Coming Home – To Travel

I have such strong emotional recollections of camping as a child. A long weekend in the tent with mum and dad and my two sisters, sleeping on bunk camp stretchers, playing endless games of Pontoon 21 in endless rain. It was wonderful! That one weekend has come to capture less specific memories of all the other camping weekends. We were a camping family. We roamed the countryside not too far from our home in North-East Victoria, the countryside my parents know so intimately. We would travel in our tiny car, the three of us squished in the backseat with the window open for air. Dad would be playing music, I’m sure. I have to be honest, I cannot remember detail of any other specific trips but I do remember the freedom of it.

I’m confident my family are still surprised that I’ve become a ‘camper’. It, like gardening, wasn’t one of the things I was known for as a teenager retreating to my room with pen and paper and books. Camping was not even something I grew to like in my 20s when we were venturing out into life.

There are a few camping stories in my history.

I went camping with school at the end of Year 12, an abseiling camp at Mount Arapiles in western Victoria. Two things stand out for me still from that adventure – finding the courage to let myself fall backwards over the edge of the cliff… and abseil down, and sharing a tent with Jane T who woke me in the middle of the night scaring a boy from another school who had dared unzip our tent. Yes, it was clearly serious, but back then he got into trouble with his own teacher and we went back to sleep soundly.

At Uni I ventured out on a hiking and overnight camping adventure with three friends, also in the vicinity of Arapiles, this time at Lake Wartook. Again, my memories are scarce and augmented by photos of us standing in knee deep water, packs on our backs, wading through the endless lake. 

And then camping trips with friends when Uni was over and I was independent and responsible and apparently carefree. Except, of course, I wasn’t. By then I was anxious about the girly things. Where to go to the toilet. How to manage if I got my period. Where to change to protect a little dignity, and how to keep a bit of makeup on and my hair nice. You know, the important things.

The important things carried enough weight to stop me from camping for years. Literally decades. These are the things that can change the course of our lives, people! 

It took a few significant personal changes to get me back out into nature again and I’m forever grateful for it. The C**** years, that were otherwise awful, were wonderful as they freed me up from the hangups that had stopped me from travelling and walked me straight back outside again.

It was ‘those’ years so we explored our own backyard. Harcourt, Echuca, the Great Ocean Road (still voted the best family holiday ever), Jamieson. When the borders reopened we had a monumental family reunion trip to Queensland that took us to the waterfalls in NSW and taught us the simplicity of overnight stops in a gravel pit!

We were hooked. On camping, yes, but on travelling. We felt the desperate need to be on the road. We watched endless travel videos (and got hooked on YouTube as well, what can you do???) that took us from hiking and camping to international backpacking couples to… #vanlife. 

I. Am. In. Love.

She is ‘the beast’. I am driving a manual again and I’m back in control of a vehicle, being an active participant in the drive, anticipating her needs as a corner approaches, listening to the squeal of the engine and adjusting accordingly until she hums again. Her fitout is rough and simple and everything we need. We’re not that good with glamour, you’ve probably worked that out by now. There’s still work to be done on her and rust to be treated and an unfinished storage area to be lined and I don’t care. 

As I write this we are on the road. I am, therefore, technically a digital nomad. It’s the only way to avoid being a grey nomad, it’s too soon. The trip was planned with the camper trailer in mind so we were ready to roll as soon as the beast arrived home. Ms G, our personal interior decorator, is home for a bit so was ready with paintbrush in hand to freshen her up and prepare her for the maiden voyage. 

Actually, with the age of the Beast and of us… maiden isn’t the right term. Let’s go with ‘inaugural’. Yes, much better.

The inaugural adventure in the Beast has been as good as we had dreamed it might be. As good as the camper trailer only a different kind of better. We can pull up and we are ready. We stopped by the ocean and flung open the rear doors and as I wrote Ian made us lunch and we sat protected from the wind in our home on wheels and gazed at the incredible view. And, look, I know it’s not all sunshine and roses but, so far, I’ll take each and every bloom. 

It’s a risk trying to turn a dream into reality. The shiny glow of a dream never really translates across into real life. The shine only lives in fantasyland. However, I’m learning that reality has it’s own light that is all the better for it’s presence in the world. I am touching the sand. I am smelling the salt in the air. I am squinting at the sun on the water and I am tasting the perfection of food cooked outside.

For that reality I am willing and able to hold my nose to use a drop toilet (and even squat in the bush, shhh), shower in the open air, shove a hat on my head to try and hold back the frizz of hair that’s a day or two past wash day and at the mercy of humidity and sea breezes, and I will even drink instant coffee. Actually, we don’t drink instant coffee very often, surprisingly, there are some standards that we will not drop!

I still wear some eye makeup and haven’t compromised on bedding. There must be a good pillow and a great mattress. I travel with fountain pens, multiple (obviously), and notebooks and write every day no matter where I slept or how we got there. 

I cannot get enough of travelling.

When I came home from my career I assured so many people that I am not retired. I am not old enough to be retired. I have many years still to offer the workforce, decades in fact! I cannot be an Aussie retiree travelling the lap of Australia (ie grey nomad) yet. It’s too soon!

And there is the other lesson I have learned. Remember the promise? 

Live now, say yes.

Say it with me. LIVE now. Say YES. 

Covid made me do it. Fifty made it a done deal. We may not be able to travel for months at a time, not yet, but we can get in the Beast and take off every single chance we get. Should we go to…? Yes! 

Cliches come from somewhere. They don’t have to be a negative thing even if sometimes we cringe at the connotation. I am wearing my leggings brightly splashed with daisies and my hair is in a plait down my back. I am very aware that as I climb out of the van in my hippy outfit I am the very definition of a cliche. Ah well. So be it. It makes me happy. That’s a dream realised right there.