When I was in my 20s, my husband and I decided to take a year off and bicycle across 21 countries around the world.
To prepare, we saved for a year, and our only expenditures were for equipment for the trip. Everything had to fit on our two touring bicycles: a tent, sleeping bags, single-burner cookstove, a pot, tiny frying pan, dishes, clothes and journals to record our adventures.
The new trend of living in tiny homes and adopting a more nomadic lifestyle led me to reflect on that year without a permanent home. At the time, I was used to moving. My father was a military fighter pilot, and we moved roughly every three years, living in all parts of Canada as well as Texas and Germany. I continued moving frequently as a university student and starting journalist.
Pitching a tent in a new location every night, however, was a whole different level of transience. We were on the road every day, pedalling toward new villages, and we certainly didn’t feel cramped in our tiny tent at night. We used it only for sleeping, packed it every morning and spent our days outdoors. But I developed a fixation for picnic tables in public parks. I missed having a table and, because I was writing about the adventure for newspapers and radio, I needed a place to work. Picnic tables were my office. They were also a place to relax and eat in a civilized way.
Being outside and spending more time in public places meant we met many more people than in the typical lifestyle in Canada, where much of our lives is spent hidden away in our homes. With no walls, it was easy to meet others and listen to their fascinating stories.
Another bonus of the nomadic lifestyle was not having to clean. Currently I spend about a day every week cleaning my home and doing laundry. With the tent, cleaning took about a minute: We simply unpegged the tent and shook it upside down so any dirt fell out. Having fewer items also meant there were only a couple dishes to wash and little laundry to clean.
But there were challenges, including heavy rain some days and, very occasionally, feeling that we weren’t safe without walls to protect us. When we returned to Canada, we rented an apartment that seemed like a palace. I admire the people who can live nomadically, but I was grateful to again have a place to call home.
