FIELD NOTE 01 · Dover, England
What are we leaving behind?
The ferry was late, the coffee was terrible, and a man in a yellow coat was trying to persuade us that the world was getting smaller. Behind him, a queue of lorries stretched out of sight.
On the windscreen of our old camper was a notebook. No name, no address. Inside the cover someone had drawn a circle with a gap in it. The first page asked: How should we live together?
We assumed it belonged to the man in the coat. By the time we looked up, he had disappeared between the trucks. There was only one other mark in the book: a small table, with an empty chair.
We had told everyone we were going away to find some freedom. But the ferry, the road, the diesel and even our breakfast depended on people we would never meet. Leaving suddenly seemed less like escaping a system than moving through its invisible workings.
Over the tannoy came the instruction to return to our vehicles. I opened the notebook again. Beneath the table, in very faint pencil, were two words: Start anywhere.
We could head towards a city where people were experimenting with sharing. Or keep driving until there was nobody left to share with. Either way, the notebook was coming.