Last week, I was once again obliged to avail myself of the services of AA recovery, not on account of my drinking, but because my elderly campervan suffered a minor mechanical breakdown. Its auxiliary drive belt snapped while its engine was warming up to leave a campsite near Grange-over-Sands, the coastal resort on the southern fringe of the Lake District. Fortunately, the AA mechanic soon arrived and, while I hovered around, the occupant of a neighbouring campervan wandered by and asked what was up.
We had spoken previously – a spontaneous, loose kinship often establishes itself between travellers who recognise mutual traits related to vans, walking boots and other lifestyle choices – so we were on “pleased to meet you” terms and might have become friends had we been permanent neighbours. He told me that he was celebrating his 50th birthday by taking two weeks off to go solo hiking. Strangers sometimes reveal details of their lives within the first few sentences of an encounter, which can be intriguing. He told me something of his itinerary, then revealed that he had two young sons, who loved the van. Since I didn’t feel it appropriate to ask, I was left guessing whether marital estrangement and mid-life crisis were at the heart of his solo birthday celebration.
Another thing I didn’t feel it appropriate to ask about was his ethnic heritage, which I guessed to be South Asian. Not that this was unusual, except that when it comes to camping and hiking in the countryside, the faces are almost exclusively of white European ethnicity. The long-overdue participation of other groups is to be celebrated as a small but significant step in progress towards deeper cultural integration and I wanted to say, “Well done!” and “Welcome!” but, of course, that would have been patronising, to say the least.
Meanwhile, the mechanic, after rummaging about in his van, had found a replacement drive belt, an “extra strong” Volvo-designated part, but one that just happened to fit. I’m sure he was joking when he warned me solemnly that it cost £3 more than the standard component: he knew I would happily pay any price to resolve the problem. Soon, we were back on the road, driving into Grange for provisions. We walked along its extensive seafront, passing on the way a 1930s lido, which was boarded up in 1996. It was down but not out, as funds have been secured to rescue it from demolition. The lido is evidence of how Grange was transformed from fishing village to holiday resort by the advent of railways. But with its heyday long gone, it must appeal nowadays to a different sort of tourist. Just how different, soon became apparent.
Driving out of town, we passed two young men hiking briskly along the road, which would not have been remarkable, but for the fact that they were Hassidic Jews, clad in traditional outfits, albeit without their long black coats. Admittedly, I know little about the leisure pursuits of the British Hassidic community, but I do know that, in 35 years of campervanning around the countryside, I have never encountered them there. I was even more astonished, therefore, when we rounded a bend and came to a crossroads, where fifty or so Hassidic boys were milling around a rabbi with a phone to his ear and a concerned expression on his face. I assumed he was trying to contact the two laggards we had just passed. Whatever. If this is cultural integration in action, let there be more of it.
The next day, we drove homewards, mulling over the events of the past few days, while nervously listening for the snapping of drive-belts.
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