The Perfect Time to Begin an Adventure

It was spring when we landed in London, three years ago. Wide-eyed. Inexperienced. A little nervous, but ready to give this thing ago.

Under the cover of darkness, an unenthusiastic driver dumped us, and our 155kg of luggage at a closet sized AirBNB on the outskirts of Reading. The next day we picked up our new postman van and set out on the 500km journey to our adventure’s start.

Daffodils lined the hedged laneways in the sleepy village of Ireby. Fields checkered by canola and tilled earth rolled through the hills and spring lambs chased their mothers. The cold chilled us to the bone but dappled sunlight offered hope as we settled in to a new way of living.

The whole thing had been carefully orchestrated. We’d packed to within 1kg of our ridiculously excessive baggage limit, purchased a vehicle from a dealership on the very edge of the airport transfer zone, online and unseen. And we’d organised a house-sit to commence the very day we arrived. I’d written to every western European embassy to confirm we’d fulfilled their visa requirements and obsessed over the rules for leaving Australia on a one-way ticket. I’d even shackled our ‘open plans’ by purchasing an onward journey, ‘just in case’ we ran into issues at UK immigration.

Because while the idea of not working, doing what we want when we want and exploring the world full-time is romantic . . . I found the reality of stepping into that kind of freedom (especially in the absence of a never-ending money tree) a little terrifying. So I clung to control as though the tiniest setback might unravel our entire existence and force us to forfeit the adventure altogether.

It is spring again in the UK.

The tulips my aunt had planted on our departure unfolded to full bloom on our arrival, welcoming our return. English country gardens everywhere were filled with fresh buds and signs of new life.

The sun shone mercifully as we dragged mould-filled suitcase after mould-filled suitcase from the van we’d left parked-up for the previous 18 months. And as I tossed another rancid wad of paper in the bin, I began to ponder: Who was this woman who’d kept a printed copy of the EU Freedom of Movement Directive in five different languages? Who’d stockpiled vanity packs on the off chance we completely ran out of cash? And who’d insisted on fitting James Bond security to our meagre possessions?

It had only been 18 months yet it felt like a lifetime ago.

A little older, a little wiser and a little fatter, we rolled the bikes out into the Shropshire hills. A new generation of spring lamb hid behind their mother and golden carpets of canola once again adorned the hillsides. It was as though we’d never left , and at the same time, it was as though we’d been gone forever . . .

. . .because this time, everything is different.

I stopped, just to appreciate the sun, low in the afternoon sky. To take another photo. To just be. I’d forgotten about the all-consuming tender I’d been working on only hours earlier. Surrounded by fields of bluebells and cherry blossom and cute stone villages it was hard to be anywhere else.

As much as we loved our last house-sitting adventure, flitting from one side of western Europe to the other, clocking up the miles both on and off the bike, we were uninspired by the thought of pouring over house-sit websites and planning destinations in advance all over again. Of relishing in sameness. And as we (quite literally) buried the bikes under a mountain of luggage in our postman van, the idea of spending another 2 years living like this completely daunted us.

Perhaps we’re getting old, but travel is no longer about how much ground we can cover. How many mountains we can climb or how much we can fit in to a day. It’s about staying in one place for as long, or as little, as we want. About discovering the path less travelled. Getting lost, getting found and seeing where the road leads. About spontaneity. And about being present.

OK, so it might take some practice for this pair of control freaks, but we plan to fully embrace our freedom this time. And that plan involves exploring in our new home on wheels.

This time, I didn’t give a second thought to leaving Australia on a one way ticket. Only a quiet whisper about the implications of Brexit on our European visa requirements niggled in my mind. I didn’t pre-purchase our motorhome or pour over insurance before we left. And while there may have been fleeting moments of clenched teeth I’ve tried to trust that everything falls into place, exactly as it’s supposed to be.

And so far, it has.

The sun hung hot in the sky as I strung up load after load of stale, vinegar scented washing. (For anyone who’s spent time in the UK you’ll know this is a big deal!) A chance visit to a motorhome dealer, right on closing time led us to a caravan and camping show the very next weekend. “If only we could find something as lovely as this within our price range,” I lamented, gesturing to the modern interior of an £80,000 model soon after entering the show. Fifteen minutes later, much to my horror and disbelief, we were putting in an offer on our just-as-lovely, within-our-price-range new home. Not a week later we sold our trusty postman van to a lovely private buyer not far from our base in Shropshire and whose timing for delivery worked in perfectly ours. My aunt and uncle ‘employed’ us to housesit the week we were due to pick up our new home. And with endless driveway space at our disposal, the sun shone again for us to organise our belongings neatly into a much more-appropriately sized van.

This week we’ve said goodbye to the postman van and hit the road in the motorhome. We’ve packed hiking boots. And gravel bikes. And inflatable kayaks. We have solar panels, leisure batteries and enough gas and food on board to last us an entire summer. Inspired by photos of the northern lights, and fjords, and the artic circle we’ve made wish-lists, dropped pins on maps and set the compass pointing north . . .

. . . but where exactly we’re headed first I have no idea.

As terrifying as I still find venturing into the unknown, I’m excited to embrace a new way of being. And surrounded by new life, I can’t help feeling that spring is the perfect time to begin.