community

Human Beings are social animals. Generally we choose our own community. These are friends and neighbors with common interests or backgrounds. However, sometimes, for one reason or another, we find ourselves in the wrong group. They’re not really our type of people but somehow we’re in and it’s hard to get out without bruised feelings. On the other hand, sometimes you can aspire to be in a group but the group is reluctant to let you in. For the past 6 months, our social sphere has shrunk to two. Joost and I have been remarkably content with each other’s company but two is not a community and we feel the loss. Although we move to a new place daily, we still seek out other people or they seek us out.

Whenever I see a green Berlingo, I wave madly. It must be puzzling to the other driver because he doesn’t know I have a green Berlingo back home. However, if I was driving my Berlingo, it would make perfect sense. We green Berlingo drivers understand each other. They’re my people. This is totally different with our campervan. Because we drive a campervan, by default we belong to the campervan community but this is one of those social group mistakes. We don’t really fit in and it’s hard to get out.

There is something so unremittingly cheerful about the camper van club. They are so upbeat, so hey-ho, so earnestly trying to have a good time but you know they’d rather be home with the grandkids. The charade is maintained by a full commitment to the club. Eat, sleep, drink campervans. When off the road, there are online forums where members share madcap stories about unretractable awnings. (Marge and I thought we’d be driving to Portugal with a darned side porch on the van!) wacky campground managers or to ask brotherly advice about how to install a new flange on the toilet cassette. I find all of this bonhomie frankly exhausting.

Each day campervans congregate in empty parking lots for the night. They start rolling in mid afternoon and by nightfall there may be 20 or more vans. I’m always reminded of elephants gathering at the savanah watering hole or a meeting of the General Synod of Large White Appliances. Like any club, there are proscribed norms. One is you have to back into the parking space (never nose first) and align yourself perfectly straight. I feel their eyes on me as I make my 8th attempt. Another is, if a helicopter lands on a sport field next to the parking lot everyone has to stand with their arms folded over beer bellies in their socks and sandals and stare until it takes off again..but that’s another story.

In the parking lot, it’s pretty easy to distance myself from the club. Actually, they reject us after one good look at Merlin. His bumper is bent from when Joost hit that Gallo-Roman arch in Italy, the black rubber trim is hanging loose, and he’s pockmarked with yellowing silicone kit where I tried to plug holes. Honestly, next to the £100,000 gleaming Hymers or even the less pricey Challengers, Merlin is poor white trash. The other campers sneer we are not really in their set and leave us alone. To my relief, I’m rarely asked the international campervan greeting, “So where’d you come from today?” (How my eyeballs flip around in their sockets when I hear that now.)

However, on the road it’s another matter. They see us in a flash and assume we’re one of them and we’re expected to comply with club policies. It’s a rule that you wave to each other as you pass on the road. Joost just waves merrily. He’s more secure than me. I’m much more conflicted. I dread seeing a camper van approach because I know they’ll wave and I have to wave back. Doing so signals my membership in the group and I am powerless to explain that I’m not really one of them. At first I took a stand and didn’t wave back but then I felt I’d hurt their feelings. That’s not my intention. I don’t want to insult them, I just don’t want to be one of them. Now I raise one reluctant finger from the steering wheel and try not to make eye contact.

Now that Joost has started walking the Spanish Camino, we found a social group we don’t have to be ashamed of – fellow Pilgrims. However, this group had the potential to split Joost and me apart. He is one of them and I am just a roady. Last night we drank beer with 8 or so in the afternoon sun. The pilgrims regaled each other with stories about the day’s walk, their knees, their backpacks and water bottles. They commisserated over aches and communed over challenging climbs. At first I felt excluded. I didn’t have any blisters and was wearing a light summer frock instead of muddy walking trousers. Yet, I really aspired to be in this club and like any social climber, I horned my way in. A few amusing anecdotes about taking my mule, Merlin on the switchback mountains plus a few more beers and they accepted me. We had so much fun. Today I can’t wait to wave at my new friends if we meet on the mountain roads. I hope they wave back.