Returning to the road after a family bereavement, Marcus, Kim and the children find solace in the serene tranquility of the mountains
As I sat watching fat droplets of rain run down the motorhome window, their rhythmic sounds reverberating on the roof, I couldn’t help but feel safe. It didn’t last long, though, as gradually a new sensation began to percolate from within, one of anxiety tinged with fear, which admittedly, is not something I’ve had to contend with much on our travels.
It wasn’t an easy decision to come back on the road following the unexpected passing of my Dad – five weeks back in the UK long enough for us to settle into a routine there and almost forget the life we had created living full-time in our motorhome.
Clichéd as it might sound, that’s what he would have wanted us to do, to keep living life, making the most of every opportunity and creating the sorts of memories with our children that he and Mum did with us over the years.
A week after the funeral, we landed back in Bulgaria, a country we had barely arrived in before the ill-fated call that saw us abandon the motorhome (safely and securely, I hasten to add) and head for the airport.
In the time we’d been away from Bansko, the snow in the high mountains had melted, allowing us to reach a rustic campsite in Pirin National Park, which was previously snowed in. Here we began the transition back to our nomadic ways.
New surroundings After a handful of relaxed days, spent exploring the forests and mountains on our doorstep, the time had come to move on, the mere thought of which threw me into emotional turmoil.
I usually thrive on the unknown, drawn to travel because of the manner in which it catapults you into new settings, forcing you to live with heightened senses, never certain what each day will bring. Now the thought of that unknown filled me with a pervading sense of anxiety.
Questions tumbled around in my head. Would there be good campsites? Would we be able to find LPG? What about getting food? Would the children still be happy travelling?
Would my Mum be OK? Would we be safe? The last of these questions was the one we liked least, given how often we heard it from other people when we told them we were travelling in a country they knew little about. Their default seemed to be, “If I don’t know much about a place, it can’t be that safe” – or even that good. Now here I was, falling into the same trap, rather than believing in the good of humanity and trusting, as Dad alw
