One Set of Keys

It took a mere nine hours to get from Cambridgeshire to Dyfed, to which we had to return to empty the container into our van. Without giving offence to Llandovery, we would have LOVED not to have to “come home” but instead to start adventuring straight away. But with our remaining worldly goods still packed in a container, and our eldest daughter Rowan characteristically bogging off to some camp in Cornwall (while we dealt with all the crap) and then needing collection, it was not to be. So, we soldiered on, growing more confident by the mile, overcoming Joe getting utterly lost (couldn’t he SEE the massive 29 foot high sided thingy weaving across roadworks and roundabouts?) and us having to park several miles apart in every service station. Plus strange warning lights coming on. Joe’s rear view mirror falling off, his stereo only working in 3 second bursts, a puddle forming around his gearstick from a leaky roof and his parking brake light coming on randomly. All at a crawling pace of about 55mph (so very fuel efficient, though) We battled through our first LPG filling experience and the horror of the petrol bill when we filled that up too, just in case. LPG was a big thing for me. We had spent over £1500 in getting two massive strapping tanks welded under our rig … very shiny and steel plated they were too … but I felt quite smug and justified when they cost just £60 to fill. As opposed to £120 for a smaller tank of normal gas. With the amount of miles we intend to do, the investment would be repaid within a couple of months.

Which leads, in a lovely segue, to our planned route. When we last travelled as a family, with Rowan aged 8, Rhys aged 6 and Jenna aged 4, we had a fairly straight and straightforward West to East circumnavigation of the world. It involved a mere five continents and 32 flights, plus a lot more boats, trains, campervans and cars. This time we’re not being so direct and – having a van – crossing oceans is less speedy and less advisable. We sit now in a holding pattern in Pembrokeshire, waiting for our crossing to Ireland where we will have to navigate 29 foot plus a car in tow onto a ferry. Still, if the artics can do it, I’m sure we can. Then we will explore Ireland: a country so close, yet Joe and the kids have never been. Then by sea to Scotland, back through England and then … away. This is a moment I think we are all desperate for; to be travelling overseas. To be on the right side of the road for our driver. To have cheaper petrol and fags. Cheaper and better food, good wine, good weather. The plan is to head to Greece for the winter, possibly dip into Egypt, then do a bizarre u-turn (utterly dictated by Joe’s desire to drive the road bridges) heading into Scandinavia, down through the Baltic States, through Turkey and the Middle East. Then we will ship the beast to Oz, while we wend our way with backpacks through South East Asia. After that? Who knows. It will be slow and sedate in our van, a pace of life we will have to get used to. No more rushing, no more deadlines. Oh, except for working to live and teaching the kids. Except for navigating down tiny roads in an enormous and stupidly long vehicular thingy.

It’s raining now, here in a field in Pembrokeshire, but we have had a few great days of beaches and walks with wonderful friends. We have work to finish and jobs to do. Things to fix, things to write. But come Sunday, we travel anew. And I can’t wait.