9: Snail Fail

30th Dec 2018

This is not going to be a pleasant blog. You’ve been warned. There’s still time to turn back. I hope one day I will re-read this when it’s all over and find the humour in this situation, but we’re still very much in it right now and we’ve decided giving up hope is actually the kindest thing to do to ourselves. Let me explain.

12 days ago, Snail broke down. It was an inevitability, that eventually her 17 year old rusty body would trip up and we’d be stranded. It’s something we were mentally prepared for. So when it happened, it didn’t come as much surprise.

What has been a surprise is that, 12 days later and almost 300 euros down on repair costs, she’s still broken. We’ve had to endure repeated frustration, with what at times reflected a prison-like experience with consistently declined parole, and spent our first Christmas together in a rural hotel room. This storm is also swallowing up our new year plans and we still don’t know when the rain will stop.

We chose van life for ultimate freedom and control over our lives, and it couldn’t have been more opposite recently, which has left us feeling pretty deflated.

After a few cold and already frustrating weeks following our power issues (which still haven’t been solved), our change of original route cutting out Germany and Austria and a minor crash, we were pretty excited to be heading towards warmer climates and spending our first Christmas together bathing in hot springs in Tuscany.

We’d planned some pretty hefty driving getting us straight through France from Luxembourg, trying to get to Italy as soon as possible. We’d managed to get about half way down the country, parallel to Geneva when Snail started to feel a bit strange. Her gear changes started to drop harshly into place, making clunking noises when going around corners and whining when accelerating. ‘She doesn’t feel good’ I said and we began to closely listen out knowing full well neither of us would be able to actually identify anything...

Ten minutes after that, while coming up to a roundabout in a quiet town she began to suddenly and heavily shudder, then something metallic sounded like it had snapped off, squealed and dragged along the tarmac and she lost all acceleration.

We both looked at each other in shock. Simone pointed out a small side road coming off the roundabout and I just about managed to pull over using clutch control. I switched off the ignition, we sat in silence in the front cabin for a few long seconds, turned to each other, and burst into laughter. You know - the kind of laughter when there’s nothing else you can do.

We faced it like we do everything, remaining calm, looking on the bright side and telling ourselves it’s fine and we’re going to work it out - all very adult - and then calling my Mum and Dad like a 10 year old.

‘Help we’ve broken down’.

We looked under Snail and saw a big rusty log of metal hanging off her. We did some research and quickly came to realise that her prop shaft had snapped off at the centre bearing - a common problem in old LDV Convoys - and we just needed to replace it. Cool, no biggie. We discovered there were atleast 20 mechanics in the local town, managed to speak to a few of them (after about 8 hopeless conversations with people who spoke absolutely zero English) who confirmed they thought the issue was as we’d diagnosed - an easy job but not such an easy part to source as our van is old and basically unheard of in France.

We quickly found the part we needed online and thought - this will be fine. It’s 18th December, plenty of time before Christmas, we just need to get the part, get a garage to fix it - and we’ll be on our way. We’ll call the breakdown service tomorrow morning, easy peasy.

How I wish I hadn’t given myself so much hope.

The next day (at 2pm - because French people take two hour lunch breaks every day) a recovery man arrived. Not speaking a word of English, his response was to look under Snail, then back to us tutting and shaking his head, then pointing at Snail and the back of his truck. My heart twinged as I drove Snail onto his lorry.

There was our entire home, helplessly carried. I had my heart in my teeth as I watched her tall body violently sway in the pick-up’s wingmirror as we bounced over speedbumps and surfed roundabouts. I couldn’t shake the image of her keeling over the edge and crumbling under her own weight on the pavement. It was lip-flopping (yep, we decided this was the appropriate description) to see our little dashboard Hawaiian Hula girl and dream catcher from the outside-in.

‘Feels like we’re going quite far don’t you think?’ I said to Simone quietly, not that the driver could understand anyway. All the garages I’d researched were really close to where we’d broken down - something we were really thankful for, as well as breaking down somewhere quiet instead of the side of a busy motorway.

I checked my map. We were miles in the opposite direction. (Still don’t understand why our insurance company did this?) We turned up at the garage which looked like it hadn’t changed since the 80s.

Heavy rain came through Snail’s window as I just couldn’t understand what the recovery man wanted from me as I tried reversing Snail down the 30 degree platform while hugging the brakes, as he got increasingly annoyed and flappy, until I realised he was controlling the release from a remote control while I just needed to steer and take the handbrake off.

We walked into the garage, where five French people and the recovery man spoke around us as we blankly hovered like polite dogs. Eventually a woman said to us in a heavy accent something like ‘what are you doing here?’

You can say that again.

The recovery man left, as did the others around us, and we found ourselves stranded in an ancient garage with no idea what was going on.

I asked to use the toilet - and a man who had a blackened oily face like a chimney sweep with a good half centimetre of filth beneath his nails and a shadey look in his eye began to lead us out of the garage, before turning back to pass us a roll of thick blue paper as toilet roll. He showed us to a neighbouring house, where amongst the rubble, was one of the filthiest toilets I’d ever seen. I flicked the light switch, which failed to turn on - something I’d learned through Simone’s interest in Lucid Dreaming, is a sign you’re not awake in reality. ‘Maybe this is all a bad dream.’

Simone’s cackling laugh at the situation became a squeal as a raging dog began to bark from a nearby room. ‘GET IN!!” I shouted.

We then walked back to the garage thinking, how on earth did we ever end up in this rural village in France, and were then told that, lo and behold, the garage had no capacity to see us today.

So now what? We were stuck in the middle of nowhere feeling like aliens with no vehicle and no home, in a place as if we’ve gone back in time 30 years.

We spoke to our insurance company who told us we’d just have to get a taxi to a hotel for a night (instead of a campsite with Snail as they’d originally promised). We emphasised the urgency of just needing to order a part to make sure it arrives in time so we can be on our way before Christmas. We were pretty sure we’d diagnosed the problem - they just needed to take a quick look so we can get on with it.

‘Non’.

So off we went again to an unknown destination, revelling in horror as the cost went up and up, 40, 50 euros. Where the hell are we going?!

We arrived at the hotel, displaying a star for each of us, on the side of a busy rural road lined with lorries and a burned-out cars where we waited outside in the December cold for an hour before we could check in. In the mean time we went to a nearby auto parts shop with hope of finding our centre bearing. ‘Non, sorry’. Something we were starting to get used to.

I also walked to check out the only nearby restaurant - and guess what it had on the set menu for the night? Yep. Snail.

We got into the hotel room - unknowingly a place we’d be spending the next 9 days and our first Christmas together - and relievingly said as we walked past the bathroom - ‘ah at least we can have a lovely bath’. 5 minutes later Simone said hesitantly: ‘ummm.... honey... come and look at this bath’.

But we genuinely were thankful for a warm bed, a shower and a WiFi connection. We thought - hey this is just a holiday within a holiday - a treat actually. As we prematurely cracked open a bottle of Christmas tequila to (literally) raise our spirits and Simone danced and sung her way around our lime green themed hotel room we thought - it doesn’t matter where we are, as long as we’re together.

We then went to the restaurant for dinner - where as most rural towns do - the fact we are vegetarians was a very confusing and strange allergy.

‘Do you eat Snail?’ The waitress said, pointing at a drawing she’d made, in an almost perfect replica of our Snail logo.

We ended up getting a salad, a plate of chips and a beer as everyone around us tucked into their lavish Christmas specials. As usual, we were a stare magnet as the 98% male lorry drivers tried to work us out. Yes, we’re an inter-racial same-sex vegetarian couple in a weird diner in the middle of rural France, and what!?

To our horror we paid 35 euros for the ‘meal’. Our usual weekly food budget.

We rarely eat out, instead cooking great food ourselves for small costs in Snail. We started to have a daunting feeling about the fate of our savings having to continue paying for overpriced meals while we were away from Snail.

The next day, we realised just how isolated we were in the hotel. The nearest town was an hour walk away down a long, mostly path-less busy road. I’d also woken up feeling pretty ill (subconscious Snail sympathy?) So amazing Simone did the hike, bringing back weird tins of dauphionoise potatoes and ratatouille and soup for us to microwave as the only veggie options from the closest supermarket (and I have to note they also thought it was acceptable to search her while in the shop, and this happened again while I was present at another shop, and they had no desire to search me or anyone else?! UGH.)

After finishing our lunch of microwaved slop we got a message from the insurer saying that - as we’d predicted- it was the centre bearing part we needed and we can go ahead and order it. We found out the delivery should take no more than three working days (which would be latest Christmas Eve) but the express delivery means we could be out of there the next day. So we were booked in the hotel for two days, and we just had to play a waiting game. A blessing in disguise I felt as being ill in a hotel was definitely better than a in a cold Snail. We managed to convince our insurers to get us a taxi back to Snail so we could get some more clothes and supplies (...and also our whole recording studio and a portable gas stove, pots and pans, the full works). Things felt pretty good.

We basically moved house, made lots of music, watched films and were able to cook our own food for a few days. We tracked our delivery as it speeded from the UK to Germany to France in one day. ‘We might be out of here sooner than we think’.

Our parcel arrived at the nearest courier at 11am on Friday 21st December. We informed the insurance company in preparation to maybe get us out that day. We even started to pack down some things.

‘11:10 - Shipment on hold.’

The shipment remained on hold for the rest of the day. Which meant we were stuck for the whole weekend because weekend work doesn’t seem to exist in France. But we’d originally been told that it could be up to three working days. So we just sucked it up. I’d recovered from my little illness, we found a nearby forest, we were occupied - but food was starting to run low. And our little gas cooker had run out of gas - and cabin fever was really starting to settle in (despite the fact we live in a 2x5 meter van, go figure).

Monday had arrived. Monday had passed. Shipment was still on hold. There was nothing we could do. We were spending Christmas in a hotel. (Congratulations DHL ‘Express Delivery’)

So that was it. But we really didn’t let it get our spirits down. We were still together, still safe and warm. We got a taxi to a supermarket, managed to find some more gas for the portable stove, and picked up everything we needed for Christmas (despite all our presents for each other and decorations being locked in Snail).

We made our first Christmas together special despite the hiccups. I’d imagined us waking up surrounded by forests and water, roasting chestnuts in our furnace and having a day we’d never forget. But this one was memorable...for other reasons. We made what we could of a bad situation. We drew Christmas trees on the back of paper plates, put a video of a fireplace on our laptop and hung socks on the bed as stockings. Simone got a very unique make-shift Christmas present...

We managed to successfully cook a Christmas dinner using a camping cooker in a hotel room... pretty impressive if I do say so myself and it tasted delicious.

Then Boxing Day - the light at the end of the tunnel as we’d got an email saying the parcel had arrived so we’d definitely be out of here tomorrow. Until...

We got a message from the insurance company saying there was a missing part. They had failed to tell us that it wasn’t just the centre bearing that needed replacing - there was something missing. Not only that - but the part we’d need would take another WEEK to arrive and would cost us an additional 400 euros.

I couldn’t believe this was happening again. They even tried to blame us saying it was our fault for ordering the wrong thing. Another two days in the hotel passed before the garage actually decided to finally do their job and fix the centre bearing- as we’d apparently had to be moved to the back of the queue because ‘the part had only just arrived’ with absolutely no concern for the fact we’d been stranded in a hotel room for a week over Christmas.

By this point my frustration had just crumbled to a numb void. There was absolutely nothing we could do. I questioned why I thought positive thinking and hope would have solved anything. Our spirits were seriously low and we questioned why we were even doing van life and missed London.

The insurance company said Snail would be drivable with just the centre bearing fixed but we’d need to be careful and have to think about getting the rest fixed in the near future. ‘FINE’ we thought, ‘just get us the hell away from here and away from these horrible, useless mechanics’.

‘We’re atleast going to get a good new year’ we thought. (UH OH, was that some hope again?) We spent a whole morning planning an impromptu ski holiday in the French alps which were only a 3 hour drive away from where we were. ‘We deserve this’.

We got a call saying Snail was ready to be picked up so we excitedly jumped in a taxi. After getting over charged and having to confront King Careless mechanic (who couldn’t even be bothered to show us what the other problem was) and shadey chimney man, we just got out of there as soon as possible. We didn’t care, we had Snail back.

But the excitement, as we’re getting very used to now, quickly subsided, as within the space of five minutes it became clear that Snail was NOT okay. Her magnificent top speed had dropped from 55 to 25, and she was making all sorts of weird noises and rumbles. We were holding up queues of angry traffic and only managed to drive around 15 minutes before we thought it was dangerous to carry on driving.

We’ve been completely ripped off and there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it. 12 frustrating days and all that money, and we’re still in exactly the same position. Except now, we want nothing to do with the garage or the insurance company, so we’re completely on our own.

And obviously French garages aren’t doing any work until after New Year at least, and then there’s the ordeal of sourcing the parts again - the countless phone calls and unresponded emails and research and letdowns, so we’re very much back at square one. We’ve already lost a month from our journey in recent expenses (as well as all this time, and counting, we’ve been stuck in one place), and fear even thinking about what it’s going to cost now to get her up and running because it’s so hard to trust any mechanics. If you know a mechanic with morals, let me know.

So that’s where we are at. And now I feel pissed off again after reliving it all to write this. I didn’t think van life would ever get to this point of being utterly uninspiring and just wanting to be elsewhere. But as my Mum keeps reminding me - ‘that’s life’.

And I’m actually pretty proud of how Simone and I have been dealing with it all, considering. It’s only growing us thicker skin and allowing us to roll with the punches. We’ve learned the solid life lesson of how we’re always going to be faced with problems, but it’s how we approach them that changes everything. We’ve learned there’s no point of ‘double worrying’ - worrying about something happening, then it happening, and having to worry about it once it’s happened (basically, don’t worry). I’ve learned the benefits of not planning too much (and hoping too much) and flowing with whatever life throws, and sometimes putting my hands up all together and letting it do the driving. But - despite our lack of control in a situation, we always have a choice about how it makes us feel. We’ve proved we can have fun together wherever we are and make the best of a bad situation. And we have a lot more patience than we thought.

Regardless of everything, we’re just so so so happy to be back in Snail and we’re (very) slowly ambling to Lyon at the moment where we’ll be spending our New Year.

Hope you all have a good one!

Update: I’m about to post this from the side of the road where yet again we are having to get a recovery vehicle to get us because Snail’s top speed dropped below 20, she started to smell and shake and make noises. Here we go again.

Love,

Becky and Simone