might have the characteristics of a mineshaft, but just like a mine, it should yield some gems hidden between the cracks. And yes, we did strike some great little nuggets along the way.

We headed to London, after visiting my book publisher in Great Yarmouth. It was really cool to meet the people who helped bring my first novel ‘Hellbound’ to life. Joe and Julie were wonderfully kind to us while we stayed with them and their landlord Buddy the Dog, who runs the household with an iron paw.

Snowflake needed to get a bit of a pedicure and blow-wave to pass her MOT test (like a roadworthy certificate) and wasn’t too keen on wading through London traffic, so we left her at a mechanics in Great Yarmouth and jumped on a bus for the big smoke.

Five hours on a bus. Unless you really like hard bus seats and a driver who is heavy on the breaks, it’s a long time to be cooped up in a large, moving tin can. But we got there without vomiting, which was a bonus. We were greeted by a bubbly piece of goodness; a good friend of ours from Torquay, Kate Ward. It had been three years since we’d seen each other, but with good mates it never feels like it’s been that long. In the age of Facebook you already know what everyone is up to day-to-day, so conversation can skip the small talk to the important stuff, gossip about home.  Kate and her man Simon were kind enough to let us stay at their apartment, which they share with another Aussie couple Gretel and Sam in Notting Hill. If you’ve seen the movie, it’s a slightly swankier part of town with plenty of surrounding parkland. All four of our hosts got up early to go to work, but still had plenty of time to guide us on things to do during the day. It’s amazing how even new acquaintances will set aside important hours to make sure we will enjoy ourselves while in town.

We started with the traditional walk through Hyde Park to Buckingham Palace, where we witnessed what is possibly the most overrated spectacle on earth, ‘The Changing of the Guard’. There were over a thousand people there, jostling to peer through the gaps in the barred gates and watch some men in big black furry hats, walk around a yard with their guns and blow a trumpet. I couldn’t think of anything more unimportant to witness. The long-haired dog was rad though.

Dark ominous storm clouds hung in the air during much of the ceremony, before a loud clap of thunder announced the London rains. We were caught like amateurs without wet-weather gear. After a mad-dash for cover, trying to avoid getting our eyes poked out by stray umberella-spokes from the crowd, we found shelter in the park. While huddling to avoid the downpour, a group of royal guards marched past mere feet away. One of them winked at Tara, which was a much bigger thrill than the earlier more celebrated ritual.

Finally the rain subsided, so we were able to skip across all of the stops on the Monopoly board. Picadilly Circus, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey and Trafalgar Square. We soaked in some culture at the National Gallery and checked out the most fantabulous bookstore in the universe Foyles. If you’re a bibliophile like me and you’re in London make sure to check it out. It makes Borders look like a Dymocks.

Sore feet aren’t much fun if you don’t have a car. Luckily in London there is a super public transport system: The Tube. Serving 270 stations and with over 400 kilometers of track, it’s one of the biggest underground public transport systems in the world. Even on a cold day it’s stifling hot inside. No AC and thousands of bodies means sweat, smells and shoving. It you want to take photos of the people on The Tube, you only need a black and white camera, since everyone is grey anyway. They all have blank expressions on their faces, like they’re too scared to show emotion. These drones, file off to work each day, avoiding all eye contact with their fellow commuters, silently staring into space with their iPod ear-pieces plugging out the external world. Many of them don’t even appear to be breathing. As the cars slow to a halt at a station, all exiting passengers step off in choreographed unison and jostle for the exit, as if their schedule is more important than the person in front of them. For us, with no real time table, just enjoying the sights, this really was a spectacle. We loved The Tube, for the whole experience, the people, the tangy aromas and the uncanny wind, which pushes out of the tunnels onto the station platforms ahead of the trains, signalling their imminent arrival. It truly is a must do, even if it is to freak out a commuter just by smiling and saying hello. Apparently that’s weird.

We rode the Tube on the Friday night over to Brick Lane. It’s like Fitzroy times a million. Grungy street art, fashion and bars. It was such a funky suburb. We went there to meet some other friends, Nat Wilcock and Hannah O’Lachlan, who both live in London, are from Torquay, but didn’t know the other was in town. It’s crazy how big London is. Sometimes it feels like there are more Australians living there than Brits. Collectively, the two girls showed us the ropes of the suburb and took us to Curry Corner, where there are a bunch of Indian Restaurants, all vying and bidding for your business. Nat and Hannah managed to haggle a free bottle of sav blanc, free pappadams and 10% off our bill to eat at a place we were already going to go to. Only in London (or maybe India).

The next day it was more sight seeing. Considering we only had a couple of days in the city we had to pack it in. Kate took us to the Portobello markets, home of the tastiest felafel wrap in town, before going down to Hyde Park to witness a nude bicycle race. 

Yes that's right, nudity! The wang to flange ratio was definitely skewed toward spotted dick, but there were all kinds of people involved. The ride was to protest against the world’s reliance on oil, and was a sight to remember. A highlight was when a regular clothed girl on a hire bike was trying to push between the watching crowd, to cross the road with little success. After a few minutes of frustration she yelled out ‘okay, if I take all my clothes off will you let me through?!’ Someone beside us went, ‘yeah alright!’, so she proceeded to take off her g-string, tie it to her handlebars and drop her dress to the ground. Certainly a novel way to beat rush-hour!

Not much in the way of more museums could have beaten that unique experience, so it was about time we picked up shop and saw the ass end of England to ride the tunnel to France. Next stop Fromelles. 

Kilts and Campers

Wee Scotland. Technically it’s part of Britain, but this far northern chunk of land has an identity all of its own. Even the language is starkly different. If you think the Scottish speak English, think again. They speak Scottish. Try and eavesdrop on a couple of locals having a conversation in a pub and you will understand. Luckily they speak slower and clearer when conversing with unsuspecting Aussie tourists.

The Highlands of Scotland are nothing short of incredible. Silvery lochs are sprinkled like fairydust between daunting mountain ranges. Some Lochs are fed by the sea and are tidal, others are fuelled by melting snow and contain monsters. There are so many Lochs it almost seems sometimes that there is more water than land as you drive through the country. There’s Loch Ness, Loch Lamond, Loch Ericht, Loch Maree, Loch Shiel, Loch Tay, Loch Linnie, Loch Morar, Loch Awe and my favourite Loch Lochy.

We wound our way through the highlands heading north in search of surf in a little town called Thurso. Along the way, we stopped to meet a friend in the village of Golspie. Sarah runs an epic surf camp with her husband Yudi in Aceh, Indonesia, but is back in Scotland to pop out her first baby. Yudi was still waiting for his visa to come through, so was in Indo while we were there. Sarah was unbelievably welcoming, letting us into her home, cooking us a warm meal of dahl and taking us on a walk along the beaches of her hometown. It was like spring had finally sprung when we got there. The sun beamed down to smile on our backs as we walked past old boats, a castle and fields of blue bells. It was a huge departure from the rain and wind of Ireland.

Sarah gave us directions on how to get to Thurso, and we hit the road early to catch the best of the wind. When we finally got to there, it was clean and flat. 

With over 2 weeks between our last surf, my salt:blood levels were getting dangerously low. I chucked a little tantrum on the beach, swearing and kicking the sand. Tara tried to calm me down, reminding me I wasn’t the only person in the van who hadn’t had a surf in a while. I simply answered her reasoning in grunts. Like a junky looking for a fix, we sniffed the air, consulted our Storm Rider guide and drove a few miles west, through the cow paddocks, past a couple of silos and emerged at Brims Ness. It was our last hope. As the furthest headland jutting out into the Atlantic, it is supposed to be a swell magnet. 

There was a wobbly looking slab heaving onto shallow rocks. With no one out, it was unclear how big it was. I asked the cows near our van what the water was like, but they weren’t sure. Being the eternal optimist, and fuelled by a wave carving craving, I donned my booties, hood and 302 and jumped off into the abyss. Tara wasn’t brave enough to wear 10 degree sucky slabs on the head, so she wisely opted to take photos. It felt like I was surfing at the end of the world. The Orkney Island’s were visible in the distance, and I knew that not too far across the horizon, in a straight line between Iceland and Greenland, was Antarctica.

In between 4ft sets, it was flat, and I kept looking down at the kelp-covered bottom, hoping it really was just me in the line-up. After a couple of good rides, I finally made one turn and almost exited a spitting tube before getting rolled along the flat reef. I was happy. Grinning from ear to ear I washed up onto the rocks at Tara’s feet. She had her real husband back!

There was only one city in Scotland we had any desire to visit, so after a sun and salt injection, we made a bee-line for the hub of literature and culture that is Edinburgh. Cobbled streets, whiskey, cannons, and ghosts greeted us. 

We strolled the Royal Mile, meeting a clansman from the past, who wanted to attack me with his sword and marry Tara. We went on a Ghosts and Ghouls tour, above and below the streets of this old city. If anyone has the pleasure to go to Edinburgh, it’s something we highly recommend you do. The ghastly history of the city, told in a Scottish accent cannot be mimicked anywhere else. The depths of the haunted, pitch-black vaults is enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, let alone be down there while being told tales of the ghosts who inhabit the place.

It’s pretty crazy, walking around Edinburgh. On one hand you have normal shops from home, like Starbucks, or McDonalds. On the other side you have people playing bagpipes on nearly every corner, street performers trying to vie for the tourists’ spare change and centuries old, arched laneways, which twist around a dark gothic castle. Tara commented that it’s like walking around in a Harry Potter movie, which is explained when we learned J.K. Rowling did a lot of her writing in Edinburgh.

While we were in Edinburgh, a mate from New Zealand, Kelly Clarkson and her Irish man Adam, were also there. A well overdue catch up with them and their friends at a Scottish bar provided a fun night out. There’s something incredibly comforting, meeting familiar people in a strange city. It’s like it makes you feel as though you can belong anywhere as long as there is a face you know, smiling at you from across the table. It was the perfect way to wrap up our Scottish experience, sharing it with some old and some new friends. We were a little sad that it was only for one night, but we know we’ll see them again sometime soon and any more time on the booze would have drained our energy and funds too low to hit our next stop: England.

A Good Shower Makes all the Difference

When one becomes a traveller many things change. At first just slightly and then the more you travel it becomes a revelation. You are no longer the person you once were.

Making the decision to say goodbye to our overworked jobs was at first, a hard one. The security of a steady income each week to pay the mortgage and the routine of everyday working life are comforts which are difficult to forego.  But once the decision to leave is made it all starts to change, it all becomes different. A good different though, in so many ways. You forget it all and immerse yourself into life, day by day, with no real rush to be anywhere. After only a short time you soon forget what it was like to even have a ‘real job’. You say goodbye to all the necessities that you soon realize aren’t all that essential.

We came from our corporate roles, filled with scheduling too many meetings, following up staff, giving lists to PAs, all adding to the stress of each day. Now there are no schedules, time doesn’t matter, instead we take the moments to notice the smaller things in life, the things that went unnoticed when we were caught up in the working world. The things that you thought were important just aren’t anymore.

It’s different now. We wake up each morning and just lay there being grateful. We used to jump out of bed to the alarm, have a shower, have breaky and race to beat the traffic. I now wake and love the sound of the birds on the lake we are parked in front of. No more rushing from meeting to meeting, but instead asking Tim to stop the van so I can take a photo of something so simple that I wouldn’t have even noticed before.

Even your body becomes different. No longer are the shoulders an inch higher with the stress, but dropped with ease. Your senses are once again alive with the smells of the fresh air in the forest, instead of deadened by the pollution from the truck in front of you in a traffic jam. I now notice the amazing colours of the spring flowers instead of having to decide the colour of the new t-shirt in the range.

Touring in a van is a very different way of life. Showers are not taken in hotel ensuites, but in a cubicle in a communal shower block. Dishes are not placed in a dishwasher out of sight, but instead carried to the dishwashing area, hand washed, dried and put back away in their spot. Room and space are things of the past. Everything you have to call yours is rolled, tucked or squashed where it can fit. But the biggest difference is time; there is no set lunch from 12-1pm, you just eat when you’re hungry. It’s these differences that make life as it should be.

It’s only been 4 weeks that we have been living in a van but it has changed the way we both think each day. It’s amazing how conversations have changed. We used to swap flight details and when we will next be home together. Now we wake up each morning in each other’s arms with a smile and no plan, only to just be, together. We used to discuss over dinner our bad days at work, now we look at the photos we have taken from the day. Dinner meetings are of the past, now we decide what we can throw together for our next meal in the van. But the most discussed of all, ‘how is the shower?’ A shower can make all the difference, it can make or break your day depending if the shower is good or bad. Trust us, we have had the worst cold showers where you chase the water drops around trying to get wet, to the most luxurious showers better than our own at home in Bali. The faces we see on each other on return from the amenities block says it all. There is nothing better than the van door opening to a wide smiled Tim saying ‘Best shower!’ It makes me want to stop cooking dinner instantly and run to the glorious waterfall of joy. It truly can be the highlight of our day.

The touring and parking life is one to be loved and addicted to easily. The overall energy and feeling when you get when you arrive at a good park is noticeable. Not a day goes by that you come across a fellow tourer that loves a chat, or offers some help. Too many times Tim sets off to wash the dishes or have a shower and doesn’t comes back until a long while after. He is becoming more like my grandfather (or Pa as I call him) everyday, who has been caravanning for decades. He takes longer to do any chore than ever, but always returns with a great story of his chat with his new mate. Lucky we are never in a hurry. Each day is filled with meeting lovely, kind people from all parts of the world. They are always interested in where you’re from, where you’ve been and where you‘re heading. It’s a different type of community. Everyone is helpful, we all look out for each other, even though we are complete strangers.

As I sit Loch-side in the van and Tim takes a few hours to wash a handful of dishes and have a chat, I contemplate how grateful I am that I was diagnosed with cancer 8 months ago. Without that, I would still be sitting behind my desk stressed, on a plane or in a hotel, exhausted and overworked, missing my husband. I wouldn’t give this up for anything. As hard as it’s been, I am truly thankful for what has happened. It’s often that cancer patients say they are grateful for their diagnosis as it changed so much in their lives. Its just a shame that it takes the diagnosis of cancer to show you what your missing out on every day, and all that time it was right there, waiting for you to notice. 

So take a moment now, have a look around you and notice the small, joyful things. Go, have a good shower and be grateful for all you have in your life at this point in time. You deserve it.

- Tara -