Disclaimer: My French sucks so the title of this is more than likely completely grammatically wrong, but you don’t learn without trying.
It’s probably about time I posted an update: Its been three weeks since I arrived back in Chamonix and I couldn’t even tell you where that time has disappeared to. Apparently it has gone a lot quicker for me than it has for a lot of other people though as since I have been wrapped up in my adventures and forgetting to post updates, I have received a steady stream of messages enquiring as to whether I had fallen off a mountain and died. I am pleased to report that is not that case and I am 100% alive and loving life.
So a small recap, I returned home from Chamonix already having decided I was coming back and had given myself an optimistic two weeks to sort everything I needed. In some senses two weeks felt like a lifetime waiting to come back to mountain paradise, but only when I had chance to sit down and think about it. In reality the majority of those two weeks was filled with running around undertaking a volume of necessary tasks that I had of course, wildly underestimated. So while I felt completely in control and on track in the first week, by the time the final week’s countdown rolled around, I was more than slightly panicked shall we say. In true Carly fashion, I had spectacularly managed to lose my bank card five days before I needed to leave, I had neglected to re-order snow chains that would actually fit the wheels of my van, had several lists of things I needed to buy in the UK to bring out to France for people, had a family funeral to attend and more. Somehow, miraculously, it all came together. (Although I should probably not take sole credit for that….Shout out to Mum and Dad xxx)
So all my missions were accomplished; I had finished work after an incredible last shift courtesy of my totally amazing students who made me feel super loved, I had ticked all the items off the ‘to buy’ lists, sorted out my bank card losing errors, made all the visits to friends that I could possibly fit in and attended my Uncle’s funeral. The next day I was off….
I left at 6am with Effy van loaded sky high and began the familiar drive towards Dover, a quick pit stop in Exeter to pick up my last item I was exporting; a windscreen for a friends van and I was on the motorway. I arrived in Dover fairly quickly, having the only traffic free journey on the M25 I have ever experienced, something seemed to be in my favour.
I hadn’t yet decided if I was going to take the short route down through France on the toll roads or the slightly longer (+4 hours) route avoiding the tolls. I had decided to let the ferry decide for me. I have now learnt through several ferry crossings (with DFDS at least) that it usually works out much better (and cheaper) to buy a ferry ticket for a cheap crossing (usually 3am on a weekday) within 72 hours of when you want to travel and then pay the extra to make it a flexi ticket. This saved me £10 on the ticket price I would have paid and meant I was not bound to arrive at Dover by a particular time. It also meant I had no idea whether I’d be crossing to Calais or Dunkirk. This I’d decided would be the decision maker for the drive down, going in to Calais put me straight on to the toll roads, whereas into Dunkirk would have given me a 40 minute head start on the longer route. The ferry I was put on was bound for Calais so the decision was made.
When the time came to drive off the ferry, I set my sat nav for Chamonix and began the journey. It was 4pm french time and my sat nav was saying eight and a half hours; I’ve done the drive in one go before and swore I’d never do it again, but the prospect of arriving in Chamonix that evening was incredibly tempting. I flew the drive, ticking off place names as I got closer, following signs to Lyon, then Dijon, then Geneva, then finally Chamonix-Mont Blanc. The roads started to climb higher, then the tunnels started and before long I was in very familiar territory. I had alerted a couple of people to the fact I was going to be arriving that evening and knew where I was heading. I pulled up outside to some very surprised, but welcoming faces. I had made it, I was in my new home.
The next few days was a mixture of partying and getting readjusted to Chamonix life (not that it took long) then I had to start to be realistic, if this was life now, I needed to be able to sustain myself and that required finding a job. I had been in talks with a few people while at home in the hope that they might have a job for me when I came back and luckily one of these came through. Nothing fancy, just a bit of cleaning chalets and apartments here and there but that’s perfect for me, I didn’t’ come here for a new career.
I made the decision to move because I’d had enough of feeling like I was living to work, coming out here was going to put that the right way around for me, allowing me to just work to live. Even with Chamonix being about as expensive as anywhere to live in the world, I don’t really need to be bringing in a huge amount of money, van life keeps my costs about as low as they can be. Parking/vanping spots are easy to come by and the views are second to none. I have my lift pass, I have my skis so fun doesn’t cost anything, all I need is money for food, LPG and a bit of fuel here and there but due to the fun I can have in the valley, I never really have to drive far.
And since I’ve been back, I’ve definitely had fun; multiple trips up the mountain, ice climbing, skiing, general exploring up and down the valley, meeting up with friends, making new ones, partying and just generally having the all round good time that Chamonix allows you to have. Then there’s what’s coming up; the prospect of friends from home coming to visit, more friends I’ve met on previous trips to Chamonix coming back to join the fun and of course, the not-so-far-away-now trip to Iceland in a few days time.
That in itself makes me realise how right I was to make the decision to come out here. How often can you say there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to leave your normal life to go on holiday. Obviously I can’t wait to go to Iceland, I’ve wanted to go for years and I’m going with two of the most wonderful people and friends I’ve ever met, but to feel like the life that I’m taking a holiday from is good enough to not need one, now I feel you’ve got to be pretty lucky to be in that position.
Naturally as I spend more time here and everything becomes more normal, feelings like this will change I’m sure, but for now I’m just appreciating how super lucky I am to have made this move with very little planning and it work out for me so far. I’ve got a job, an awesome place to live (Thankyou Effy-van) an awesome group of ever expanding people to be around and incomparable fun at every turn. All I’ve got to say in this moment for the decision I made, is thank god I’m marginally (read: incredibly) irresponsible at times and make fairly huge decisions spontaneously. If I was slightly more rational with my life choices I wouldn’t be here right now and would still be working back at home wondering where my next adventure was going to come from.
So at the risk of sounding cliche; seize the day, seize your opportunity, ignore the opinions of people who tell you you’re making a mistake and it won’t work out and go out and do what you enjoy. If that involves breaking the mould of working 9-5 to buy a house, get a fancy car, have a family and whatever other activities society deems as normal, then do it! Normal is boring and why waste time preparing for something when you can just do it now. It’s never too soon, it never requires more thought or preparation, if you want it enough, you can make it happen and it will work out okay.
The BLOG - The Adventures of Carly and Effy-Van 