Van life 9: The journey ends

Having been on Arran, what drew me back to the mainland besides my gut feeling was COP26. It was in Glasgow that year, and a bunch of my activist friends would be there. I felt like it would be good to go. But when I got to the city, I found myself wondering what I was doing there. How the f did I end up sitting in a car park in Glasgow in a van? I was feeling really lost and disorientated about my life, and annoyed about having had to leave Arran. Also, when I reconnected with my friends and that whole scene it just didn’t feel right anymore. The land had done something to me, softened something, and there was no going back.

Then I got an invite to attend a friend’s birthday in Devon. This was part of the group I’d become friendly with at the beginning of my van travels, and now there was going to be a week where we could all stay in a big house, or park on the land, and have some fun. I wasn’t feeling very party-like but it could be good for me. And, I didn’t have any better options either.

Before I drove down I had a weird feeling I needed to learn to sail. I booked in and did a five day Day Skipper course on the west coast and had a great time, but honestly, I’m still not sure why I did that. I was just getting so many visions and dreams of the ocean, and I thought I might need to sail soon. I was also starting to see visions of a jungle. South America was on my mind a lot. Maybe I’d go by boat. And I’d also had visions also of a large circular room, sitting around in ceremony. In the back of my mind, I knew Ayahuasca was calling me.

After sailing, I drove down to Devon, getting a strange feeling as I passed by Wales – would I be back there again soon? – and carried on to the party. I met one of my friends there who happened to mention he was off to an ayahuasca ceremony that weekend. As soon as he said it I knew I’d be there. It was, of course, in Wales.

I drove there and settled in. Which was hard as I’d never been to anything like that before. This was a group of experienced drinkers. I was the only newbie. All sitting with the Brazilian Yawanawa tribe, with their head shaman, Hushahu, a woman. I walked into the large circular ceremony space and looked at the enormous altar covered in all kinds of weird shamanic objects. I felt alive. I drank the medicine for two nights, and by the end of it I sensed my path with this medicine was only just beginning. They announced they had a month long dieta in the jungle coming up in a month’s time. The ground beneath me literally moved and lifted my body when they said it. ‘Go’.

I drove to another friend’s place, who owned a large farmhouse and had some land in Devon, where I was planning to stay in the interim, and to leave my van during my trip to Brazil. I had paid my deposit and booked my flights and thought I was on my way but then the damn Brazilian government decided to change the law about entering the country during Covid and I couldn’t get in. I was devastated, but wasn’t going to be defeated. I booked a flight to Peru instead, and showed up at Heathrow for my pre-flight Covid test…

Positive.

Drat.

I had suspected as much.

I’d started feeling really unwell the night before, and getting back to Devon was awful. This then coincided with having the worst depression I’ve ever had. For weeks I could barely move. I had no energy, and no will to live. I had to be really strict with myself, making myself go for walks – first five mins, then ten, then twenty, then an hour, then two hours. And making myself notice anything I could in my environment that wasn’t awful.

A leaf. Ok. A leaf isn’t awful. A cloud. Ok. I can handle a cloud. Like this.

Later, the tarot, too. This was where I became obsessed with the tarot. It became my guide through the pit of my psyche. Slowly, after a few months, I got my mind and body back. And the call to South America was still so loud it hurt. I’d missed the dieta by now but there was another one. I booked a flight to Peru anyway. One way or another I’d figure it out.

I finished up my days working with my friend to do up Misty, my beloved van who had carried me through the depths of the journey for over a year. I thought it would be great to continue our adventures with her fresh when I returned. I gave her a fresh lick of paint and sorted out the rust as best we could, while my friend really kindly made a wooden floor for her.

I didn’t know it then, but that would be the last time I saw Misty. Those days were over, and a whole new journey was about to begin.

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