It’s a parallel universe. A mostly hidden landscape of tiny towns and villages. Thousands upon thousands tucked away. Out of sight and mostly out of mind. Lived in and frequented by a minority. Ever open oases welcome the nomadic from near and far. Offering tranquility outside of the frenetic.
For a few short times in the year campsites are overloaded. Young and old, families, couples, singles and pets swell the grounds. Cabins, tents, statics, caravans, campers and MOHOS all vie for the ever decreasing availability. Sharing what’s left of each resource, like a huddled herd crammed cheek to jaw around a mud-hole’s last drops.
Most of our traveling is out of season. We can pick and choose only the best ‘fruit’. Selecting whatever takes our fancy. Interrupted occasionally by bank holidays and families making the most. We are among an elite gang. Those retirees who have. Able to do and go at will. Carefree – or sometimes careless, as in my case where Beastie’s outer skin is concerned. The huge majority of the others in this gang are just like us. Traveling companions. Lifers, so to speak. With their partners of life and for life. Joy seekers and joy givers. All a testament to their long term commitment to one another. Sharing their ups and downs and roundabouts.
And there are lots of roundabouts . . .