#suzithevan

This week we left Catalonia. When the ‘Estado de Alarma’ was first announced, we were mid-way through filming a number of projects in Valencia. You may recall we ended up stranded in a marina car park, and the confines of living in a car park in a van drove us to seek refuge up north. But we’d always felt that we had unfinished business with Valencia - George and I had grown to love the city, and were fired up about the documentary we were making there. So we said that as and when we could, we would return.

Ten weeks later (!!) and we decided it was time to take the plunge and drive down south again. And so, with the generous offer of a friend’s apartment to stay at in the Valencian village of Corbera, we headed down along Spain’s eastern coast.

Driving south was somewhat risky given that crossing regional borders is still closely monitored.

Although armed with all the correct documentation, as we drove further south I was definitely nervous about crossing the border. There aren’t usually official checks between regions in Spain, but I didn’t know what to expect given the current pandemic. Despite the nerves, it was lovely to be in the van once again and have the partial sense of travelling and moving forwards. The sense that we aren’t going anywhere or progressing has been one of the biggest challenges recently, so as we trundled along the (relatively quiet) motorway I got a little hit of that travelling feeling.

(images, left to right) Leaving the vineyards of Palamos, George prepping for the long drive south, and golden hour on the road.

As I followed the blue dot tracing our movement on Google Maps, I could see that we were approaching the border between the two regions: Catalonia and the Comunitat Valenciana. We mounted the crest of the hill, and then spotted a cluster of police cars with police officers stopping and checking vehicles! This got my heart racing, and I could already feel the apprehension of having to explain our movement, not least in a different language. We had proof that we had work in Valencia, our official documents and friends’ phone numbers should they need them, but just the sight of armed officers made me quiver. Guns really are something us Brits forget about.

And yet, as we slowed to a crawl and almost rolled the window down, making clear eye contact with the officers, it became clear that they were only interested in checking traffic in the opposite direction! And so just like that, we continued straight ahead towards Valencia.

That evening was our first night camping in the van in months. And it was delightful!

I’d found a spot to stay that was as secluded as I could find, as I knew that things like camping were still technically not permitted. As with most spots I find on the Park4Night app, I know very little about where we’re headed until we actually arrive. Which made it all the more of a pleasant surprise when we turned off the motorway onto twisting roads, climbing up amid orange groves and little cottages. The evening light made it all the more magical, and it really was a reminder of the kind of moments we were chasing when we first set out to travel in a van.

(images) Our secluded camping spot, where we spent the first night in the van in almost three months.

Relatively hidden from view, we parked up next to the Embalse de Sichar, an enormous reservoir which apparently serves to produce electricity, and also as irrigation for the agriculture in the region. As we pulled up next to the water, I knew I had no more than five minutes before the light completely left and we’d be shrouded in darkness - far away from any town or artificial light. So after a hot and sticky 5 hour drive, I didn’t think twice about plunging into the water.

A 10pm skinny dip felt like the perfect symbol of a new chapter after months of lockdown.

It’s not often that you get to park up in the middle of nowhere right next to a picturesque reservoir. So the next morning, after a somewhat restless night filled with the paranoia of police or park rangers, I actually had another two swims! George thinks it’s hilarious how much I love swimming in nature, and insists that if I was an animal I’d be a labrador. I’ll take that!

(image) Another wild swim in the bag at the Embalse de Sichar.

In order to get the keys to the apartment we’d be staying in, we made our way into the city of Valencia itself, to pick up our friend whose place it is. It was lovely to see him again, and it really made me realise how little I’ve seen of anyone other than George. I’ve been craving social interaction for sure, but having a tiny taste of it once again almost brought about more melancholy than there was before. 

When we arrived with Ramon into the village of Corbera, about 30 minutes outside of the city, it was a welcome sight. Not only was this little town a change of scene, but there were more people out and about than we’d seen before. The Comunitat Valenciana has been hit a little less by coronavirus than Catalonia, so de-escalation had progressed here a bit more, and there were even bars and cafes open.

The sight of things like bars and cafes open once again, places which previously seemed mundane and everyday, has been transformational. It has reaffirmed my need for human interaction, and how much I enjoy not only socialising, but seeing other humans socialise too.

The following days have been a process of acclimatisation. Whilst new surrounds bring variety and hope, they can also bring about a sense of unease, as you adjust to your new home. That feeling has been even more strange because in some ways, the two of us are used to the varied setting of life on the road, but usually with the constant element of living in a van. Now we’re in an apartment, which is a kind of funny mix between temporary and permanent (longer than a holiday, shorter than an official house move). Add to that the fact that we never want to wear the generosity of others thin, and in an ideal world we’d be completely self-sustaining, driving and living in the van (and probably half-way to Asia by now!).

(images, left to right) The van interior with the sofa rotated as a passenger seat, George driving from Valencia to Corbera and my growing collection of books in the van.

Of course, it’s not just George and I who are facing change. Everyone’s plans have changed - from school exams to university graduations, from weddings to funerals and everything in between. Even though the scientists and the climate activists told us that something was going to come along and turn our current way of living on its head, we still couldn’t have imagined what was in store for us and the intensity of its impact.

As well as the terrifying health implications of this pandemic, one of the biggest impacts that most of us who remain healthy have experienced is the social one. And whilst in the early weeks, there was a sense that we were all ‘taking one for the team’ by not seeing family and friends, I have sensed a shift in mood this last week as loneliness and isolation really takes its toll. 

I’ve felt acutely aware of how isolated George and I are, and in talking to others can sense that they are struggling with this too.

There are statistics and theories out there about the different stages of how we collectively deal with challenges like the Covid-19 pandemic and associated lockdown measures. And I’m no expert on the matter, but I’m pretty certain we’re in the “okay this has gotten really rotten now and I just want to hug my friends and go to a cafe and have a beer together and not have to obsessively wash my hands” stage.

Perhaps one of the roughest things about an invisible enemy like this virus is the fact that we as humans can’t fight it in the way we’d like, with a grandiose battle, a clear winner and loser, and a huge victory party. Instead, we face the dreary comedown of ‘de-escalation’, where every social interaction becomes a calculation of risk and everyday experiences are characterised by obsessive sanitation, endless disposable plastic items and the creeping sense of surveillance.

(images) A camera roll filled with selfies is a reminder of my isolation and a documentation of life in Corbera.

One of the ways I’m attempting to tackle this social isolation is to avoid judgement at all costs. It feels like the media wants to pit us against one another, to get us to judge the people who have ‘carelessly’ broken lockdown, the people who are ‘crazy’ for still respecting physical distancing, the people who refuse to send their kids back to school or the people who are desperate for some children to return. I genuinely think (contrary to what the media would have us believe) that most of us are just trying to survive, trying to keep our heads above the water and make conscious decisions with that in mind. Sure, I’m not condoning everyone’s behaviour, but believing that the majority of folk are just people like me, facing this peculiar situation, helps me feel less isolated.

All that said, I’ve heard that people in England are taking much more disregard for the rules. Perhaps my judgement on the matter is skewed because Spain seems to have found the right balance.

Despite the loneliness, we are flooded with things to be grateful for. In fact, that sometimes makes me feel guilty for feeling negative at all! But I try to lean into both emotions: the gratitude and the sadness.

Probably the biggest thing to be grateful for right now is where we’re staying.

I wake up to the sound of chatter at the cafe beneath the flat (only serving people outdoors, with tables set apart from one another but still bustling with life) and spend the sunny days working with the windows flung open and light streaming in. On balmy evenings I walk to the shop to pick up a beer or two and pass the friendly neighbourhood feline corner where at least two or three cats always seem to be lounging around. We’ve found a 5K running route too, which takes us up towards the hills of Les Fontanelles and comes down winding through orange groves with views of the paella rice paddies.

(images, left to right) The cafe downstairs which brings life to the town, sunset over the rooftops and a bunch of old guys having breakfast together, an image which has really stuck with me.

It’s a pretty idyllic place really, and a blessing that we have Broaden to work on as well. I’m building up our portfolio of graphic design and motion graphic work so that we can get more paid work that can be done remotely, whilst finalising a documentary about Portland Cementworks that we began over twelve months ago.

But I’m still conscious that work is a way to escape from this current reality, which although set in the gorgeous town of Corbera, is spent far far away from those that I love. What I would give to be in this same spot with my parents, my university friends, or all the folk we left behind in Australia!

I slipped up. When our sixteenth week on the road came and went, the pressure to write this weekly post was building up, and I was increasingly frustrated that I couldn’t find the time (or the energy!) to write it. It got to a point that it made more sense to wait another week and present you with a fortnight’s worth of updates instead!

It does feel like a failure when you break a habit though. Sure, not many people read this blog and no one is shouting at me if I don’t produce a new post on the mark every week. But I still feel accountable both to others and myself to keep this journal as an ongoing reflection of our travels. Since the Covid-19 pandemic gripped the world and turned it upside down, in some ways this journal has even more meaning as a documentation of a life lived under incredibly unusual circumstances.

Alas, I’m here now, on a sunny Thursday in the early afternoon, trying to recall everything that’s happened in the last two weeks and also trying not to beat myself up about breaking my usual writing pattern.

On the 8th May, it was George’s 30th Birthday.

George has never been big on birthdays. For him, they’re just another day, but just one on which your age happens to tick over another year. For me, as an extrovert who loves an excuse to eat cake for breakfast or to throw a party, this mindset seems bonkers! Over the years that we’ve been together though, I realise George just really values the company of others and having a nice, low-key day.

So even though I was downright gutted that we were celebrating his big milestone in lockdown, with just one another’s company in the Spanish countryside, he wasn’t fussed and it turned out to be a really, really nice day.

(images) George’s birthday

I’d pulled together a video from friends and family singing “Happy Birthday”, and this motley crew of singers was such a lovely thing to watch, along to a breakfast of avocado on toast. After a lazy morning and even a bit of editing (yep, George happily worked on his birthday!) we decided to head out for a walk.

De-escalation measures are slowly underway in Spain and by George’s birthday we were finally allowed out for daily exercise or a walk with family members. Taking advantage of this (but sneakily breaking the allocated time windows for the exercise), we took our first walk to somewhere other than the supermarket in almost two months. And boy, was it worth it!

Empty streets, uncomfortable face masks and police tape cordoning off playgrounds don’t necessarily contribute to a pleasant walk, but it was the first taste of freedom we’d had in so long. We enjoyed seeing houses and areas we hadn’t passed by in a while, noticing changes that have taken place fuelled by a new demand for hygiene or physical distancing. And finally, we made it to the ocean: a sight for sore eyes.

Just getting to the ocean on George’s birthday and dipping my toes in the water was such a special moment, and a reminder of how much I value the sea, especially after having been deprived of this natural element for so long.

(images, left to right) Empty streets which still feel bizarre, getting ready for a paddle on George’s birthday, and a birthday walk (complete with face mask).

I’ve said it before on this blog and I’ll say it again: I’m constantly reminded of how ‘good’ we’ve got it. We’ve been treated with kindness and generosity, are able to exchange skills and resources with people, find work, upload videos, have access to the internet and get food in the shops. But all that said, I almost wept when I dipped my toes in the salty water after so long. I believe everyone has a human right to access nature.

Perhaps because George has now entered his thirties, or more likely because lockdown is triggering self-reflection among many of us, George and I have spent a fair few long evenings discussing life and what it means to be human. I’m not professing to have made any ground-breaking discoveries, but have noticed both how therapeutic and how liberating it has been to get a little more philosophical. It’s helped me to focus on life as it is now, and get less hung up about the future. People have asked us about our ongoing plans with the van and I feel more comfortable now telling them I just don’t know when and where we’ll get ‘back on track’. Whilst staying in Spain for an extended period of time wasn’t ever the plan, I still know that good things can come from it if I embrace the unknown and enjoy living here a little longer.

How many moments do we lose out on cause we’re fretting that they’re not what we planned for our lives?

One thing which I certainly didn’t plan for but have been pleasantly surprised by is getting a chance to learn a little more about agriculture. We spent time in the garden in Catalonia preparing for and planting vegetables, an activity that most folk in the Spanish countryside seem to be doing, in anticipation for summer as it comes around the corner. We were working with Pepe, who grows vegetables here as a hobby, and who has had the generosity to show us his approach and let us learn by getting our hands dirty. He is a kind and patient man.

(image) Building cane structures for tomatoes and planting peppers, cucumbers and courgettes.

Talking with Pepe has been great practice for my Spanish too, as I’m forced to use it in the moment. Reading in a foreign language has always been much easier than listening or speaking for me, because I don’t have the time pressure to respond and I can process the information visually. But everyday life relies on speaking and listening, and being in Spain has exposed me to more of that, which is ultimately a good thing. I do also try to read the Spanish news, not only to practice my Spanish but to keep an eye on the political situation here and how the Covid-19 crisis is being dealt with.

The Spanish government is rolling out a phased, place-based de-escalation plan which closely monitors Covid-19 cases.

My perception is that the government here has handled the crisis quite ‘well’ (though there are so many factors I perhaps can’t see) and has put the health of its people first and foremost before the economy. Plenty of things are starting to reappear, but with the overarching sense that there is a sensible, humanist power overseeing it all. Slowly but surely, children play in the streets again, people drink their coffees and chat a metre or two apart, and we learn to smile extra hard so that our eyes share the emotion that our mouth, now-concealed by a mask, can’t.

The next time we made use of our daily exercise allowance, I took the plunge - literally. We headed to the coast and we’d hardly got to the sand before I was in the water. Words escape me when I think of that feeling - of swimming in the sea and feeling completely unburdened by anything. It’s undeniably therapeutic.

Once de-escalation permitted a little more movement, George and I also decided it was time to film Suzi the van. Back when we were in Bordeaux (which believe it or not was our second week on the road!) we filmed a tour of the van with the plan of making a video all about our van build process and the finished result. But more recently when we came to edit all the footage together, we just hadn’t captured enough footage of the van, and especially little details of all the elements like the tyres, engine, furniture and solar panels. 

So with camera in hand, we took Suzi out for a spin. It was nice to be filming again, even if it was just to get details of our dusty HiAce along quiet Spanish backroads. Each and every time we film is a chance for me to get more confident behind the camera too, balancing the composition, lighting and focus, and with the added complication that it’s not just a static image I’m working with.

(images) Filming Suzi the HiAce for our van tour video.

As we carry on filming and developing creative content through Broaden, it is a joy to see other folk making and creating too.

The internet continues to be a hotbet for this creativity. Back in Week 9 I wrote about my brother’s VJ live streaming and daily guided meditations from Gaba podcast, and these last few weeks I’ve continued to turn to the internet for inspiration and entertainment.

Just one example of the art we’ve enjoyed online this fortnight was when my dear friend Rosie Tee shared a line-up with the likes of Jamie Cullum and the Electric Lady Big Band as Cheltenham Jazz Festival took place virtually. More than 600 people tuned in for Rosie’s set online (which can be viewed again here), which is a testament to the potential audience hungry for creative expression. More recently, my brother did another VJ set for the arts and entertainment community ‘Is Dead’, with a live stream that took place in a virtual warehouse! It was pretty mind-boggling to be in this virtual events space with other people from across the world, listening to DJs and watching Dominic’s visuals projected on a virtual screen within this virtual space.

(image) Rosie Tee plays ‘Wax & Wane’ for Cheltenham Jazz Festival and Dominic (VJ XYZ)’s live set in a virtual warehouse.

The internet is an incomparable resource when we leverage it as a platform for sharing and distributing art, and especially when we focus on its ability to be decentralised and accessible.

As people slowly enjoy increasing liberties again, I anticipate the internet will have a newfound role to play. Whilst I’ve now experienced some freedoms to move around and do things which I couldn’t over the last two months, there is no sign of a ‘miracle-cure’ or rapid recovery from this pandemic. Many daily interactions which once seemed normal will long be impeded and the potential effects on our mental health and sense of connection could be profound. This is where the digital world will likely mesh with the physical, providing ways to talk and debate, disseminate news and new ideas, and share acts of creative expression which enrich our lived experiences in the tangible spaces we inhabit.

Last week I went to an online workshop which perfectly exemplified the value of the internet in this way. As part of a series called ‘Building Our Power’, the ‘Economics for Beginners’ workshop I attended via Zoom brought together around 100 participants to hear Sarah Arnold, an analyst from the New Economics Foundation. Sarah presented ideas about the role of the economy, policy tools, and ways in which the government could respond to Covid-19 in a way which would promote a more equitable and healthy society (rather than resort to austerity, which is not good economic policy).

The session was much more than just a presentation though, as the online platform and skilled facilitators allowed for a rich and varied discussion, with questions from the participants for Sarah and opportunities to discuss the topic in detail in future groups. It struck me that in this instance, this digital format was probably even more effective than a real-life scenario would be at disseminating technical information and developing ideas in an engaging and inclusive way.

With our new footage of the van and the on-tap resource of the internet, we also released the van tour video this week.

It was a great feeling to finally bring together footage from as far back as May 2019 right through to the clips we’d shot in Catalonia this fortnight into a complete video. George did a cracking job with the edit, and I helped out making graphics like the intro scene. When it was finally done and dusted, watching it back felt like the end of our van-building chapter and in some ways the start of our adventure (even though we’ve already been ‘on the road’ for more than three months). To finally share it online has been a pleasure.

The comments that we’ve had back about this video have been positive and constructive. Along with the interest we get about The Hundred Miler, the feedback loop of making and creating leaves me determined not to lose faith in the power of creativity and the power of people. Sure, lockdown continues to be confusing and exhausting, but if we can use the internet and acts of mutual aid to compliment the glimmer of freedom we’re starting to experience in the physical world, we can stay connected.

Yes, you guessed it: we’re still under ‘State of Alarm’ here in Spain. While coronavirus cases plateau, extreme lockdown measures are still very much in place and the future remains completely unknown. As this week’s blog post became increasingly overdue, I realised I had little to report from the last seven days here in Catalunya.

So I’ve shifted my focus.

This week, instead of reflecting on what we’ve been up to at this little cottage in Spain (which is mainly going a little lockdown loco), I’ve looked back over the twelve weeks since we left the UK. The following ‘photo essay’ draws together the photos that didn’t quite make the cut the first time: often abstracted glimpses of the experiences we’ve had on the road. Contrary to my usual blogging format, these images aren’t chronological, nor labelled. I hope you enjoy them as fragments and flavours of the journey George and I have forged through France and Spain so far.

In pulling these together, I was reminded of how powerful reflection and gratitude can be. These images have helped me reframe my current situation: moving my focus away from a narrative about an adventure cut short due to a global pandemic to a story of an adventure made wilder and richer due to a temporary pause. An adventure which has been a real delight, and somehow, sometime, will continue.

Thanks for stopping by, everyone. It’s been a pleasure drawing these photographs together and I hope they stirred some up some hope in these tumultuous times. 

In other news, on Saturday our documentary 'The Hundred Miler' live-premiered and we were delighted to have almost 400 people tune in from home to watch it go live for the first time.

Now, less than a week on, and we've hit 25,000 views which is pretty mind-blowing. Whilst we pinch ourselves at those kinda viewing figures, George and I are also reminded that each and every one of those views is another person, and each and every one of those mean a lot. If you haven’t already, you can watch The Hundred Miler on YouTube here.

This last week has seen the welcome face of April - signalling that spring is certainly here along with the arrival of Easter. It’s a time associated with new life, new starts, sunny days and longer nights. Even though we remain in full lockdown here in Spain, it feels as though we can draw upon the changing season as a source of assurance.

The week started with something rather special. I finally got to drive Suzi!

When we first bought the van in Summer 2019, I was still only 24, and it was really expensive to get me insured on it. There seems to be a transition point for insurers at age 25, so George and I had always agreed that after my birthday at Christmas, we’d get me on the insurance. But we never got around to it, partly because of the additional expense, and partly because it wasn’t a huge priority, until the start of March. And then of course, we were in Valencia and the lockdown hit, so we had nowhere to drive to even once I was insured!

My first drive here in Catalunya was pretty fun, even though it was just a trip to the supermarket. Because we’re in lockdown, the roads are super quiet which has been great, and the roads around the cottage aren’t tarmaced, so I could do some offroading as well. I’ve since driven a couple more times to and from the supermarket, and it’s so nice to be behind the wheel again. I haven’t driven since we owned our last van, Casper, back in Sydney!

(Images, left to right) My first time driving Suzi the HiAce, and a throwback to driving our last van Casper.

On the topic of Sydney, I have been doing some serious reminiscing. It’s almost coming to exactly a year since George and I flew back to the UK from Australia, and anniversaries always tend to bring on waves of nostalgia. It’s mad to think that a year ago, we didn’t own a van, not least have a clue about where we’d be living in the van! And of course, there’s no way I’d have imagined that we would be stuck amid a pandemic-induced global lockdown. Oh, to have the gift of foresight... 

The year that ensued after we left our friends, jobs, and security blanket of Sydney was an absolute rollercoaster. We naively aimed to have the van built and prepped in a matter of months, and when the van-build rolled over towards Christmas 2019, I felt like an absolute failure for not having finished it sooner. And yet now, upon reflection, I guess it’s not such a bad achievement to have managed to buy and build Suzi the HiAce, both of us get jobs in Manchester and move into a flat there, launch our documentary channel ‘Broaden’ and set off for Europe all in a year.

We can all benefit from a bit of self-reflection to put progress into perspective.

(video) Broaden’s latest video; an overview of who we are and what we’re about. It’s helped me to reframe some of the successes of this last year.

I feel like a stuck record, but food is a wonderful experience which punctuates the repetitive days of lockdown. Last week I wrote about calçots, a deliciously sweet spring onion special to this region and eaten with Romesco sauce. This week, it’s all about broad beans. The garden here is full of them, so I’ve been tasked with picking and podding. Most of them are fat enough to be podded, and are even better if you go the extra mile by blanching them and removing their skins. The smaller ones can be eaten as they are, and make for a lovely crunchy stir-fry ingredient too.

Preparing broad beans can be time-consuming, but also a wonderfully cathartic activity. My granny in Scotland used to have plenty of these beans in her garden, and I remember summer days spent picking and podding with my mum. We’ve stored plenty here in the freezer but have also kept some fresh and I am continually finding ways to incorporate them into our meals. A quick call to my well-resourced mum also resulted in her sending pages and pages photographed from Jane Grigson’s vegetable book: not only with plenty of recipes but incredibly detailed descriptions of the vegetable’s history and qualities too.

(images) Beautiful fresh veggies from the market were a highlight of the week, as well as picking these broad beans straight from the garden. The bowl on the right is what was distilled from podding four huge bags’ worth.

The resurgence in cooking and baking whilst in lockdown is inspiring, but I’ve been thinking about how it affects our supply chains as well.

Just this morning on BBC News I saw an article about dairy farmers having to throw away vast amounts of milk as cafes, hotels and restaurants remain shut, and another article about how there’s been an insane increase in demand for flour, as everyone takes to home baking. Many mills are now working around the clock to meet the demand in the UK and I was especially interested to read that even if there’s enough flour that there’s a shortage of packaging, because usually only 4% of flour produced goes into the smaller bags that we see on supermarket shelves.

Coronavirus has triggered so many changes in how we live and how we behave, that it's wreaking havoc on supply chains like this, and of course, the economy. That said, whilst the negative effects are hard to deny, scientists, economists and ecologists alike are suggesting that we should leverage the situation as an opportunity to reflect on how we all live, and how we might return to ‘normal’ life without just returning to business as usual. I agree: this is a unique opportunity to reassess production and consumption, how we assign value to things, and the economic and political models that we use to govern our world.

The connection between global lockdown, coronavirus, climate change and our economy has really got me thinking.

I recently read an incredible article by ecological economist Simon Mair in Singularity Hub which looked at this relationship. The article pulled together disparate strands that have been on my mind for a while, each related to various books which I’ve been reading, and which I can now see are interconnected. Simon suggests that the Covid-19 crisis could be a chance to “expand our economic imagination”. He explains that coronavirus, like climate change, demands a type of downscaling, counter to the ‘wartime economy’ mentality and massive upscaling of production. 

“If we want to be more resilient to pandemics in the future (and to avoid the worst of climate change) we need a system capable of scaling back production in a way that doesn’t mean loss of livelihood”, says Simon.

The article is full of gems, and Simon explores things such as our current addition to economic growth and productivity, the transfer of healthcare and labour goods out of the market and into the hands of the state, and the social forms that could come from an ethic that values care, life, and democracy. It answers some of the questions posed by George Monbiot in ‘How Did We Get Into This Mess?’, echoes some of the radical economic theories proposed by Kate Raworth in ‘Doughnut Economics’, and parallels ideas of democratic market socialism put forward by ‘How to Be an Anti-Capitalist in the 21st Century’ by Erik Olin Wright which I’m currently reading. Simon’s article has really got me so fired up, in fact, that I’m working on an idea for a new video which explores the topic, so watch this space.

(images) Three fantastic books which I highly recommend.

On the subject of videos, Broaden has been one of the only things keeping us sane! I am eternally grateful to have a creative outlet in times like these, and one which involves a collaborative partnership with George too. Whilst we aren’t able to explore places in the van, or capture footage for new films as we’d love to be doing right now, we are at least able to edit from the cottage and work on promoting the content that we are already releasing.

It feels so tricky to get the right tone when releasing videos during a global pandemic.

We are both conscious of remaining sensitive to the severity of the health crisis, whilst balancing that with the reality that life goes on, and that people still want to see pictures, watch videos and read articles that engage with other topics too. As Broaden, George and I obviously made the decision to launch our documentary ‘The Hundred Miler’ during this time, and I hope that people see it as a celebration of running, the natural world, and human resilience, and perhaps even an escape from the daily news of the virus, rather than something insensitive or badly-timed.

(video) Trailer for ‘The Hundred Miler’

‘The Hundred Miler’ comes out this Saturday 11th April, and we have been overwhelmed by the response already. People have really got behind the project, helping to share it on Facebook, Instagram and YouTube and widen its potential reach. George has been making this film for well over three years, so it feels like an immense milestone to finally have it shown to the world. I don’t think I know many people who hold themselves to such high standards as George, and so to have so many positive messages and people planning to tune in for the live premier on Saturday is the best affirmation of all his hard work that I could wish for. It has been a pleasure to see him create this documentary, and also to have been involved in the production and final stages of its creation.

The Hundred Miler is a film about three Australian guys, taking on the biggest race of their lives; UTMB.

‘Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc’ is renowned in the trail-running world, as one of the most challenging and scenic ultra marathons. The Hundred Miler is an attempt to bring this story to the masses, and we hope that it appeals to non-runners and runners alike, for its underlying themes of companionship, commitment and strength. It premiers live on YouTube at 10am in the UK, which is 7pm in Australia on 11.4.20, and after that the video will be available to watch as a normal video. You can find BTS footage and more information about the film on our Instagram here, details of the launch on the Facebook event here, and the link for the video itself here. You can also subscribe to Broaden’s YouTube channel and set a reminder for when the film goes live.

(video) ‘The Hundred Miler’ which goes live on Sat 11th April.

The last week of March has brought both sunshine and rain here in Catalonia. Sunday was glorious, and the warm rays of sun felt like nature’s invitation to take the afternoon off from film editing and staring at screens. Even I, who usually finds it hard to ‘just’ chill out, responded to this invitation and slowed right down, sipping cheap Spanish lager and whiling the day away with a good book. By contrast, there have been numerous days of solid rain here too. Temperatures have dropped and George and I remain huddled inside, wrapped in layers and eternally grateful to have a house to stay in throughout lockdown.

It looks like the weather in the UK has been pretty glorious. It’s sod’s law that after a long winter, when Brits are finally ready to get out and about, everyone is required to stay at home and can only see and admire the sunshine from afar.

This state of lockdown is undoubtedly a reminder of our need to access nature, especially for those who are living in urban areas and apartments.

The flipside to the restrictions, of course, is that reduced travel and activity means reduced carbon emissions and pollutants. Like many others, my heart has been lifted by photos of Venice’s canals which now run clear, satellite imagery and data showing dramatically reduced air pollution in major cities, or sound recordings of magnificent birdsong made audible thanks to minimal traffic. Similarly, whilst I’m not a huge fan of the rain, it’s a real blessing here in Catalonia, a region which is often very dry. The land around us in the cottage is looking more luscious than ever, and the rain is doing wonders for the green beans, olives, herbs and spring onions (or ‘calcots’, but more on them later) which grow here.

(images) Mother nature’s gifts.

I’ve been feeling infinitely more connected to nature while living in lockdown. Not necessarily because we’re staying in the countryside, though that helps, but perhaps because I’m increasingly aware of my dependence on it. The natural world (which we often forget were a part of) provides us with the sustenance we need to survive, and I can’t help but feel like empty supermarket shelves in the UK are a symbol of how disconnected people are to where food actually comes from, and the supply chain which starts with mother nature.

Nature is not only essential as a source of food but as a source of energy from which we nurture our minds.

The alarming spread of coronavirus and its devastating and far-reaching effects threaten to overwhelm me. As I mentioned in last week’s post, I constantly feel at the edge of this overwhelm, ready to be swept under by the noise and chaos of news headlines which just keep getting worse. In an active effort to address these feelings without adopting a ‘keep calm and carry on’ approach of outright avoidance, I have started to practice mindfulness, using breathwork techniques from Gaba Podcast’s daily sessions.

Nature has become a central part of my amateur mindfulness practice, as it provides a constant calming presence in the now on which to focus. Simple things in the natural world have proven incredibly grounding, like the cycle from day to night, the passing of clouds across the sky, the sound of little birds scuffling across the roof of the cottage and the fresh aroma of soil after it’s rained. Of course these elements don’t erase the existence of Covid-19 and the lives it is both threatening and taking, but they provide a counterweight to the noise and anticipatory grief that I’m experiencing.

(images) Stuff can get pretty overwhelming at the moment, so the natural world has become a steadfast element on which to rest my focus.

I have also been thinking about the way in which nature is not just a resource to be taken from, for our wellbeing and our existence, but something to give back to. I’ve been inspired by so many people I follow online, and their mutual apprehension that this could be a pivotal point of change for the world. Their shared thoughts and musings suppose that we might move away from our addiction with consumption and competition, and towards more regenerative cultures. Friend and ex-colleague, Adam Russell, has written a fantastic summary of ten books worth reading if you’re interested in regenerative cultures and living in harmony with the planet. The summary can be found at the Saltbush Projects website, which documents the pretty cool journey that Adam and his family are taking in suburban Australia, of growing food, making things and living more simply. Adam’s project is one of a few which are inspiring George and I to shape up our own dreams for a self-sustaining lifestyle and off-grid house.

Amid panic, paranoia and overwhelm, I am optimistic about a different future in which equality, sustainability and community emerge as the shared values by which we live.

Unlike the accounts of our adventures before lockdown, I don’t have much to report on a day-by-day basis. Back during our time in France and our initial month in Spain it felt as though every day was rammed with new experiences and places that George and I had visited in the van! Now though, the days start to merge into one, and I have lost my usual motivation to spring out of bed and into action. I try not to beat myself up about it, and in fact have leaned into the ‘not-knowing’ of the future and the monotony of the present. I trust that one day, somehow, our travels will continue, and try to reaffirm the motto “I’m exactly where I need to be” even when it can feel super frustrating that all life plans are on hold for the time being.

(images, left to right) Layered up in lockdown as it rains outside, watching a live stream DJ set from England complete with visuals created (live, too) remotely by my brother in Scotland!, and slowing down and soaking up the sun on Sunday.

The monotony of the present has also allowed for me to reflect inwardly. I think a crisis of the magnitude that the world currently faces puts certain things into perspective, and after another week filled with skype calls and catch-ups, I don’t think I’m alone in my increase in philosophical thoughts. The insecurities of weight gain, obsessions with career progression, anticipation for planned holidays, fixations with buying new things and other everyday thoughts shared amongst my friends and I now seem like petty hiccups in the grand scheme of life.

Food, friends, our health and shared prosperity feel like the only things that matter anymore.

On that note, I’ve been thinking about jealousy - a strange and ugly emotion that I have grappled with for years. In last week’s post I talked about my shifting relationship with social media in recent weeks, and the possibility that sharing things like photos and status updates can be perceived as insensitive, and perhaps even trigger jealousy. Whilst it could have seemed that I was referring to jealousy induced by the things that I post, I have also been thinking about my own jealousy, and taking a tiny step back from Instagram and Facebook has been part of that.

As a child, I remember being preoccupied with other people’s looks and achievements. I think at one point I even claimed to my mum that I wanted to be my best friend! That jealous streak is something which has filtered through my life, and it’s probably only in the last five years that I really feel like I’ve faced up to it. Jealousy is horrible for so many reasons, but for me, not only did it make me feel rubbish but it also impeded my ability to be happy for others. Instead of relishing in shared pride for a friend or family member’s success or good fortune, that success would become a cruel tool to devalue myself. It would push my focus away from them, and back onto me, leaving me both as a crap friend and a selfish individual.

(Image) I’ve grappled with jealous over the years, a muddy and confusing emotion that threatens your ability to reflect on yourself and others.

This period of lockdown feels like a closing chapter for me in addressing jealousy, which is perhaps why I’m sharing it even if it seems personal, in the hope that it may be of use to someone else.

When I say ‘closing chapter’, it’s not as though jealousy will never rear its ugly head again, because of course it will. But the common cause of tackling this horrible virus has been a trigger for me to consolidate what I’ve been practicing these last five years: to turn jealousy around into more constructive feelings, like pride and admiration for others, and aspiration or contentment for myself. All that said, it is really hard to find coherent words to explain my relationship with jealousy, and I do not at all profess to be immune to it! I only hope that I can continue to address it head on, rather than suppress it and let it eat away at me.

On the topic of eating, food has become a crucial part of mentally surviving lockdown! George and I have been cherishing the opportunity to take longer to cook, to experiment with new recipes, and even new ingredients (if we can find them in the tightly controlled supermarkets). I know we’re not alone in this, and have heard stories of friends’ first homemade loaf of bread, experiments with pickling and fermentation, making pasta by hand and brewing beer at home. By cooking and eating more slowly, I think we are also showing our appreciation to nature, and re-assigning value to a ritual intrinsic to humanity.

Calçots, as I mentioned at the start, have been a magical little food discovery for the two of us. A type of green onion renowned in Catalonia, calçots are best cooked on an open fire. After letting them crisping up for five minutes, you peel the blackened outer skin off to reveal a sweet and juicy inner, which when dipped in romesco sauce, is absolutely delicious.

(images, left to right) Calçots in the garden, roasting over a fire, and ready for dipping in sauce.

The sauce, known as ‘Salsa de Calçots’, can be made at home with blanched almonds, hot peppers, garlic, tomatoes and olive oil, but we actually picked some up in the supermarket. A few nights this week, we’ve had the pleasure of cooking calçots like this, and not only do they taste incredible, but they’re messy, fun and super simple.

While it could sound ridiculous, small experiences like cooking fresh spring onions on an open fire have transcended into special, almost spiritual moments of communion for me. I believe we need these glimpses of normality and conviviality to survive what is an extreme and scary time.

As it sinks in that we could all be living like this for a while now, let’s not forget to look after ourselves and others. Rather than settle for judgement and jealousy, I am trying to equip myself with kindness and compassion, a choice inspired by the nurses and doctors, farmers and supermarket workers, respirator-makers and scrubs-sewers, soup kitchen volunteers and careworkers, newly-appointed homeschoolers and online mindfulness coaches.

This blog post comes a few days late because I honestly couldn’t bring myself to write it. What do I write? Where do I begin? From a micro perspective, my life here has been pretty uneventful, and yet from the macro perspective, so much has happened around the world due to the outbreak of Covid-19 that it feels like we have enough news for a whole year from just one week. And yet, the only perspective I can write from is my own. Armed with the encouraging words of friends and family, I am inspired to push on and get some of the thoughts in my head and experiences from our ninth week ‘on the road’ down onto paper.

One of the ways I’ve started to see our experiences in lockdown is through this idea of duality.

Every situation that I’m in (and no doubt most of us are in) sort of seems to have two sides. I alluded to this in last week’s blog post, and the way in which it’s possible to see great sadness, selfishness and suffering at the moment, but also to be inspired by so many of the positive responses and the potential positive outcomes of this pandemic.

From a chronological perspective, our week has been divided into two clear halves, another duality of sorts. George and I spent the first half of the week in Suzi the Van, in the Marina in València which we’d been staying for a while. Whilst the Marina had all the basic amenities and we were safe there, the confines of a space that small were really taking its toll. On Tuesday, when I was made to return to the van by a security guard after attempting to walk short laps nearby, I broke down into tears. Never before have I valued the outdoors so much, wanted to stretch my legs and take in some fresh air. It was heartbreaking, and scary to lose a liberty I take for granted.

As urban areas seem to be hotspots for the virus, València was under tight control. A simple trip to the supermarket hammered that reality home, when George and I were asked by Police to walk on opposite sides of the street from one another, and a one metre distance was enforced by cashiers and guards in supermarkets. Gloves are mandatory in some supermarkets, and most folk you do see are wearing masks.

(images, left to right) Being made to walk on separate sides of the road in Valencia, tape marking out 1 metre separations in the supermarket, and gloves to be worn by customers.

Extreme measures quickly start to feel normal.

Whilst we tried to make the best of being in Suzi the van, having fun together and finding any possible way to entertain ourselves, the claustrophobia-inducing confines were soon wearing thin. After making arrangements with the family friend whose cottage we had stayed in a few weeks earlier in Catalonia, we quickly made the six-hour journey up north to return to their cottage as a safer lockdown spot. George and I were also conscious that restrictions on driving were only likely to tighten, so we made the escape while we could. That said, we weren’t stopped by Police the whole way up from València to Palamos.

Relying on the generosity of others can be a very humbling thing. I am reminded every day that I wouldn’t be here in Spain, with a safe place to stay during the (now extended) ‘State of Alarm’ if it wasn’t for the kindness of others. In times like these, I think we will see more sharing of resources, and the idea of asking for help becoming more normalised too. If I can help someone else in any way, please do reach out to me.

(images, left to right) Saying goodbye to Suzi’s parking spot at La Marina, silly antics as George refuses to get out of bed in the morning, and making our way north to Catalunya.

Since leaving València, the second half of our week has been rather more comfortable than the first, as we’re now in the countryside and with a house to stay in. That said, I’ve been pretty miserable these past few days, burdened with the knowledge of the global crisis and the impact it’s having on literally everyone I know. Which brings me to another duality -

Whilst those of us in lockdown who aren’t sick with the virus technically have all this unique free time to potentially make and create, the panic and anxiety induced by the situation can be crippling.

Obviously, everyone’s working situation is different: some people are working from home, others have lost their jobs, others are being paid some or all of their wage but don’t have any work to do, and then there are the doctors and nurses, supermarket attendants and maintenance workers who literally risk their lives to go to work and keep the situation afloat. But, looking more generally at the whole population, when else in history have so many people been given a chance to stay at home, with no routine and no commitments? 

When trying to think positively, I have seen this lockdown as an opportunity for making and creating on an unprecedented scale, for people to use the freedom and inspiration as a platform for self-expression, a sentiment echoed countless times online too. And yet, even though I’ve managed to get things done and make things in this last week, it has always been counteracted by another feeling in my head and heart, one which has pushed against the desire to ‘do’ with a desire to… mourn? I’ve heard the anxiety triggered by the unknown of the future termed as ‘anticipatory grief’, and it’s exactly this which can cripple any desire or instinct to create and make. The idea of anticipatory grief is explored in an article which my friend Greg sent to me today, and I found it incredibly useful. You might do too.

Living with an unknown future is forcing a shift towards being more present.

(images) Small things that I am trying to grateful for, like fresh houmous, strawberries blooming and an open fire.

You don’t realise how much you base your life around an assumed future until that future crumbles into the unknown. I assumed that I would be able to fly home for a doctor’s appointment in April, I assumed that Las Fallas festival would take place in València and George and I would finish our commercial work linked to it, I assumed that we would catch a ferry to Italy and drive south-east through Slovakia and Croatia and that we would see our friends later in Greece as planned.

Obviously a big outcome of all those future things now being cancelled or uncertain causes anxiety and the ‘anticipatory grief’ that I mentioned. But it has also triggered a return to the present. I wonder if other, more mindful, cultures are generally more present-focussed because they don’t have the luxury of the certainty of the future - places where death is more frequent and disasters more likely to happen, unsheltered by the insurance and capital we are so ‘lucky’ to have in the Western world. For me, I am trying ever so hard to embrace the present. It is an uncomfortable feeling, to be okay and connected to the now rather than to what is to come, but it also feels like a very valuable mindset to nurture.

A focus on the present is perhaps why so many of us have suddenly connected with friends and family digitally. Of course, some of these calls are intended to replace what would usually be a face-to-face catch up, but for George and I, we wouldn’t be set to see a lot of people for a while as we’re overseas anyway. And so all these phone conversations, WhatsApp catch-ups, Zoom calls and Skype videos have been a direct action to bring those people that mean something to us closer. People are reaching out to each other, in the present, and are showing the gratitude, connection and care they have for each other through just saying hi. Perhaps we all forgot quite how important these people were to us because we were always thinking in the future?

(images, left to right) Connecting with friends in Australia, George going a little bit insane, and my first attempt at making oat milk (which I would rate a totally mediocre 5/10) which was a good short-term distraction from the overwhelming global crisis and a good starting point to make improved versions!

I’ve also been reminded that the internet can serve to connect and inform, but it also has the potential to alienate and divide people.

I honestly can’t imagine experiencing lockdown without access to the internet. This week alone, I’ve probably read tens if not hundreds of useful, mind-expanding, informative news articles, in addition to opinion pieces and videos related and linked to coronavirus. I’ve been able to watch (along with 80 or so others) our friend Dan live-stream a spirit-lifting musical performance from his bedroom as part of the ‘Solo En Casa’ festival, and I’ve taken part in a genre-defying guided meditation by the wonderful Adam Martin from Gaba Podcast. My mum did her first online yoga class, my Dad has been playing virtual Scrabble with his friends, and that’s all on top of the phone calls and video calls that ping around between us all every day.

Yet whilst I sing its praises, the internet also has darker qualities in times like these. There are no ‘ground rules’ for the internet, and social media can start to become a bit of a Wild West where opinions get flung around and judgement passed. Lockdown restrictions seem to change everyday, and you see plenty of neighbourhood vigilantes who take it upon themselves to report and criticise other people for the rules that they break, people in government for the rules that they make, shoppers for the food that they take. I find myself engaging in this circle of judgement too, and yet it goes against the principles of community and solidarity that are needed now more than ever.

Not only does the internet make space for judgement, but for jealousy as well. In presenting selected elements of our lives we can create idealised images of what our lives are really like, and in sharing certain things we can highlight what others don’t have. Sharing photos and stories is a great way of connecting with others, but the flipside of this digital culture addicted to sharing is that we sometimes lose sight of what we have. This week, I’ve taken a bit of a step back from Instagram and Facebook both to focus on my present situation and the immediate world around me, and not to incite jealousy or comparison. I’m interested to see how I find this change.

Unrelated to the current pandemic, we’re incredibly excited to finally have a launch date for Broaden’s upcoming documentary, ‘The Hundred Miler’.

Announcing the release date was in part triggered because we realised that this is a time when people will be at home, available to watch an independent documentary about ultra running. But announcing the launch of The Hundred Miler also highlights another duality: that while there is a global crisis going on which involves a terrifying, easy-to-transmit illness causing an influx of deaths, the ‘normality’ of everyday life is running in parallel. People are still doing homework with their kids, others are watching Netflix before they go to bed and walking their dogs, and George and I are still trying to edit videos and launch Broaden.

And so, now seemed as good a time as any to finally get our first big film out into the world. We’ve created a facebook event to promote the launch on the 11th April, and throughout the runup in the coming three weeks we’ll be releasing snippets of the film too. I’d love for as many of you to join the facebook event and catch the video when it’s out.

Having a creative project like this documentary throughout lockdown has been a lifesaver, as it’s pushed me to move towards the positive side of the dualities presented by coronavirus: trying to ‘do stuff’ rather than getting bored, trying to make something rather than being crippled by anxiety, trying to make the most of the space we have rather than feel trapped in our surroundings, trying to be present rather than fretting about the future.

All that considered, the critical word in the statement above is trying. I’m trying, and not always succeeding, to see the positive side of things. I think one of the reasons it took me a while to finally write this blog post is because I wanted it to come from an authentic place, and at first it felt like a failure that I didn’t have only good things to report. But in processing how I’ve been feeling these past seven days, the most authentic message is that I haven’t been purely positive, and things have been rough, and that that’s okay too.

The duality of life is what gives it character, and I think some of the dualistic qualities of this period of lockdown are what’s making it such a strange thing for us to all grapple with too.

Does any of this make sense? I hope so. I hope I’m not alone in these feelings and I hope that in some way this blog brings us closer together. These are strange and scary times, folks.

The week started with the announcement that the biggest event in the Valèncian calendar, Las Fallas, was cancelled. This came as a real shock to us (just as I was wrapping up last week’s blog post) and at the time, almost felt like a bit of an over-reaction. Of course, those closely following the development of Coronavirus around the world, and particularly in nearby Italy, would understand the motivation behind such a big decision.

On Tuesday morning I attended a free event about Innovation and Design in cities, hosted by a group called ‘Designscapes’ who are conducting research on the topic in the hope of developing public policy. I’d been invited by Ramon Marrades who we’ve been working with at La Marina, and I quite enjoyed attending an academic event after being outside of the urban design industry for a while. I wrote an overview of some of the key takeaways from the event here, which included speakers from the International Centre for Design and Research, Aalborg University and The Tavistock Institute. Unfortunately, the event was considerably impacted by Coronavirus, and not only was attendance greatly reduced but many of the speakers were also unavailable to be present.

Attending the Designscapes Policy Forum was certainly a wake-up call about how seriously Covid-19 might begin to affect public gatherings, but I would still not believe the situation we’d be in just one week later!

While the cancellation of Las Fallas had affected some of our commercial work, the next few days felt as though most other things were unaffected. Plans for the documentary that our channel Broaden are making about La Marina charged ahead.

On Tuesday afternoon, we met up with Ramon to discuss people we’d like to interview about La Marina, València’s seriously impressive waterfront precinct. He took us inside ‘La Base’, the old headquarters for the Swiss Alinghi sailing team, a relic from when València hosted the America’s Cup back in 2007. La Marina now uses the building for events and offices, and while it’s not yet used as often as it could, it has so much potential and is one of many cool assets in the marina.

(images, left to right) Attending the Designscapes forum on innovation in cities, enjoying the sunset on the marina blissfully unaware of the lockdown that would soon be in place, and moody scenes from inside ‘La Base’, a building full of potential.

Filming for the documentary began on Wednesday morning, when we interviewed Manoel, a charming guy who has worked at La Marina for over a decade. Starting out as a deck hand, Manoel is now a senior staff member managing the nautical side of the marina, with its hundreds of moorings and associated facilities. It was fascinating to learn more about the operational side of running a place like this, and we were even treated to a guided boat ride around the marina which offered such a different perspective on this place we’ve both been documenting and staying in for over a week.

The following afternoon, we filmed our second interview, this time with with Julia Pineda, a socially-oriented architect from the co-operative practice ‘Crearqcio’ who has worked closely with La Marina. I was especially interested in the community engagement she had done, and the participatory processes with local residents and other stakeholders to explore names for new streets and decide on future uses for buildings there.

As George and I continue to work together as a videography duo, we’re refining the process of interviewing people, arranging shoots, preparing equipment and getting the perfect footage.

(images, left to right) Taking a boat ride around La Marina, speaking to Julia in Crearqcio’s office, and interviewing Manoel on a gloriously sunny day for the documentary.

Friday the 13th did indeed turn out to be pretty unlucky, as that’s when the situation in Spain relating to Coronavirus really escalated. We managed to squeeze in another interview with a member of La Marina’s team, the third of five interviews we had planned. Barbara was really accommodating and positive on camera, but even just the general vibe in the office while we were filming communicated that things were about to dramatically change.

By early evening, we were informed that some of our other commercial work would have to be completely cancelled, as all operations in Spain were starting to completely shut down. 

It was Friday evening when warning came of the state of alarm which Spain was about to enter.

The declaration was made on Saturday: to ameliorate the spread of coronavirus, everyone in Spain is to stay at home, leaving the house only to buy groceries or medicine. All bars, restaurants, museums, cafes, and any other establishments that carry out public activity are to be closed and no one is to use public spaces. As the week continued, further measures have been put in place, such as the closure of the country’s land borders.

And that is pretty much when the predictability of my and George’s lives ended. Just like that: an extreme measure is brought into place which affects every aspect of your life - your income, your freedom to move, your travel plans, your activities and your family. Of course, that extreme measure has been brought into place because of an extreme situation, but if only I could warn Bryony from a week ago, perhaps I would have told her to prepare in some way. What might I have said? To stock up on food essentials, to buy a couple more books, to have more money saved up and most critically, to brace herself for the physical and emotional challenge of being confined to living exclusively inside Suzi the Van.

(images, left to right) Powering through confinement in a van by writing letters and eating icecream, George going a teeny tiny bit crazy in our mini house, and sitting just outside the van on my virtual ‘balcony’.

We have left the van once since Friday, to go out and buy some food. I’m someone who likes to get out and about, so this level of confinement is pretty intense.

Aside from the supermarket run (to Lidl, which was surprisingly well-stocked), George and I have ‘stayed at home’, here in Suzi at La Marina. I’ve been really keen to go and find a camping spot out in the countryside, where there might be more possibility of getting some fresh air and a walk, but we’re conscious that where we are right now has all the amenities we could need: flushing toilets, hot showers, a laundry, rubbish bins, water, drain, and even electricity (which we’ve resorted to using today amid stormy overcast weather). Plus, if the last week has taught us anything, it’s that you can’t be sure of how the next week may play out. The safest option is likely to stay put.

As people have reiterated online, a period of isolation is a pretty unique opportunity for many of us to indulge in activities we don’t get around to. Whilst I’m privileged to have already incorporated diary and blog writing as well as a lot of book-reading into my routine in the van, these last few days have seen me do that more than ever. I also made another collage, and even got around to editing together a collection of images I took back when I was working in Sydney. This short stop-motion animation (below) had me thinking about seeing something inspirational in the same repetitive scene.

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A post shared by Bryony Simcox (@bryonysimcox) on Mar 16, 2020 at 9:42am PDT

Might isolation do wonders for society’s increasingly short attention span and need for variety?

The current situation is a bizarre mix of feeling very isolated and very connected all at the same time. George and I use our phones a lot, and get constant updates both from formal news outlets and from friends and family. Anecdotes from Sydney and the UK, where measures aren’t quite as extreme yet, contrast with the sobering sentiments of scientists on podcasts or videos of Italians and Chinese who have been dealing with a total lockdown far longer than we have.

At times, I’ve even turned my phone off to try and tune out of the noise. Now that George and I are in lockdown, we aren’t able to contract Covid-19 nor spread it. So to a certain extent I feel as though keeping up-to-date as the crisis unfolds only makes me feel increasingly miserable and helpless.

(images, left to right) The deserted walkway next to our van, empty offices at La Marina, and the beach as viewed from the closed gate which confines the part of the marina that we’re parked in.

If you let your mind project the implications of this virus in the future, it’s not too hard to find yourself in a dark place. Already, I see the failings of an economic system addicted to growth, the selfish panic-buying and disregard of facts by large swathes of people and the unfair advantage of exploitative multinational corporations. Take for example the fact that the aviation industry (led by millionaires, might I add) have banded together to ask for government payouts while young people, creatives, self-employed and zero-hour contract employees face a future of complete financial uncertainty.

I’m left asking questions like “how will people pay their rent?”, “where will this leave already vulnerable members of our society?” and “how will we even begin to rebuild life if and when this virus is tackled?”.

Of course, there are so many positive sides to be seen during this time too, and some of which offer answers to that last question. Already, we are seeing signs of generosity and kindness from health workers, neighbours, friends and strangers. We are seeing the emergence of an informal economy built on reciprocity and trust, where not just economic capital has value. We are seeing innovation on a massive scale, as people seek new ways of keeping their businesses alive, of cooking food with what’s left in their cupboards, of keeping the virus at bay and managing its spread, of boosting morale and of pooling resources.

(images) I’m trying to see beauty in things and keep positive-minded, even if that means snapping these colourful scenes from the desolate streets on our walk to the supermarket.

In some ways, perhaps we needed an event of this magnitude to shake up the entire way in which we exist, and to rethink our systems of living.

The irony is that we already have another event which threatens humanity in this way, but which we have been largely ignoring. This is, of course, climate change and the terrifying rate at which the earth is warming up. Mother Nature has been shouting about the catastrophe we are charging towards for some time now, and yet it has taken direct deaths on home soil and a tangible ‘thing’ like Covid-19 for us to react in a collective and decisive way. It also goes without saying, that my heart breaks for all of the victims of this terrible virus to date, and I would never wish that it would take fatalities to call us to action.

This blog is usually a very personal reflection on a very personal journey: where my partner George and I attempt to cross the world in an old Japanese campervan, making videos along the way. But the arrival of this virus and its direct impact on our journey has triggered a different type of reflection. Perhaps in the coming weeks, during which I presume we will remain in lockdown, I will continue to write and reflect on what I think it is to be human in a difficult time, and to assess the situation which we are now all in, together as humanity.

My first thought is that in light of the current Covid-19 crisis, this blog feels truly ridiculous and self-indulgent. What started as a handful of people showing flu-like symptoms has escalated into a pretty scary global health threat, and I must admit I’ve gone from passing it off as ‘something that will blow over’ to really taking it seriously. I’m not into scaremongering, but I now see the potential impact of a virus like this on each and every one of us and on the liberties we are so used to.

All that considered, it still feels important to document our travels and to celebrate the good stuff that’s still happening. Life here in Spain feels fairly unaffected by the Corona virus at this stage (apart from a conference I attended today being about 75% empty), but we’re also following developments across the global stage where life really is being affected. I would at least say that it’s encouraging to see the way in which countries are rallying together and catalysing action to tackle this crisis (if only we could do the same for the climate crisis). Our own plans have been affected as we were headed to Italy next, but for now I’m going to focus on the last seven days that have passed here on the Spanish coast and which have marked our seventh week on the road. In reflecting on this I hope to send out a little ray of sunshine!

(image) The sun sets from our parking spot in Valencia and we’re thinking of friends and family around the globe.

This week started with our final day on the road coming into València. We were treated to a chilly ocean swim, a daytime wander around Castellón, and an adventurous evening drive up to an incredible panoramic camping spot.

On that first day of the week we woke up in an eerily deserted coastal spot, and then drove a little further south to ‘Playa Miami’ to have an ocean swim and a wash under the outdoor beach showers. Locals wrapped in layers walking past thought we were nuts, but were all pretty friendly and made us feel very much welcome - which is such a nice feeling when you’re in residential neighbourhoods and you’re concerned about being perceived as unwanted van-dwellers...

I was pretty chuffed to find a cheap refill for our gas bottle in Playa Miami too, half the price that we’d paid in France a month earlier. Spain is definitely a fair bit cheaper than France, not only in terms of fuel but also food shopping (which makes sense given that more fruit and vegetables are grown here). Restocked with supplies and setting off again, we continued southbound towards València, making our next stop at Castellón de la Plana for a lunch break.

I didn’t know much about Castellón, but George and I were enamoured by its character and spent a few chilled-out hours there. 

(images, left to right) People-friendly streets with integrated bike lanes in Castellón, gorgeous orange blossom on our walk into the city, and one of a few murals I spotted and really enjoyed there.

The first thing we observed was how cool the city’s public transport was. The tree-lined boulevard we had parked on was a key spine providing access into the city, and while we opted to walk along its generous pavement, the road also offered a bus route and city bikes. The buses weren’t just any old buses though. They were electrified buses with movable electrical conductors which flipped up and down depending on if there were overhead powerlines. The bus effectively acted as a tram, moving in a dedicated lane and with raised stops with digitised signs.

Closer into the city, the buses merged with normal traffic lanes and (presumably) ran off batteries which store power from being charged by the overhead lines. The bikes were also pretty innovative - being the most basic design out of all the city bike schemes we’ve seen but clearly being well-kept and effective. Seeing places like Castellón, which isn’t even one of the major cities in Spain, simply offer inventive and effective urban mobility solutions as part of everyday life gets me even more frustrated about the state of transport in the UK and Australia. We could learn a thing or to from mainland Europe!

Walking from the edge of Castellón into the city centre and old town, our journey was a delightful multi-sensory experience. Orange trees blossomed, letting off a sweet aromatic smell, and electric buses left the streets peacefully quiet. The town itself boasted attractive historic buildings like the Cathedral and Theatre, with pedestrian-only lanes animated by the mid-afternoon lunch break (which sees shops shut down and cafes come to life between 2ish and 5pm or so). After a coffee and cake in a charming plaza, we hopped back into Suzi and continued on our way towards València.

Up a steep and sketchy road, our parking spot for that first night offered one of the most incredible views down towards València and across the ocean.

(images) Tackling the ascent to our camping spot to the north of Valencia. Not sure if George is loving the 4WDriving or fearing for his life!

In order to feel safe and secure we decided to park a fair way out of the city, and were not disappointed by the camping spot we chose on Park4Night. Suzi handled the rocky ascent really well (even when she was still in 2WD) and we finally reached the parking spot on El Picaio in the Parc Natural de la Serra Calderona, next to the Santuari de la Santisima Verge de la Medalla Miraculosa, a small catholic chapel atop the mount.

With a celebratory beer in hand, we watched the sun set over the ocean and looked into the distance at the city of València, beyond the rocky hill and the green expanses. I felt overjoyed to be in such a stunning spot and really cherish these moments which are free and yet bring us so much value.

(images, left to right) Walking to a vantage spot from our parking, a couple of celebratory beers at the top, and the chapel we parked next to.

On Wednesday, George and I drove into València. I visited once before back in 2012, but had very few memories of the place and didn’t really know what to expect this time. The main reason that this city was on our itinerary was cause of a guy I met through Twitter, four years back. Ramon is a Spanish economist and urbanist, who was undertaking some research in Australia back in 2016. He discovered me online and we were brought together by a shared interest in placemaking, eventually meeting for a drink along with one of his colleagues at the Bank Hotel in Newtown, Sydney. We have since stayed in touch, and I followed the impressive progress he was making as Chief Strategy Officer at the emerging ‘Marina de València’. The more I learnt about the waterfront project, the more it seemed that La Marina was an intriguing subject matter for a documentary, and as such it was arranged that we would come and stay in València to film.

Reconnecting with a like-minded individual like Ramon after meeting four years ago has been a wonderful affirmation of the power of networking, the internet, and sharing with others.

Not only will Ramon feature in this upcoming documentary about La Marina, a transformative project on the Mediterranean coast, but he has been the most welcoming host we could have asked for. He has hooked us up with a safe and well-appointed place to park up, which is a key consideration when staying in a city, and he’s been a friend and tour guide too, introducing us to so many passionate individuals and revealing this city’s incredible places and the stories behind them. If George and I decide to stay in València forever, it’s Ramon’s fault!

(images, left to right) Creamy skies over La Marina, our friend and urban strategist Ramon, and some of the new branding for the La Marina, which I’m really fond of.

Against the backdrop of this picturesque city, the week that has ensued has been a mix of really getting to know La Marina, the usual film editing and vanlife admin, working on some exciting commercial videography projects and exploring this new Spanish city.

We coincidentally picked the craziest time of year to come, when the city’s annual festival, ‘Las Fallas’, marks the start of spring.

We’ve signed up for the city’s bike hire scheme, which although a little heavy, are a really easy way to get around the city. It also really helps that there is an extensive network of bike lanes, well signed, separated from traffic and all joined up to one another. On Thursday we used the bikes to explore València by day, pairing a ride around iconic large-scale landmarks like the Ciudad de las Artes y Ciencias with a meander around more human-scaled, everyday places like the twisting streets near the Mercado Central and the old town. Other days have seen us cycle into the city at night, when the continuous cacophony of people setting off fireworks and festivities spilling out of community centres (‘las casales falleros’) marks the start of Las Fallas.

(images, left to right) One of the remaining city gates retained from Valencia’s historic city walls, wandering the streets during Fallas celebrations, and the Centre del Carme brought to life for a night-time concert.

Las Fallas is pretty nuts, a pagan festival which was reappropriated as a Catholic celebration and is now a mash-up of satire, religion and anything related to fires and fireworks. It’s just hard to believe the Valencianos sustain this level of partying and putting up with perpetual fireworks for more than two weeks...

On Saturday afternoon, we filmed a free concert at La Marina, one of many socially-oriented initiatives which make what could be an otherwise exclusive yacht-owners’ paradise a place for the citizens of València to come, hang out, and connect to the waterfront (of course, there are yachts here too, but the place just has a really open and inclusive vibe). After the concert, we took another bike ride into the city centre (about 30 mins from the Marina where Suzi is parked up), this time for a jam-packed evening which started with a free concert at the Centre del Carme contemporary art space and ended with tapas and a midnight tour around the city’s landmarks with Ramon. After a cycle back ‘home’ at 2:30am, with full bellies and hearts, I was reminded why I love the eclecticism and vitality of cities so much.

Visiting València has strengthened my passion for urbanism and that renewal has certainly been a highlight of the week.

Stepping away from my ‘career’ as a placemaker last year was a big decision for me, and a lot of my focus over the last twelve months has just been to get the van built and make this trip happen. I haven’t spent much time in a city since we were living in Sydney, where we had access to many of the assets and activities that urban life can offer. So spending a considerable amount of time here in a major city, and especially making a documentary about La Marina, a strategic urban development with placemaking it its heart, has got me super inspired again.

(images, left to right) George attracted to a camera shop (like a moth to the light...), delightful laneways and street art, cycling around the City of the Arts & Sciences.

There was one really special moment this week, when George and I stopped mid-afternoon in a small plaza. We had been wandering through the old part of town, just south of the magnificent ‘Turia park’, a green corridor that runs through the heart of the city, and we found a spot to stop for a beer in the street. This plaza wasn’t necessarily anything special, and it certainly didn’t feature any dramatic design or grand gesture, but there was something about it that George and I both picked up on that made it a really great urban space: a place.

Perched on a wall with a cheap lager in hand, we analysed the square, full of the dynamism and complexity that just can’t be created overnight or by one master stroke. There was a restaurant with seats that spilled over onto the pavement, walls layered with peeling paint and posters advertising raves and protests, a bunch of homeless people sat nearby a lone tourist who was eating churros, bought from a temporary van selling the sweet treats for the festival period. On all sides, apartment buildings of different shapes and sizes, though mostly 4 to 5 stories, punctuated by balconies hosting flags and flowerpots and the occasional ‘to let’ sign. And of course, there were plenty of people sitting, standing, chatting, reading, busking, eating, looking and just being. And (surprise surprise) there wasn’t a chain store in sight.

A city which is layered, complex and contradictory, shaped by many hands, worn, colourful, intriguing to the eye, fun, full of confusing juxtapositions which harmonise and clash all at the same time - that is a good city.

I’m excited to see what this coming week has in store for us here in València. Wherever you are, remember to stay safe in light of the virus that dominates our headlines, but don’t forget to enjoy the layered spaces and places around you too. *Footnote*: