How To Live Like a Gypsy
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How I Lived Like a Gypsy in a Truck Camper
Forshadowing of a future life or perhaps race memory of my family's past?
Who knows for whatever reason but I grew up in Southern Maine as close to a
"normal" kid as I could. I really tried to fit in but never could, quite. I was
well liked but people would always ask my family's ethnicity. "Well," I replied,
"I'm English." They would respond that I didn't look English. "My family came
from there," I'd say. "I'm only a third generation American."
Yet, somehow I had this little difference that I couldn't deny. One thing, I
lived in a tent when I finished high school. In Maine, it was pretty chilly and
after about 8 months, I packed up a few things and headed for California. Life
had too many rules there, however, and I began to see why some people spelled
it, "Kalifornia." So I returned
to Maine but the next winter made me seek a warmer place again, this time
Florida.
It was then that I started a three-year journey. I went to Florida that year
with a 1968 Dodge pickup and like all vehicles, it had lots of rust, even though it
was not that old. In Florida, I decided to build a camper on my pickup and
travel around.
The first thing I considered was if I wanted this to be a big-budget
experience or a low-budget one. I decided that I didn't like being enslaved to
a banker and an employer very much so I decided I'd camp in my little
homemade camper but it had to look like it was not an RV so I could park
hassle-free most anywhere. Today folks speak of stealth. This was how I built
it.
The next thing I considered was how to keep the camper top from being very
tall so I did something bizarre. I cut out the pickup truck's bed in an area
where the spare tire was kept. I moved the spare to a front bumper mount
and then built a well or box that dropped down 14" below the pickup's bed.
This was made of plywood and I fiberglassed the outside and put black
undercoat on it so it wouldn't show.
Next, I built a topper or cap on the pickup bed but this only extended up about
8 inches above the height of the cab's roof and with a rounded front. It looked
like any old pickup with a simple cap over the bed. I could stand up in the rear,
however. In this place, right inside the back door, I built a little kitchenette. I
used camping stoves and such to make the kitchen and as a rule I usually took
these things right outside and did my cooking on some roadside picnic table.
Cooking inside quickly puts a greasy layer on everything and this scheme kept
things cleaner.
When it rained, however, I often stood in this little well and made
good meals right there. I felt no hardship at all. In fact, with no rent
to pay and no park fees to pay, I was free and I certainly used this
freedom to travel. In Florida, they call folks who come down in the
winter, snowbirds, and I certainly became one. I spent my summers in
Maine, my winters in Florida, and traveled extensively all over during
those spring and fall months in between.
In those days, I worked as a carpenter so I just stopped for a few
weeks and worked construction whenever my savings got below $500. It
worked well and I was happy living this migratory or nomadic life.
Isn't it ironic that later in life I would learn that my family had been Gypsies or
Romani and that they had assimilated? I had been assimilating, and wanting to
fit in while they kept our ancestry a big secret. I never knew. They hid it like
their most precious secret, even from us kids.
Why then did I have a little collection of Romani things? Why did I
seek out and live near them whenever I met them in my travels? And why did
they take one look at my face and accept me among them without hardly a
question? Race memory? My wife and I think that's likely true. There are
some things that can't be denied. I just didn't look nglish and I just didn't act
English. I had wanderlust and a roving,
passionate heart.
Well, you don't have to be Romani to feel the love of seeking the next horizon.
It appeals to many people. Some people like to fight when confronted with
problems. Not me. I just put some space between me and such troubles.
Soon, they are just memories. Society today has taken all the adventure out of
life for so many.
Feeling trapped? Is life an endless treadmill? Are your sofa and TV your
best friends? You could change that. I've read Bob's site here and his advice,
and I have to agree with him most of the time. You can break free from the
clutches of society and live well on a very modest amount of money if you simply
give up most of the junk most of us cart around and live a nomadic life in your
vehicle. My ancestors lived this way for many centuries. I lived that way. So
can you.
How? Just follow Bob's suggestions and just do it. I could show you pictures
of my old camper that I traveled in or make a plan but isn't it better to use
your imagination and plan it your way? I think so. All you really need is the
desire and perhaps a bit of encouragement.
I eventually stopped traveling so much since I met a lady friend who liked her
nest to stay in one place (obviously, not a Gypsy). I did continue to be a
snowbird but without the camper and today I live in Florida full time. Every
summer, however, brings longing for the road. It was a good life.
Latcho drom (Romanes for "happy trails"),
Mengro, the Road Scholar
Forshadowing of a future life or perhaps race memory of my family's past?
Who knows for whatever reason but I grew up in Southern Maine as close to a
"normal" kid as I could. I really tried to fit in but never could, quite. I was
well liked but people would always ask my family's ethnicity. "Well," I replied,
"I'm English." They would respond that I didn't look English. "My family came
from there," I'd say. "I'm only a third generation American."
Yet, somehow I had this little difference that I couldn't deny. One thing, I
lived in a tent when I finished high school. In Maine, it was pretty chilly and
after about 8 months, I packed up a few things and headed for California. Life
had too many rules there, however, and I began to see why some people spelled
it, "Kalifornia." So I returned
to Maine but the next winter made me seek a warmer place again, this time
Florida.
It was then that I started a three-year journey. I went to Florida that year
with a 1968 Dodge pickup and like all vehicles, it had lots of rust, even though it
was not that old. In Florida, I decided to build a camper on my pickup and
travel around.
The first thing I considered was if I wanted this to be a big-budget
experience or a low-budget one. I decided that I didn't like being enslaved to
a banker and an employer very much so I decided I'd camp in my little
homemade camper but it had to look like it was not an RV so I could park
hassle-free most anywhere. Today folks speak of stealth. This was how I built
it.
The next thing I considered was how to keep the camper top from being very
tall so I did something bizarre. I cut out the pickup truck's bed in an area
where the spare tire was kept. I moved the spare to a front bumper mount
and then built a well or box that dropped down 14" below the pickup's bed.
This was made of plywood and I fiberglassed the outside and put black
undercoat on it so it wouldn't show.
Next, I built a topper or cap on the pickup bed but this only extended up about
8 inches above the height of the cab's roof and with a rounded front. It looked
like any old pickup with a simple cap over the bed. I could stand up in the rear,
however. In this place, right inside the back door, I built a little kitchenette. I
used camping stoves and such to make the kitchen and as a rule I usually took
these things right outside and did my cooking on some roadside picnic table.
Cooking inside quickly puts a greasy layer on everything and this scheme kept
things cleaner.
When it rained, however, I often stood in this little well and made
good meals right there. I felt no hardship at all. In fact, with no rent
to pay and no park fees to pay, I was free and I certainly used this
freedom to travel. In Florida, they call folks who come down in the
winter, snowbirds, and I certainly became one. I spent my summers in
Maine, my winters in Florida, and traveled extensively all over during
those spring and fall months in between.
In those days, I worked as a carpenter so I just stopped for a few
weeks and worked construction whenever my savings got below $500. It
worked well and I was happy living this migratory or nomadic life.
Isn't it ironic that later in life I would learn that my family had been Gypsies or
Romani and that they had assimilated? I had been assimilating, and wanting to
fit in while they kept our ancestry a big secret. I never knew. They hid it like
their most precious secret, even from us kids.
Why then did I have a little collection of Romani things? Why did I
seek out and live near them whenever I met them in my travels? And why did
they take one look at my face and accept me among them without hardly a
question? Race memory? My wife and I think that's likely true. There are
some things that can't be denied. I just didn't look nglish and I just didn't act
English. I had wanderlust and a roving,
passionate heart.
Well, you don't have to be Romani to feel the love of seeking the next horizon.
It appeals to many people. Some people like to fight when confronted with
problems. Not me. I just put some space between me and such troubles.
Soon, they are just memories. Society today has taken all the adventure out of
life for so many.
Feeling trapped? Is life an endless treadmill? Are your sofa and TV your
best friends? You could change that. I've read Bob's site here and his advice,
and I have to agree with him most of the time. You can break free from the
clutches of society and live well on a very modest amount of money if you simply
give up most of the junk most of us cart around and live a nomadic life in your
vehicle. My ancestors lived this way for many centuries. I lived that way. So
can you.
How? Just follow Bob's suggestions and just do it. I could show you pictures
of my old camper that I traveled in or make a plan but isn't it better to use
your imagination and plan it your way? I think so. All you really need is the
desire and perhaps a bit of encouragement.
I eventually stopped traveling so much since I met a lady friend who liked her
nest to stay in one place (obviously, not a Gypsy). I did continue to be a
snowbird but without the camper and today I live in Florida full time. Every
summer, however, brings longing for the road. It was a good life.
Latcho drom (Romanes for "happy trails"),
Mengro, the Road Scholar
By Mengro, The Road Scholar