Rosie’s Travelling Tea Shop. Rebecca Raisin

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СКАЧАТЬ Hey Rosie! I’m Oliver. Welcome to VL. What’s your location?

      Blimey, why does he need to know? I can’t just give out my location willy-nilly, can I? There’s a lot to be said for remaining anonymous. Why did I use my real name? An amateur move!

      Is this part of my problem though, being so reserved with people? Always holding back, keeping everything bottled up. Slowly but surely becoming an outcast in my own life? Still, he could be anyone! I can’t just trust strangers, especially names on a screen. I compromise, and reply, albeit guardedly. Really he can’t be any worse than my real-life acquaintances, who’ve all kept quiet despite my heartbreak.

       Hi, Oliver. I haven’t started my journey yet. Just getting the lay of the land, so to speak. I’m looking for Charlotte, if she’s around?

      I scroll to the top of the current thread and read. It’s an online forum for anyone who needs advice or help when it comes to travelling in a caravan or campervan. Born2Travel asks about the best travel insurance, while WanderlustWendall shares an anecdote about an altercation she had with a national park inspector near the Welsh border. They seem so vibrant, so happy; even when WanderlustWendall shares that she copped a fifty-pound fine, she says she learned her lesson and is generous enough to share the tip so others don’t make the same mistake. TravelBug1978 discusses the money saving merits of a 5:2 fasting diet, while NomadbyNight scoffs at the idea.

       Charlotte won’t be back for a few weeks, she’s guiding a cycle tour in the Peak District and will be out of range.

      Are they all so adventurous? I couldn’t imagine being on a bike for a day, let alone for weeks at a time. Wouldn’t that provoke some sort of injury, all that sitting on a teeny tiny seat?

       Thanks, anyway.

      I blow out a breath, having psyched myself up to speak openly to Charlotte I feel somewhat deflated.

       No worries, so when do you plan to leave?

      I want to chat away, and share all my hopes and dreams, but I’m not that person. And for some reason, I felt more comfortable talking to Charlotte, perhaps it’s a female thing. It gave me hope that if there were a bunch of other women travelling the globe alone, then I could do it too.

       Soon.

      What else can I say? Even if I don’t meander from place to place, I’ll be driving Poppy somewhere, even if it’s only a caravan park where I spend the remainder of my life hiding … No, no I will make the effort, I will adapt, dammit. So Charlotte is currently burning her thigh muscles cycling up and down hills, that doesn’t mean I can’t ask Oliver the same questions.

      As I dillydally with how to begin, he asks:

       Do you blog?

      While I love reading blogs, I’d never write one. My creativity is in the kitchen, and I don’t pretend otherwise.

       No, sorry, I don’t.

      Another person joins the site, so I’m betting he’ll welcome them and I’ll be able to read through the amazing threads with eye opening titles like: How I quit my corporate job and now live on fifteen pounds a day and couldn’t be happier. Or: Life after Loss, on the open road. And: My pop-up Pimms van, and how I make money to fund travel. So many stories, so many different versions of life, ones I’d never ever considered. Goose bumps prickle my skin, as if my body knows this is the next course of action for me too. Taking Poppy on an adventure like I promised, and making money along the way, enough to keep me going, until I work out exactly what I’m searching for …

       Don’t apologise! A lot of VLs blog about their journey, almost like an online diary to keep track, that’s all. It’s a great way to follow along with those you connect with.

      I contemplate his theory. It would be nice to keep a record, keep track of where I go. But I know myself, and I’m more of a reader. Maybe I can keep my own online diary for myself.

       Do you blog, Oliver?

      His blog might shed light on exactly how this Van Lifers movement works and who he is.

      Yes, my blog is oliverstravels.co.uk I mainly post pictures because I’m a photographer. Check it out if you have a mo.

      I click the link. Wow. His pictures are truly breathtaking. Stunning snowscapes. And lush green fields. Black and white wedding portraits. I find his ‘About’ page and read his bio. I stop short when I see his profile picture. Oliver is jaw-droppingly handsome. One of those boy-next-door types who grows into his looks and suddenly becomes a heart-stopper. He has brown wavy locks, a trustworthy clear-eyed gaze, and his lips curve into a perfect sweet smile that conjures the idea of romance. Seeing the man behind the words, I feel less suspect about him, and more willing to talk, before I realise how shallow I’m being. While he doesn’t look like a serial killer, that doesn’t mean he isn’t!

       Your photography is stunning.

      My hands hover over the keyboard. Should I say more? Less? I am clueless with these sorts of interactions and I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.

       Thank you. It keeps me on the road so I’m grateful for that.

      I scroll further through his blog, trying to get a handle on where he is, how long he’s been doing this for. There’s not a lot of writing, like he said, it’s mainly photos. I can’t see any other information, no travel route, no other clues as to where he might be. So he must work as he goes, taking photographs for people before moving to the next place. While the idea of no fixed abode terrifies me, I can also see the romanticism in it. The absolute freedom.

       Where are you now?

      I’m only asking out of politeness. Not because Oliver is a bit of alright.

       Ireland …

      I’ve always wanted to visit Ireland. In this new strange life of mine, maybe I can go. Really, what’s stopping me from ditching the material possessions and living a simpler life, like all these Van Lifers are doing?

      Oliver and I chat for a while longer about this and that before he tells me all about various camp sites where I can stay for next to nothing, stock up on cheap supplies and meet likeminded nomads. I make notes about the locations to research later.

      He makes it all sound so easy, as if it’s as simple as readying the van and filling up with fuel.

      When I finally sign off we agree to chat again soon and I give myself an imaginary pat on the back for being so social and open when it feels so alien.

      After doing a few hours of research myself, Bristol seems like the most logical place to travel to first. It’s just far enough to blow the cobwebs out of Poppy, and not too far to turn back if I chicken out.

      When my notice is up at Époque, I’ll pack and get the hell out of here and see where the breeze blows me.

      Look at me, making friends and being spontaneous. I blithely ignore the shake in my hands by circling them around a nice steaming cup of passionflower tea, a blend of florals made specifically to calm nerves, promote calm, and induce sleep. Just the ticket СКАЧАТЬ