This weekend, Tom and I tried something new. We were, I admit, a little nervous about it. Neither of us knew how it would go, we felt a mix of adrenalin and nerves, but both suspected that as soon as we'd done it once, we would want to do it a lot more.
Yes, you've guessed it. This weekend we went on our first VW adventure with the London Thames Valley VW club.
For the last few months, Joni has been a huge focus in our lives. She is the only campervan on our street, lighting it up with a little burst of orangey sunshine, she had an incredibly exciting time in Edinburgh, welcoming 295 people through her doors, then she covered hundreds of miles around the beautiful Highlands, providing us with a lovely warm nest in which to sleep in the middle of nature, protecting us from both murderers and panthers. (NB- she did not protect us from midges, but that is only because they are basically evil) This weekend was the first time she would spend a significant amount with other campervans. It felt a bit like a beauty contest for children, but this time the children were massive, and on the motorway. The event in question was the Brighton Breeze, an annual event where 750 aircooled campervans drive in convoy from London to Brighton, then park up on the seafront, looking pretty and causing massive congestion problems. We were EXCITED.
On Friday night, the night before the big event, we planned to meet a few other members of the LTV (London Thames Valley, darling) club at a campsite called WoWo which is about a 40 minute drive out of London. As always, Tom and I left home slightly later than expected. This was mainly due to us dithering about and making sure we had the right books to take away with us, despite the knowledge that we would have absolutely no time to do any reading over the weekend. Now we have bookshelves in Joni, it would be wrong not to fill them up. Did I NEED to take a book of Victoria Wood scripts away with me? No. Did the very presence of that book somehow make me feel like Joni is a more well rounded campervan with a fundamental knowledge of the subtle nuances of northern comedy? Of course.
We had spoken to other members of the club on the forum, all of us communicating through the guises of our forum names. Tom, known for his trend of thinking outside of the box, chose a cryptic name for us, that was close to impossible for strangers to decipher. Our name: TomandLaura.
Without going into lots of emotional detail about the people that we met, which would be easy to do, everyone was ace. They made us feel welcome, they told us stories of past events, they greeted Joni with waves and with smiles, and they admired the fact that she has a special area for keeping wellies.
The Saturday was a very lovely day indeed, despite it being one of the wettest days I've ever seen in Brighton. We didn't want to admit to other members of the club that this was almost definitely our fault, that we attract extreme weather wherever we go, and that had we decided to stay at home and just read books at home, it would probably have been a glorious day, instead of something out of a Channel Five 'When Camping Goes Bad' documentary. It wasn't, however, bad in the slightest. It was brilliant. The sight of 750 gorgeous shiny campervans all lined up in a big wet parade was a total treat. Each one of them told a story and each of the owners was beaming, whilst wearing some sort of heavy duty waterproof jacket. Us VW owners know how to do this PROPERLY.
The evening event took place up at Brighton Racecourse, where we all camped, laughed at the fact that it was so foggy we couldn't actually see any of the other vehicles, then danced the night away to a Madness tribute band. After coming to terms with the fact that it is impossible to look demure whilst dancing to 'Baggy Trousers,' we had a very lovely evening. Highlights of the night were the sight of people wearing wellies, sitting on camping chairs and helping themselves to drinks out of their own coolboxes, whilst sitting in what can only be described as a massive Working Mens Club, a punch that contained so much alcohol I was worried about people smoking near it, and a poodle who was wearing a shellsuit with no irony whatsoever.
When it came to hometime on Sunday morning, we pulled away from our new friends with a sense of something that was just beginning. We also had massive hangovers, but chose not to focus on that. The best part of the weekend was spending time with people who know exactly what it's like to own a car that, at any point, may stop. That is surely part of the adventure- we all know that we could give it all up and get a 'normal car'- one that will drive from A to B without worry. But that's why we do it- it's the adventure that counts. An event from the weekend that sums this up was the awful experience of seeing the engine of a Beetle owned by a member of our group, go up in flames. It was a horrible few moments when time seemed to stand still, and we all felt our hearts wrench as it became harder to extinguish the flames. We all ran from our vehicles, and even when the fire was out, nobody could quite believe what had happened. I have no doubt that the beautiful Beetle will be back on the road though, soon, as its owners have such passion for it. There is a real sense of support that comes with being a member of the VW community. People know what it's like to see or hear something go wrong with their beloved bus, van or car. And it's always good to know that there will be someone else on the road, probably wearing a waterproof jacket, who will stop and offer their help.
Who wants to go straight from A to B, when you could go on a detour and find a poodle wearing a shellsuit...
Monday 4 October 2010
Friday 1 October 2010
A Macventure PART TWO
All I really did in my last post was to tell you about our fears of wild camping. That was very negative of me, wasn't it. Luckily, we didn't get mauled to death by an escaped panther or battered to a pulp by an axe murderer. We did get some pretty nasty midge bites, but good old Tom took most of the hit, much like a fleshy human shield. It turns out that midges are extremely clever and not only will they find the TINIEST of teeny TINY holes in insect-proof window netting stuff (not the official title for that, but I have no idea what it's actually called) but they will then find a comfortable little spot within your campervan, hang out there for over a week and continue to feast on your wrists/ankles/cheeks until you find yourself screaming WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME in the middle of the night.
'Luckily' (you'll see why I have included the ' ' in a moment) Tom managed to find an incredible contraption in Boots before we left, which looks a bit like an asthma inhaler, but administers what can only be described as an electric shock to the midge or mosquito bite. It makes a funny snapping noise and is the equivalent of giving your bite a smack so it hurts a little bit for a moment then stops itching. I was understandably reluctant to use this, and chose instead to stick with the traditional system of getting cranky and rubbing the bite against a bit of velcro or across a pair of corduroy trousers until it gets really painful. Worryingly, Tom found that electrocuting a particular bite on the inside of his arm made his hand spasm. Even more worryingly, he seemed to be really enjoying himself, and had a proper big giggle every time it happened. You have to find your own fun in the wilderness. Tom's fun involved being bitten by a hungry Scottish insect, then electrocuting himself with a device available from a high street chemist.
Over the course of 8 days, we drove from Edinburgh, up to the most north-westerly point of the UK, then back again. I can honestly say that the Highlands are the most beautiful part of the world- with incredibly diverse landscapes, sights, hidden treats and surprises. One moment we were driving along the bluest of lochs, the sky a bright turquoise, the next we were engulfed in fog, not able to see 2 metres infront of us. The tip to drive up the south side of Loch Ness was a great piece of advice- it's a really gorgeous road, with lots of places to stop and spot the monster. We didn't see him, although Tom did confess to me that he has felt, from an early age, that he is going to be the one that does.
Wild camping was a learning experience, and I can truly say that weeing in a bucket became surprisingly mundane after the first two or three times. (I should point out that the bucket just cuts down on unwanted prickling from heather/thistles, and was not in any way of storing waste) There is something very primal about washing your hair in a carpark and a rite of passage I'm glad I have now experienced. Once we'd got over the fear of being approached by people asking us to move on, it became an adventure looking for somewhere to park up and spend the night, and each time we started to panic as it got dark, a perfect place would present itself and welcome us in. We stayed by the foot of Glen Coe, in a carpark on the edge of the sea, in a meadow-like field in a beautiful little fishermans village on the east coast, and in a national park that provided the beautiful backdrop in Monarch of the Glen.
One low point was a night spent on the edge of a cliff in Durness where we experienced the worst winds they had had for over 20 years. Once again, this could only really happen to the Franklands, and as we sat wide awake in Joni, not sleeping a wink, trying to drink from a miniature bottle of port, which turned out to be over 3 years out of date, therefore making us both feel queasy, it was ALMOST funny.
It's a shame that wild camping is not legal in England, although thinking about it more, there are fewer places where it would actually work. There is a lot more space in the Highlands, bigger areas of unadulterated nature. At first we were taken aback by the silence whenever we stopped (silence is not an option when we are driving- Joni's engine is working beautifully now but sneaking up on anyone without them hearing us would be like trying to smuggle King Kong silently through a cymbal factory.) The contrast of her whirring engine and the perfect, clear silence of an afternoon tea stop was one of the best bits of the journey. After the giddy madness of Edinburgh, being surrounded by peace and quiet was something we never took for granted.
The three of us can't wait to go back...
'Luckily' (you'll see why I have included the ' ' in a moment) Tom managed to find an incredible contraption in Boots before we left, which looks a bit like an asthma inhaler, but administers what can only be described as an electric shock to the midge or mosquito bite. It makes a funny snapping noise and is the equivalent of giving your bite a smack so it hurts a little bit for a moment then stops itching. I was understandably reluctant to use this, and chose instead to stick with the traditional system of getting cranky and rubbing the bite against a bit of velcro or across a pair of corduroy trousers until it gets really painful. Worryingly, Tom found that electrocuting a particular bite on the inside of his arm made his hand spasm. Even more worryingly, he seemed to be really enjoying himself, and had a proper big giggle every time it happened. You have to find your own fun in the wilderness. Tom's fun involved being bitten by a hungry Scottish insect, then electrocuting himself with a device available from a high street chemist.
Over the course of 8 days, we drove from Edinburgh, up to the most north-westerly point of the UK, then back again. I can honestly say that the Highlands are the most beautiful part of the world- with incredibly diverse landscapes, sights, hidden treats and surprises. One moment we were driving along the bluest of lochs, the sky a bright turquoise, the next we were engulfed in fog, not able to see 2 metres infront of us. The tip to drive up the south side of Loch Ness was a great piece of advice- it's a really gorgeous road, with lots of places to stop and spot the monster. We didn't see him, although Tom did confess to me that he has felt, from an early age, that he is going to be the one that does.
Wild camping was a learning experience, and I can truly say that weeing in a bucket became surprisingly mundane after the first two or three times. (I should point out that the bucket just cuts down on unwanted prickling from heather/thistles, and was not in any way of storing waste) There is something very primal about washing your hair in a carpark and a rite of passage I'm glad I have now experienced. Once we'd got over the fear of being approached by people asking us to move on, it became an adventure looking for somewhere to park up and spend the night, and each time we started to panic as it got dark, a perfect place would present itself and welcome us in. We stayed by the foot of Glen Coe, in a carpark on the edge of the sea, in a meadow-like field in a beautiful little fishermans village on the east coast, and in a national park that provided the beautiful backdrop in Monarch of the Glen.
One low point was a night spent on the edge of a cliff in Durness where we experienced the worst winds they had had for over 20 years. Once again, this could only really happen to the Franklands, and as we sat wide awake in Joni, not sleeping a wink, trying to drink from a miniature bottle of port, which turned out to be over 3 years out of date, therefore making us both feel queasy, it was ALMOST funny.
It's a shame that wild camping is not legal in England, although thinking about it more, there are fewer places where it would actually work. There is a lot more space in the Highlands, bigger areas of unadulterated nature. At first we were taken aback by the silence whenever we stopped (silence is not an option when we are driving- Joni's engine is working beautifully now but sneaking up on anyone without them hearing us would be like trying to smuggle King Kong silently through a cymbal factory.) The contrast of her whirring engine and the perfect, clear silence of an afternoon tea stop was one of the best bits of the journey. After the giddy madness of Edinburgh, being surrounded by peace and quiet was something we never took for granted.
The three of us can't wait to go back...
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