Animal Needs
It is the end of the first week of 2024. This week, preparations have been made to continue our adventure on the road, and an unexpected companion has joined us for the ride. Together, we have experienced real cold, spent three hours hoping we didn’t get shot, and unwittingly risked electrocution. It’s been a hell of a week. Let’s dig in.
We began slow, with the long drive back from Klinovec, returning groggy and soft from the fatty foods that necessarily accompany an all-day road trip. We stayed on at Gritt’s for an extra day, getting ourselves ready for our return to vanlife — which would look a little different this time around. Talulah (or ‘Luli’ — Alessandra’s delicate princess of a cat) had been struggling under the petty tyranny of Dobby in Gritt’s apartment, and with few other options that didn’t involve extra stress and worry, we decided to take her with us on this leg of our European adventure.
By mid-week, we were ready to leave. Our first order of business was acclimating Luli to a house that moves, so we picked a spot forty minutes out of town, parking up by a hiking trail just off one of the many roads that connect the villages spread out across the hills. Luli had time to explore every nook and cranny, acquainting herself with all the cosiest crevices in our little home as we caught up on tasks and explored the nearby forest. She was understandably shocked when Ziggy shuddered and began to move, but she took it all on with a royal tolerance.
Her Royal Highness
…
In no time, it was Saturday, and we were back at Gritt’s for one of the strangest activities we’ve participated in to-date. It was early morning when we all bundled into Gritt’s car and drove to the clearing. A large group had already amassed; clusters of people, most wearing orange hi-vis jackets featuring dark prints of tree bark and oak leaves and the like. Some had rifles.
Twice a year, the foresters call for volunteers to trek through the untamed tangle of forests that fringe Koblenz, to help control the deer and wild pig populations. Without the balance generally maintained by the presence of a natural predator, the other animals proliferate which, in turn, spreads disease amongst them; and results in the shoots and saplings that constitute the future forest being eaten away. The child-like part in me objected on principle, demanding a solution in which no creature is harmed — however, the reality of nature is not nearly so kind and simple as we might like to imagine. In the true wild, wolves and bears would do the dirty work for us, and we could say that nature took its course, and sleep easy. But no wolves of bears? Too many deer and pigs. Too many deer and the forest slowly dies; too many pigs and they spread disease, or come into the cities and towns looking for food.
So, the hunters gather, positioning themselves in vantage points set up around the forest; and groups on foot walk a line through the undergrowth, driving the pigs and deer into the clearings. It isn’t pleasant to consider, but it does maintain the balance. The volunteers get a few hours off work, so Gritt chose to take part, and we agreed to come along for the experience.
When we got out of the car, Gritt found two hi-vis vests — one for her, and one for Alessandra. I think Alessandra’s mother wants me dead. Sure, she apologised for not having a third vest handy…but I was busily estimating the risks of being shot in my brown jacket and autumn-coloured scarf when I happened upon a third vest, nestled in the back seat pocket. Oh, she said. She forgot she had it, she said.
With an eye on Gritt, I walked with the others to the collective forming by a truck, where one of the foresters covered a lengthy list of rules and regulations that must be strictly followed throughout the morning. When this was done, we drove to the starting point a few minutes away, and I discarded my brown coat, considering that I’d rather brave the cold than risk damage by having it tangled in a thicket somewhere halfway in. It turned out to be the right decision - for the coat. We were each handed long wooden poles and pairs of tough gloves and, as one, began to awkwardly hack our way through the mess of thorny blackberry plants that formed a weave between the dense network of trees and saplings. We maintained a long line, each person a few dozen paces away from the next, slipping over rotting logs and thick mud, being torn by thorns and slapped by branches as a thin rain slowly drenched our clothes and marshy water seeped through our shoes and pooled into our socks. Numb hands scrambled to keep hold of our walking sticks as the ground sucked at us from below, and branches pushed us backward. The booming, echoing yell of “oooo pop-pop-pop” could be heard down the line as we stumbled on — a phrase shouted to startle the pigs from their cover, I gathered, though my mind was too cold to imagine the reason why.
The entrance seemed so tame, so inviting…
It was three hours of solid trudging — with a brief stop to eat a chocolate bar from a plastic bin left out for the walking parties — and I could hardly feel my fumbling fingers for the cold. I envied the others in their layers and waterproof jackets, as I stood silent and sodden to the skin in jeans, t-shirt and pullover in the middle of a European winter. We saw a few deers dart across the path, but that was all we got for our efforts by the time the job was done. As we made our way back to the cars, I was beyond even shivering — which seemed, to me, a bad sign. We drove to the foresters’ lodge, where we stood, steaming, in front of the fires that had been prepared for our arrival. They gave us coffee and grünkohl with sausage and we were soon warmed inside and out. When we were done, we walked over to where they were cutting and preparing the carcasses that were brought in, and as horrifying as it was to see, it felt wrong to turn away.
We said our goodbyes to the forester who had acted as our guide throughout the ordeal, and drove home. It was only once we had arrived and sat down that I began to feel bad. I took a shower, but increasingly felt wrung out and nauseous, with a headache that started at the base of my skull and tightened a net around the left half of my brain, setting it throbbing. I lay down on the couch, and there I stayed until the evening, drifting in and out of sleep, feeling the cold in my bones and trying to escape the steady pounding in my head. By dinnertime, I found myself surprisingly recovered, and we managed the rest of the night without incident — though we had to spend it in the cold, as Ziggy’s heater ate his remaining power and turned off.
…
Cold. So very cold. We awoke Sunday morning with our breath fogging the air inside Ziggy. Our trusty van simply didn’t have enough charge, and the heating would not work for wont of power. We layered up and waited, but the situation didn’t improve with the rising of the sun. The temperature was creeping into the minuses through the night, and the cold that permeated Ziggy was of the kind that slows your thinking and prevents any productive activity. Eventually, we decided to drive to a paid parking spot in the little town of Zülpich, just out of Brühl, where we would be visiting the adventure park Phantasialand the following day. The idea was to refill water, charge Ziggy’s battery, and see to it that we at least had heating for the evening. That was the plan, anyway.
Luli, making the most of the cold morning sun
When we arrived, I got out as it began to snow, fumbling with the water hose attachments in the frigid air to connect to the water station and refill Ziggy’s tank. Once it was ready, I inserted my euro. It came right back out. It quickly became apparent that the machine wasn’t working. Oh well, at least we’d have power. The next trick was figuring out how to switch over to the mains, for which we enlisted the ready help of Nico — Ziggy’s previous owner. With his generous assistance via telephone, we were able to figure out the power situation…but we also discovered that the mains only powered a couple of power sockets, and would do nothing for our heating or lights. We sat in the van for quite a while, shivering, not a word passing between us as we conserved energy. Alessandra’s morale was fading fast in the chill, so she dove into the blankets with Luli and remained there, while I slowly lost feeling in my toes sitting at the table, trying to write. A night of minus six degrees was ahead of us, and it was clear that we couldn’t wait it out any longer. Something had to be done. After a little thought and research, I proposed we stay at a pet-friendly hotel in Brühl. Alessandra initially declined the offer, but the temperature continued to drop until, at last, she assented.
We booked a room, drove off, and stopped after hearing a loud clunk just off to the side. It was only further down the one-way road that we realised — we hadn’t unplugged Ziggy before leaving. I leaped back out into the cold, splashing unceremoniously into a large puddle before running back to the campsite, shining my phone flashlight through the dark. Please, please be okay. Then, there it was: one hundred euro worth of cable, limp and lifeless in the mud. I traced its length as it snaked through the slush, coiling it in until I got to the end. Three torn wires poked out of shredded plastic insulation. I did not expect to come close to death that day, but as I wound the damaged cord up, a loud zap as the end touched something nearby brought my attention to the fact that the other end was still plugged in — and I had been flippantly collecting a live wire with an exposed end, channeling 240V of electricity right through to the lethal tip. With a sudden, deliberate slowness, I stopped what I was doing, and went to unplug the other end, keenly appreciating just how close I’d come to a really bad day. When I got back to Alessandra, I unplugged the frayed end that remained in Ziggy’s side, and threw the whole length in the back to deal with later. On with the drive, then.
Thirty minutes later, we had pulled into the Hotel H+ in Brühl, and were setting about packing two nights’ worth of essentials. Opening the door to our hotel room, Luli squirming in her mesh carry-bag, we breathed a sigh of relief. Warmth, at last. A warm room, a soft bed, and a nice hot shower awaited us, as we went to bed thinking of the adventure that would meet us the following day, in Phantasialand.
…
Well there’s certainly been an awful lot of what a polite person might call ‘personal development’ this week. What can we take away from it all?
Never fully trust a mother-in-law — even a mother-in-law-to-be. They are trying to find ways to get you out of the picture. Mine is particularly creative.
Wear appropriate clothing for the activity.
If you know it’s a factor, prepare for extreme temperatures as best you can.
Do a full check when driving off to make sure you’ve got everything — especially if you’ve done anything for the first time.
Don’t make any assumptions when it comes to broken wires. Safety first, people!
When things are really not working, you can take a day or two to reset. Trying to avoid extra expenses or stick doggedly to ‘the plan’ can ruin the experience itself, if you let it.
When you bring a cat into your sleeping quarters, expect it to entertain itself through the night by repeatedly walking across your face.
