It’s now coming on for seven and a half
years of pretty much full on travelling. There have been great times, great
places, amazing wildlife and spectacular scenery. I’ve come across some of the
worst dregs of humanity, and met people I could only ever dream of emulating.
The experience has proved inspiring at times, gobsmackingly awesome at others,
and absolutely horrendous on a few occasions. But if nothing else I’ve learnt
many valuable lessons, about life, love, loss, and most of all about the
deepest aspects of myself. Like never before I’ve had to dig long and hard to
find my most inaccessible reserves of strength. I like to think it’s been
worthwhile, that it’s created a different, improved person. Ask any well
travelled person and they’ll agree, travel inevitably leads to a much better
understanding of people, nature and the world in general, unless you undergo
the whole experience with your head firmly inserted up your own arse, which
isn’t exactly uncommon either. (Photo: The welcome sight of my home mountain range - Y Carneddau, From Rachub)
However much I’d love to claim this latest undertaking
was completely off the cards, it has actually been on my mind since 2007. It’s
not as if I’ve run out of exotic locations to fulfill my penchant for travel,
there are so many places still to discover. But I’ve been growing weary of
travelling abroad, not bored, let’s say less enthralled by that which I do
discover. Go to the furthest realms, explore the supposed forgotten gems, and
modern life has already made drastic inroads. Cultures are diluted, the great
western materialism rears its ugly head time and again. Cities are engulfed
with giant shopping malls, the local inhabitants want nothing but the latest,
the greatest, and are content to splash their cash to get exactly what they want.
Traditional life is hard to come by, every one is clambering for their slice of
modernity. Jungles are being ripped up at a phenomenal rate, wildlife depleted,
the few pockets where endemic species are to be found are rarely available
except for those willing to pay over the odds. Decent beaches are lined by wall
to wall tourist resorts, in the advent of finding traditional built
accommodation is all too often owned by ex-pats. (Photo: My garden only gets better each time I visit the property - Llanllechid, Nr Bangor)
The world has woken up to tourism, be you
Farang, Falang, Boulay, Gringo, or any other term used to describe a foreigner
visiting, you have a target painted clearly on your back. It’s big money, and
it’s easy money. Getting away from the tourist trail can be relatively simple,
getting away from the expectations of quick cash off the foreigner is nigh on
impossible. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been the lucky recipient of an
overwhelming amount of generosity and hospitality, yet still the general
mindset is that westerners are wealthy and can afford to pay more. Many places
people are open and honest about this. I’ve had people expressing uncertainty
as to the price I should be charged, because it’s accepted that foreigners pay
more. How fucked up is that? No more is there a distinction between tourists
and travellers. If you travel long term you must be very rich, so can afford
even more. I go to extremes to tread the unbeaten paths, to find my way where
mere tourists rarely go. But to little avail. Whatever lengths I go to, however
isolated my destination, others will turn up, on a pre-booked tour or
exorbitant priced private rentals. (Photo: Proving how magnificent sunsets at home can be - Looking across Anglesey, from Stryd Well, Llanllechid)
I must be honest though, I’ve had to resort
to such means myself once or twice. To travel through Tibet I could only use a
private 4x4 licensed to carry tourists. So I’m not squeaky clean myself, but I
still don’t like this ease of getting anywhere you want. In this day and age
money will buy you whatever you wish, and if you think it won’t buy you love
try any number of countries. You pays your money and any number of women will,
“love you long time”. But of course it won’t be love you’re buying, just an
easy lay. Although they will indeed declare undying love for you, at least
until the money dries up. How cynical can one get? Probably not much more than
the levels to which I’ve reached, though I freely admit that cynicism detracts
from the experience of travelling. Which poses a question, do cynics lose out
completely on their experiences? Is the beauty and wonder wasted on them. If
that was the case then I couldn’t be a cynic, and trust me, I am. (Photo: Captain Kay takes the helm - Venetian Marina, Nr Nantwich)
And that, for me, is maybe the crux of the
problem. My natural cynicism is all too often borne out. Life on our planet is
prone to becoming too run of the mill, the selfishness and greed of the human
race is widespread, and I can’t help but notice every little infraction. It has
detracted from the pure joy of exploring further afield. How can I soar the
heights of the Tibetan plateau and not rage at the injustices dealt the local
people by the Chinese occupation? How can I truly appreciate Borneo when the
habitat has been ripped asunder by greedy and corrupt politicians? Given the
chance of a slice of the pie, nine out of ten people jump at it. You could say
it’s the other ten percent that it’s worth travelling to meet; there again you
could be content with meeting the ten percent of those closer to home. The fact
is, while travelling abroad I’m seen as a walking cash dispenser. Even far-flung
tribes know the white man is an easy source of money, I want to blend in a bit
more. I always thought I’d fit in quite well with the inhabitants of our inland
waterways. (Photo: The insipid beige was never going to last long - Venetian Marina, Nr Nantwich)
The romantic image is of a simple life,
peaceful, and at a sedate pace. I imagined an assortment of slight oddballs,
those who don’t quite fit in mainstream society. In all fairness, many who live
on the canals probably see themselves as such. There is an almost unrivalled
camaraderie, riding a motorbike and scuba diving are comparable, from all walks
of life. But most boat owners use them infrequently, and the live a-boarders
spend the vast amount of their time moored in the same spot. I’d go as far as
claiming that for many all their narrow boat provides is a cheap way to live.
Whether it’s divorcees or more retirees larger numbers are adopting a life on
the water. Most that do are full of themselves, they’ve managed to get out the
rat race and gained a foothold into an alternative lifestyle. The pattern is to
sell their house, buy a boat and have a hefty lump of capital left to play
with. I’d say the narrow boat industry is largely dependent on this sector of the
canal community. And like never before there is now a constant flow of newly
created canal dwellers. (Photo: A deathly still and silent morning, a good start to a new day - Middlewich Branch of Shropshire Union Canal)
One slight problem is down to logistics.
It’s no longer an alternative lifestyle, it’s become mainstream. Boats clamour
together closer than council house tenants, leaving little room for manoeuver
outside the confines of their own floating coffins. At least in a caravan park
there is room to placed some chairs, maybe a table or two, and have a picnic.
Many marinas there is not even that. Marinas aren’t my idea of living on a
boat, but I can’t fault the service they provide. Without them the waterways
would not cope with the number of boats that require moorings, so it keeps the
canals clear. Which is good for me because I’ll be cruising all year round, thereby
appreciating the colder months, as traffic will be negligible. As long as I
don’t get iced in! Narrow boats are steel hulled, by my way of thinking this
should be able to break through all but the thickest crust of ice. (Photo: Bridges are the easiest method of Navigating, they are all numbered - Barbridge, Shropshire Union Canal)
But we shall see, first I must get settled.
Outwardly this has been done with very little delay, but I remain slightly wary
of this new endeavour. There are a lot more people living waterside than I
imagined. They may well be very approachable, at least most are anyway, but
very few are the sort of people I would choose to socialise with. Which doesn’t
bother me too much, I’m not here to be especially socialable. My concerns are
tolerating being amidst narrow minded attitudes, inconsiderate behavior and an
underlying failure to grasp what leading an alternative lifestyle involves.
Somehow I don’t feel it is to lead exactly the same lifestyle, but from on
board a boat. It isn’t just the tourists on hire boats who form lines of
traffic, nose to tail, cruising thus for hours on end. So you see, from my own
attitude, I need to accept what life is like on the canals in this day and age.
If I don’t I won’t get very far. 
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