Unplugged, not Untethered
At the startlingly young age of eighteen, the esteemed travel author Patrick Leigh Fermor found himself floundering as a writer in London whilst his parents were posted in India. To generate inspiration, he traversed Europe from the Hook of Holland to Istanbul, then known as Constantinople. Knowing I would forge a similar path, a friend brought the three books journaling his travels to my attention. I found them fascinating. Leigh Fermor undertook this journey in December 1933, ninety years ahead of me, leaving mere days after he decided this would solve his internal discomfort. Any delay until spring was a ‘delusion of procrastination.’ He would sleep rough or in any shelter he encountered. Notwithstanding his intent to ‘only consort with peasants and tramps,’ with the brazen confidence of upper-crust English youth, he carried with him the ability to gain ‘a scone at any door,’ staying with innkeepers, monks, landed gentry and even the aristocracy of pre-War Europe. As you can imagine, this was a time of great tension, with the rise of Nazism and the scent of war brewing thickly in the air. He encountered a Europe that he appreciated and embraced as truly foreign, with diverse and almost unrecognisable cultures, foods, languages and habits. He purposefully decided upon a solitary undertaking to go at his own pace and whim.
Whilst our routes only overlap around Heidelberg, the Iron Gates swathe of the Danube, and a few towns in Bulgaria, including Burgas (spoiler, I should not have been there), what differentiates us most is what we carried. His clothes were army surplus: a great coat, nailed boots, two flannel shirts and breeches, canvas trousers and linen shirts ‘for best, worn with a tie at a pinch,’ two ties, pyjamas, thick pullover, soft leather windbreaker, woollen socks, puttees (bandage fabric to wrap around the lower leg to protect from mud and dust), handkerchiefs for many contingencies and a brass-buckled leather belt. He even had a tweed jacket made for him in Budapest. All but the greatcoat packed into his canvas rucksack, a Bergen that at least had lumbar support and a frame. The basic items are the same nowadays, however, with much higher technical performance from far less weight and bulk.
The most dramatic difference now is in the items almost completely displaced by digital and instantaneous means. Where the young man bore letters of introduction, I send emails and mobile messages. Where changes money Pound by Pound into a dozen different currencies at banks in opening hours, with further funds only available by arranging to have envelopes of bank notes sent regularly to Postes Restantes, I’ll have bank cards, the Euro until Hungary and the ability to withdraw cash in local currency from a machine in a wall. Were my husband not resupplying me with physical items, I’d have to pre-courier them to hotels I’ve digitally booked. Many thru-hikers still use post boxes to replace items on long trails today.
As well as being a practically infinite wallet, my mobile replaces many of the other items the intrepid wanderer carried in his pack. Leigh Fermor carried notebooks, a cylinder of pencils and erasers; I employ Instagram and notes on my phone and tablet to document the journey. He had physical maps; I use mapping from G and A (the other omnipresent tech brand, as in A is for…) to plan and modify my route on the fly. Where he carried a dog-eared Oxford Book of English Verse and a copy of the Loeb Horace Volume 1, unlimited Kindle books, Audible, Netflix and Prime will entertain me. Instead of asking a local to write twenty useful phrases phonetically by hand, I can understand what a sign or menu means just using my phone camera, or I can use the microphone and speaker to conduct a complete translated conversation whenever I need to.
My phone permits me to keep instantly in touch with home via audio and video calls and messaging, rather than obtaining paper, envelopes or postcards to share thoughts with loved ones. And unlike Leigh Fermor, the people at home could contact me just as easily. To conserve phone battery, I packed a rugged little digital still and video camera (didn’t use much). And for safety, especially where out of cellular coverage, I subscribed to a satellite communicator, which provides breadcrumbs of my route to my husband to show where I was and had been at any point in time. I could send and receive messages anywhere and even initiate an SOS if I got into real trouble. Two tracking tags (one tracked myself, the other by hubby) added another layer of security on top of the basic ‘find’ function of a mobile. And whilst compressing the universe into a few small silicon-powered boxes is far less cumbersome than that toted by our latter-day adventurer, it did leave me with a charging conundrum.
You may have similarly found yourself, what I term affectionately as, ‘trAppled’ - that stealthy accumulation of devices out of Cupertino that is so inextricably linked to your life and to each other that you can never escape? In addition to my mobile phone, I had a smartwatch, a mini tablet in a rugged, rechargeable keyboard case, and ear pods. These alone required 3 types of charging cables. I created a table with the near end and far end for each device and how often they would need charging (daily or more often, weekly or less). The tablet, keyboard and toothbrush took USB-C. Camera, water bottles, satellite comms and mini-massager required mini-USB. The watch one was completely different. Most of these cables had USB-A near ends, except for the double-ended USB-C. I’d found the best power bank by weight/size versus output and this could take two different types of cable in, and two out to charge other devices. To charge overnight, I found an excellent adapter that could have two USB-A and one USB-C leads attached at one time without blowing up. Thank heavens that I was only going to be in Europe, so I only needed two-pin plugs. I packed two tiny adapters that provided a USB-A connection to a two-pin socket. Exhausted yet? It took hours to get it down to the minimum number of cables and plugs. As being able to charge my phone and headphones was the most frequent task, I took a 15cm cable to connect neatly to the power bank and a two-metre cable so that I could connect my phone to a socket and still use it in bed. Simples. .
Where our century-old trailblazer had a vague idea to follow the Rhein and Danube rivers, technology enables me to view actual satellite imagery and street-level photography of most of the route. From this, I built up detailed day plans, checking terrain and traffic intensity and where I would be isolated. I marked each stop for breaks, noting potential loos or grocery shops, particularly if resources were limited wherever I was staying. I annotated steep climbs, places to visit, and landmarks before I had to change direction. I poured over the resources, making choices to go slightly out of my way to improve safety, comfort or amusement. I believed I was as well-informed and well-prepared as I could ever be.
One small win for the early twentieth-century team. Where months ago, I had secured a passport with more than six months’ validity after completing my journey, Leigh Fermor applied for and received his passport within hours on the day he left London. Imagine leaving such a crucial document to the last minute these days?
We each elected to cross the Channel before we claimed true freedom to roam: he on a steamer from Tower Bridge, me in an Audi on a train under the great barrier of water that parts us through physical, emotional and psychological dimensions from the rabid chaos of possibility that is the European continental landmass.
Rather differently from today’s average ‘gap yah,’ Leigh Fermor ended his year-long journey fighting alongside royalist forces in Macedonia to quell a republican revolt. He fell in love with a Greek Ottoman noblewoman and moved with her to Moldavia until Britain joined the war against Germany. Leigh Fermor immediately returned to become an officer in the Army. He rose rapidly to the rank of Major and was decorated for parachuting into the Nazi-occupied island of Crete to successfully kidnap a Nazi General. Sadly, he was not to see his love for sixteen years, by which time he had moved on in love, marrying the daughter of a British Viscount. Perhaps some things about gap years never change.