Airstream Road Trip

One of the main Airstreamy events this summer, so far, has been a trip to Germany with a convoy of British and European Airstreamers. Back in June the destination was a big gathering of Airstream owners in Weilburg, organised by the team at Airstream Germany. As a group we had decided to take our time getting there. Starting with a meet-up in Kent, we gave ourselves a week to get to Weilburg, with two stops in Belgium, meeting and picking up more Airstreams along the way.

It's an interesting experience to travel with others, especially since, as full-timers, we travel a lot, but usually by ourselves. We have become very used to our way of doing things, it's our way of life, and for the duration of a group road trip you have to compromise and try to adapt to the consensus. Well that's the theory anyway. The trick, if you're comfortable with your own company and used to your own space, is to try to strike a balance between doing your own thing and doing group stuff.

I'm not usually a big fan of group excursions, but I do love evenings spent with other like-minded people, catching up on the day's events, lubricated with some wine and beer, and preferably outdoors. We found that 'Happy Hour', or Beer o'clock, got earlier and earlier as the trip progressed. Actually, this was the best rhythm for me. We'd had a lot on our minds before the trip, and knew that we would have a lot on our plates when we returned, so a routine consisting of a bit of travelling, a couple of days of gentle tourism and plenty of al fresco evenings was just right. And after all, the main event was coming at the end of the week. I recall in my previous life as a dancer, our artistic director's advice when we embarked on foreign tours was, "Don't peak too early". It pretty much covers everything, and it still applies.

The Euro meet in Weilburg was a big success. It was lovely to reconnect with friends from the previous Euro gathering that took place two years ago in Venlo, Holland, as well as friends we have met since then. The European community feels like it is starting to gel. We are quite dispersed, but if we meet up every now and then we just might become one big, international family. Airstreamers are meeting up in small and large groups in the UK, The Netherlands, France, Germany and probably beyond. And with blogs and social media you sometimes feel that you know people before you've even met.

Of course the extended family, who we hear from but rarely see, is in the USA. That's where Airstreaming began after all. Right from the beginning of mine and  Pete's travels, back when we were just taking a year off from the crazy, one of our early well-wishers was Rich Luhr, editor of Airstream Life magazine. He and his family have spent several years full-timing on and off in America. Well, we finally got to meet Rich and his wife, Eleanor at the big Euro Gathering. Putting a face to a name doesn't really cover it, we had plenty in common. Comparing stories of Airstream full-timing and organising gatherings, I really felt the difference in scale. It's a cliche that we Brits think that everything is on a massive scale in the US, but it's true. They now have four massive gatherings, all with an "Aluma..." theme. Obviously there's already over 75 years of Airstream love to work with. Rich also gave a slide show about travelling to the National Parks, which he described as the true America. I could see his point. That is natural beauty on a huge scale, which apparently could take you ten years if you embarked on visiting all of it .

The end of the weekend, always sad, was typically melancholy. Some of the Brits left separately, either to return home or to continue their travels in Germany. Our convoy buddies, Dave and Jean had to zoom back for work and the imminent arrival of a new grandchild. We had spent a lot of the trip together and like a soft ninny, I felt the separation. We needed to get back too, but had decided to break up the Weilburg to Calais journey with a stop off in Belgium.

Our site, about 30km south of Brussels was in the grounds of a stately home of sorts. As usual, it looked more impressive in the guide book! I was somehow able to conjure up some rusty French to book and communicate on arrival. Actually, our first choice of site had failed to confirm my attempts at booking by email and phone, which we had interpreted as a laid back way of doing things. On the way there though, as we stopped for a break, it occurred to me that the guide book we'd found them in was two years old and they might no longer exist. A quick check online showed that they were not a touring site any more. So, it was one of those lay-by map-scouring, campsite guide book sifting moments. And that's how we found this odd site with its faded glory that led to an almost deserted array of permanent caravan plots and a collection of tatty facilities. But the sun was shining and we had plenty of Belgian beer to keep up the Happy Hour tradition for two more nights. And, as it turns out, it's good to have a bit of quiet time by ourselves at the end of a gathering. It sort of allows all the buzz and happenings to settle and digest.

Not Cool

The fields around us have been blueish recently. It's a delicate hue. Apparently they are linseeds. I had no idea we needed to grow so much linseed. Up close, the stems dance dreamily in the breeze. I, meanwhile, try to capture the breeze by extending my arms at shoulder level, like an over-heated bird.

Maybe I am an over-heated bird! 30 degrees is not my optimum temperature. Not complaining, I'm adapting. Today I made dinner at 10am while the trailer was still relatively cool. I felt like a Stepford Wife and it really screwed up my day.

Atomic Appliance

My Atomic stove-top coffee machine makes a perfectly strong espresso base for an iced coffee. Yes, we are experiencing heat, finally, and the challenge is how to stay cool and refreshed. Bring on the iconic equipment. The ZipDee awning provides a shady space and the Atomic provides the caffeine stimulation to prevent me from slipping into a siesta-loving languidness.

I nominate this chunkily elegant 'objet' as my full-timer's non-practical indulgence item. For what would life be like if we were ruled by the head alone, without influence from the heart? Well, we wouldn't be living in an Airstream for a start. It isn't impractical, the Atomic can make great coffee once you've mastered some variables, it's just not the most compact coffee maker you could find. But it is the most beautiful. I should know, I have a thing about coffee machines. And, it's aluminium and curvy. Ring any bells?

Recipe for staying cool and alert: 2 teaspoons brown sugar in a sturdy glass (maybe leave the spoon in to absorb some heat and prevent your glass cracking!) Add a shot or two of perilously strong coffee. Stir to dissolve the sugar. Top up with milk and leave for a few minutes to cool. When you can wait no longer, add ice cubes and stir some more.
The result is so sweet and milky that you hardly notice it kicking you in the head. Enjoy.

Sunshiny Blues

We just had a quick jaunt to Spain. We did more driving than anything else, but still had time for absorbing those blue hues and eating muchas de patatas bravas!

I remembered these roadside bull silhouettes from earlier travels. A quick Wiki search has taught me that they started life as a logo for Osborne Sherry (not very Spanish-sounding). Roadside advertising is no longer allowed, but the bull has become a symbol of Spain and has survived. We saw him standing proudly at regular intervals along the A1. You can't tell from this picture, but he has plenty to be proud of.

I have never spent more than a couple of hours at sea and I was curious about the sense of waiting that came over me on the twenty-four hour crossing. Friends recently went on a cruise and informed us that it is common for people to put on a pound in weight per day. I can see how. Eating and drinking is the main occupation. And people start drinking before the ferry has cast off. As a normally queasy sailor I was thankful for the almost freakishly calm sea on the way home.

All the Food Groups!

The Glamorous Nomad

One of the charms of moving your home to a different place is noticing the path of the sun in relation to your windows, and how that differs from your previous location. But after the first two days on our present pitch, I hadn't seen the sun, I had no idea how it might be tracking across the sky above a grimy, monotoned gloom. And then, ta dah! Another promise of Spring. I remembered my theory about my perception of the length of winter. At the moment I am convinced that this has been the longest winter ever. Then I applied my theory: It's because we were robbed of summer. The winter after a rubbish summer feels extra long.

Pete is on a course for a few days, which takes place in a suburb of Birmingham. We are staying on a farm several miles further out to the north east and I am amazed to find that there are acres and acres of clay-hued farmland, 14th century castles (privately owned and not open to the public!), and tiny red sandstone villages. Who knew that you can drive the overpass over the M6 and within mere moments you are in rural Warwickshire?

My previous knowledge of the Birmingham area was pretty limited to the dauntingly massive series of motorway junctions and ring roads that seem to surround and engulf the city, separating north from south. Or, as the road signs call it, 'The North' and 'The South'. Birmingham seems impenetrable and sprawling and constantly circled by a sea of motor vehicles. I'm still avoiding it this week, but I have discovered the peaceful contrast on its doorstep.

Our campsite this week is called something Hall Farm. I'm being a coward/diplomat and not naming it properly but you might see how one could have high hopes of a name like that. You might, like I did, imagine a grand estate with a charming little paddock set aside for campers. In fact this whole area is clearly a series of estates with halls and castles, woods and farmland. A search of the history of the area shows ownership of the estate dating back to the 15th century. And I will concede that this is not the time of year to see a basic campsite at its best. An adjacent strip of woods is going to burst with daffodils very soon, so that will brighten things up. But it is basic, which we don't mind at all, but I am judging the site by the fact that it is costing us £5 more per night than our last place, offering us no more, and by the awkwardness and unpleasantness of the black waste point.

It is an enclosed, above-ground tank. You have to climb two steps to access the wooden hatch on the top, once held on with two hinges, long since rusted and useless. And if you are 5ft 3in tall as I am, you have to lift your full black-waste cassette to chest height, rest it on the edge of the opening, carefully and with a very firm hold. Also treating the cap of your own tank as if it were part of an unexploded bomb, lest you drop it into the liquid hell below. Then to rinse, step down to ground level, reach several feet to the other end of the tank to grab the hose, rinse, climb back up, etc. Glamping my arse!

Apart from that, it is indeed peaceful and remote-yet-handy. And money for old rope for the farmer.

Mini moan and griping aside, it has been tingly and exciting to move to a completely unknown area again. Out of necessity we have been staying in one area for weeks, sometimes months at a time, and it has been lovely to make friendships and connections and to get comfortable with the familiarity of the roads and day to day facilities one relies upon. But there was a time when we moved every four or five days and got used to never really knowing our way around. After almost two years of exploring the country we were surprised to find ourselves in one spot for two whole weeks. And there are still places we haven't seen, which is great. For some reason we missed out Yorkshire completely.

We had a tricky time getting to this site. The junction we thought we wanted didn't have an exit on the bit of motorway we were travelling on. It took a couple of rethinks to find a way off! But finally here and set up, fairy lights on, cup of tea in hand I said, "Wherever we go, we're always here." You know, after all that, we are still at home.

Seasonal Musing

So far this winter has been a bit more challenging than previous ones in the Airstream. When we were still in self-imposed sabbatical mode there was a touch of charm and romance to most aspects of living in a trailer, and being nomadic to a greater or lesser degree. And I still relish a less conventional lifestyle. I never did aspire to an average existence. But I have found that, when life becomes more laden with serious or emotive diversions it is a little bit harder to engage with the charms that had previously shone a glow over everything. They can become time-consuming extras, chores. I'm talking about stuff like the fetching and carrying of water and waste, the need to put stuff away and not always have it instantly to hand. Little things really, that can eat into your day when you're just trying to get on with something.

Weather matters too, and the length of the days. I don't mind the snow, and I don't mind too much having to thaw the taps and negotiate icy tracks to get to them, as long as it's just for a couple of days. Plus, our 'landlord' Dave has recently built a unique little heated wooden structure around the fresh water tap so that we never have to do the traipsing thing with jugs of warm water again. But like many parts of the country, the ground here was already saturated, and the thaw and subsequent rain has made everything muddy. And 'Wet Keep Off' signs are multiplying on the campsite. Not that you would want to walk on the grass, the ground beneath it has the consistency of room-temperature butter.

I can project forward in time slightly and envisage a lighter, warmer Spring when the prospect of enjoying a view across a pine covered hill, or a rocky coastline can be savoured from outside rather than in and behind glass. It's only just February and those days are a way off yet. But the merging of indoors and out, and the changing view on your doorstep is something to anticipate.

And by the way, the picture is not of us. It's a nearby farmyard with a vintage Airstream awaiting some TLC.

Squelch

There were a couple of frosty days recently,  in amongst more rainy ones than any of us can tolerate. Today the fields and ditches around us are spilling brown lakes across the roads.

We have already visited our folks, and are now cocooning into the Airstream for a couple of days of quiet indulgence. There's an animated version of A Christmas Carol on the television, reminding me that I recently learned that there were several years of white Christmases when Charles Dickens was young, and it is likely that his brilliant and loved stories are responsible for our expectations of a white Christmas. Even though we all know how rare they are for us in England. I don't expect anyone will be writing songs about a Brown Christmas, or dreaming of one.

Happy festivities, and joy in each lengthening day, for we are past the shortest one.