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  the mud on the road


The Unknown, and our Fear of it.

21/1/2017

23 Comments

 
Picture
There is a pool just before a waterfall. Clear. Still. With no waves to churn trouble. No silt to be stirred. The water circles slowly there, unaware of the cascading chaos metres away. This pool is the known. The understood. The mastered and attained.
And yet inevitably streams of life are pulled away. It’s their nature to move. So they flow, the light carving new lines upon them, until they reach the precipice of their destinies. Momentum gathers. Water banks up against the ledge. It presses forward in desperation before, in one sickening lurch, the edge is breached. Gravity yanks the stream asunder, sending it crashing into the Unknown below.

Does the water quiver just a little, the moment it plunges over the ledge? Does it tremble once past the point of no return? I wonder.

                                                                            ***

“Do you think you’ll be alright driving a large vehicle in England? It’s the other side of the road, you know.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve driven a rickshaw in Jaipur, for Pete’s sake. What can go wrong?”

Oh how sure of myself I was back in Turkey when people had asked.

Now here I was, a few thousand kilometres north, freezing fog lacing the roads in smoky clumps, sitting behind the ample wheel of my new van, which wasn’t actually a van at all, but a truck – a mini white-boxed motorhome. And I was terrified. Because I was a Turkish fish out of water.

Roads in rural Turkey are blissful affairs; long fat belts of tarmac cruising over the steppes with no more than a handful of motorists cruising along them. You can drive for hours, wind in your hair, not a tailback in sight feeling like the smug protagonist of a Volvo commercial.

But Turkey was far away from here. I was now in south east England.

Certainly England has many things going for it, unfortunately the road system isn’t one of them. The country has strangled itself within a skein of tarmacked lines. Driving isn’t leisure, it’s serious, slow moving drudge. And the roads are very thin aren’t they? Skinny, winding cords of worriment with too many parked cars clogging up the left hand lane. I’d erroneously found my way onto such a conduit now. I should have been on the B somethingsomethingsomething, but I’d taken a wrong turning. Thus I found myself threading through rural Essex on the tiniest of lanes, muddy ditches leering at me from the edges of the asphalt.

The sky was a smudge. Grey and soggy. It filled the windscreen in ill-defined splodges. Brambles scraped the side of the van like talons on a blackboard. I puttered along the road chewing my bottom lip, guts knotted into a macramé of offal. So many worries crowded my headspace, I didn’t dare blink. I was staring so hard into the wing mirrors I had a headache.

And then I braked. Because directly in front of me, rising out of the road like a luminous yellow ghoul was a skeleton of metal rods bound in health and safety tape.
I peered down from my cab. There, occupying half of the lane, was a freshly excavated crater. Great. Just fantastic.

My every muscle tautened. Could I squeeze past the hole? I had to. I couldn’t reverse as I was on a sharp bend with those ditches on either side. Muttering a quiet prayer, I pressed the accelerator, trying my best not to think about would happen if my right wheel dropped into the hole.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, a Range Rover appeared from the other direction. It faced me off, all black and brawny, the heavy tread of the tyres visible through my windscreen. It was then I felt the distinct urge to pull up the hand brake, stick my hands in the air and bawl.

How strange life is! How relative. I’ve spent the past five years dealing with snakes, bulldozers, forest fires, wild boar, and maniac hunters blithely firing shots over my head. I thought my days of heart-clutching terror were over. This is Europe after all. Safe and sound.

Yet in truth it is not danger we are afraid of. No. For danger is everywhere. In the food we eat, the air we breathe. Every time we cross the road. What we really fear is the Unknown. The not yet understood, nor mastered.

As it happened, the Range Rover slowed. To my surprise, it reversed a fair way back to the main road, and allowed me to pass. But as I pulled away and onto another traffic filled B road, an undertow of terror still dragged at my nerves.

That night I had a nightmare. In it, I filled my van with all my friends from Turkey, drove it into a tunnel and scraped the left-hand side clean off. The left-hand light was still dangling from its socket in my mind’s eye when I awoke. Whimpering, I grabbed at my duvet, just to check I was in bed.

The next morning I walked to the front room and pulled back the curtains. There was my truck towering over the drive. And I felt sick to the depths just to look at it. How could I ever have considered buying this monstrosity and driving through Europe in it? How? I slapped my hand against my forehead and fumed. Where had this trepidation skulked all those hours I’d scoured the campervan section of ebay? How had it remained silent as I dragged my dad round to various corners of south east England to find my van? Where had it been when I bought the thing?

I was like the water in the pool, oblivious until the point of no return.

There was nothing to be done. I had the van. So I had to drive it. Pulling my guts together, I resolved to get behind the wheel every day until I was no longer scared.

For three days, my dad sat stoically in the passenger seat and transformed himself into a human Sat Nav. I tackled roundabouts, weaved along narrow streets full of parked cars, negotiated great armies of bollards (Britain seems to breed them). The dimensions of the van began to feel normal, while sitting in an ordinary car felt like being squashed. Soon enough, as is the case in every new event in our lives, the territory of the Unknown was pulled under my wheels. And as I rolled over it, I absorbed it, integrated it, until it became me. And I became something new. Namely White Van Woman.

In reality, the potential danger remained the same. But the Unknown was now known.

Why we are so mortally afraid of this Unknown, I have still to work out. Our fear makes no sense. It stunts our growth, reduces our capacity to adapt and thus our ability to survive and thrive. Yet this fear is everywhere; in the laments of those who want to return to bygone eras, in the repetitive blaming and suspicion of foreigners (foreigner = Unknown), in the resistance to the learning of a new skill, or the moving to a new place. When most people say they can’t go for a dream and cite any number of reasons, it is usually fear that is speaking. 

Picture
                                                                        ***
​What happens to the water in the pool after it plunges thousands of feet below? It bubbles and moils, pummelled by the force of the fall. But after that, it gathers itself and moves forward. If the water had eyes it would see, it now flows down a wider, brisker river, decorated with exotic new landscapes and plenty of oxygen. If it had a head it might think it was a good job it didn’t remain all its days in the pool. Because there’s so much to experience, and so little to lose.

Soon enough, I itched for the road. A solar panel was attached to my van. I bought a ferry ticket from Portsmouth to St Malo in France and packed the cupboards to the brim with what was left of my belongings. Then I opened the door and my dog climbed in. Finally, I pressed the accelerator.
Picture
23 Comments
Jan Zandvoort
23/1/2017 01:32:16 pm

Hi Atulya, You must be in France by now. If I were you I wouldn´t go north, freezing cold here in Holland. How do you stay warm in the campervan at night, has it got a woodstove or gas heater of somesort?
It is a strange world, I heard about banana trees freezing up in Ethiopia, people lost actually a lot of their crops, and this is not far from the equator. Hope that southern Europe isn't too cold for you.
When is your new book due to come out? Keep your eyes on the road and don't drive too fast, wish you well Atulya. Warm regards, Jan Zandvoort.

Reply
Atulya
25/1/2017 10:35:56 pm

HI there Jan!
Yes, the cold put me off well and truly! Brrr. The campervan is pretty warm though. I can either use a gas stove, or plug the whole thing into the mains and use an electric heater.

As for my book Dirt Witch, I hope to have it finished by spring. It should have been out last summer but I just didn't make it. The Mud Mountain Blog has also now been created as a lovely illustrated paperback and will be available very shortly.

Reply
Richard Darrah
26/1/2017 05:30:00 am

Hi Atulya,
If your're traveling from north to south through Germany, you might find your self on the Autobahn 7 (A7). After passing Ulm, Vöhringen-Weißenhorn; you'll come to Illertissen. If your tired, you could tie up your horses in our driveway. Come on in and eat with me and my wife (she's a great cook). I'm sure that Roddy will get along good with my Puppers Lucky and Lucy. We have a modest Camping ground in Illertissen as well.
Got to get up for work. Maybe we'll see ya some time.
Richard Darrah

Reply
Atulya
27/1/2017 11:25:09 am

Ah cheers Richard! I'd love to (you know I probably would cross a continent for a decent meal:) Let's hope I make it that way. I miss Germany. And would be great to meet you.

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Ed Hoffman
26/1/2017 06:17:23 am

Atulya,
Conquer your fears, lucky you !
Ed

Reply
Fran Bowerbank
26/1/2017 01:48:59 pm

Yo, Fear can be positive, it makes us alert and it is all about the survival instinct. I am sure you can embrace it and say it is okay to feel this way, you are alive! Listen to it, learn what it is telling you and move on, just as you are doing. You are very Brave!

Reply
Atulya
27/1/2017 11:27:17 am

Yes, you're right Fran. The alertness is the useful aspect of fear. I'm used to the feeling, and am lucky as it only ever hits me when it's too late:)

Atulya
27/1/2017 11:25:43 am

:) Best wishes to you Ed!

Reply
Ed Hoffman
4/2/2017 06:44:10 am

Yeah! You too.....

NoƩlie link
26/1/2017 01:42:58 pm

Good luck going South! We've had mostly below zero temperatures here in Belgium for about the last 2 weeks.... Sending you and Rotty a hearty and warm hello nonetheless !! :-)

Reply
Atulya
27/1/2017 11:28:05 am

Yes it was soooo cold, I fled! Hello to you to from us both!

Reply
Gillian jones link
26/1/2017 02:37:35 pm

Great adventure,your right about fear is the negative that restrict progress in life experience.all happiness to you,and thanks for your updates.

Reply
Atulya
27/1/2017 11:28:57 am

Thanks Gillian. Yes, fear has a purpose, but I can't help feeling it's out of control. The mind manipulates it somehow.

Reply
Daniela
26/1/2017 09:14:30 pm

Dear Atulya, I watched your video and then had a look at the titles of the You Tube videos related to your name:"How to catch a large scorpion", "Use earth plaster for almost anything", "What's in our mud mortar" ... it can hardly get any stranger, unknown and scarier than that for at least 95%of all human population :))))
Change is the only constant in our lives and it is good for our spirit, it keeps us alert and alive. It is demanding enough for one person (with a dog:) to come out of a comfort zone, imagine now how it is when a whole family is involved in it and that is exactly what is expecting me, my husband and our two daughters.
Due to number of reasons, we have decided it is time for a change. And the change will involve plenty of dirt, plants, animals, full brick house without a corporate life and a sea view :)
I am scared but I know I'll survive as I have done it many times until now and I'll teach my children "how to" as well.
But once you feel the magical connection with the land and experience the ability to do things with your own two hands, everything else seems bleak.
Therefore, enjoy your ride and search, take it slowly because that will end as well when you find another perfect patch of Gaia and decide to stay, once again.
And of course, stay safe on the road.
Warm hugs from Croatia

Reply
ATulya
27/1/2017 11:31:48 am

Ah Daniela, well done you! Go for it. Ha ha, it's such an adventure. And wonderful you can take your family through it. Great that you're all on the same page there. I wish you all the very best, and who knows...Croatia is very beautiful:))

Reply
Daniela
27/1/2017 12:35:54 pm

Dear Atulya, you are very welcome:)

Lynda Clifton
27/1/2017 11:52:41 pm

I really enjoyed reading 'The Unknown, and our Fear of it.'

Reply
Atulya
30/1/2017 09:06:18 pm

Many thank Lynda!

Reply
Sandi B
29/1/2017 10:03:44 am

Hi There Atulya,

Good to hear you are on the road, even though, as I am well aware, that road can be scary in and of itself. Love your van appears just right for you and Roddy. I certainly hear you on the cold -- It has been just freezing here, and very, very wet -- one would think we live in monsoon country but I live where it should be moderate all year long -- but not the past couple of years.

The oceans have a strong pull on us -- I tend to veer more to the Pacific Ocean instead of the Atlantic. The Atlantic ocean has always seemed just a bit wild and out of control for me. You are on a great journey and hopefully you will not have to many wrong turnings on the way. However, sometimes, those wrong turns can turn out to be amazing things and bring you adventures beyond your wildest dreams -- the road less driven and all that. I know you will take your time, I am envious -- the south of France, Spain and Portugal -- places I would love to visit, also Ireland and Sweden my family (grandparents) are immigrants from there. Do take good care of yourself and stay safe. It is always great to hear from you and be able to catch up on where you are currently - in all aspects. Great adventures and happy travels to you. Looking forward to your next chapter and your book coming out as well. God Bless, Take Care and Stay Safe....as always,
Sandi

Reply
Atulya
30/1/2017 09:09:28 pm

Hello there Sandi! Yes, I agree the Atlantic is very unbridled. No doubt that's the attraction:) Where are you Sandi? Seems everywhere the weather is moving in a new way. Let's hope you make it over here one day. It'll seem rather small after the US though:)

Reply
Sandi Berumen
4/2/2017 07:43:35 am

Hi again Atulya,

I live in Southern California halfway between San Diego to the south and Los Angeles to the North in the low desert referred to as the Inland Empire. Use to be moderate, 70's - 80's, but the past couple of years our weather has been changing -- we have almost continuous triple digit heat spring and summer and then freezing temperatures over the fall/winter. And this year we have had horrendous rain. We need the rain as we have been in a drought for the past, oh I would say 5 years, but this winter has made up for that -- and while we are thankful for the rain -- the heavy wash you away stuff really does not help as it all runs of causing floods and landslides. I am not sure I believe in Global Warming in the sense that they try to scare us with -- the earth just goes through recurring changes, ice ages, dry periods, wet periods, warm periods -- it is the flux of things. I am sure what we spew into the air around the globe is not helpful, but I think we would be experiencing these changes regardless. Yes, I hope I do make it over there -- it is on my bucket list, but might not be able to everything on that list before I kick that bucket LOL. Happy travels to you -- hope all is going well in your part of the world. Scary times all around.

Ian nightingale
24/7/2017 11:26:20 am

Hi Atulya
I have downloaded your books and read with interest.
Have been following your adventures in your van with envy and admiration using it as a support yo my own thoughts.
I have now converted a commercial van to a comfortable mobile home and about to let out my residence. Your blog is inspirational but not been updated for few weeks now .
Was just hoping that all is well with you ?

Reply
Atulya
24/7/2017 12:50:55 pm

That's really kind of you Ian. i have been a little tired. But the post is nearly ready, and will be out in a day or two.

Reply



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    Atulya K Bingham

    Author and Natural Builder.
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