Reflections from a small caravan
It’s been a couple of months since I last wrote a blog post. Things have been busy and challenging for me, but I am trying to take small steps in the right direction. This post will be brief, but, hopefully, a powerful reflection on my time living off the grid in a tiny caravan in late January this year. If anything, it will be a nice thing to look back at in the future.
It was the 20th of January, 2025, when I arrived in a small Portuguese village to stay with a lovely English-Dutch family who were living off the grid with three girls. I hopped off the bus and waited in the rain for my lift to the off-grid ‘finca’. The difference in the weather between the south - where I had previously been staying for two weeks - and the north was stark. The mountains of the north were far damper and green, not too dissimilar to North Wales! It was raining quite heavily when I arrived, so I decided to try to shelter outside a local cafe. Whilst waiting for a lift, I thought I would try something from the cafe, but I had stupidly not taken out any cash before coming on my trip, and the cafe did not accept card. Oh well! I soaked in the culture instead, noticing how different it was to back home.
Soon after, I was greeted by my host in the coolest old VW van and taken to their homestead. On the way, we stopped off at the local community centre to pick up the girls from their theatre class. For some reason, I was somewhat surprised, perhaps not expecting there to be a theatre class in such a rural place. However, this soon made me realise that lots of small, rural communities have a close-knit sense of community. This is almost a necessity as, unlike modern ‘city life’, there are more times where locals need each others’ support.
After their class finished, the three girls hopped into the van and we made our way up the valley to their off-grid home. We shared some fresh oranges, picked from their friends’ orange trees, and talked a little about our lives up to now. I noticed how different these oranges tasted to the oranges back home. No pesticides nor wax coatings nor strange E numbers - and you could tell. They were the best oranges that I’d ever tasted! We continued to wind up the small mountain lanes until we passed through their closest village before turning down a dirt road to their finca. It was dark by now, so I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous about heading down a bumpy road with four people who were strangers just a couple of hours before.
We arrived at their house and I was impressed with how cool it was! One of the hosts was a carpenter, and he had designed the house himself before building it with the help of some friends. It was painted with some eco-friendly green paint, which made it look like some sort of cool spaceship dome type thing. Inside, it had a mezzanine level with one bedroom, and the children’s bedroom was downstairs. Then there was an opened planned kitchen, dining room, and living room, with a (yet to be finished) bathroom around the back. Despite being small on the outside, it felt plenty spacious inside and the space felt warm and cosy, being easily heated up by the big thrifted log-burner that they had in the centre of the living room. We talked about life for a while after dinner and I learnt a lot about the family before they showed me where I would be staying during my time there. We walked to the bottom of the land, where a small, old French caravan was parked. This would be my home.
The caravan was cool - like really cool! When I was younger, I became a little obsessed with tiny houses and campervan conversions, so there has always been a part of me that wants to live off the grid in a small house. It was exciting to be able to do that for a little bit. The caravan was small - smaller than modern ones. But it also had everything that you could need. There was a double bed, a sofa with a small bookshelf, a small log burner to keep it warm, a kitchen with a stovetop, and even a toilet room. However, they’d decided to get rid of the toilet as they had built a nice, palace looking, compost toilet not far from the caravan. I was tired from a long day travelling, so I held off the urge to start a fire in the log burner and spent the night reading a book.
Since arriving in Portugal a couple of weeks prior, I’d decided not to purchase a sim card. Initially, this was because I was intending on staying at the previous place for longer, however, I later decided that I would carry on without one almost as an ‘experiment’ - to experience life without almost constant access to the internet for once! I’ve been interested in technology use for a few years now and I often like to try to think back to what it may have been like before smartphones and mobile networks were a thing. I saw this as a good opportunity to test it out a little. This is the first thing that I’d like to reflect on.
Disconnecting to reconnect
All in all, I was in Portugal for just under a month and, for this time, I did not have a sim card. This meant that the only time I was connected online was when I managed to find some Wi-Fi at a shop or wherever I was staying. For some time now, I have been wrestling with mindful technology use and swing back and forth between thinking that it is perhaps not so destructive, to thinking that the negatives far outweigh the benefits. But, on the whole, I always come back to the same conclusion: being constantly connected, with what would used to have been considered a supercomputer merely a few decades ago, is not good. Time and time again, I’ve noticed how experiences feel far more meaningful when not checking my phone every now and then. And I wouldn’t say that I’m at all addictive to my phone, it’s just that it’s presence plays with one’s subconscious. The fact that it is there and that there is the option to look at it whenever one wants some sort of dopamine release certainly takes away from more meaningful experiences.
I’ve not been on social media (other than Strava!) for a good few years now, so when I do go on my phone, I either end up looking through Strava or searching some random things on the internet that I feel like I need to know about. Naturally, this means that my phone is far less addictive and enticing than it used to be, but it does also mean that, so long as there is internet, I can still indefinitely spend time scrolling on it. So the problem still remains - the phone can be used to fill those ‘voids’ that appear throughout my day. Having no sim card in Portugal meant that my phone became far less appealing as it was far easier to ask a local where the nearest shop or cafe was than to try to find some Wi-Fi in the middle of nowhere.
When I arrived at the off-grid farm, I’d already spent a good two weeks far more offline than I usually was. The Wi-Fi at the previous place wasn’t great and you could only connect to it if you were very close to the router. This, coupled with my desire to be more disconnected online, meant that I spent no more than half an hour a day on my phone during those two weeks. At the finca, the caravan had no Wi-Fi, so now I had no choice but to send my time doing other, more meaningful things. At first, it was difficult. The solitude, combined with the confined feeling in the small caravan meant that I felt a little alone. I guess I felt as if I had too much time to think. But, upon reflection, it’s these moments of solitude and peace that allow you to properly reflect on both yourself and other things.
The caravan had a guitar, so I spent some time playing some songs and also trying to make up my own songs. It almost seemed far easier to express creativity when a key inhibitor - that is the smartphone - is removed. I spent a lot of time reading too and began to appreciate the fun of reading a good book once again. But more than anything, I tried to spend as much time during the day outside. Time walking around the local area, playing on the trampoline with the girls, doing some work in the garden, and taking the dogs for walks. Someone used to the plethora of things to do in a big city may feel like there is nothing to do in an off-grid farm, but I found that it was in fact quite the opposite. You see, when immersed in nature, living with it, not removed from it, there are naturally so many things to do with your time.
In a sense, living off the grid with this lovely family really drove it home to me that, to reconnect with others and with nature - the things that truly matter - one should disconnect a little more with the online world. When there is no TV to suck you into watching Netflix, no phone to suck you into endless scrolling, and no laptop to pretend to be working, then time passes by differently. We felt no rush to cook nor eat and, instead, cherished these moments of connection and tried to show appreciation and gratitude for simply being alive and in the presence of others.
At the surface, life is simple
When living off the grid, you gain an appreciation for the things that are important in life. At the surface, life is simple. But that is not to say that life is easy - these are two different things. When living off the grid, things that we usually take for granted need to be taken into greater consideration e.g. like making sure that you fill up on enough water from the local well or ensuring that your solar system is working so that you can fill up on some juice to allow you to power your home. But everything felt far simpler, perhaps primitive, than back at home. Because gas is a finite resource, it needed to be used wisely. This meant that when using the gas heated shower, one was more mindful of how long they spent showering. Because the food shop was not just around the corner, one had to be mindful of one’s food consumption and know how to grow food on the land to help sustain a family.
During my stay, a couple of things surfaced as being important in life. The first was food. We need to eat to fuel ourselves, and I gained a deeper appreciation for food whilst staying here. But food’s importance extends wider than this - it is a way of bringing people together, of connecting. Every lunchtime and evening, we would meet in the family’s kitchen to eat dinner, taking it in turns to help with the cooking or cleaning. Such a simple act, like eating, is often neglected back at home. Why do I say this? We no longer respect the cultural significance or importance of eating a meal around a table, together. Fast, convenient foods and widespread entertainment services mean that we often eat on a sofa, alone, or even when driving. This removes a key part of eating: the social side. I’ve always been a firm believer in eating around a table, even if I’m alone, and I am glad of this. Even when alone, it helps me to better appreciate my food - the flavours, textures and colours involved - and not simply hoover it up. However, when able to, eating with others around a table is something that few things can top. Around a handmade wooden table in the spaceship off-grid dome, we shared many laughs and stories together and connected far more than we otherwise would have. In a sense, food is, and always has been, a way of connecting and sharing life stories.
Aside from food, I also came to appreciate the importance of shelter. I am privileged enough to have never not had a roof to live under, but I realise that this is not the case for everyone. More and more people are driven into poverty and homelessness these days - perhaps a sign that there is something wrong with the system. During my time at the finca, I realised how lucky I was to be able to have a roof over my head and gained an appreciation for being warm. You see, when there is no central heating controlled by a thermostat, staying warm requires a little more effort. When night fell, we had to make sure that we’d prepared enough wood to make a fire and then spend some time starting the fire and keeping it going. I loved having a little log burner in the caravan. There is something about a fire - the colours, the heat, the cosiness - that few things can beat. Perhaps a lot of people are used to it, but it made me realise that for a lot of the luxuries or comforts that we have - in this case a warm fire - a natural resource must often be consumed to provide them. Following the wood from tree, to log, to kindling, to fire, and finally, to heat, was a wonderful experience.
Community is key
The finca that I was staying at was rather remote, however, there were a couple of small villages within about 5 km. When I arrived, I was immediately struck by the sense of community, with the girls having come back from theatre class that afternoon. But more than this, as I explored the local area, and during my weeklong hike from Coimbra to Porto the following week, I noticed how much more close-knit the communities seemed in Portugal. The villages weren’t too glamorous, but they all seemed to have some basics. A shop to buy some groceries, a cafe to socialise in, and some green space to spend time outside. I got the sense that these communities all had some sort of hub, be it the local cafe or shop, where the locals would meet up, perhaps daily, with their friends. The cafes seemed like places where conversation was the most important thing, simply buying an espresso and spending the good part of a morning or afternoon chatting to the fellow locals. It made me realise the importance of community.
In these small villages, there weren’t really any mainstream, big-name shops like we often see around the UK. Instead, most shops were local, independent shops. This means that money stays in the community and that everyone gets a piece of the pie. When you buy a dozen eggs from the shop, that money goes to another local, who can use the profits to buy a coffee at the local cafe or to send their children to swim or theatre classes. I’m not sure what the precise definition is, but the increased circularity in the local economy can only be a good thing. I think it helps to create and sustain a community, where everyone is in it together.
Solitude sucks. Or does it?
Another important reflection I made during my time in Portugal is that solitude is important. Really important. Too often these days, we are always occupied, or at least can always be occupied if we want to. This is something that I have been struggling with for the past few months - feeling like I should always be doing something. Otherwise, I’m wasting my time, right? When I was staying at the finca, having no Wi-Fi an being off-the-grid meant that I had more free time than I usually had. Having stayed at a similar setup before arriving, I’d somewhat gotten used to doing nothing sometimes. I guess at the end of the day, even if you are sitting watching the birds fly by or listening to the trees blow in the wind, you are still doing something. But I think solitude has a clear distinction - it is a time where you have no extra, unnecessary external inputs, other than those that are present in nature. At first, it is uncomfortable. But after some time, I noticed that the mind becomes at peace with doing nothing. Just sitting or lying or walking alone, being at one with my thoughts.
Perhaps the extreme, or obvious state of solitude is when meditating. I’d started meditating during my time at Cambridge and found it a useful way of calming the nervous system and of arising at a state where I could think more rationally. However, I’ve recently been slacking, and I think I notice the difference in my state of mind. I have returned to feeling like I always need to be doing something since I’ve been back home, meaning that I have neglected time in solitude. Meditation allowed me to spend time alone, but now it seems very difficult. Looking into the future, I hope to make time for a meditation practice once again. I know that the time spent sitting pays dividends in other parts of my life. I just need to try to get into the habit again.
Solitude is important but often neglected.
Be more childlike
The final thing that I’d like to touch on from my time staying off the grid with a wonderful family in Portugal is the importance of being more childlike. I’ve heard and read a lot about how doing things that we enjoyed as children when we are older is a way to feel more satisfied and happier, but is this true? From my experience, it is. You see, when you are a child - or at least when I was a child - there were no smartphones or computers or life admin things to get along with. Instead, most of our spare time is spent doing something that we enjoy. When I was younger, I used to love spending time playing in the woods, building dens, running around with my brother and my friends. I have fond memories of playing board games with family and friends, of cooking and baking with my Mum, and of spending time learning some crafts, such as knitting. As I’ve grown older, I’ve found that I’ve stopped doing some of these things as I feel as if I ‘lack the time’ or am too tired to fit them in. But the irony is, these types of quality leisure give you energy, not sap it.
When I was staying with this family, having three girls living off the grid meant that a lot of my free time was spent playing on the trampoline with the girls or learning from them as they showed me their recent art project or some things that they had discovered during their walk around the block. It made me realise and appreciate just how important it is to be present and curious - to show inquisitiveness and excitement. Maybe it’s just me, but I think society tends to condition some of these simple pleasures out of us as we grow older. This is likely partly due to us being convinced to pursue more materialistic, money-oriented things. However, many childlike activities and hobbies do not require any money. A lot of them just require some creativity and willingness to participate. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a great time every day bouncing on the trampoline. Although this also made me realise that perhaps I’m not as strong and fit as I thought I was as my legs were tired after each trampolining session!
I digress; the point I am trying to make is that we should be more childlike in some areas of our life. Yes, maturity is important, and some things that we do as children are because we’re children, but I think that as adults, there is so much room to weave back in some of those fun activities we used to enjoy as children.
I hope you enjoyed this post. I plan to try to sit down more often in the future to write some posts. It is fun and a good way to practice my writing!