But let me back up a bit, because it has already been an eventful travel-full few weeks.

Two weeks ago, we moved out of our home in Bayfield, Nova Scotia, the house we’d been renting for the past 4.5 months. It was a bittersweet goodbye, as it was Phoenix’ first home ever and the place where the three of us had gotten to know one another. At the same time, leaving Bayfield meant we were beginning the travels that would eventually lead us back into our Big Blue Bus and on the road!

Goodbye to our rental house in Bayfield…

… where lovely memories were created…

… as we got to know our baby boy!

Leaving Bayfield meant Phoenix would do his first road trip and enter a new province. Unfortunately, he really didn’t enjoy the car ride and cried almost half the 350km trip. I sure do hope he learns to like car rides soon, as road trips are a pretty big part of our lifestyle!

I was initially worried that Phoenix would struggle to adjust to a new environment, but he seemed to take to my parents’ home fairly fluidly. It was me who struggled more, having to organize his mass of baby stuff in a new place! Apparently, I was more tied to our Bayfield breastfeeding chair, diaper station, and bedroom environment than my baby was!

Phoenix doesn’t seem to mind grand-maman and Grumps giving him his bath.

We have spent the last two weeks introducing Phoenix to family and friends here in New Brunswick. The most important introduction was to my brother, who, because he lives in Toronto, hadn’t yet met his little nephew. It was heartwarming for me to watch the two of them bond. For the most part, Phoenix was easy-going, letting people hold him and taking all the new faces in stride. This, too, was surprising, since he had been so cocooned for his first two months of life. It made me feel less anxious about our upcoming trip to France.

Phoenix and uncle Nathan!

By the end of his stay, Phoenix was pretty darn into his uncle!

A family portrait for my mom’s birthday!  So glad we all got to be together for your special day, grand-maman!

Which is a good thing, since today is the big day. We fly to Montreal, take the red-eye to Lyon and then a train to Geneva. We will spend five nights there with Bruno’s brother and extended family, then take another train to the south of France, where we will spend three weeks in our home on the Mediterranean. All told, we will be in France exactly a month.

Phoenix got his passport photos taken at 6 weeks and now is the proud owner of a Canadian passport!

Hopefully Phoenix will do a lot of THIS during our flight to France!

What is on the cards for us after this trip? Hitting the road with our baby!

When we return from France, we will clean and pack up the bus, perhaps making a few more adjustments to make it more “baby ready”. Our hope is to leave New Brunswick by early June.

If the weather is conducive, our first stop will be Acadia National Park in Maine.

Next, we’re planning to meet up with my Aunt Louise somewhere around New York City, and then a couple of my girlfriends near Washington, DC. (Both of these visits will happen outside of those cities, hopefully in nature reserves or parks, as it feels a lot simpler to be in nature with our baby and our bus at this stage).

By the end of June, our goal is to be in the Appalachian Mountains. We envision a summer of hiking and being in nature as we get used to life on the road as three.

We will spend fall traveling down toward Mexico, where we plan to winter. I would love to visit the coast of South Carolina and Georgia as well as the Gulf Coast of Louisiana and Texas, but hurricane season may thwart those plans. We’ll leave things flexible and follow the weather.

We’re not sure what comes after Mexico. Will we head south toward central America and extend our summer before heading back toward Alaska, or will we make the long trek north in 2019? As with all things in our life now, it’s the baby who will decide!

Off to see the world!

And we’re pretty excited about it!

Travel Plans for the Remainder of 2018

May: France

June: NE USA (Acadia National Park, visits with family and friends around NYC and DC)

July-August: Appalachian Mountains of Virginia and North Carolina (with a probable trip back to New Brunswick for a couple weeks)

September – November: SE USA (focusing on the coast if the hurricanes allow it)

December: Mexico!

These past ten weeks have been a whirlwind of a different sort – the whirlwind of being new parents.

For the past ten weeks, our days have been marked by nursing, changing diapers, and trying to get our wide-awake baby boy to close his eyes and sleep. We have felt the tumult of emotions that come with being a parent – from absolute pure bliss (akin to floating in an ultra-pleasant alternate reality) to sheer desperation, and absolutely every emotion in between. We have felt clueless, exhausted, at peace, confident, worried, giddy, helpless, and infatuated. We are simultaneously in love and grieving the life of freedom and simplicity we have given up. Some days we can’t imagine life without Phoenix – at other times, we wonder what on earth we were thinking when we asked for this!

Phoenix rarely looks like this…

More often, he looks like this..!

And so, WE look like this!

Travel may have brought Bruno and I out of our comfort zones and allowed us to experience a variety of emotions, but it’s got nothing on parenthood.

Our life changed forever ten weeks ago, and we are slowly learning to adapt.

Phoenix is too. His first few weeks of life were spent learning to navigate the world outside the uterus. Learning to breastfeed, to breathe, to digest food. He experienced gravity, temperature, air, and light. If those first few weeks were overwhelming for Bruno and me, I can’t even imagine how they must have been for Phoenix.

Slowly but surely, though, he is adjusting to his new world. He is learning to sleep (which hasn’t been easy for him – he is way too interested in the world to waste his time sleeping!), he is steadily gaining weight (and has a triple chin to show for it), and has begun gazing at us, smiling, cooing, and mimicking our faces.

Phoenix is a strong little fellow. His limbs are almost always moving, and he mastered rolling over (from tummy to back) before the age of two months old! He has begun reaching out for objects and will sit, mesmerized, as we read him stories. The greatest joy has been to watch him slowly develop and take in his world. I imagine this joy will only grow as we embark on our world travels and continue to watch him marvel at the world.

He found his fingers!

Then he found my eyes!

Then he found himself!

There is no country, no landscape, no travel experience at all, that can match the experience of seeing the world through the eyes of a child.

Still, our plans to travel with a baby were evidently made before we actually had a baby. Right now, the thought of moving into our Big Blue Bus and actually traveling with Phoenix is a little overwhelming. Whoever said having a baby doesn’t change your life was wrong! And whoever said (*cough*, Bruno) that a baby doesn’t take up much space was not a parent! The logistics of condensing our life into our as-yet unfinished bus and hitting the road are anxiety-causing.

See, Phoenix seems to thrive best with routine. On days where we go out or have visitors, he seems to get quickly overstimulated, overtired, and ultimately fussy. Going out of the house with him feels so incredibly complicated to me that I’ve avoided it as much as possible. He doesn’t like riding in the car, won’t nap when we’re out, and with the frequent need to nurse or change him, errands take three times as long as they used to. The spontaneity of going where we want whenever we want is gone, as we have to time things according to his rhythms and plan in strategic locations for nursing and changing him along the way. Plus, between the infant car seat and the giant diaper bag, our travel load is so heavy that it feels almost impossible to go anywhere without Bruno’s strong arms.

When we go outside, Phoenix scrunches up his eyes and blows bubbles out his mouth… guess he doesn’t like the cold wind??

This was the first (and last) time Phoenix fell asleep during an outing!

I know lots of moms who manage to get out and about and keep up their old schedules and activities with seeming ease, but for me it doesn’t seem easy at all. Needless to say, at times I have wondered about the wisdom of traveling with him in the bus anytime soon.

We’re going to do it, anyway, of course. Bruno and I chose to start a family because we love the unconventional lifestyle we lead and the invaluable education it provides. We want this life for our baby boy. Plus, Phoenix seems to be very curious, taking in his environment with wide-eyed focus. He studies things intently. And, with his precocious rolling over and fearlessness (he stuck his hands in my gaping mouth without second-guessing himself!), he seems to have a few pretty good characteristics for an adventurer!

And so, even though the transition into this life will likely be difficult, it will be worth it. Baby Phoenix will become Baby Nomad!

Though it’s hard for me to find time to blog these days, I will try over the coming months to write about this transition. It’s bound to be full of interesting, hilarious, and challenging moments. Posts may be infrequent, brief, and less-than eloquent, but I have the advantage of getting to blame it on postpartum fatigue.

I’m going to use that excuse a lot this year.

In fact, four months ago, I announced that I’d be taking a semi-break from Wandering Footsteps.  I’d post our summer and fall adventures at a more leisurely pace so that we could focus on family, relaxation and our bus renovations.

That was only half-true.

The full truth is that Bruno and I were turning our focus onto something else – something I wasn’t quite ready to share on the wide world of the web.

Our focus has been on my growing belly.

We are expecting our first baby!!!

Future mamma and papa, taken at the end of September.

A more recent shot. Look at that belly!

Maybe things make a little bit more sense now; why we sold Totoyaya, our beloved 4WD Land Cruiser, and upgraded to a massive bus; why there hasn’t been much action (or travel!) on the blog; and why I have been totally vague about our upcoming travel plans.

Despite the lack of travel-related excitement, it has been an exciting summer and fall for us, as Bruno and I have experienced our own pregnancy for the first time.  Hearing the heartbeat, feeling the baby’s kicks, watching my belly grow – it’s all been pretty magical, indeed.

Those of you hard-core nomads reading this may be wondering why we haven’t been traveling at all during this special time.  We did travel across Canada through our first trimester (check out my posts on the Prairies, the Canadian Wilderness, whale-watching in Quebec, the Gaspe Peninsula, and the Acadian Peninsula), and I can happily report I was feeling, overall, not too bad.  Tired, for sure, but I was still mostly able to enjoy the places we passed.

We did a bit of travel in the second trimester, too – notably our big three RV road trip, and our trip to France.  I even did my girls’ trip to Barcelona, Carcassonne and Bordeaux at the very beginning of my third trimester!  Go me! J

But, for the most part, we haven’t been on the road, in the way Bruno and I usually are.  The reasons are complex and various, but ultimately, we’ve chosen to take this time to be close to family, get really good, consistent pre-natal care, and enjoy nesting (that last one is just me, haha!).

It’s been nice to be close to home to enjoy things like a really nice baby shower!

And to perform in a choir concert a few weeks ago with my lovely mother!

Two weeks ago, we moved into a rental home near Antigonish, Nova Scotia.  We chose the little town of Antigonish because we got the opportunity to work with registered midwives based out of the St. Martha’s Regional Hospital (they didn’t have midwives in New Brunswick when I was looking into our options, though they’ve recently begun serving in Frederiction).  We’re over three hours away from my family, but relative to where we could be (Mexico! France! Thailand!), three hours is pretty darn close!

Our tentative plan for the coming several months is this:

• Spend about four months in this lovely rental home.  Our due date for baby is February 3^rd (coming soon!) so we plan to be here both for our baby’s birth and the first several weeks afterwards (time to get a handle on things!)
• Make visits to both New Brunswick and France in April to show off the newest member of the Caumette/Sears family. Woo hoo!
• By late-May (cross our fingers!) we’d like to hit the road in our Big Blue Bus, baby in tow. We’d like to spend 5-6 months slowly driving down the eastern seaboard of the United States, spending our summer in the Appalachian Mountains.  We’re going to take our time with this trip, as we’ll have the adjustments of life in a bus with a baby to contend with.  Should make for some interesting blog posts!

Well, that’s us!  It’s a pretty big life update, and is going to certainly change our travels, as well as the content of this blog.  In fact, I have no clue how I will feel about blogging after baby arrives, but my hope is that I’ll still make time for it, though most certainly not on the same weekly basis as I once did.

In the meantime, we’re having quite the cultural experience over here in Nova Scotia.  Bruno is embarking on his first winter ever, we’re living in a country-style home heated principally by wood fire, and we’re making a few baby-friendly changes to the bus (think car seat and baby bed).  In other words, plenty of good blogging material!  Stay tuned!

Every summer, I head back to visit my extended family in the Atlantic province of New Brunswick.  I spend weeks sitting on our gloriously deserted beach, cooking in the kitchen and gardening outside, binge-watching dance TV programs with my mom, doing as much yoga as possible, and catching up with relatives and family friends.

Having a cool beer on a warm evening on the porch behind my parents’ beachside home in Canada.

Working in the garden – one of my newfound favouritest hobbies!

A visit with my cousin, Katie, and her six-month-old baby boy, Theo(dorable).

And every summer in Canada – well, for the past four, anyway – I get the following question: “When’s Bruno coming?”  There are a whole lot of curious people in New Brunswick waiting to meet this almost-mythical man of mine.

Finally, this year, when I was posed this much-anticipated question, I was able to respond: “In August!”

Yep, my friends, Bruno is coming to Canada in a few short weeks!

Not only that, Totoyaya is coming, too!

You may be thinking to yourself, Wait a minute, isn’t Totoyaya for sale?  And you’re right.  Explaining her impending Canadian appearance requires me backing up just a bit: Remember how I talked about all the work Bruno and I ended up having to do – the house renovations, the truck driver’s license, the parents’ move – during our three months in Bruno’s house on the Mediterranean?  Because of that, we weren’t able to accomplish one of the goals we’d set for ourselves in France – namely, to sell our camper van and buy a new, bigger one.  We just didn’t have the time or energy to invest in sprucing her up and posting For Sale ads on visible forums and websites.

And so, we were forced to create a Plan B: hit the road yet again with Totoyaya and try to sell her while we travel.

It just so happens that our next travel destination is North America!  It’s been in our sights for years – heck, when I met Bruno, in Mozambique, and asked him where he was headed, his reply was: Alaska.  Since then, I’ve spent many hours daydreaming about finally exploring my own continent, visiting friends all around the country, and getting to know the vast landscapes, histories and cultures in my own childhood backyard.  I’m really excited to come to Canada with Bruno – and to bring Totoyaya long for a bit!

As I write this, Bruno is traveling north through France.  He left Le Grau d’Agde about two weeks ago and is heading for Antwerp, Belgium, where a ferry is waiting to sail our beloved home-on-wheels to Halifax, Canada!  He’s having an amazing time rediscovering his simple, free lifestyle after so many months in a house, and he’s having almost as good of a time discovering the beauty of his own country!  Despite visiting most of the world (over 130 countries!!), Bruno has seen very little of France.  He’s been pleasantly surprised by the wonderful farm and wilderness campsites, and has been having a great cycling around the countryside and wandering through historical towns like Rocamadour, voted this year the 3^rd most beautiful French town by the French.

Bruno and Totoyaya hit the road in France!

Being with Totoyaya is the next best thing to being with me for Bruno.

And discovering Bruno’s own country’s beauty has been almost as wonderful!

See? Bruno’s happy!

Meanwhile I have been getting my Canada on.  I arrived in the country on June 19^th and spent two nights in Toronto with our long-time family friends, the Sharples.  Even though I couldn’t wait to see my mom, it was the next best thing to be with my second mom, and to hang out with my “little sisters,” who both took a day off work to be with me as I ploughed through tubs of Baskin Robbins Peanut Butter and Chocolate Ice Cream and containers of the world’s best hummus from Falafel World.  We took their dog, Riley, for a walk along Lake Ontario, admired the Toronto skyline, visited Lisa’s mom, Baba, reconnected with one of their family friends, Tyler, and drank some good wine with the whole family.  It was amazing that the weather in Toronto was a good 10 degrees warmer than what I’d left in France!  Go Canada, go!

My “little sisters,” Stephanie and Amanda with the Toronto skyline in the background. Love you girls!!

And my second mom, Lisa!  You’re the best!

Sharing a pint with Lisa and Tyler, an old friend.

Almost a month has flown by since my return to New Brunswick.  Since I know Bruno will be arriving soon, I’ve been soaking up as much daughter time as possible with my mom and dad.  Their home on the beach is an absolute paradise, so I’ve been luxuriating in a garden, kitchen, sun room, and nearby beach.  I celebrated my 32nd birthday with a morning kayak, an afternoon with friends and family on the beach, and a dinner out with my parents.  I’ve also been focussed on helping my dad create a healthier routine, we’ve all started a 21-day meditation program, and I’m also following a 6-week online course on Happiness and Fulfilment.

It seems I’ve kept my itchy feet at bay, at least for now.

By September, I imagine it will be another story.  Bruno and I don’t have concrete short-term plans – there are too many unknowns right now, like when/where we sell Totoyaya, visa issues for Bruno, and other travel opportunities that may come up.

Celebrating my 32nd birthday at home with mom and dad.

Lunch out with my grampa.

Vegan buffet dinner with my aunt, uncle, parents, and cousins!

We do, however, know our long-term plan.  And this is where YOU come in.  Bruno and I plan to spend the next several years on the American continent(s), flitting from north to south as we please (and as visas and weather dictate).  We want to go far north (to Alaska, as Bruno told me when we met, but also to Canada’s version of Alaska, the Yukon Territory).  We definitely want to spend time in Mexico and Central America (a brand new region of the world for me).  And we eventually want to head to the southernmost tip of the Americas, Argentina’s infamous Patagonia (and one of Bruno’s favourite places ever).

Since I’m fortunate enough to be able to travel at length on my continent of birth – and the continent of most of my family, friends, and faithful readers – I’m really excited to ask for your advice.  I want your help to plan our travel itinerary!

In the comments section at the end of this post, please send us your advice and tips.  We’re especially interested in the following recommendations: What must-see places and must-do experiences should Bruno and I not miss in North America?  What’s a favourite local haunt, neighbourhood, or restaurant in your favourite North American city?  What national park or reserve do you love best?  What once-in-a-lifetime activities do you recommend?  What is the most awe-inspiring piece of nature you’ve seen on our beautiful continent?  What cultural events, festivals, or concerts should we look out for in the coming months or years?

We’re really excited to begin our American Odyssey this fall!  We’re sure it’ll be all the better thanks to your help!

Actually, let me rephrase that: You can absolutely depend upon us to make – and then change – our plans (the Travel Plans section of our blog can attest to this).  Here, on the Mediterranean Coast of Spain, is yet another example of our reliable unreliability.

The guilty parties.

The Mediterranean Coast of Spain, the scene of the crime.

Original plan: Spend two slow-travel months on the coast of Spain, then take a ferry on April 29^th from Barcelona to Italy, zoom up to Switzerland, leave our vehicle there, and spend three weeks in May visiting family and friends in France.

What actually happened: We relaxed on the coast of Spain for exactly two weeks before hightailing it toward France, reaching our family and our house ten days later, on March 25^th.

In order to understand another total upheaval of our plan, it is necessary to explain the unfolding of a series of events and trains of thought over the course of our final weeks in Morocco and our first few weeks in Spain.

You already know that we’d originally planned to stay in Morocco a month longer, but that, at the last minute, we’d opted to head back to Spain because the Moroccan tourist visa renewal process proved more complicated than we felt like dealing with.  So, with our sights set on two months in Spain, we booked a ferry ticket from Barcelona to Genoa for Totoyaya and ourselves.  The logic behind this was that Bruno didn’t want to risk driving our vehicle through France because his papers are severely out-of-date.  We’d squeaked through France the year before without being noticed, but he didn’t want to repeat that stressful drive.

We’d chosen April 29^th because we wanted to arrive at Bruno’s brother’s place near Geneva before the first weekend in May, drive down to the south of France with him to celebrate their mother’s 80^th birthday, spend a bit of time with family, and then head north to Germany where we plan to put Totoyaya on a ferry to Canada in time for summer.

Yet, over the course of our first few weeks in southern Spain, we began to silently ponder the virtue of this plan.  I was thinking it and Bruno was thinking it but neither of us were talking about it.  Our ticket was booked and paid for – the plan was seemingly set in stone.  I was even talking to a few friends in Europe about meeting up with them along the Spanish coast.

The reasons we were silently second-guessing our plan were threefold.  Let me list them from least to most important:

1. We were feeling totally out-of-place in the camping culture of Spain.  I’ve talked about the campsites full of retirees before so I’m not going to rehash this topic again, but suffice to say the feeling like outsiders in our supposed community was beginning to really get to us.
2. Bad weather.  It was unseasonably cold in southern Spain for March.  Sometimes the sun managed to defrost the chill accumulated during the 6°C nights, but often the daytime wind and clouds kept that chill deeply embedded within us.  Yes, I know my Canadian family members are rolling their eyes right now, but let me just say that when you live in a camper van, you feel the weather so much more. You don’t have proper heating, you don’t have sufficient space indoors to seek refuge when it’s cold.  You eat outside, you shower in faraway public unheated bathrooms, you wash your dishes in cold water outdoors.  If it’s wet, cloudy, or windy, you don’t have the option to cocoon yourself in a toasty warm house.  You just have to face the cold.  And the cold was becoming a pain in our sides.
3. We felt the weight of responsibility at home.  This was the big one.  And the one I should probably explain a bit more in-depth.

Check out that storm (and the proximity of the next camper van)!

Curled under my heavy-duty winter duvet in the middle of the afternoon!!

Remember the post I made a couple months ago? The one about us selling our beloved Totoyaya?  That may have come out of thin air for most of you, but for us it was the result of a long-time conversation that really came to a head in southern Spain.

In Africa, traveling in a tiny vehicle without a toilet or shower was no big thing.  The weather was great and there were amazing, empty, cheap campsites in beautifully-located scenic chunks of nature.  It was totally awesome!

In the Middle East, I started to feel the challenges of our lack of facilities-on-board.  On the Arabian Peninsula there were no campsites, and we started having to think of creative ways of taking care of our daily needs, like showering with the bum guns of squat toilets in gas stations and bike riding to the nearest mosque for our morning, um, toilet needs.  In Dubai, I took out a yoga membership and used their shower, and in Oman we camped on beaches so we could grab sand in our plastic bucket and turn that into a porto-potty.  We used a lot of incense on the Arabian Peninsula.

In Turkey, things were better because there were campsites again, but the culture of those campsites started to change the closer we got to Europe.  By the time we got to Italy, I’d come to loathe the mega-campsites that were more like pricey mini-retirement-cities.  When I have to pay $30 to squeeze Totoyaya between two giant motorhomes on the edge of a busy road and then insert 1 euro coins into the shower for 2 minutes of water, I’ve lost the joy of camping.

The south of Spain offers four types of sleeping scenarios for camper vanners:

1. Free parking, widely available.  You can find a list of many of them online, and you will often see more when driving along (look for the agglomeration of parked camper vans).  We tried this a few times, but it was so complicated for us to find a place for our morning needs (cough) that it wasn’t a practical option for us.
2. Bush camping, technically illegal (we think).  We did this a few times in northern Spain, when we were sure we wouldn’t get noticed or hassled, but southern Spain is much more populated and “dangerous” so Bruno didn’t feel safe using this option.
3. Campsites, widely available year-long along the Mediterranean Coast.  But as mentioned previously, they weren’t at all our scene.  We occasionally found a few decent ones with a bit of space and at “decent” prices, but most of the time the campsites simply incited us to move on the next day.
4. Camper Areas, sometimes available, and an interesting concept.  They are essentially parking areas fitted out with some luxuries like basic toilets, showers, and facilities to fill and empty water.  The prices are better than for campsites (usually between 7-12 euros), but you are still usually stuck between motorhomes and busy roads.  This was our preferred accommodation option in southern Spain, but it still didn’t satisfy my soul.  I missed what camping had meant to me in Africa – peace, solitude, and communion with nature.

We occasionally hit-up bush camps that gave us views like this one, but the cops forced us on the following day.

This free parking gave us this view from the window! (But there was no toilet…)

You see the few camper vans parked along the water? It’s a free parking/sleeping spot.

As Bruno and I passed through southern Spain, the long-time theoretical conversation of selling Totoyaya became more concrete.  It felt like now was the time.  The time to create a more comfortable living situation, certainly, but even more importantly, the time to regain the freedom that this lifestyle had meant for us and that now we felt we had lost.

We began to seriously look at replacement vehicles.  We discussed our lifestyle priorities and realized that we wouldn’t find what we were looking for in a lightweight vehicle.  In France, Bruno’s regular driver’s license only authorizes him to drive a vehicle lighter than 3.5 tons – anything heavier and you need a truck driver’s license (C).  This C license is a very long, and very strenuous process in France.  To top all the vehicle stuff off, we’re trying to rent Bruno’s house on the beach by ourselves this year because we had had negative, unsuccessful experiences with rental agencies the previous two seasons.

So, here we were biding our time on the coast of Spain when we really needed to be focused on selling Totoyaya, passing the truck driver’s license, trying to find a new French-matriculated vehicle, and getting our house rental-ready.

All of these things would be easier to do from France.

Once our minds were made up and our plan had been turned on its head, we hit the road, fast.  On the map, we’d only covered four fingers in two weeks.  Now we would cover thirty in ten days.

If you’re going to do a road-trip, you could choose a worse place than the southern coast of Spain.  The road is good (memories of harrowing African road trips come to mind), there’s accommodation and food everywhere, and if you stay away from the highways you can almost always drive along a road that literally skirts the coast.  It’s the views that make this road trip worth it (though if you have time and inclination, there are tons of worthy town stops).

Some of the views along the roadside during our road trip up the Mediterranean Coast of Spain.

Cool chunk of road!

Pure rock.

Plastic greenhouses for miles.

My memories of this road trip are almost all a blur of arid cliffs, whitewashed towns, and sandy coves, but I was smart enough to write down my impressions of different chunks of coastline as we drove past.

From Algeciras to Nerja: highly developed coastline, not very beautiful

From Nerja to Motril: lovely section, with a small parque natural, fairly lush flora, and quaint villages

From Adra to Almeria: not so nice, a lot of agriculture and plastic greenhouses

From Almeria to Aguilas: perhaps my favourite section of coastline, very rugged and arid, empty of human development, a large parque natural

From Aguilas to Benidorm: nothing special of note, more developed and more agricultural

From Benidorm to Gandia: less sea views but lovely rocks, fields, and traditional agricultural towns

From Gandia to Peníscola: nothing special of note, less coastal views and more towns and agriculture

Most of our tourism was of the drive-by variety, but we always did some exercise-tourism in the evenings.  The Spanish believe the coastline belongs to all Spaniards; as such, almost all of Spain’s 5,000km of coastline is public.  Restaurants and cafés line the coast, but even more wonderful are the seemingly-continuous promenades.  Since Bruno and I were spending a lot of time sitting in the car, our evening routine consisted of finding the coastal promenade and going for a bike ride or speed walk.

Nice bike path, right?

Another bike path.

Amazing bike paths, right?

An afternoon walk on a random beachside promenade.

When we hit-up Peníscola’s promenade, the first thing I saw was a fairy-tale-like fortified castle seemingly floating on the water.  I’d been good so far and hadn’t asked Bruno to allow me any tourism stops during our road trip, but old Peníscola was calling to me.  I had to see it.

Thus, we granted ourselves one final day of tourism before our arrival in France and the beginning of a non-nomadic period of our life.  We did what we’d become accustomed to do in Europe: grab our backpacks and cameras, walk to the historical area of town, grab a map from the tourist office, and then wander the cobblestone streets.  We gazed out at the sea and the coastline from the little fortified islet, we admired the old buildings (especially the one made entirely out of seashells), and we looked at a ton of restaurant menus.  But the town was filled with tourists, the menus were expensive, and I was quickly over it.  I was ready to head “home.”

Peníscola beckons from the promenade.

Visiting Peníscola – our final day our tourism.

The seashell house.

View of Peníscola’s city beach and promenade from its castle-like old town.

As we drove past Barcelona, I felt a slight pang – it’s a city I keep planning to visit and keep missing – but I was too busy navigating Bruno on and off ramps and exits to dwell on it.  It wasn’t until we reached that night’s campsite near Figueres and the border of France that it hit me.  This was it: our final night in Totoyaya, maybe forever.

As Bruno and I wandered around the farm on which we were camped, a deep sadness washed over us.  We visited the flower trees, vegetable garden, and small hot-spring waterfall nearby, and I felt like we’d reconnected with what camping had meant to us back in Africa, when I started this overland journey.  Bruno and I had come so far – both literally and figuratively – since then, and now we were ending an era.  We were moving onto a brand new chapter of our lives, one that would involve houses and driving tests instead of our trusty Totoyaya, the only constant since the very beginning.

Before you get too sad, dear readers, let me remind you of one thing: Bruno and I are reliable plan-makers in only one way – our unreliability.  You’ll have to stay tuned of Wandering Footsteps for the continuing details.

As close to Barcelona as I may ever get.

Our final campsite with Totoyaya, perhaps forever.

The nature, the peace, the solitude – the way camping should be.

Preamble: It’s a giant pet-peeve of mine when people use the word “Africa” as though it’s a country, and not a gigantic and amazingly diverse continent.  It might seem to some that I’m doing just that in this blog post.  I assure you I’m not.  I know we’re in fact traveling to Morocco here, and not Africa-the-country, but the excitement and hesitation I talk about in the post are really and truly about stepping foot again on a continent that fascinates and challenges me.  I’ve never been to Morocco before, so I can’t talk about re-entering Morocco.  I can – and will – now talk about re-entering Africa.  Thereafter, I promise to write only about Morocco-the-country and to avoid sweeping statements about “Africa.”

On January 7^th of this year, after touring around Africa for over three years, Bruno and I ferried ourselves and Totoyaya off the “Dark Continent” and onto the Arabian Peninsula, the Middle East, and Europe.

Goodbye Africa… or so I thought.

Less than eleven months later, we’re back in Africa.

As we drove, lightning-speed, through Spain’s Andalucían province, the reality of soon being back in Africa set in, and I couldn’t help but mentally list the challenges associated with travel in this region.  Most of the things I thought about were quite silly, in retrospect: the fact that electricity and hot water would be luxuries rather than givens; that toilets wouldn’t be up to the cleanliness standards I prefer; that I wouldn’t always be able to find special foods at grocery stores; and that I’d have to dress more conservatively than in Europe.

One thing on that list, however, wasn’t so silly; in fact, it’s the crux of my beef with travel in Africa.  I don’t blend in.

Yup, I’m a white girl (surprise!).  With blonde hair and blue eyes, to top it off.  I stand out in pretty much every country in Africa.  (And in the southern part of the continent, where there are native white Africans, the racial issues as so complex that it’s not necessarily beneficial to semi-blend-in there).  Standing out can be a challenge in Africa (or anywhere, really) because it can make you a target for touts, can lead to negative attention from men, and can box you into tourist-only interactions with locals.

Can you spot me in the crowd?

It’d be great to be a chameleon, right?

I guess I’ve enjoyed being invisible in Europe.  I can sit at a café, take public transportation, or walk down a street and be totally ignored.  In Europe, I can pretend to be a local, at least until I open my mouth.

With all these challenges – both big and small – you might be asking yourself why, less than a year after leaving Africa, we were willingly ferrying ourselves back in.  There were practical reasons – our desire to avoid a European winter and our planned family reunion, for example.   But I think we were heading back into Africa, really, because we are perpetually drawn to it.  We weren’t really heading there at all, I truly think – we were being pulled back there.  Quite simply, we love Africa, challenges and all.

Just like when we set off to walk the Camino de Santiago, my mental enumeration of challenges was simply a way to prepare myself for our return, to wrap my mind around our new project. In this case, however, the activity was making me more hesitant than excited for our impending departure.

Practicalities of the Ferry Ride Between Spain and Morocco

That was my head-space as we organized our roll-on-roll-off (RORO) ferry from Spain to Morocco.  Thankfully, the experience was incredibly straightforward.  We visited Viajes Normandie Shipping Agency in Palmones (N36 10.765 W5 26.475), recommended by our overlanding friends as well as our guide book because they offer open return tickets, meaning you don’t have to pick your dates ahead of time. With a passport, our vehicle registration, and 200 euros cash, we had our return ticket ready in 10 minutes.

We bought our ferry tickets through this agency, as they offer open-ended return trips.

We’re not the only camping car headed to Africa, just maybe the smallest! :)

We chose to take the ferry from Algeciras (Spain) to Tangier Med (Morocco), but you can also go from Algeciras to Ceuta (which is a Spanish enclave on African soil) or Tarifa to Tangier City (Tarifa being at the southernmost tip of Spain).  All tickets are the same price, and our ferry ride was the longest, but we preferred arriving at the quieter port of Tangier Med than in a big city port, and we wanted to get all the immigration stuff done on the boat rather than at a land border, as those who arrive in Ceuta must do.

There are several companies (at least three that I know of) that ply the routes between Spain and Morocco, so there are ample departures.  Our company, FRS, currently departs every three hours from 9am – 9pm.  As such, we weren’t worried about not being able to depart on the date of our choosing – we didn’t reserve, but simply queued in the correct line at the port about an hour before our desired departure.  My passport received its Schengen exit stamp, we drove the vehicle into the boat ourselves, we walked up to the passenger deck, and that was that.

Waiting in the immigration line before boarding the ferry from Algeciras, Spain, to Tangier Med, Morocco.

All aboard! Our ferry to Morocco is in view!

Parking our vehicle on the car deck of our ferry.

It was a pleasant 90-minute ride on a fairly clean, practically empty boat (a totally different experience from our ferry ride between Sudan and Saudi Arabia to leave the continent earlier this year).  We had a picnic lunch (there is a restaurant on the boat, too) then stood outside on the stern to watch Europe fade from view and the African coast come into focus.  The Strait of Gibraltar is really narrow so you can actually see both continents at the same time, which is interesting.  There are reputedly a ton of dolphins in the strait, and sure enough, we saw a pod of about twenty of them swim past us (it happened too quickly to photograph, however).

When the boat docked in Morocco, we walked down to our vehicle and were out of the boat a few minutes later.  Our passports had been stamped on the boat (at the passport control desk on the passenger deck), but we had to go through customs at the port’s exit gate.  Our shipping agent had graciously prepared the forms we needed (a declaration of temporary importation form, or D16TER) for customs, but it still took about thirty minutes of waiting for the officers to process the paperwork.  That’s when I knew we were on African time again.

Goodbye Europe…

… hello Africa!

The Rock of Gibraltar, at the tip of Europe.

The Moroccan coastline as we approached Tangier Med.

Back in Africa!

As soon as we drove out of the sterile port, my senses awakened in a way that can only happen in certain areas of the world (and Europe is not one of them).  There was so much to look at!  Brightly-dressed women, chaotic towns, market stalls set up on the side of the streets selling anything you could imagine, animals crossing the potholed-filled roads.

I had spent so much time thinking of the comforts I wouldn’t have access to that I’d totally forgotten about all that Africa offers to its visitors.  It only took me about five minutes of driving in Morocco to remember.  I’d get to tap into my bargaining skills in the markets again, sample cheap street food with the locals, and do my groceries on the roadsides.  Best of all, I’d never be bored while driving – there was simply too much to engage my senses.

So much to look at!

So much to buy!

So much chaos!

Now that I was actually back in Africa, I was officially excited!  And I guess I wasn’t the only one – when Bruno saw on our customs document that our vehicle had been given a six-month stay, he immediately began talking about extending our three-month Moroccan tourist visa so we could stay longer.

I know the challenges I contemplated while driving through Andalucía will sometimes make me long for the comfort or invisibility of Europe, but on the whole, it feels really good to be back in Africa, our beloved continent.  It actually sort of feels like we’ve come home, or at least to our sweet spot.  I guess that, even if my mind doesn’t know it, my heart likes travel that comes with a healthy dose of challenge.

Recognize those two pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago?

It’s unusual for Bruno and me to travel without our trusty Totoyaya. In the last few years, Wandering Footsteps has chronicled our overland-style travels. Content involving long-distance hikes and backpacker travel don’t feature very frequently here, anymore.

Perhaps that’s why our decision to become walking pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago requires a bit of an explanation. That, then, is the subject of this blog entry: what this adventure is all about, why we decided to do it, and how we prepared for a different style of travel than we’re normally used to. (For those looking for stories about our experience on the Camino, two posts on the subject will follow in the coming days.)

I described the Camino de Santiago as both “ancient” and “infamous.” I chose those adjectives deliberately; it has existed as a pilgrimage for over 1,000 years, but has experienced a rebirth in popularity in the last thirty years or so. The “Walk to Santiago,” also called the Way of St. James, is a journey, via any of dozens of ancient routes, to the holy shrine of St. James in Santiago de Compostela. It is one of the three most important Christian pilgrimages in the world – the other two being Rome and Jerusalem.

The many ways to Santiago.

The goal: Santiago de Compostela.

St. James was one of Jesus’ disciples. After Jesus’ death, his disciples scattered to different regions of the world, from Ethiopia and India to Persia and Armenia, spreading the message of Christ. James went to Spain, where he succeeded in converting nine Iberians to Christianity. Eventually, he returned to the Holy Land and was martyred. According to belief, James’ body was brought to Spain (perhaps by angels in a holy boat?) and buried in a Roman burial site near the northwest coast.

James was forgotten for 800 years, until a hermit saw a bright star in the sky, followed it to the field where James had been buried, uncovered the body and saw that it was still intact. James became the patron saint of Spain and helped the Iberians fight back the Moors. Word of the miracle spread and pilgrims began to arrive from all over. Monasteries and churches were erected, and by the 11^th century, the Way of St. James was a heavily-traveled pilgrim route.

In 2015, it is still – or I should say, “again” – a heavily-traveled pilgrim route. Sometime in the 1980s, the Camino de Santiago was declared the first European Cultural Route and an UNESCO World Heritage Site. Pilgrims once again started to flock to the trails; for some, it was a religious pilgrimage, as it had been for centuries; but many walked for other reasons – an interesting form of tourism, a challenging long-distance hike, a chance to commune with nature, a spiritual meditation.

Catching sight of a few modern-day pilgrims on the way to Santiago.

Bruno and I are part of that second category of walkers. I hope I won’t offend anyone, but we weren’t taking part in the Camino as a religious pilgrimage. The truth is, I’ve become interested in long-distance walks in the last couple of years and have been searching for an opportunity to try one for awhile now. The last time I went on more than a day walk was trekking in the Himalayas while I was living in Nepal. Even though I hold amazing memories of the experience, walking wasn’t my favorite pastime back in 2007. It was become so in recent years.

In the last year, in particular, I’ve become minorly obsessed with the idea of a doing a long-distance walk. I subscribe to a podcast called “Sounds of the Trail,” which documents the experiences of through-hikers in the US. I researched Turkey’s 500km cultural walk, the Lycian Way, and sampled a few days of it when I realized we didn’t have the time or equipment to walk the whole thing. I often daydream about what it would be like to do nothing but walk for months on end, and relish the opportunity to undergo the physical challenge and the emotional growth that I assume would come of such an experience.

So when Bruno proposed that we walk a bit of the Camino de Santiago when passing through Northern Spain with our camper van, I didn’t think twice.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes!

To be honest, I was surprised that Bruno was game for a long-distance walk. He loves walking – maybe even more than me – but he also loves the simplicity of being able to return to his home at the end of the day – maybe even more than I love the comfort of it. I didn’t expect him to want to go through the preparations it would inevitably take to embark on a long-distance walk.

That’s why the Camino de Santiago was the perfect walk for us. Essentially, the Camino is a walk from village to village, where an extensive support system is in place to help pilgrims on their journey. Practically speaking, this means you don’t need to have much gear and that you will always be able to find a hot meal and a bed at the end of the day. There is also excellent signage, so you don’t even really need a map or to know where you’re going. You can pretty much just show up, unprepared, and start to walk.

That isn’t exactly what Bruno and I did, of course, but it’s almost. I did enough research to determine which route section we would walk. There are a half-dozen or so routes on the Iberian Peninsula that lead to Santiago de Compostela, and all of them are between 700-1,000km long. We already knew we would walk the Camino del Norte, the northernmost route along the Atlantic Coast. Not only was it along the route we’d already planned to drive with Totoyaya, but it’s a much less popular route, and we prefer roads-less-traveled. We also knew that we wouldn’t walk all 825km of the Camino – Bruno’s knee surgery was just three months ago, after all, and we didn’t really have the five weeks needed to devote to the trail. So we needed to figure out which part of the Camino del Norte to walk.

If you’re not going to walk the whole 800km, it’s hard to choose which section of the Camino del Norte to do!

I quizzed our good friend, Phil (of Phil and Angie, overlanders extraordinaire), who’d done the entire Camino last fall. With his tips, I pinpointed the area a day’s walk after Bilbao as an ideal section of the Camino for us to try. It seemed to maximize coastal views, minimize industrial areas, and allow flexibility for us to walk as little or as much as we wanted. We set ourselves the goal of walking anywhere between 5-10 days.

By this point, we were in already in Spain. We started catching glimpses of Camino paraphernalia and realized we were driving along the Camino Frances, the most popular way to Santiago. Signs, yellow arrows, and scallop shells popped up along roadsides near Jaca. Albergues and hiker shops appeared when we turned corners of old alley streets in Pamplona and Estella. Pilgrims, clearly recognizable with their walking sticks and scallop shells tied onto heavy packs, paused to look at an old building or to localize the next yellow arrow in Bilbao. All these little pieces of Camino evidence got me really excited for our own upcoming pilgrimage!

The first Camino sign I saw in Spain, driving along the road!

Yep, you didn’t mis-read that number. And people walk that, and more!

The scallop shell is the official symbol of the Camino, both because of legend and symbolism.

It was time to pack. Because we live in a camping car, Bruno and I have a limited amount of trekking gear. We could have done a major shopping spree in Pamplona or Bilbao, but we opted to do the walk with what we already owned, as much as possible. This meant packing all our belongings into our tiny day backpacks. It meant sewing up bed sheets as makeshift sleeping bags for the albergues. It meant bringing along our big rain coats and fleece jackets, even if they took up half the space in our bags. The only things we allowed ourselves to buy were a small towel for me (my regular one would have taken up the other half of the bag!) and long plastic ponchos that would cover our bags and legs if it rained heavily (we didn’t have rain pants).

When our bags were packed, they each weighed less than 5kg, I’m sure. Here’s what we brought with us:

• A pair of hiking pants each
• A rain jacket each
• A fleece jacket each
• 3 t-shirts each
• 3 pairs of undies and 3 pairs of socks each
• Warm leggings and a turtleneck for evenings and nights for me
• A towel each
• A makeshift sleeping bag each
• A pair of flip flops for showers and evenings each
• Two pairs of walking shoes each
• A hat each
• 2 1L Nalgene water bottles
• An iPhone
• My journal
• One point-and-shoot camera
• Toiletries, including sunscreen, toothbrush and paste, lotion, shampoo, and floss
• Medical supplies including alcohol, a needle and thread, band aids, cotton, Second Skin, medical tape, aspirin, and an ankle wrap
• Sections of a guide book on the Camino del Norte

Getting packed and ready to become pilgrims!

This is what my pack looked like. Nice and light!

We were packed pretty lightly, and in retrospect it was a good idea. Apart from the first two hours of walking, when I was adjusting to the weight of my bag, my load never bothered me. I could pack and unpack my bag in five minutes. Sure, I had to wash my clothes every evening in the sink and hang them on the back of my bag to dry the next day. And yes, when we bought food at the supermarket we had to carry it in a plastic bag because we had no extra space in our packs. But I had everything I needed (except, maybe, for rain pants).

So, we were packed and ready to head out onto the Way of Santiago! We met up with a couple of Phil and Angie’s friends who live in the hills of Northern Spain. We spent an afternoon getting to know Javi, Jasmine (a Canadian!), and their son Emeric, and getting a tour of their beautiful little farm home. We shared dinner together. And then, Bruno and I slept in our Totoyaya one last night. The next morning, we would start our pilgrimage unlike most: We would leave our vehicle parked at Javi and Jasmine’s, walk the 7km to the nearest town (Ramales de la Victoria), take a 45-minute bus to the coastal town of Laredo, and finally start our Camino de Santiago!

Having tea with Javi and Jasmine on their farm in the hills the day before we become pilgrims.

Our Totoyaya’s parking spot while we walk the Camino de Santiago.

Me with Jasmine, Emeric and Javi. Thanks, guys, for letting us park our vehicle at yours while we were walking!

This has been the longest break from life in a camper van that either of us has had since we started living this way (with the exception of a few months working in Kampala – but that experience somehow still felt like being on the road, maybe because we were in exotic Uganda). The break has been fun, particularly for me, because I’ve been enjoying some of the luxuries of sedentary living (is that the opposite of nomadism?), like showers and Wifi, a big fridge, and a flat piece of floor to lay my yoga mat upon.

But I also feel like I’ve been out of the nomadic lifestyle for so long now (eighty-six days!) that I’m getting a little too comfortable. I’m losing my urgency to have the open road before me; just Bruno and me, a map, and our little home-on-wheels. The excitement at what lies just around the next bend feels muted. Though Bruno does not share this feeling at all, he’s so busy giving some TLC to our lovely Totoyaya that his own need to be on the road has been pushed aside by all that he wants to get done before we go.

We’ve got our rough plan for the next five months pretty well set. I thought that by sharing it with you today, it might help make it feel more real. It might get the excitement pumping through my veins so that we actually start researching campsites, activities, and must-stop destinations. I mean, we leave in ten days, but it feels as surreal as if we were leaving in ten months!

Ok, here goes:

October: Drive from Southern France through Andorra and into Spain. Possibly do some hiking in the Pyrenees Mountains. Meet up with our overlanding friends, Josu and Ana, near their hometown in Spain’s Basque country. Do a bit more work on Totoyaya with them. Possibly walk a bit of the Camino de Santiago.

November: If it’s not too cold, slowly drive down the coast of Portugal. If it is too cold, race toward the south of Spain. Arrive in Morocco as late in the month as we can stand it.

December: Drive inland toward Tarroudant, visiting whatever strikes our fancy along the way. Just after Christmas, rent a giant home in Tarroudant for a two-week family reunion with Bruno’s family.

January: Ring in the New Year in luxury with family. When we leave the house, drive out into the desert for a bit. Possibly travel with my parents and/or another childhood friend.

February: Spend a couple weeks showing my lovely travel friend, Sahnah, around southern Morocco. Scurry back up to Gibraltar before our three-month visa ends. Arrive back in Europe.

In other words, over the next several months, Wandering Footsteps will be sharing stories and photos about hikes in Spain, coastal drives through the Iberian Peninsula, bush-camping in the Sahara, souqs and food in Morocco, and more.  When we’re back on the road, we plan to do a better job of updating our Facebook page and our new Instagram page – so subscribe to those social media pages now and stay-tuned!

Anyway, our travel plan may look very vague to you, but it’s actually a lot more concrete than we’re used to because we have a few meet-ups planned, as well as a house rented. The part that is slightly less concrete than usual is that neither of us quite knows where exactly we’re going to spend time in each of these countries. Bruno hasn’t been to these places in such a long time, and I haven’t done much research yet, so we don’t know if there are any amazing campsites, towns, or parks that we simply must visit while we’re in these places.

That’s where YOU come in! If you’ve been to any of these countries recently – especially as an overlander – and have any tips on beautiful drives, amazing bush camps or wilderness spots, cheap but awesome campsites, or great hikes, please share your experiences in the comment section at the end of the post. We’re needing the travel inspiration right now!

Today, I’m letting you know that, once again, something in our plans has changed – and it’s a much bigger change. (I wonder if I should stop writing blogs about travel plans…!)

Bruno and I had planned to be on a ferry boat from Germany, bound for Canada, by mid-July. It’s early May and we’re only in Turkey. We spent a long time in Ethiopia, made a detour to Djibouti, checked out the plentiful sites in Sudan, and so fully enjoyed the Arabian Peninsula (particularly Oman and Dubai) that we are late – very, very late – for our ride to Canada.

St. George Church in Lalibela, Ethiopia

Lake Assal (a giant salt pan, essentially) in Djibouti.

Inside the Meroe Pyramids of Sudan.

Loving the Wahiba Sands coastal desert of Oman.

And loving the free massages at the shopping mall in Dubai!

So the change of plan is this: we’re not going to make it to North America this year. We try to plan our travels around the seasons and we don’t want to arrive in Canada with the summer already behind us and have to race down the coast because we’re stuck in snow storms again! I’m disappointed that we’re not going to get to show off Totoyaya to family in New Brunswick or visit friends in various cities around North America this year, but we’ve been having too much fun in the countries along our route to speed things along!

Our new plan is this: We’re going to take the same ferry from Hamburg to Halifax next summer, but this time at the very beginning of it, in order to maximize our time in Atlantic Canada before driving south along the east coast of the US. In the meantime, we’ve made alternate arrangements for our fall and winter that I’m really excited about. We’re going to visit our friends Josu and Ana in the Basque Pyrenees of Spain, head down the coast of Portugal, and winter in Morocco! That’s three new countries for me, yippee! In the spring, we’ll head back into Europe toward Germany, but I’m not going to put my foot in my mouth again by telling you which countries we’ll visit along the way!

Josu and Ana, can’t wait to see you again, this time on your home turf!

It was exciting, yes, but we’re not keen on repeating the snowstorm experience again anytime soon!

Also, our summer plans are firm – dates have been set, flights have been purchased. Bruno and I will arrive in France (with our vehicle!) on July 1^st. Bruno has a knee surgery set on July 7^th, and has a few pre-op appointments to deal with before that. Don’t get worried – he’s had this exact surgery before, eighteen years ago, to be exact. He needs a non-cancerous tumor to be removed from just below the knee. It’s not a risky surgery, but he will need quite a while to recover and rehabilitate the knee.

And so, he won’t be able to come with me to Canada this summer (again). He’s sad that he won’t get to meet my family and I’m sad I have to wait another year to show him my neck of the woods, but I suppose time does fly.

I’ve bought my flight to New Brunswick. I will be home between July 15^th and August 30^th. In contrast to last year – the summer of constant visitors, which I loved – it will be a low-key, family-oriented summer, which I’m also looking forward to. Then, I will return to France and Bruno, and we will spend the next three weeks hopping between Geneva and the South of France visiting his family and friends (and doing some more sightseeing, and loads more eating, I hope!). By late September, we’ll be on the move toward Spain.

Looking forward to kayaking on our lovely Canadian beach!

Looking forward to eating my way through France’s local markets!

I’m really sorry to those of you I hoped to see this summer – particularly the New York crew that I began to enquire with in hopes of crossing paths with. I tried to book a layover (I also tried in Toronto, Ottawa and Montreal in order to see other wonderful people I’d love to see) but surprisingly these layovers were more expensive than flying direct to Moncton! That’s gotta be a first. I promise that Bruno and I will do our best next summer to make our way to as many of you as possible by road. And, of course, you’re welcome to dust off your tent and join us on any portion of our North American travels. We’d LOVE to have as many of you as possible!

So, folks, that’s our updated plan in a nutshell. The summer plans are firmly set, and the fall and winter plans are as firm as they can ever be in a camping car (which I’m learning means something between “not that firm” and “anything could happen”!).

What are YOU up to this summer? If you could get away from the snow and cold for the winter, where would you go? Any must-see places or countries in Europe that we should add to our spring itinerary? Any chance our travel plans will coincide in the next year? We would love to hear from you in the comment section below!

Bye bye Bruno… :(

The travels plans I described last October had Bruno and I traveling from Sudan through Saudi Arabia into the Middle East, then on another ferry to Iran, Turkey, and into Europe. I thought getting our visas for Saudi Arabia would be the greatest hurdle in our plan, but we got those in a few hours. I didn’t expect my Iranian tourist visa to be the hold-up.

But, as of April 2014, it is, for Canadian and UK citizens, at least. Since last year, the Iranian government has a new law that citizens of those two countries – in addition to Americans, but that’s old news – can only get tourist visas if they join an organized tour. Organized tours aren’t really my travel style (or budget), and Iran appears to be strongly enforcing this new law.

We tried to get around the law from several different angles. We spoke with agents – which you’re required to go through in order to apply for the reference code needed to obtain the visa – in Iran, Dubai, and abroad. We tried using the influence of contacts – specifically, a family traveling around the world called Iran is Great that promote Iran as a tourist destination after having spent nine memorable months there. When all that failed, we went in person to the Iranian Embassy in Muscat. Bruno has a way with people face to face, and can charm his way into and out of just about anything. He couldn’t, unfortunately, charm his way into getting me a visa. No matter what, my Canadian passport gets blocked in Tehran. No tour? No visa.

Bruno and I briefly contemplated other routes out of the Arabian Peninsula. Maybe we could get transit visas to Saudi Arabia again, then go to Jordan, and Israel and take a ferry to Italy or Greece. But it’s already getting hot in the Middle East, ferries from Israel are ridiculously expensive, and then I wouldn’t get to visit Turkey (on my bucket list for the past decade, at least).

The reality was that, even though I am Canadian and can no longer get a tourist visa to Iran, Bruno is French, and can. So Bruno is now driving through Iran by himself, and will meet me just after the border, in eastern Turkey. In the meantime, I’ve flown off to Istanbul for a couple of weeks of tourism and yoga.

Ok… so being in Istanbul isn’t thaaaaaat bad..!

This plan actually works out quite well. This way, Bruno won’t have to take me to Istanbul – not only has he already seen Istanbul, but it’s not the kind of city that’s easy to visit in a camper van. I get to do a couple more weeks of intensive yoga. And I get to visit Dani, a friend from Thailand who now teaches in Istanbul.

I miss Bruno, and I am incredibly disappointed not to get to experience Iran, but I decided that when a door closes, it’s ok to open a window for a bit of fresh air. Bring it on Istanbul!

In case you’re reading this post in hopes of practical information to Iran, here’s what I know about tourist visas and ferries from the U.A.E. to Iran:

Iran Tourist Visa:

To apply for a tourist visa, you must go through an agent or tour group. They apply for a reference code in Tehran for you, notify you when it’s ready, and then you go to the Iranian Embassy you marked on your form, pay a fee, and receive the visa in your passport. There are tons of agents who can do this for you (always for a fee), and they are found easily with a quick Google search. I recommend starting this process at least three weeks before you plan to arrive in Iran.

If you are American, Canadian, or English, you will only receive a tourist visa if you show proof that you will be joining a guided tour for the entire length of your stay. Without this proof, you will not be able to get a reference code from Iran, and will therefore not be issued with a visa. I hope this law will soon change, and we appreciate future updates by travelers.

Ferry to Iran:

There are two ferries that travel to Iran from the United Arab Emirates. One, from Dubai, goes to Bandar-e-Lenghe, takes 6-8 hours, and departs every Monday early morning (*Be aware that customs will be closed upon arrival in Iran, so you will have to wait until the following day to clear your vehicle). The other, from Sharjah (just North of Dubai), goes to Bandar-e-Abbas, takes 10-12 hours, and departs Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday evening, arriving first thing the following morning.

Bruno wasn’t the only traveler on the ferry to Iran!

A single company (that I know of) in the U.A.E has the monopoly on ferries. Al Hili Marine Services has their office is on the ground floor of Al Ikhlas Tower in Sharjah. You can contact them at info@alhili.com or (+971) 65288 575.

Current prices are D290 per person for Bandar-e-Lenghe and D300 ($85) for Bandar-e-Abbas. Our vehicle cost D1,800 ($400). There is an additional departure tax of D35, and a customs fee of D15. You need to get three colored forms at customs, and you can do this before noon any day except Friday – it doesn’t have to be on the actual day of departure.

There is a great beach for overnight camping very close to the shipping agency and port in Sharjah.  (N25 19.678 E55 21.362 in case anyone is interested!)  The procedures for exiting the U.A.E. are a bit long but fairly straightforward.  And the best part is, you can sleep in your car in the ferry!

On the Iranian side, there is no need to rush to reach immigration.  The officials let all the cars out beforehand, and in any case foreign passports are kept aside and processed after all the locals have passed through.  It will take a few hours to complete the arrival procedures, but it’s not confusing because the officials will tell you where to go next once you arrive at this first office. 

There is a money changer on the left side of the hall with a good change (32,000R to a dollar in April 2015, compared to 32,500 in Shiraz a few days later).  *Do not change euros here as the rate is very low as compared to elsewhere in Iran!  An exit pass for the port costs 27,000R.  Diesel available about 10km beyond the port, 2500R per litre!

Good luck and enjoy the cruise!

The ferry to Iran.