I've had the same jeans on for four days now ....

This week we have acquired new additions to our travelling lives.

The first – last Sunday were our anti malaria tablets. Cloraquine – taken once a week for about 7 weeks. We’re right on the cusp of the malarial area, and the malaria season but it was still recommended that we take them. Edie had an unfortunate stomach reaction and found herself running to the loo quite regularly after the first dose. A quick email to our fantastic practise nurse in Cropredy revealed that this was quite normal – and offered a couple of alternatives. Since then we have all had the same problem to varying degrees. Sim, Ella and Bethan have had colds this week, nasty ones too, so it’s been a bit of a week. 

Tuesday was a particular highlight when we turned up at a new campsite, and I spent most of the night in the toilets with one or other of the girls who was feeling sick/having stomach cramps/diarrhoea. I successfully managed to help Edie get past our sleeping neighbours before she threw up in a bush, and found some indigestion tablets for Ella before falling into bed just before dawn. Seconds later the first call to prayer of the day started … it was a long night.

The second (and very welcome) addition to our lives was a washing machine. Oh I bet you’re impressed aren’t you? We got to know a South African couple, Neil and Silvie, who wowed us with their mod cons. So much so, we had to copy the washing idea. You basically get a big plastic drum with a lid, shove your dirty clothes in with some water (hot or cold – you choose depending on the weather) and some detergent – then simply strap it to the roof of the vehicle. The motion of driving washes the clothes. Brilliant. The journey we took that day was really bumpy, perfect for the clothes. Then you have the fun of emptying out the water and seeing just how dirty it is. We invented other cycles. Pop down into the village (about a mile) – and do your delicates. Cover the drum in a black plastic bag and you get a hot wash. Still need to sort out the tumble drier though …

And now we wait for a very important addition -  our Syrian visas. After a nervous call from the Embassy on Friday, we’re hoping they’ll be ready by the end of the week. (Read Sim’s blog for the full gory story) It’s been a trying time. We have been heartened by the fact we are not alone, and everyone we meet seems to have problems, but it’s still annoying to be stuck waiting. 

I won’t bore you with the months of planning, but in case you’re wondering how we chose our route, it really was through months of research. My one early proviso for the trip was that we didn’t visit anywhere ending in ‘stan’ which instantly cut out a huge swathe of the world. (Apologies to the Uzbekistan tourist board.) With this in mind, we looked at going south from Sicily – a route that would have taken us through Tunisia, Libya and Egypt but for us, was prohibitively expensive. To take a vehicle outside of Europe you need a Carnet de Passage (export and passport for the van) – which costs an arm and a leg. Also with Libya, they are more than happy for you to visit, but insist you pay for a guide all the time you’re there which includes their accommodation. Pricy. 

So we opted for over the top through Greece and Turkey. (It’s amazing how much of the world you have to throw out with only a year to get round it.) Before we left we kept grumbling about having to drive through Turkey, but ironically it has turned out to be an absolute gem, so every cloud …. Keep your fingers crossed for the visas, and when you chuck a load in your washing machine – spare a thought for our drum on top of Penny. What the other cars think when they see a load of smalls sloshing around on top of a camper van is anyone’s guess.

Stranger in a strange land ...

As you probably know, we've been planning this trip for about 18 months. You get a lot of time to think about stuff during that time, and not just how many threadworm tablets you might need for a year. One of our biggest challenges was what the girls would get out of the year away and how we could maintain their schoolwork. It was with a certain amount of trepidation that we arranged meetings with their headteachers in November last year to talk them through the plans. The reaction we got from them was quite unexpected. 

Not only were they supportive and excited about what the girls would learn while away, they were keen to keep in touch and use the girls experiences for their fellow pupils. In fact when we did parents' evening this year, it was hard to get them to talk about the girls' progress because they wanted to talk about the trip and enthuse about what a great opportunity it was for the girls. We were surprised to say the least but delighted. Ella's secondary school has a technology specialism, and they were keen to try out the distance learning programme they have for kids who can't or won't come to school for a variety of reasons. (BBC South Today did a lovely piece on this - watch it at www.beatnikbeatles.com in the press section).

So buoyed up by the positive attitude we had from the teachers (and I'm pleased to say it was 100% thumbs up from all of them) we talked about how seeing these places as living history would benefit the girls. But we wanted them to get that experience you don't get in text books, having to interact with people in different countries and cultures. 

I'm aware that sounds terribly Guardian reader, I don't mean it to - I've been way out of comfort zone so many times so far - so it's as much about all of us experiencing that. I smiled when Sim demanded his money back at a swimming pool a few days ago because they hadn't told him everyone needed to wear hats. Apart from 'una caffee americano e una latte macchiato' he speaks no Italian. You won't be surprised to hear he got a full refund (and they spoke no English) 

And it's not just about the language, it's about soaking up the differences. So when Italians you've never met before invite you for dinner, you go with the flow and graciously accept.  Perhaps it's to the girls' credit that they weren't terribly fazed when we accepted. Dinner at strangers' houses is probably among the more tame things their parents have subjected them to. The Italians love children, and ours were no exception. They were 'bella, bella.' Bizarrely Stefano's mum had already seem us having coffee that morning in the city and remarked in Italian when she met us that night that she had already seen the beautiful family. Luckily she couldn't speak a word of English otherwise she would have heard Edie sitting at the cafe table instructing us all in intricate detail how she has a successful poo in a 'squatter' toilet with careful aim and minute adjustments. That's my girl.

Bethan has got sick of me saying 'this is why we're doing this trip' every time we're in a strange situation. To be honest, she's got me weighed up. Apparently when I say this, my voice goes into a high pitched, slightly manic tone. I realised it was my defence mechanism - the kids don't need any re-assurance, but apparently I still do....

Drinking wine, killing time, sitting in the summer sun ....

There's nothing like a problem to bring the family together working happily on a solution trying to get through it with humour, wit and general fun. How I wish we were that family. We've spent days trying to work out how to sort out Penny's sickness. (If you're not reading Sim's blog, I would urge you to for the full gory technical details) Penny hasn't been well you see, she's really happy to pootle round at 25mph, but any more and she starts to lose power and stop. (I've only got a year off work, so to be honest - 25mph is not going to get us much further than West Croatia.)  It won't surprise you to hear that I know nothing about cars. I appear to have been extremely lucky in driving a 104 mile round trip to Swindon for 5 years and never having had a problem, apart from the morning when I had a flat tyre. I couldn't even pump that up and had to get a friend's husband to do it (thanks Barney). So as we drove around a completely shut Italian city (Alessandria) Sim tried to diagnose the fault and I helpfully threw in suggestions desperately trying to remember phrases I'd heard when forced to watch Top Gear. He thought it was a cylinder that had gone. 'Do we have others?' I asked. I was heartened to hear we had another 3, but that apparently we couldn't keep driving without all four. What about a gasket? We had done a mammoth trip up the Alps the day before, Penny wasn't terribly happy about that and got all hot and bothered. Could she quite literally have blown a gasket? 'Could be', he replied. We decided we shouldn't risk the planned drive to Genova so stumbled on one of Alessandria's 4 hotels. It was a plush 4 star with high speed internet and a mini bar. The girls had their own room, and bless them - they were as excited as they are on Christmas morning. (To be fair the man on reception became less excited about trying out his English on us soon tiring of Edie constantly calling him to be asked to put through to our room) The next day Sim, after being told 'no' by several garages, found a VW garage. Later that day they called to say it was the turbo that had gone. He put the phone down and looked at me. 'Turbo?' I said questioningly. He nodded slowly and reassuringly explained it WAS as bad as it sounded. I won't go into the details of our quest to find a new turbo, read his blog for that, but my thoughts have been centred on how we cope with situations that look impossible. 

Another friend of ours waved us off with the cheery phrase 'Just remember - always think 'what's the worst that can happen?''. (Mark you don't know how often I have quoted that to myself over the last few days - it's the most helpful piece of advice I've been given, thank you) Sitting in a 4* hotel isn't the worst thing, neither is being stuck in an Italian city with your family. Alright, it's putting a huge dent in our finances, we'll have to change the plans, look at the route again,  but this is what the trip was always going to be about. Sim had kept explaining to the girls before we left that we don't have a year at home with nothing going wrong, so he was sure this coming year wouldn't be any different.

I've surprised myself with my constant ability to positively spin situations we've found ourselves in (and no - before you ask - I haven't raided the over-stocked medicine bag. Actually slight tangent while I think of it - you remember the blog about how well prepared I was with medication? Some might even describe me as smug. Well the smile was wiped off my face pretty quickly when we had to go to the pharmacy to get treatment for a verucca on Edie's foot. If you've got verucca treatment in your medicine cabinet, consider yourself practically a doctor) 

Anyway, in recent years I've not been the best at being positive. Glass half empty, always considering what could go wrong, rather than going with the flow and not worrying until it actually happens. But now I do at least try. 'At least we weren't in the desert in Turkey when it happened' 'You girls get a nice comfy bed for a night' 'Great news - you can all do school work tomorrow morning while we've got the wifi' (They weren't best pleased with the last one, but I was delighted) 

Planning the trip has been a lesson in spinning and constantly re-assessing and changing plans.  And mainly I've coped OK. When the tenants pulled out the first time, I was fine. Even when the second lot pulled out - still OK. It's amazing how you can surprise yourself. But isn't it funny how the small things can send you over the edge? I'd gone over a year without freaking out at setbacks, but it took a piano to send me over the edge. Our first set of tenants wanted our piano, but I'd already promised it to our friends' boys Harri and Morgan months before. When Sim phoned me to tell me he'd told them they couldn't have it, I started to shake. Then get upset. Then cry. I actually had to stop the car because I was crying so much. Over a piano? Turned out Sim thought they were having it as a favour to us, not because they actually wanted it. Lack of communication blamed. So a few hours later, we struggled down the middle of the road with the piano on two skateboards and the kids playing jolly tunes to the waiting cars. Harri and Morgan were happy, I was back to normal. As it turned out, the tenants pulled out a few days later. And I'm reliably assured, it was nothing to do with the piano.

Walking round the room singing Stormy Weather

To be honest, I hadn't even contemplated the fact it might rain. At all. I even had second thoughts about the waterproofs. They were taking up valuable space that might be otherwise occupied by floaty summer dresses or nice sandals. Our first stop in Rotterdam was a real wake up call. It poured. And poured. And poured. Even the Dutch friend who came to see (and as everyone will tell you, the one thing the Dutch do well is camping) couldn't believe it. She seemed particularly perturbed by the awning to the campervan which had a steady trickle of water seeping through it. I knew things were bad when I heard Sim say to Edie, who was complaining about the cold 'Put your long trousers on then'. 'Mummy didn't pack me any' was the reply. Cue us trying to find a cheap pair of long and warm trousers in Brussels a few days later (yes, yes a few days later. Oh come on, I had to make sure the rain wasn't just a freak of nature - it's August for Heaven's sake)

Our history with holidays and weather isn't great. The by now legendary holiday with my parents in Menorca in 1996 is still talked about. 'We haven't had storms like this for 50 years' the locals said. I lay in bed at night actually believing we wouldn't be able to get off the island. When my dad got up at 2am to see if he could stop the torrents of water rushing under the front door over the beautiful marble tiles he stepped into several centimetres of water. Oh yes, the summer of '96 was a good one in the Balearics. And I can guarantee they haven't had weather like it since. And as always happens with us, everything cleared up the day we left.

So although Holland and Belgium were disappointingly cold, I kept myself cheery with the thought that once we got into the Vendee - things were sure to pick up. It's practically the south of France. We arrived after a long, hot journey to see our friends Zak and Sarah to be told that they hadn't had rain for three months. To them it's a big deal - they run a livery stables and no rain means a hike in hay prices and no feed for the winter. They didn't need to worry. The next day it started pouring, and didn't stop - even as we left. They were delighted, we were soggy. I had an email from my neighbour Anne suggesting that we might be able to supplement our travels by setting up the 'Courtie Family Rainmakers'. Bookings available via the website.

I bought a toothbrush, some toothpaste a flannel for my face ...

One of the most popular questions we’ve been asked is how we would go about packing for a year. No matter how far ahead I plan or how many lists I write I am still the person getting onto the ferry with a hairbrush in one hand, and a pair of shoes and a packet of teabags in the other. I always take too many clothes, always end up not wearing half of them, and go home having lost a hairbrush taken too many shoes and clutching an unopened box of teabags.

So where were we to start? Sim had his all planned. He was going ‘traveller’. You know the stuff, anything beige, navy or khaki. Zip off trousers, dries in seconds. Blends into the environment without being noticed. Completely practical. Completely unfashionable. (This reminds me of a story I read a few years ago about ipod owners who were being mugged for their mp3s because thieves knew they had them because of the white headphones. The police were advising people to use cheaper headphones. Apple’s quote was that ‘our clients would rather be mugged than be seen wearing inferior headphones’ Brilliant.)

So what were we to pack? We all bought a backpack, and we worked on the same principal that had got us to Biarritz by train a few years ago – if you can carry it, you can bring it. We sorted through clothes, we’re chasing the sun for a year so banked on not needing jumpers and the like. (Holland clearly didn’t get that information ahead of us arriving there, it poured for three days – so much so that by the time we got to Brussels we had to buy Edie a pair of long warm trousers. Her bronchial pneumonia is clearing up nicely, thank you). The girls also had a box of personal stuff they wanted to take. (among the more random items: 4 travel photo albums – one including just photos of us. ‘But we’re all going on the trip’ I said to Bethan. ‘I’m bringing it for the memories’ she replied.) I was particularly proud of Ella who had a load of schoolbooks which were the important ones from year 7 for Bethan, and Bethan herself who is the worst hoarder and packer in our house. On the Biarritz trip she took two alarm clocks – one of them broken. And as she pointed out she could carry it, so by our own rules, it was allowed. I looked at her tiny box of things for this trip and remarked on how well she’d done. She gave me that look only 11 year old girls can give and said sweetly ‘Of course I’m not taking much – you’ve thrown everything else of mine away.’ Ouch.

I’d been really looking forward to kitting the van out. After the initial fun of choosing material for the curtains I had visions of beautifully coordinated shabby chic crockery and cutlery. When we turned up at our friends Lynne and Jon’s the day before we sailed, and emptied everything out of the van to re-pack it in some order I realised our only utensils were a frying pan, 4 mugs and a sharp knife. Lynne, realising we were in trouble, quickly rustled up a picnic set, two pans from their camping trip the weekend before (‘If I give them to you, it means we don’t have to go again’) and a trug which as every Cath Kidston devotee will know is a MUST for a camping trip.

And the most important piece of packing – the medicine cabinet. We’ve spent a fortune on jabs for the trip and medicines. I woke up one morning the week before we were leaving shouting ‘threadworm tablets’. I had to consider every eventuality. Our brilliant practice nurse Steph, had provided up with the prescription medicine she thought we would need – we topped it up with bottles of calpol, bandages, first aid tweezers and threadworm tablets. (Come on, would you know how to ask for them in Turkish?) Jon spent an hour or so cutting up the medication to pack it into a Halfords tool bag – each with its own separate compartment. His medical knowledge was invaluable. And as he helpfully pointed out, if we hit hard times – there’s going to be a market somewhere for all those drugs ….

We're all going global!

When my husband suggested a year out travelling the world, I had many thoughts. First of all, would we have to sell the house? (This was a big no-no for me, perenially risk averse, I'd need some security to come back to) Secondly would I be able to take my hair straighteners and lastly, when could I start perusing 5 star hotel brochures? So he did what he's very good at. Answers to the first two were almost immediate 'No and yes'. Then he spent a couple of weeks lulling me into a false sense of security, before dropping the bombshell. In this instance and you'll get the picture pretty soon that bombshells are regularly dropped by him - it was (in his words) 'the three words that every girls dreams of: In a campervan'. 'Why?' I bleated weakly. Cue a long monologue on how flying into airports and transferring to hotels wouldn't give us the full experience of the journey, we wouldn't meet real people, we wouldn't see the off-the-beaten-track places. Oh and it's cheaper, he added pouring me a glass of wine.

Now if you know my husband, you'll be reading this and shaking your head in disbelief. Not at his craziness, but at my naivety. You'll be remembering the time he decided to manage a boy-band. ('It could be a great career move') or the time he persuaded us all that a snake was the perfect pet ('It only needs feeding once a week.' Me: 'What does it eat?' Him: 'Dead mice') How could I be so stupid as to think a year travelling would be straightforward? Not a chance. 

So for 15 months, I have woken in the early hours panicking about one aspect or another of the trip. How would we school the girls? Would they fall behind? Would we get malaria? (If it can happen to Cheryl, no-one's safe) Where would I plug my straighteners in? It's probably the right time to address the hair issue, because I know you're probably thinking this is a slight overreaction on my part. I only have longer hair because I have straighteners. My hair is horribly curly and not in a nice way. I just couldn't (literally) get my head around looking back on photos of the year with my hair looking like a mop. I may be obsessive, I clearly have issues, but you'll just have to bear with me on this one. My friend K has seen my hair when we've been camping and she will testify it's not a pretty sight. In fact when we told her we were going away, pretty much her first question was 'What about your hair?'. (Other first questions included 'Where's the toilet?' Answer: ' We have a spade' and 'Are you taking the children?' Answer: 'I don't suppose we can persuade you to have them for a year?') So the straighteners are coming (along with the children). In fact, two pairs of straighteners are in. My electric pair and a gas powered pair bought for me by one of my friends who understands my issues. Sorry, but I don't think this is the last we've heard of this subject.

So here we are 15 months later, about to start the biggest adventure we've embarked on. The schools have been fantastic, we've said goodbye to everyone, and we're on the cusp of something big. We generally can't even drive into town without a row ensuing between the three girls. How will we make it round the world? And living in a campervan? It must have been pretty strong wine he gave me that night .....

PS as an additional feature in this blog, each entry title is a lyric from a song. No prizes, it's just for fun, and I'll give you the answer in the next entry.

Today's is very hard, so I'll give you a clue. Neil Hannon wrote it.