The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men - part2
This time two years ago, I was preparing myself for what I half-jokingly called “My Nomadic Adventure”. I had recently sold my house and was in the process of getting rid of everything that I no longer wanted or believed that I would never have a use for again. The rest, my neverending collection of books, a few pieces of favoured furniture, kitchen-ware (yes, I am very fond of my pots and pans, kitchen knives and other assorted utensils), my music collection (both CD’s and vinyl records) and, various other things that I couldn’t bare to be apart from. All of that stuff was being boxed, ready for long-term storage.
I also took great pains to remove myself from all forms of bureaucracy. I wanted no mark of me left behind. I wanted to embark on my Nomadic Adventure without having to concern myself with anything that would take up my time and brain power. I wanted a clean slate.
My plan was as simple as it was complicated. I would travel by land, and sea when necessary, to and through twentyeight different countries. France, Spain, Portugal, across the Mediterranean into Morocco and Algeria, back to Spain and France. On to Italy heading inexorably South and East through the Adriatic countries into Greece. Then, to Cyprus and, from there, Israel, Lebanon and Jordan. Back to Greece and then North to the Eastern European countries before turning left and heading West through (amongst others) Austria, Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands. From there, across the North Sea and back to Blighty. I budgeted for a year but was prepared for my trip to take longer. To be honest, I had no return date in mind. I didn’t even know if I wanted to return.
But, dear reader, this wasn’t just travelling for the sake of travelling. I had a very clear objective in mind. As I travelled, I would document the socio-political issues that I came across. I would take photographs and write stories. I would get them published. I would set up a website. I would set-up a social media presence which would promote my website and my work. I would, I would, I would.
Oh, and I would also keep my eyes peeled for a place that perhaps one day would become home.
I left the UK in December 2019 and it all started off quite well. In Calais and Dunkerque, I documented the plight of asylum seekers. In Paris and Toulouse, I documented the Yellow Vest protests. I was making contacts. I was establishing a network of interest in what I had to say and show.
But, it was a pretty lonely existence. And so, at the start of February 2020, I took a little detour and, instead of heading West and South through Spain, I went East. To Barcelona. I’ve got a friend there that I’ve known for many, many years. A quick phone call from Toulouse and all was arranged. He would sort me out with a flat to stay in, introduce me to his third wife (I’d met the other two, I’d hoped that this one was a bit more stable than her predecessors) and, he would introduce me to people who had a bee in their bonnets about Catalan Independence. That was going to be my next piece. Originally, I was going to do a piece about the Basque Separatists. That could come next, right?
Wrong. Two weeks in Barcelona became a month which included a short trip to Zaragoza. A week after I returned to Barcelona from Zaragoza, the lockdowns started. The backstory of Covid 19, which had been in my periphery since December, had now gone front and centre everywhere. I watched my Nomadic plans come to grinding standstill.
In the nineteen months from March 2020 to now, I’ve had a bit of a Nomadic lifestyle. I’ve stayed in eleven different apartments but, apart from a short beach holiday in Cannes, it’s been Barcelona.
And now, two years after I started boxing up my belongings, I’ve spent the last few weeks unpacking them all. In Barcelona. You see, I’ve fulfilled one objective. I’ve found a place that I want to call home.
Barcelona, te quiero!
I also took great pains to remove myself from all forms of bureaucracy. I wanted no mark of me left behind. I wanted to embark on my Nomadic Adventure without having to concern myself with anything that would take up my time and brain power. I wanted a clean slate.
My plan was as simple as it was complicated. I would travel by land, and sea when necessary, to and through twentyeight different countries. France, Spain, Portugal, across the Mediterranean into Morocco and Algeria, back to Spain and France. On to Italy heading inexorably South and East through the Adriatic countries into Greece. Then, to Cyprus and, from there, Israel, Lebanon and Jordan. Back to Greece and then North to the Eastern European countries before turning left and heading West through (amongst others) Austria, Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands. From there, across the North Sea and back to Blighty. I budgeted for a year but was prepared for my trip to take longer. To be honest, I had no return date in mind. I didn’t even know if I wanted to return.
But, dear reader, this wasn’t just travelling for the sake of travelling. I had a very clear objective in mind. As I travelled, I would document the socio-political issues that I came across. I would take photographs and write stories. I would get them published. I would set up a website. I would set-up a social media presence which would promote my website and my work. I would, I would, I would.
Oh, and I would also keep my eyes peeled for a place that perhaps one day would become home.
I left the UK in December 2019 and it all started off quite well. In Calais and Dunkerque, I documented the plight of asylum seekers. In Paris and Toulouse, I documented the Yellow Vest protests. I was making contacts. I was establishing a network of interest in what I had to say and show.
But, it was a pretty lonely existence. And so, at the start of February 2020, I took a little detour and, instead of heading West and South through Spain, I went East. To Barcelona. I’ve got a friend there that I’ve known for many, many years. A quick phone call from Toulouse and all was arranged. He would sort me out with a flat to stay in, introduce me to his third wife (I’d met the other two, I’d hoped that this one was a bit more stable than her predecessors) and, he would introduce me to people who had a bee in their bonnets about Catalan Independence. That was going to be my next piece. Originally, I was going to do a piece about the Basque Separatists. That could come next, right?
Wrong. Two weeks in Barcelona became a month which included a short trip to Zaragoza. A week after I returned to Barcelona from Zaragoza, the lockdowns started. The backstory of Covid 19, which had been in my periphery since December, had now gone front and centre everywhere. I watched my Nomadic plans come to grinding standstill.
In the nineteen months from March 2020 to now, I’ve had a bit of a Nomadic lifestyle. I’ve stayed in eleven different apartments but, apart from a short beach holiday in Cannes, it’s been Barcelona.
And now, two years after I started boxing up my belongings, I’ve spent the last few weeks unpacking them all. In Barcelona. You see, I’ve fulfilled one objective. I’ve found a place that I want to call home.
Barcelona, te quiero!
