Wandering into a Strange, Alternative, Life Style

As mentioned, this is one explanation for your trampess’s long absence that is not entirely wrong. Year one of wandering, when the tramp swept her off her feet and into the WLW, there was no other home, though some were mooted – no doubt to make the trampess feel a little less like the Flying Dutchman and a little more like Eliza Bennet. It is always worth the effort. Both homes to be were being built so nothing was to happen until they were ready, months if not a year away. The tramps could go about their business knowing only that at a certain point cheques would have to be signed and furniture would have to come out of storage. Were that life were so simple. The second year both alternative homes became, well, glimmers in the tramp’s eyes but not real – in one way or another. The only thing to be done to ensure the possibility of a more permanent home (you know the kind, the ones that have an address attached to them) was to leave the WLW prematurely and solve the problems. In the one case, this meant an eyeball to eyeball encounter with the developers pointing out that the clear, unobstructed view on their model and simulated photographs neglected to reveal their intention to put very real heating, air-conditioning and other rather ugly service facilities on the top of the adjacent tower thus giving us a perfect, unobstructed view from every room of pure misery. Let us just say that resolving the problem and then finishing the apartment took some time (having lived abroad for so long I didn’t full appreciate what “decorator ready” meant. I think Nina Campbell would have expected floors and lighting but then most English houses suffer from rather different problems – decorator done but sadly, no hot water or heating). After camping out in a furnished flat to choose the alternative, finish it and move in, the last painting was hung just in time to catch the plane to tramp 3’s graduation on the west coast. For those of you who haven’t dealt with builders, it is always wise to have a very important family event by which time the building must be finished or cheques can no longer be written. Thankfully with 4 young tramps and a husband, your trampess has never been short of such events at critical moments.
After tramp 3’s moment in the sun – a wacky walk instead of pomp and circumstance - but I guess one has to expect that Silicon Valley will do it differently from Cambridge, the tramp and trampess abandoned children and headed very far east to make the Schubertiade once again. And the rest of that short summer was much as before – with the exception of visits from tramps 1, 2 and 3. Now it is one thing for a husband, tolerably confident of his relationship with his wife, to persuade her that being a gypsy would be an adventure; it is quite another thing for a young man to bring a girl friend into such circumstances – especially when the guest bed is the living/dining room and kitchen of the parent’s and when breakfast is generally speaking around 7 am (ie, well before noon). To be fair, tramp 1 came with his best friend since the age of 3 (financee was hard working and couldn’t leave the US)– they arrived in the middle of the night and knew that a big hike up the mountain would begin after an early breakfast. But despite being overworked and exhausted, they were bright eyed and eager to go – we made it in record time to Mount Fort where we ate a rather disgusting but stick to the ribs lunch in the strong sun and where strangely, we were bothered by a bee. The next day was an early start as they had to get from Verbier to Gstaad in time for lunch. After a huge breakfast to keep them going ,big hugs and they were off. The other tramp’s visits required perhaps less stamina but much more bravery.
Tramp 2’s arrival with his girl friend was a little more exciting since they came by train and bus stopping somewhere on the hill from le Chable to Verbier. Close but not quite walking distance with bags to the WLW. With the Smart only holding two (and so far we have not been successful in getting one of those cute little remote controls to drive it) and with tramp 2 and girl friend having more luggage than one might expect for a round the world back pack expedition the Smart was in a difficult position. In the end, the luggage was given car preference and the surplus humans just had to hike from the bus stop to the WLW – a foretaste of the hikes to come. As tramp 2 and GF were on the last leg of their round the world trip (tramp 2 deciding to take a year off work – his last day being one week before the crash, not that he knew the crash was coming – did I mention he was with Lehman in NYC? – with GF who had just graduated and decided to have a break while applying to grad school), they were at least used to living in hostels rather than 5 star hotels. The camper van they had hired in Australia and New Zealand were decidedly smaller than the tramp’s so they were, comparatively, feeling as though they had landed in the lap of luxury. In fact they had such a good time that they booked a second visit. Now tramp 2 and GF have been a long time pair, and after all had been on the road for a long time together, so one expected the visit to go well, but surprises are always possible especially when several people have to occupy a small space – and share a bathroom. None occurred and the second visit went as well as the first.
Tramp 3 turned up with his GF who happily is a most civilising influence on him (rugby players need civilising and it can’t happen too soon). We had only briefly met the GF at graduation so booking 11 days in the WLW was very brave. Her mother should be proud of her: she was cheerful at breakfast, hiked everywhere (in sweet little keds, I did offer to outfit her with proper hiking boots but she swore she was ok), and even, in the middle of a minor water crisis, went to the stream to bathe and wash her hair. As an inveterate photographer, she even photographed the two of them frolicking in the very rocky mini-waterfall. Perhaps not a purple heart but definitely in there way above Miss Congeniality.
And then the apartment in London fell through (the cheque had just been lodged with the tramps’ lawyers when the other side announced the receipt of a bid 40% higher than ours – this in a recession when no, I repeat no, houses in London were selling). A friend came to the rescue by responding to a frantic email, by introducing us to an agent who dealt with Albany (where he lives). Albany, for those of you who don’t know it, is quite the opposite of the modern new penthouse in Covent Garden the tramps had just lost. It is early 19th C, was built for gentlemen bachelors (yes no women allowed until very recently) – actors, politicians and other rogues were the usual inhabitants (Lord Byron, Gladstone, and Terrance Stamp were previous tenants, just to give an indication that the trampess does not exaggerate). My friend announced that a set was about to become available (do not think for one moment that such a place would call a flat a flat – such quirky places have their own vocabularies) and while it needed “some work” he thought it might just be the ticket. Result! And after only 3 emails!! The trampess was sent to England to check it out, report back, and secure the deal. The “small amount of work” required building permission (it is grade 1 listed which is the best – I mean the worst) despite being what most people would consider essential : hot water, a shower (can anyone tell me how people bathe in cold water; I mean I have heard of cold showers but cold baths?? only for injured rugby players, please), perhaps a bit of heating (double glazing NOT allowed and you know what those leaky sash window are liked), oh yes and a kitchen. While we were optimistic that the permissions would be forthcoming, there were moments when we were biting fingernails – the master bedroom really did depend on the removal of a lethal staircase to the top set (the servant’s quarters – just think Gosford Park and you have an idea) and the Westminster inspector needed to be convinced that the staircase was not original for it to be removed. Happily the 84 year old most elegant, consultant architect to Albany was not only sure it was not original, he declared it an abomination – in writing! (the trampess adores older, elegant men and none less than this one). Happily the day was won, Westminster approved, and English Heritage decided not to get involved.
The trip back to London involved dropping the trampess at Geneva airport and not picking her up from Toulouse (luckily she hitched a ride ) as the tramp drove on to Queille with tramp 3 and GF for the 25th wedding anniversary of one of the trampess’s oldest friends. Black tie of course – you can’t have a party in a castle and not have it be black tie. With email and mobile phones it was easy to hook up with my ride in London even before takeoff. Toulouse, it turned out, was not the closest airport but we made it in time to get something of a snack in Mirepoix before hitting the castle (I didn’t know it, but would find out later, hitting was a more apposite word than one might imagine – wait for this year’s tale). The tramp had negotiated water and electricity with the caretaker so all was well. GF had two (!) perfectly suitable dresses (it was a two night party) but tramp 3 had to make do with a black tie, white shirt and dark trousers. But it was warm and many jackets were removed so he blended in soon enough (as GF’s photos will testify).
More eventful was dropping tramp 3 and GF at Lyon airport, not for them but for the tramp. Following the signs, we found ourselves in the short term car park (just dropping off was not an option offered by the French – every tourist euro helps!). No problem. Well, yes, actually a very big problem as we went to leave there was a low hanging tube saying 2.5m maximum height (or something similar). We were ever so slightly taller than that, but there is no arguing with one of those big bars – not if you want to keep your satellite dishes. What to do? Since the trampess is the designated French speaker for all emergencies, she had to go into the airport and explain that the WLW had just entered a lobster trap (try explaining that in French!). Luckily, the chief controller was sympatique (I won’t mention how many little windows I had to go to before I found someone who could help) and he came out and stopped traffic for the tramp so that he could back out of the parking lot (it sounds easy but with the trailer behind and backing into a one way system, I can assure it is not, not to mention the barrier at the entrance and the stream of cars wanting in)!! Now, the tramps have been to car parks they couldn’t get into, but this was a first: in yes, out, no. Cartesian logic??
On to the Schubertiade, again, and to Fischer-Dieskau’s totally magnificent master classes – plus a few concerts, many hikes and then back to London where the servant’s quarters of Albany had been transformed (let’s face it having a non-shared bathroom and a small kitchen plus underfloor heating and a washing machine and dryer is definitely a move up) but the main set was still waiting for permissions. Nothing to do but high tail it off to Miami for hard work in the gym, long walks on the beach and the arrival of tramps 1,2,3, and 4, who were slightly concerned that since their parents had become vegan, goose might not be on the menu for Christmas (didn’t I suggest we had wandered off to adopt some strange, alternative life style?). They were relieved that a dispensation from the rules extended to Christmas and two geese were cooked (it was of course the additional 2 GFs that did it).