Once upon a time we had no water…

February 17, 2018 | Mairead

Lots of people ask me how Denis and I can live together, in such a small space, without killing each other. I’m not sure I have ever given an adequate answer, mainly because I don’t know. So I thought it might be interesting to notice on this trip what we do. Today I got some useful information… it’s a long story, bear with me.

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(Our back garden tonight)

As I was saying we planned to be taking the slow journey through France, as long as the weather was kind… and the weather was grand, but we hadn’t taken into account a particular side effect of weather – water pipe safety. Yesterday we travelled for about an hour from the ferry at Cherbourg and arrived in the town of Isigny sur Mer at dusk. We planned to fill up with water and stay for the night. While in Cork the previous Sunday we had filled our drinking water tank but we forgot that there’s a safety thingy in the van that protects against frozen pipes – by dumping all the drinking water! It only happens if the temperature inside the van goes below 8 degrees. Must have gone below 8 degrees while we were on the ferry because when we got off in Cherbourg the tank was empty. We might have left 100 litres of Cork water in the English channel… sorry.

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(Autumn)

Not really a problem, we would get drinking water at the aire in Isigny sur Mer. But we couldn’t! This is a bit of a sweeping statement but it might still be true: in winter the French turn off the drinking water taps at their aires. To be honest we’ve only tried two this morning but two out of two is enough for me to start making sweeping statements. Still, not a huge problem, we do have a couple of two litre bottles of water I bought in Lidl when the whole of Greystones was on a boil water notice. That will keep us going for a bit, but I think we need to reassess, regroup and let go of the original plan.

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(Spotted on our way to the supermarche)

When you decide on a plan and then set it in motion it takes on a life of its own. Every decision that follows fits neatly into the plan and before you know it there’s a machine trundling down the road to get water where none exists. The machine in this case is a camper van plus two humans. When the water at the second tap an hour south of the first tap was also turned off the two humans approached a crossroads (metaphorically). One of them was doing all they could to keep the machine moving with the original plan, i.e. on to a third tap, while the other human was doing all she could to throw out the original plan and come up with a new one.

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(Here we are)

It turns out we have very different patterns when it comes to finding a solution. Denis focusses on making the present plan work (tenacious). I focus on coming up with a new plan (creative). Even thought this is a metaphorical crossroads it felt exactly like we were pulling in opposite directions and it was very uncomfortable. Discomfort makes me grumpy and blamey (not a real word but I think you know what I mean…?) It wasn’t very peaceful. I’ll spare you the back and forth that went on until silence descended. Not peaceful silence. Then something changed. (Incidentally I would not have understood what changed had I not been writing about it. Thank you, writing, I love you!)

(We found water!)

But first… Many years ago these two humans were not living peacefully together. They had a lot of hard stuff going on and they were pulling apart at every crossroads. And then they stopped, I actually don’t know why they stopped, probably a combination of things, other people inspiring them, books teaching them, courses educating them. I don’t know, but things changed and they found common ground. One night, I think they were sitting on the sofa watching the telly, they came to an agreement on something… they wanted peace. And they were willing to do hard stuff to have peace.

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(Our first bbq on the road (thank you for teaching us, Moira!) and the orange/metal thing in the park is a game called disc golf – google it)

The thing that changed today was that as soon as we realised we weren’t at peace, we separately (and silently) stopped thinking we were right and the other person was wrong. Then we began to search together (awkwardly) for workable solutions to the problem. Then we drove to a place we knew had water… duh.

We are able to live together, in such a small space, without killing each other because we want peace, Mairead.

Crossing the Threshold

February 16, 2018 | Mairead

The ferry crossing from Rosslare in Ireland to Cherbourg in France takes about 17 hours. We sailed at 8.25pm yesterday and I was in bed by 9pm! I had a plan.

(That’s the sun…)

At the weekend I had noticed my weather forecasting app on the phone predicted windy weather for our sea crossing. On Monday I bought drugs (sea sickness ones) and then promptly went into denial about the weather, while hourly checking my app… On Wednesday my friend rang, the one who is a true believer in the secret of manifesting. If you don’t know about manifesting you’ll have to google it because it’s a long story. Suffice to say if you really want something to happen then first start imagining it is happening really clearly and feeling it really intensely. You might think this is naturally what people do when they want something but you’d be surprised how many people imagine really clearly and feel really intensely what they don’t want!

(I love the lines and angles)

I for instance was imagining gale force winds and feeling intensely sea sick green! And, I was standing on dry land… But here was my friend imagining calm seas and feeling intensely joyful to be starting a new journey… my new journey! I was oddly resistant to letting go of my gale force winds but she sounded like she was enjoying my journey waaay more than I was so it would be rude not to join her. What harm could it do, I had the drugs. And maybe I could have 24 hours of calm seas before I got on the boat! So each time I started imagining gale force winds I stopped myself and began imagining calm seas.

(Beautiful weathering…)

As we drove to Rosslare yesterday the wind buffeted the van but I had been stopping myself from imagining what I didn’t want for a good while by then and I wasn’t tempted to stop. When we arrived in Rosslare the wind had died down and when the time came to take the drugs (2 hours before sailing) I decided not to take them. I also didn’t eat anything and I didn’t drink the traditional glass of red wine. I listened as the captain told us it might be a little bumpy but he would be using the stabilisers (wonderful invention) and then I went to bed to the sound of car alarms going off in the car deck (top tip:disengage your car alarm when travelling by ferry).

(That’s a calm sea…)

I woke a few times during the night and it was bumpy, but not too bumpy and I was uncomfortable, but not too uncomfortable. I started remembering how wonderful it is to stand on dry land! And I remembered how I had been making myself sea sick on dry land! Oh dry land I will never treat you so badly, I will appreciate you and whisper kind thoughts to you as I walk on you! The thing is, dry land isn’t affected by how I think… I am! I need to be whispering kind thoughts to myself! And when I imagine, I need to imagine something I’d love!

In the meantime I am enjoying the calm seas. Yes, the sea is calm! Not bumpy, not uncomfortable, Mairead.

Trip to Portugal 2018

February 15, 2018 | Mairead

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(Car park near Rosslare)

Tonight we are leaving Ireland for three months. There is one week in March when we have to be in Lisbon but other than that we don’t know where we’re going or when we’ll arrive. What we do know is we are driving via France and northern Spain (although not the exact route) to beautiful Portugal. We will be travelling more slowly than in the past, weather permitting. Previously, we drove like the clappers until we got to Portugal and then slowed right down, but we have come to realise that every bit of the journey (from our front door to the southmost tip of western Europe) is part of the experience and there’s no need to rush any of it. Of course, if the temperature is below zero in France we might feel even amazing French coffee and croissants can’t justify driving slowly through the cold. Although to be honest the van isn’t ever cold. It’s a small space and doesn’t take much energy to make it toasty.

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(I love bunting!)

We travelled to Cork and Cashel last weekend and got a gas cylinder that we can fill up as we travel, the bottle connections we use in Ireland don’t work in the other countries of Europe. We use the gas for cooking and heating so we don’t want to run out. It was also an opportunity to take the camper out on a test run to see what we’d forgotten… It’s really easy to forget what we need when we are in our house. It’s also hard to pack for warmer weather when there’s snow on the ground. In the past I’ve ended up with too many fleeces and too few t-shirts.

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(Happy as a pig in… a messy van)

This will be our third year travelling away from winter in Ireland. We read the same news as you. We stay in contact with our family and friends via mobile phones and computers. We cook dinner (well, Denis does, I wash up!) We watch YouTube videos instead of television. We shop in supermarkets, including Aldi and Lidl! It’s very like living at home except for the view. Some days we wake up in a car park and some days we wake up in a forest. Some days the birds are singing outside, some days waves are crashing, some days there’s rain falling on our roof which always makes us smile. Because the one constant of this way of living is that nothing is the same as it is at home. Surely this rain isn’t the same as the stuff we complain about all the time in Ireland…?

But it is and the thing that makes all the difference is your point of view, Mairead.

The War Memorial Effect

August 2, 2017 | Mairead

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(Dun sur Meuse)

We’re back in France and we’ve been wandering along the river Meuse while we’re here. Never heard of the Meuse and very happy to find it. And we’ve visited another war memorial/museum. It was at Verdun, called Mémorial Verdun. It was very interesting and again very sad. Each of these war museums have an effect. I had forgotten that and didn’t realise why I was feeling a little bit miserable for the past few days… ah that’s it.

(Dun sur Meuse again)

It was quite a new museum and I felt a sense that the objective seemed to be one of acceptance, understanding and forgiveness. I do wonder if that’s just where my mind is at the moment and if maybe every other war museum has had the same objective. In this museum for every French piece of information there was a similar piece of German information. For example they had quotes printed on the walls, one from a French soldier saying something like…there was death all around and he was afraid. Then a different quote from a German soldier saying… there was death all around and he was afraid. I wish I had taken pictures of these quotes because my memory is not doing them justice.

(At Mémorial Verdun)

There was a lot to take in, we were there about 90 minutes but after the first 30 I was just wandering, getting a feel for the place and I had stopped reading. It was only when we got to the part about how the postal system worked during the war that I seemed to wake up and start reading again. I like writing letters, in fact I always think of this blog as a letter home. I also send postcards or cards for a celebration but have no idea what they say… I recently sent my niece, Caoimhe, a Congratulations on your Graduation card ( in Dutch). Well I thought it was congratulations… it was condolences. Her mother said she took it well. Dutch is a difficult language to understand, I can confirm.

(At Mémorial Verdun)

Anyway, I had noticed in previous museums, memorabilia including letters from soldiers at the front. I wondered at the impossible logistics of delivering letters or even of writing letters. Yet here was the proof again and again in the glass cases of museums all over the battle lines of France and Belgium, that letters were sent and received.. Of course letters counted then to the families. Later they counted as historic references and connections to real people.

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(Taking a picture of the Teddy Bear story at the Canadian War Memorial near Arras)

The vastness of the numbers of people killed in the first world war keeps me disconnected from the reality but their letters reconnect me. I remember one of the first museums we visited on the trip was the Canadian World War I Museum near Arras and there was a letter from a Dad to his daughter talking about her teddy bear. The daughter had given her Dad a teddy bear to take care of him when he was away and the Dad was saying that teddy was doing fine. Unfortunately, the teddy bear was returned to the little girl but her Dad was not. That little girl would be 112 now if she was still alive.

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(Beauty continues)

I have a nightmare, it is the future. There is a woman in a museum, she is related to me but a hundred years after me. She is wandering from screen to screen reading all the information. She is troubled. She understands herself to be a good person but in this museum she does not feel like a good person. The technology is very advanced and everything she reads is related to her own ancestors. She can read and see what I was doing while the wars were going on. The wars that are going on now. She cannot understand why I did nothing. She can’t understand why I did nothing to help even one child who was hurting in these wars. She is ashamed to be related to me. She leaves the museum and vows to do something now, something different, something useful. The nightmare ends and I wake up never knowing what it is she does…

(On the way out we were given a sheet of paper with a quote from a German soldier on one side and a French soldier on the other)

It is so comforting to have someone to blame for bad stuff happening. There’s a grand place to lay the responsibility – at their feet – and walk away. When there is no one to blame, there is no place to lay the responsibility… except here at my feet where I stand. Mairead.

Moseying along the Moselle

July 24, 2017 | Mairead

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(Lots of half-timber houses in Germany)

Just arrived in the Moselle region of Germany. We have been on our way here since Denmark, about a week ago. This area is famous for its wines. We got the last spot in municipal motor home car park in Brauneberg. As we passed through the town we saw lots of posters – there’s a wine festival on this weekend. When we stopped plugging in things (electricity) and taking out things (table, chairs, awning) and turning on things (gas) we found ourselves surrounded by vineyards. On top of that there’s a view of the Moselle river. It’s a big view and it kinda insists you stop, sit down and just be here. Our chairs are positioned facing the river and the steep bank on the other side is covered with vineyards. I’m definitely here.

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(And statues…)

For those of you who’s geography is as bad as mine… as well as a river the Moselle is an area in the west of Germany. I’ve found it on the map and followed it along with my finger… I’m not sure where it starts but it comes into Germany from France running along the border with Luxembourg. Then it meanders a bit around this area giving the soil the nutrients it needs to grow vines. Then off it flows into the river Rhine. As I sit here a few pleasure boats and a couple of large barges have gone past but mostly it’s just doing its thing, flowing.

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(Our camping spot last night, just south of Frankfurt)

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Flowing. Doing your thing. Or… not doing your thing. Blocking your flow. Ok let’s imagine someone in France or someone along the Luxembourg border decided to block the Moselle right outside their house… Blocking it so well that it could never, ever reach Germany. There would be no river here. No Moselle region. No vineyards. No wine. No wine festival. No barges. No pleasure boats. No pleasure of watching a river flow.

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(Love this!)

You and I have a thing to do. When we do our thing, stuff flows. Stuff flows to us and stuff flows around us. We nourish the land we stand on and we have an effect. Flowing isn’t static. It’s active and sometimes it’s work but mostly it’s about a feeling. A feeling that generates energy and lightness in us and in others. We have a responsibility to generate that kind of energy in ourselves, our families, our community, our earth. This is not the heavy responsibility that the words duty or obligation conjure up. This is the light responsibility of love and it starts with you and me.

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(Our view today 😄)

If you don’t know what your thing is or how to flow, find one small thing that you love to do. Then do that. When you feel the lightness of energy in you, know that the rest of us feel it too. Now you are doing your thing… and your duty!

And the earth thanks you and the river flows, Mairead.

Breakfast at the Traditional Danish Longhouse

July 14, 2017 | Mairead

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(Danish cow. Don’t worry, she’s behind an electric fence)

We’re in Germany today, in a town called Friedrichstradt, having arrived from Denmark this morning. We’ve been rambling around a tiny portion of Jutland for the past four days. Not really long enough or far enough to have a good look but we will return in the future.

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(Pretty house in Tønder)

Last night we stayed in a small old town called Tønder (I think the ø is pronounced uu, also the d seems to be silent.) Very pretty, very old with a cobblestoned street, adorable thatched cottages and pretty cafes. We spent the night in a car park beside a forest on the edge of town. The night before we were in a specially for motorhomes site on the island of Rømø with very timely washing/drying machines. The night before we were in a field beside the site owner’s house and the night before that on a dairy farm.

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(Wheat field and beautiful clouds)

Denmark is very, very like Ireland. First the weather – they seem to get all the weather in one day too – hot sun, blustering wind, driving rain, then back to sun, a little fog and some soft rain. Danish grass – it’s green-green and the fields are surrounded by hedges and small trees. Agriculture – there are lots of cows and sheep and fields of wheat, barley and corn. The language – everyone speaks English! Well, they speak Danish and German too.

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(Cobblestones in Tønder)

It rained most of yesterday but when I got up this morning the sun was shining and the sky was full of fluffy clouds. It’s one of the gifts of a rainy climate – beautiful clouds. While I waited for my porridge to cook I stood in the car park looking up at the clouds and remembering gratitude. I had had a moment in Portugal last April when I understood gratitude for the first time and I realised because of that moment I would never, ever again complain about anything…ever. Again. (May have been over-reaching here….)

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(The church in Tønder. That’s the graveyard in front of the church where small hedges surround each grave)

Anyways, there I was standing in the Danish car park thinking about gratitude and how it’s a feeling thing, not a thinking thing. So I stopped thinking about gratitude and started feeling gratitude. I looked up at the clouds and felt grateful.

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(Possibly Barley?)

And just at that moment a dog ran out of the forest! Followed by his owner who was looking at me funny (maybe because it was 7.45am and I hadn’t brushed my hair?) To make myself seem less frightening, I said, “isn’t it a lovely day?” and he said, “yes, the weather in Denmark, always changeable.” And, as you do, I replied, “just like Ireland” and he said, “You are from Ireland? I just got married to an Irish woman from Monkstown!” Of course he did.

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(Daisies for Daisy)

Long story short, he ran home to make the coffee, I hopped inside to tell Denis and we all met at his house for breakfast, a surprisingly deep chat and a tour of his traditional Danish longhouse! His wife was at work but she rang and I can confirm she is Irish. She was confirming that we were not axe murders from Greystones, I think we convinced her.

Well, I can tell you, I’m back feeling the gratitude. Please remind me if I start complaining again, Mairead.

Peace Perfect Peace

July 6, 2017 | Mairead

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(Peace is the same no matter what the language… panels from the Memorial at Notre Dame de Lorette National Cemetery)

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We are travelling again. In fact we have been travelling for a bit now… We travelled through Normandy (France) and into Belgium and now we are in Holland. We are staying at a farm in the middle of the countryside.

(There’s a pet hen who thinks she’s a dog!)

I can safely say it’s the most peaceful camping spot we’ve been to this year. But we’ve been to other peaceful places.

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(Veulettes sur Mer in Normandy.)

We don’t usually stay very long in northern France when we travel in the off season. We’re in search of warmth and the warmest place is the south. But this is summer and so the warmest (that is, not the hottest) place is the north so we thought sure it’ll be grand, probably not as nice as the Loire or further south but still… We were wrong, it is truly amazing.

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(Sunset in Saint Valery en Caux)

Denis is very interested in history and he has for a long time wanted to do a tour of the first World War sites in France and Belgium. A couple of Sundays ago in France we visited two near the town of Arras. The first one was Notre Dame de Lorette National Cemetery. It’s the largest French war cemetery with 40,000 soldiers buried here.

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(Some of the graves at Notre Dame de Lorette National Cemetery)

Opposite the cemetery there’s a modern memorial to all the soldiers who died in two local departments (kinda like counties, I think) – Nord and Pas de Calais, between 1914 and 1918. The memorial is for ALL the soldiers… no matter what country they came from nor what side they fought on.

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(We even found our names on the list…)

There are 580,000 names listed. That’s over half a million people. Does it sound weird to say it was a really peaceful place? Well it was, really peaceful.

I’ve been thinking about peace a lot on this journey, Mairead.

What if life was just about being?

April 6, 2017July 6, 2017 | Mairead

(On the road to Nantes)

Today, Thursday, we are in Nantes, France with just three days left of this journey. We have been travelling back since Sunday morning from Lagos in the Algarve, Portugal. We spent Sunday night in a lovely car park in Estremoz, Portugal, near the Spanish border. Monday night we were in the beautiful city of Burgos, Spain (thank you to Angela for this suggestion, two years ago!) Tuesday night we were next to a huge lake near the town of Mimizan south of Bordeaux, France. Wednesday night we stayed in the town of Surgeres, France. For both Friday and Saturday night we will be at Mont St. Michel and on Sunday night we will be sailing home to arrive in Greystones on Monday. At this moment I am very, very tired and very, very grateful.

(Like two old friends by the lake)

I often think about the messages life brings us… not necessarily the hard messages, the illnesses or the problems. But the small warm and gentle encouraging messages. Messages that in a normal day, we can miss. When we started this journey I didn’t think I would be blogging but it turned out I couldn’t stop myself. I missed the extra something writing brought to the experience of travel. Now, I think I know what the extra something is… writing makes those messages visible. When I started with the first blog it had a step, Step 1. Write. I didn’t expect there would be more steps but a step turned up each day when I sat down to blog. Now that I see them all together I can see the gentle encouraging message life has been sending me.

(Write…)

Step 1. Write.
Step 2. Stop Talking to Fear.
Step 3. Repeat Step 2.
Step 4. Take it easy and find a way to enjoy the journey, whatever it brings.
Step 5. Take more tram rides.
Step 6. Do the work.
Step 7. Stay awake to the beauty.
Step 8. Acceptance, it’s not always possible to fit in.
Step 9. Gratitude… for the old, slow computer that is working.
Step 10. Live in the present.
Step 11. Make time for rest.
Step 12. Believe it, you are so, so beautiful.
Step 13. Always wait until Monday.
Step 14. Say thank you to your washing machine.
Step 15. Less junk, less storage.
Step 16. Listen, you are alive, isn’t that amazing?

(Beautiful Burgos)

I am human so I like to think that I’m not wasting my time flitting around in a camper van. I’d like to think I was accomplishing something… or at least bringing something useful into being… Now I think that the only thing I can be bringing into being is myself. Wouldn’t it be great if that was enough? Yes. Maybe it is.

Step 17. Be, Mairead.

The Complain App

March 30, 2017 | Mairead

(The end of a journey)

This week we are as far south as we’re going. That is, on the Algarve coast between the town of Lagos and the beach at Luz. Soon we will be turning around and heading home. I always find this bit difficult, like re-crossing a threshold when you’d really like to stay in the room. This time is slightly worse, when I thought it would be slightly better but there it goes… I’m grumpy and grouchy and frustrated and irritated and it’s like I have an app running, the Complain app…. and then I’m reminded of the washing machine.

(Time to leave)

Say thank you to your washing machine, Mairead. Gratitude, do I appreciate what I have? Nope. I am sitting looking out at the sun, the temperature is increasing and it will be a hot day but unless I stay super aware all day I will forget that this is amazing, that there is hot sun and I am bathed in it. I will become busy searching for what is missing or using what is found or filling what is empty or emptying what is full. At some point I will sense a niggling discomfort but I will not realise it is coming from a place deep inside and it is whispering, Listen, you are alive, isn’t that amazing? Instead of listening to the discomfort I will launch the Complain app and I will point an accusing finger at the discomfort and I will never know that the discomfort is me, wishing I would listen. You are alive, isn’t that amazing?

(New life)

When it is gone, when the blue sky turns to grey cloud and the increasing temperatures turn to decreasing temperatures… I will remember what I had. And will I be grateful? Nope… I won’t, unfortunately, I won’t be grateful. I will launch the Complain app again and this time I will point an accusing finger at the grey clouds and I will long for the sun and the heat and the blue sky. I will feel the discomfort but I won’t hear it’s message… and I will never know that even in the grey cloud place, I am alive and that is amazing.

(A new journey)

Unless… Ok I’m going to delete the Complain app! Then I’ll download the Gratitude app in it’s place. Every time I am tempted to complain I will become super aware.. like a prowling tiger. I will listen to the discomfort. I will hear it’s message. I will start to realise that no matter where I am and no matter what is happening and no matter how much rain is falling (or how many jobs I have to do or how miserable I feel) I am alive right now and that’s pretty amazing!

Step 16. Listen, you are alive, isn’t that amazing, Mairead?

P.S. Thank you to my two friends who reminded me about my washing machine. I am grateful.