The Simple Life
And Too Many Leaky Roofs...
‘Are you coming back for winter?’ someone from Zalanpatak asks.
No, I am not. I left a few months ago, not knowing when I would get back or if I want to go back at all…. Right now, even if I wanted to, I would not be able to. This week I have to take my car to the scrap heap. I need a job, urgently. For now, I am “stuck” in the Netherlands. I need to find work first, then fix the rest. Make some money, then make my mind up.
‘Oh maybe that is for the best. Better to be somewhere cozy for winter. And not having to worry about making a fire every day.’
Starting up the wood burner is one of my favourite things about spending time in Romania in winter. I gather wood all year round, I cut and chop and stack. I have two chainsaws and a wood splitter. My nickname is “BABY DRUJBA”. Preparing for winter is part of this cyclical, seasonal life that I love so much. The morning ritual, which mid-winter can be very early, of making a coffee and then making a fire has become part of my natural rhythm.
I do not spend time away from Romania because I don’t want to have the hassle of this “basic life”. I chose it, consciously, because it suits me. After cancer, after everything, it is what I need to stay grounded, close to myself, close to life. Having to make an effort for the bare necessities puts everything else into perspective. I am still clear on that. I am just not sure where the best place for it is.
Het Roer Om (change of plans) is a Dutch TV show that follows people on their adventures abroad. It is similar to another program “Ik Vertrek”. It is often mind boggling how ill prepared people are for their new life. But usually that is matched by remarkably stubborn perseverance. This week it was about a couple who bought a beautiful piece of land in Spain with two houses on it. It is located very remotely. Immediately someone next to me says: Oh God, I would never do that. Live in the middle of nowhere like that!
I would, I sort of did, and I want to do that again. When I told someone, I am taking time away to figure out what I want, they thought I meant the lifestyle in general. In that department I would not change a thing. I like basic. As in really basic. But it needs to be more solid, and more safe. No leaky roofs, no scary people (and if possible, also no bears).
But I don’t want to do it on my own, anymore, I don’t think. Do I want to join an intentional community somewhere? In Binnenste Buiten a couple in a tiny house are living in a temporary community. They can occupy their spot in the forest for the next fifteen years. After that, they need to move on. ‘Oh God, no. Not that.’ The couple are found to be too cringey.
On a British house hunting show we get to visit Scotland. Three rather ugly homes are shown, (Oh God, they really have no taste, do they) before the host goes for a little walk around the Findhorn Ecovillage. This happy hotchpotch of houses looks appealing, if only they weren’t built so closely together. ‘Oh God no. It is such a shame because those projects are lovely. It is just that I don’t think I would get along with those people.’
I can do it alone, practically. Or I could, if I felt safe and did not have to deal with dodgy neighbours who live way too close for comfort. Looking back on the last year, I keep asking myself that: When did solitude turn into loneliness, a sense of abandonment? What do I need to feel at home somewhere, where I can have a “simple life”?
It is a mixed challenge of what makes us belong and how much human connection we crave locally. Until now Zalanpatak fell painfully short of that. With a little twinge of envy, I keep track of my favourite off grid folk who I follow on Instagram. Most of them are coupled up. I don’t want to tread into tradwife territory, but I would like to have someone alongside me. Am I hoping to still find the love of my life? Who even though I don’t need him to cut wood, and I won’t bear him seven children to home school, would have to come with me to the middle of nowhere.
The Dutch couple in Spain had the roof of the main house fixed, but during the first real torrential rain it turned out not to be exactly waterproof. ‘Well, the house lacked proper maintenance for years, so it may be a bit too much to expect to have it fixed in one go’.
Was I expecting too much? I paid a small fortune to have my roof renovated. For months it seemed fine, but then it started leaking. I did not even have enough buckets, pots or pans to catch the rain. Despite my numerous pleas, until the now the builder has completely bailed on me.
You know those 528 herz musics that are so soothing for body and soul? The one with rain still gives me nightmares. I have lived under one too many leaky roof.