#outdoorlifestyle
A RURAL RETREAT Interior decorator Faline Edwards’s contemporary home on her lifestyle farm near the vibrant village of Franschhoek in the Cape Winelands makes for a modern day sanctuary. PHOTOGRAPHY Lar Leslie PRODUCTION Sven Alberding
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Ever wanted to camp up on your own private island for a few days?
Us too, and although this small patch of land that gradually disappears into a fine point and sinks into Lake Prespa isn’t technically an island it was as close as we would probably get to one in our van.
We were surprised to find a small village at the end of this long and bumpy track, emptied of all its inhabitants for the winter as an icy slush began to fall from the sky. Boats littered the shores of the lake, empty and lifeless without people to navigate them. We were the only forms of life for miles, basking in the peace and solitude we craved.
The really special thing about this place was that it sat on the corner of three countries; behind us was North Macedonia, to the side of us was Albania and in front of us was Greece. The Greek stretch of land was dotted with streetlights at night, the Albanian side had a few but the Macedonian side had none. Moody mountains wrapped in snow clouds dominated the skyline, islands and pelicans punctuated the lake’s glassy surface, and soft drops of ice gently pelted the roof as we sat cosied away inside our van cradling cups of mountain tea.
By morning the snow had cleared, replaced by brilliant sunshine and swirling vapour clouds. It was warm enough in fact for a dip in the lake, its cooling, shallow waters sought after by Macedonians in the summer but unsurprisingly empty during the winter. Still, it was good enough for us whose last shower was too long ago to bear thinking about.
A fishing boat sailed past as we were drying off, then we packed up and moved on in the direction of Lake Ohrid, Prespa’s neighbouring lake. Here we were to watch a hundred people dive into its icy waters for the chance to be the first to catch a cross blessed by a priest and thrown into the waters as part of the Orthodox Epiphany celebrations, with nothing to warm them up afterwards but rakija.
Perhaps we weren’t the only crazy ones after all.
Sometimes we just need to disconnect for a while; distance ourselves from the humdrum of life and regain clarity.⠀
A few weeks ago I surprised Ben with a trip to Snowdonia for his birthday. Although we’ve driven extensively across Europe in our van, we’ve never taken the time to explore much on our home island, and Snowdonia was a place we’d always wanted to see.⠀
A six hour drive used to seem like a long way to us, but now as the miles are racking up under our belts the world is starting to seem smaller, and Wales suddenly didn’t seem that far away.⠀
This time however we opted to ditch the van, and take our five day stint away back to basics. We loaded up the car with sleeping bags, tent, walking boots, axe, coal, a tarpaulin- not that at this point we knew just how much we’d need one.⠀
We hit the road and immediately our shoulders felt lighter as the burden of routine was lifted. ⠀
When we were still in uni, I used to drive us all over Cornwall in my little, clapped-out old Polo. We’d set up camp on the cliffs, on the sands of an empty beach, or camp in the car if somebody forgot to pack the tent poles. We’d stay up til sunrise talking around the fire, in awe of the crashing waves below and the distant lights of ships on the horizon hovering above coastal fog. After a couple hours sleep at most we’d pack up our wind-flattened tent as walkers passed by and laughed, and drag ourselves into the nearest public toilets for a wash.⠀
It’s these kind of memories- haphazard, spontaneous and wonderfully simplistic that we look back on fondly, and it’s these days that inspired us to undertake an equally haphazard trip to Wales with nothing but ourselves, an old, crumpled road atlas and a car full of camping gear. We left in search of peace, in search of isolation and beautiful corners of this island, and boy did we find them.⠀
Story continues on Sunday!⠀
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Where we wish we were right now: floating on a still lake, beer in one hand, charcoaled sausage in the other, no care in the world and nothing but summer vibes.⠀
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Where we actually are right now: Sheltering in our van from the relentless Cornish rain, some of which is slowly soaking the rug on our floor, curled up with a cuppa tea and the heating on.⠀
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Happy Sunday everyone ⠀
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Photo by @brisingamen_designs ⠀
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It’s been a while since we last spent any time on social media- life’s just got in the way of many things. We’ve been so busy living, working, building our future that there’s been barely a moment to rest.
Lockdown hasn’t changed much for us, apart from being grounded and unable to travel, but truthfully we’d still be where we are now- saving money, crafting our ideas and dreams into something tangible, laying foundations for the next roadtrip. There will always be a next trip, a crazy idea flitting about the backs of our minds ready to flourish and manifest into reality; it’s not so much ? as ?
The rare moments of the summer when we’re not working on something have been spent here; our local swimming hole. A short walk through the mines and moorlands brings us out into a little slice of evening paradise. An icy but just bearable dip in the water with fish darting around our ankles followed by a jumper-wrapped warm-up by the fire, fingers greasy with oil, eating homegrown vegetables charred on the BBQ.
I guess what I’m conveying here is our lust for a simple life; simple food, simple pleasures, time away from routine, disconnected, and time spent living wildly. It’s truly tonic for the soul.
We’d love to have a little catch up with you all, so maybe drop us a comment and let us know what’s been keeping you busy this summer? ⠀
Another day of life in the wild.⠀
One of our last few days in Bosnia, spent amongst snow and pine, sprucing up before our big journey home-bound. We’d be returning worn out and penniless, with a broken van and a clutch of precious new memories, yet we did not regret a single moment of the last six months.
It’s a taboo subject to talk about money, but we left for this trip with just a few grand between us. For six months of living and travelling over 15,000 miles- that’s not a lot.
And so to anyone who says that we are privileged: you’re wrong. Our lifestyle is not a privilege, it is the product of hard work, ruthless saving and months of rigorous planning. All in the name of following our dreams, all in hope that someday we might be able to make the money to sustain doing what we love. All for that little taste of freedom.
And it was worth every freezing night, every stale loaf of bread, every skipped meal, every dinner scraped together out of leftovers, every push to get to the next fuel station and every questionable road. We have not lived well but boy have we lived.
We’ve driven spectacular roads, spent evenings in the company of welcoming locals, sampled cuisines and cultures from all walks of life, been to unbelievably remote locations and captured it all through the glass of a lens.
See we’re not just doing this for a jolly, to escape the 9-5; we’re doing this because we have a passion and the tenacity to chase our dreams. We sacrificed comfort and security for the promise of something so much bigger.⠀
You don’t have to be rich to travel; we’re proof of that. All you need is a dream, and the desire to chase that dream.⠀
When you’re heading into the mountains, preparation is key. And in mountains as remote as the Albanian Alps it’s downright essential.
Unpredictable, wild, vast and unforgiving- these mountains command their presence and dare you explore their impenetrable façade.
We stocked up in the city of Shkodër pre-trip, the nearest amenities to our destination for several hours around. A week’s food, a tank of fuel; everything else we could need was already in our van. The residents of Malesi e Madhe, Albania’s Northernmost corner, grow their own food and slaughter their own meat, with monthly visits to the city for supplies; we would have to follow their lead in stocking up at our last opportunity.
The two hour drive from the city was nothing short of incredible; roads that wound tightly and sharp inclines enough to slow us right down to a walker’s pace. A handful of switchback turns thrown in for good measure on the Leqet e Hotit Pass. All the while overlooked by those imposing, jagged limestone peaks as we wound through the valleys at their mercy.
We stopped for a rest at a point where water gushed from a hole in the rock at a furious speed and trickled down through wooden channels out into the road. Here we made our final preparation, filling our tanks with the freshest spring water and loading them back into the van.
We continued our journey to the small village of Selcë, a place that just a few years ago would’ve been virtually inaccessible to us in our van, now paved with the smoothest tarmac road cutting the residents’ travel time to the city down by half a day. We would spend the night here among terraced mountainsides and sparsely populated houses in preparation for tomorrow’s expedition to begin at sunrise…
The sunshine on our skin was a feeling we’d long since forgotten, a sensation buried in the backs of our minds. Yet here it was, an unusually warm, dare I say hot day in the hinterlands of rural Albania.
After many months of winter, of snow in Kosovo, freezing fog in Macedonia and countless icy mornings it was a welcome relief and a boost to our morale.
We’d been craving a cool body of water to plunge into and wash away the driving sweat, but we settled for a bag shower on a dirt track nestled amongst the shrubs and canyons with the scent of wild thyme rising hot and citrussy in the air.
I washed our clothes in the sink and hung them out to dry, and we watched the sun climb out of the sky and brush over the mountaintops turning them hazy purple and red. Sunsets could be a thousand shades of gold and orange, pale pink and even the occasional streak of green, but they were always purple here in Albania. The kind of purple that stained the mountain faces and electrified the lake waters; the kind that demanded you stop and watch.
Late at night two men in a van came and dumped ten neat white bags on the ground in front of our van. We assumed they were fly-tippers, but come morning we awoke to the sound of saddles scraping past our van as two men loaded up their mules with the supplies they’d need to take to their village, a sight that always filled us with wonder and curiosity. ? ?
We said good morning to them, folded up the washing and continued on our journey towards a curious little town named Pukë…
