Rage against apathy

Lying in bed last night I had a lot of time to think. Mostly because I was free camping in north Münich, a few km's from where the gunman had just ripped dozens of lives apart. I'm not kidding when I say I went to bed with my wood chopping axe in hand. 

I had a lot of time to think about where our world is headed, and why the human race seems intent on tearing itself to pieces with acts of violence and bids for domination all wrapped in a cloak of fear, distrust and hatred.  What I also had a lot of time to think about was how huge an impact a singe person can have. And how important it is to remember that a single person doing good can have as big an impact as one doing bad.

Quickly in your mind think back over the last two weeks and list the attacks that you can recall. I actually went to Wikipedia to get details and I was so shocked by the size of the numbers of both death and injury that I had to go over my mental calculations with a calculator as I thought I couldn't possibly be right. 

I was:

This July 1324 people have been killed by an act of terror (see wiki for definition) and 1722 people have been injured. IN JULY. It's not even August yet. Along with those stats, there are 17 'unknown' numbers of people hurt or killed. Of those people mentioned, the majority were in the Asian and African continents but ten were in Europe and three in the USA.

What is going on in this world?!?!?

I am shocked, astounded actually, that in one month, purely through hate, we can exterminate and maim over 3000 people.  Poverty, poor sanitation, illness.. these are tragic states and responsible for preventable deaths. But so too are these terror attacks preventable. 

I am angry. I am angry at our general apathy. I am angry that people (in general.. I know this is not universal, and I applaud with sincerity those working quietly for humanity) don't get interested or care or act until the tragedy directly threatens their livelihood, lifestyle or life.  So I can't sit by again, hurting again, at a senseless act of violence. I want everyone who reads this to feel something, I want to plant a seed of change in all our lives to want to do more. To want to give our time and our empathy and ourselves to the better and bigger good of humanity. 

I don't really know what I hope to achieve with this post other than I want to remind people of their ability to impact others. I want these 1324 deaths and 1722 injuries to mean something. I want them to spur us all into action. To open our eyes and our hearts to the Unknown and experience something truly magical. 

Week two in photos!

I left my twitchers spot for a beautiful village nestled in Lorraine. Perfectly set up for campers and there are over 300km of hiking paths in the woods. Bliss! But first, coffee!

Well signed trails in enchanting woodland. Needless to say we hiked and ran as much as we could!

Even finding an ancient cemetery atop a ridge line. So peaceful.

I couldn't tire of that view. The rectangular building like objects on the left are immaculate wood stacks! The farming here seems mostly to be done by hand or small machine. 

My lovely neighbours sharing their crêpes with me after I lent them my whisk to save the batter from a lumpy death

Next stop: Germany! Over the Rhine we went, and wow, it was heaving with water. This sluice gate was so overwhelmed and flooded that there was just a crazed whirlpool and the top of the gate visible. The diameter of the whirlpool would have easily taken my bike and I. It was huge:

And this is where my lovely friend Hans comes in! He saved me from a night of being bitten to shreds by the Rhine and showed me a hidden treasure of a palace to park in. Not only that, but he took me for a turn about the gardens and then out for supper! 

Quite literally a palace! I will not forget his kind generosity. 

After bidding Hans good night we slept well and headed off early the next morning to reach the hills south east of Stuttgart, and to meet up with my beautiful friend Charlotte whom I used to live with in NZ. Puck looks pretty happy about that:

Beautiful hilltop evening with Charlotte and her fab boy Patrick (who does a mean BBQ)

Can you see the moon rising behind the castle? This was our view from the truck :)

Two nights there meant we could drink daytime beer. Yay! Except for I had also taken an antihistamine for my bites...

But woke up in time for a beautiful sunset :)

And of course to bake some bread!

Onwards again and another beautiful view. This is a lake slightly north east of Stuttgart. Charlotte had the chance to spend another night with me so we chose somewhere a little easier for her to get to work in the morning (love you! Xx). We had a huge lake and lots of cycling tracks to choose from. It seems this is my only photo outside of the truck..

But I have a happy Charlotte inside the truck! Just waiting for her Spanish omelette to come together. Nom nom 

As always the morning comes and it's time to move on. Today was a huge driving day (we average at 50km/hr) as we were München-bound. We stopped off at a sweet hotel/barn/deer park. Not a bad park spot (again):

And this fella was waiting for us by the balcony when we got up!

This is why I was heading to München! My darling mum came out for a 2 night visit :) so lovely to welcome her in!

She managed to bring some stormy weather with her to Kocklsee but we squeezed in a 7km and a 12km hike anyway! If it wasn't for the intense horseflies in the woods I would consider living here! More pics to come, I don't seem to have taken many.. 

Sunset over the lake we are parked beside. So gorgeous. Icy cold, perfect for a quick dip after a long hike! 

Tomorrow I drop mum off and spend the night in München with an old climbing buddy (well, his girlfriend actually.. whom I've never met!) and then am heading on to Austria. Any suggestions for places to visit, please do tell! They need to be truck and dog friendly :)

See you all soon!

Planning, patience and priorities

The pace of my life changed dramatically when we rolled off the ferry. Gone was any concept of deadline, but so too went any structure, routine or familiarity. It didn't take long to realise the I would need to shift my perspective about what a 'day' was and how to fill it. My new Maslow's hierarchy of needs came into being. Priority number one: finding a safe place to base myself. Priority number two: making sure it was somewhere with good dog friendly ambience, exercise and walking space. Priority number three, and really what made one and two work.. Being close to nature. As long as by nightfall (helpfully at the moment that is about 11pm) I have achieved these things then everything falls into place. Food is of course required but falls way behind in the importance stakes - I am pretty creative so a little rummaging and thought leads to some great little meals! 

But as I sit here this morning, the sun beaming down on our peaceful paradise, the bubble is sharply burst by the news of yet another horrific event, this time in Nice (I am vague because at my time of writing the reporting here is as vague and I don't want to falsely jump to conclusions of terrorists versus madmen). The optimistic, loving, generous world that I currently inhabit is a truth for me and for those immediately around me, but the  pain, violence and hate that lives and breeds in this world is so painful to comprehend. So painful in fact that, if we are honest, most of us are guilty of not really feeling it unless it is close to home. Not many days ago there were horrific attacks in Istanbul (and all over the Middle East in truth) that barely received a blip on the UK radar.

It concerns me that these events coupled with Brexit, the rise of UKIP and a recent rash of racist comments coming from our various politicians, are allowing a breeding ground of hate to rise within our own borders. I do not have the ego to suppose that anything I do would impact these global issues, but I do have hope that my actions can help foster openness, compassion and a recognition of the humanity within us all. And if I can have an impact just by consciously choosing to, then so can we all.  

So on I go! I have been busy baking and sharing with smallaok - the balcony of the truck is such a great spot for it and has become a bit of a smallaok hub. Loving it. My little truck and I are soon to leave La Belle France for Germany where two good friends await my arrival. Just a quick detour via a French supermarket to stock up on some delicacies and wine and we will be off!  

Just one or two pics for you first! ..

Last night..

And this morning..!

 Such a gorgeous valley view. The farmer has been out this morning turning his hay by hand 💕

Our forest run this morning.. the route marking is fantastic, there are 300km of trails in these forests, thank goodness for the amazing route marking!

Week one of Europe in photos

For the non-instagrammers amongst you, here is a photo walk through my last week:

The ever obliging Shaun helping me with some last minute welding to create a cage for my 15kg gas tank ... without his kindness I would be showering and eating cold for this entire trip!

Hiding out in the truck for part of the ferry crossing! Naughty I know but I sort of had permission.. 

We made it! A very peaceful first night in a small seaside town near Dunkirk. And an incredibly sociable morning the following day as I sat on my balcony drinking coffee! The world and his dog went past, and almost everyone stopped to chat:

The obligatory morning coffee view:

Did I mention the perfect location?

My refugee camp pass:

And the women's refuge area 'office' piled high with my cupcakes and kit!

Early as we are just setting up there are only a few people there:

But word soon gets around:

And the artistic flair really shows (not with my work though!!)

Too delicious to hang around for long, they one by one get chosen and eaten by other children. Even with the excitement there was a lot of respect amongst the residents.

So pleased to have visited, but sad to have to leave so soon, on we went to Belgium.. The land of low bridges and terrible signage!

And this really freaky window display showing literally thousands of handmade dolls..

Annalie and Matt, my campsite saviours. This is us living it up with a full fry up on Puck's deck. Good luck with everything you guys, and thank you for the hammock! I love it 💕

Amusing myself in one of many gridlock moments that day. Brugges - Bouillon.

The location I thought we would have to sleep in..

Until this one became apparent (read the previous blog entry to find out more!)

Idyllic morning coffee views:

Sunset that evening in the random farmers field after I had given up on driving any further!

Happy dance! When we made it to the spot I thought looked nice on the map we were rewarded with something even better! And to top it off I not only met Alfons the very kind and interesting ex-priest who gave me his house keys, but Hervé a charming vet/ornithologist. 

And a little bit of Skyla love for you..

Until next time! 

xxx

Humanity is alive and well

What do a Horsebox dwelling unemployed British ex-doctor and a German gay ex-catholic priest have in common? A obscure French hamlet it seems. He has single handed my restored my faith in humanity. I shall get back to him later. 

But first the story of my travels. I last left you at a different lake, by the refugee camp. Having exhausted my cake decorating skills and leaving behind me a trail of sticky fingered grinning people, Skyla and I opened up the map and headed east towards Brugges. Without an intinerary we really do just go wherever feels right. My motivation to go there was purely due to my love of the film "In Brugges" and partly because there was the possibility of a leafy wide street to park in close to town (heaven if you are driving a 7 tonne lorry.. they are conspicuous at best!)

So off we trundled. Little did I imagine the pickle we would be soon getting into! It turns out that Belgium is shockingly poor at giving height restriction warnings for its bridges. Not wanting to scalp the truck and not having a detailed road map of the region we took what could generously be described as a scenic tour of the outskirts of town. Hot, bothered, anxious and wanting to find somewhere to walk Skyla, we parked up outside an unsuspecting persons house and borrowed their wifi (from the truck cab!) to load a map and seek out a quiet refuge. Ah! Amazing! There was a lovely looking campsite beside a small wood only a 40 minute walk into town. Ideal. Off we went. For an eye watering 28€ we were offered a small patch of grass and access to wifi (how you got my first blog!). Without many other choices we swallowed the cost, rolled up into our little patch, lowered the balcony and put on a brew. It was truly laughable how in the middle of EVERYTHING we were! The entrance and reception 20 yards one way, the balcony ending right on the main path through to the rest of the camp.. not at all the secluded idyll my romantic imagination had conjured. But as with everything in life, there was great benefit to my position, I just didn't yet know it.

Returning late from an explore and stick throwing session in the woods my immediate neighbours Annalie and Matt had arrived. To be more accurate, they were half sitting, half reclined, seemingly scrumpled up in the boot of their Land Rover. Overjoyed at being able to offer them a spacious area to chill in I invited them up for tea and cake (homemade.. of course!).  It didn't take much persuasion and soon the three of us were making supper plans and along with Skyla we headed into town for the evening. Now most of you know I'm not a city person, so exploring Brugges on a Sunday night is my idea of heaven. It was empty and beautiful. Though the two very strong Belgian beers might have impacted my judgement slightly ;)

Lying in bed wondering where to head to next, I texted home and received a completely random suggestion (thanks Puggy!) to head to Bouillon, the Jewel of the Semois valley.. why not?! It was south, and promised beautiful scenery and waterways. Hours and hours of Tarmac later we followed the HGV route into town and to my horror found ourselves turning down into a steep potholed ever-narrowing lane where the houses seemed to sway as I rolled by. 'Oh dear god! I have had it now!' I thought. Without much choice I proceeded, every inch forward raising my blood pressure until finally the road cornered and opened up into a mangnificent riverside promenade. Phew! And breathe. Now just time to find somewhere inconspicuous to park for the night. Central town was obviously not an option, and with my recent heart stopping arrival I was reticent to explore by truck too much. So out of town we went, following the river. Not long later we happened upon a wide parking spot under a high road bridge. Not enamoured with the location (it was a dual carriageway above) but without any knowledge about other places,  we parked up and stretched out legs. A very obliging fisherman, the owner of the local petrol station as it turns out, chatted with me in my pidgeon French and gave me some good tips on where to go dog walking. So happy to be finally out exercising Skyla bounded around gleefully and we trip trapped down a country lane. After about 500 yards I couldn't believe my eyes nor my luck. There was, on the left, a small farm house and a long thin strip of field that hugged the river. The setting was so beautiful, the ground hard and the hay already cut and bailed. Somewhat tentatively I knocked at the door and asked if we might park up there for the night. A little surprised but very willing, the farmer gave his permission and we whooped and ran back to the sorry looking underpass and relocated to our secret slice of heaven.

And so it goes, I spend the morning with a coffee, perusing the map for interesting places to head to, knowing my general direction is Croatia. We had a bit of a hiccup last night, got tired and ended up tucked away on the side of a field, not having the energy to make it any further. Sleepily this morning, before the farmer discovered us, we moved on and have parked up by a huge natural lake, out the back of a teeny hamlet. We really are in the middle of nowhere. Which is where Alfons the ex-priest comes in.

I've become quite used to people's faces popping up around the side of the truck as they look on in wonder. Alfons was no different! I went out to greet him and we sat chatting for an hour or so, covering topics from the local region to Brexit to the state of stigma surrounding HIV in modern Europe. Having come here from Stuttgart, he is here exploring as he and his husband have just purchased a small house in a nearby town. Revealing to him that I hoped to visit Stuttgart and asking if he thought there were suitable places for me to park the truck he kindly offered his front driveway! Any time, from now to whenever.. so sweet. Ten minutes or so after bidding him farewell I heard a rat-a-tat at my door, it was Alfons again, proffering a key to his house, offering for me to stay even if he wasn't going to be there. 

I know the security conscious amongst you would be aghast at this. Paranoid that he was a murderer luring me to his lair. Well, perhaps you will get to say 'told you so' but I really imagine not. I saw a wise, kind person sharing generously. But don't worry, I'm not going to be as foolish as to accept this offer without being safe, though I wish I lived in a world where I could. He has trusted me as much as I am trusting him - I have keys to his house! 

Anyway, I thought that it was an interesting and very touching interaction. One to ponder, one that brings up many things to think about in this world of increasing isolationism we are building in the UK.

As for now, the rain has stopped (a spectacular thunder storm has just washed through) so Skyla and I are off to go and look at the stalks nest perched high above us in a tree in the next field. 

More tales from the road next time :) 

My first refugee camp

Today I did something that I expect most people will never do. I spent the morning searching for, and the afternoon in, a refugee camp..in a developed country. It was one of the most jarring experiences I think i've ever had. I peel off a perfectly tarmacked road in a socially functional county, having just stopped off at an hypermarché where I could have bought anything from a washing machine to a walnut and enter a state of suspended animation. A large village/small town, 1km long, expands infront of me. Gentle, relaxed people mill about doing not very much. A shipping container acts as the office for one of the volunteer hubs and I head on over to introduce myself. Seeing the enormity of the situation I feel distinctly inept coming with the news that I have come to bring cupcakes. I don't mention it at first, and they ask me if I want to come into the kitchen to chop vegetables for the free evening meal tonight.  Realising that I am in danger of volunteering and then slinking off to eat 96 cupcakes if I don't find some courage, I ask if there is a women's and children's centre? Yes! They pipe up, it's half way through the camp. A lovely French woman shows me the way and enroute she fills me in on the details of the camp - what facilities are where (welcome centre, laundry, phone charging station, food truck, German kitchen, Red Cross and MSF, men's and women's clothing distribution centre, the women's and children's centre and of course hundreds of small wooden homes), how many people used to be there (3000), how many are there  now (600-700, 2/3 single men with families either at home or in the UK, the rest families of mostly women and children), what racial make up they have (mostly Iranian and Iraqui Kurds), etc... 

We arrive at the women's and children's centre and I am so pleasantly surprised. It is light, bright, airy, cool and has a lovely relaxed energy. There are basic comforts - benches, cooking facilities, room to play and big areas to sit, but no soft furnishings, no cushions to ease the hardness of the wooden sofa, nothing to make it homely. It is run by a bright, clear eyes English woman named Rose. I explain to her that I have baked fistfuls of cupcakes and have squirty icing and little toppings to offer as a fun activity. She absolutely adores the idea and embraces my efforts, removing any trace of foolishness I felt on arrival. 'We shall decorate them together tomorrow!' she exclaims, then goes on to explain in Kurdish to the children that they will have cake tomorrow. And not only that, but they will be decorating them too. Dozens of pairs of little eyes light up and these brave, fragile little beings excitedly spin around the shelter, making my heart squeeze with joy. 

I want to say I'll stay and help for the foreseeable future, but I am stopped by my responsibilities: dogs aren't allowed in the camp and I have had to shut Skyla in the truck whilst visiting. This, in principal, is of course absolutely fine, but I am more than a little uneasy: the vehicles of the volunteers are parked on what is essentially an abandoned parking lot by a disused railway, a five minute walk away from the camp. I am moderately uneasy leaving the truck there unsupervised (especially given it now contains most of my worldly belongings), and the idea of shutting Skyla in there for 2 x 4hr stints a day is beyond my limit. So I reconcile with myself that I will stick with my original plan of a short visit and use this time to build relationships with the volunteer teams.  And with this, I can keep in touch to plan a return trip later in the year, leaving Skyla with my parents for a few weeks. 

So, here so am, sitting on the sofa in my truck, parked up by a lake, reflecting upon what has been a very important day in my life. I am so excited to visit the camp tomorrow and share in the fun of cake silliness, to see the childish disbelief and joy bubble up to the surface of these sweet kids, to feel that I am giving them something completely unnecessary and indulgent. To give them the chance  to feel special rather than outcast, in limbo, fractured. 

Many of you who read this will know of my project 'Small Acts of Kindness'.  To those of you that have donated, I can not thank you enough. There are not words to describe how important it is for me to be here sharing and giving to these incredibly vulnerable people. Those of you that don't know Small Acts of Kindness, if you feel moved by what I am doing, I encourage you to visit my gofundme page to learn more.. It is full of information and there is the option to support me by both sharing the idea to your friends and family, and by donating so I can buy more raw materials.

So here's the plug folks:

Gofundme.com/docinatruck

Instagram:smallaok (or my personal one lizziep123)

Twitter: smallaok

For the duration of my trip I will be using only wifi so please bear with me if I am sporadic with updates or post two blogs at once! I promise I am writing them in real time. 

Okay, it's time for me to close up the truck and jump (literally, it's a long way up) into bed. Tomorrow can't come fast enough! I can't wait to share tomorrow with you all. xoxo

The white cliffs of Dover

It is almost a year to the day since I bought a little old horse lorry and stood in the middle of the road, keys in hand, beaming with joy at the possibilities ahead.  Today as I type I am being gently rocked by the Channel as the truck, Skyla and I leave Britain for our European adventure! I have surprised even myself :)

And it has taken just as long to realise how much of an achievement it really is, and how proud of myself I am. Of course I speak of much more than the transformation of the truck - though I am deeply proud of that also.  The transformation that I value the deepest is the one that has been going on inside me. It's no secret that this year has been a real toughie: through facing the challenge of a career change I have not only flung up questions of what career I now want, but what I want out of life. Or to reframe that last part in the light that I now see it: what I want to give to life, and how I want to build that dream. 

People talk a lot about finding a career doing something that you love, but I think far less people are actually brave enough to go out and make it happen. It seems to me that most of us are stuck in an 'okay' status quo, reasonably pleased with the way life has turned out but not really reaching too far into our pocket of dreams. Those lucky few that do are my role models because what I have realised is that there really is no book on how to live life. There is no right or wrong or failure. No should, no ought, no if only. Just freedom to choose and freedom to pursue. 

Now of course this is where we actually come to a major stumbling block, because there are scores of people around the world who are persecuted for a multitude of reasons, who have very little freedom other that that within their minds. And it is this reason that drives me all the harder to identify my passion and go for it with everything I have.

So I guess all the above is the back story as to why I am watching the white cliffs of Dover shrink behind me. 

I feel my true calling in life is as a healer. A healer of the mind and spirit as well as the body. Those raising an eyebrow, stick with me! I believe there is so much in us and our lives that needs nourishment to allow us to be healthy and vibrant. Far more than western medicine can address. Humanity as a concept, being kind and considerate, taking time to feel grateful for small things, communicating with strangers, being open and loving rather than closed and fearful - these are things that our society is increasing starving us of. So I choose to dedicate my life to compassion, to gratitude and to humanity. It won't bring in a big salary, but I can't imagine a worthier cause to devote my life to.

Many of you will know that on the back of these life decisions I have launched a project called 'Small Acts of Kindness', or smallaok as it is on Instagram and Twitter. I am travelling around Europe in my truck and will be making and baking and cutting and sticking homemade crafts to give to complete random strangers. The aim? To bring a small moment of joy, promote openness and encourage human connections.

So here I am, approaching Calais with my drawer full of cupcakes, ready to find a small corner of the Dunkirk refugee camp in which the inhabitants and I can have a messy play day decorating and eating cakes. Something I imagine they are not likely to be doing on a normal day as they struggle to survive.

The sun setting into the sea on the first day of our adventures: Les Gravelines.