Welcome to The Mud.
Two years ago I found myself living alone in a tent in the Turkish hills. There was no power or running water on my land. It was the beginning of an adventure that profoundly changed my beliefs about what is possible, or enjoyable. In this site I share a few of the things I learned along the way, such as:
The Earthbag Adventure
It was my sixth month in a tent, and by then I believed I could live under canvas forever. I fell asleep each night to the sound of agama lizards foraging in the sun-warmed rocks, the call of tawny owls, and the poi-dance of fire flies beyond the mesh of my door.
Why I was living in a tent half-way up a mountain is another story, an episode I'll return to at a later date. But I can assure you, most of those who begin living permanently under canvas are pushed there, one way or another. Those troubles were now long over, however. Following a Mediterranean summer of cricket-strummed nights, I had begun to enjoy my hermetic life, an unorthodox existence with no running water or power, and a compost toilet.
One day, my neighbour and garden helper Celal peered over the wire fence at me. He was a wiry fellow with a cap, a hacking 60-cigs-a-day cough, and a smile that split his weather-worn face into a net of mirthful creases.
"You wanna make yourself a shelter quick! Winter's coming," he
I brushed off the warning. I was sure I could be a nomad forever . . . Read on.
It cost $5000 to build this cosy eco-home. That price includes windows, doors and labour. Find out how to do it HERE.
Does the prospect of camping alone in the wilds daunt you? What would you do if your road disintegrated into a mud slick, or a massive Anatolian shepherd turned on you one night?
At long last, the days of warm beer are over. The zeer was only invented 5000 years ago, either by the Egyptians or the Indus Valley civilisation. I was a little slow to catch on.
My house is a work in progress. It may never actually end (with any luck). Even so, this is the state of play so far on the interior.