I’ve recently noticed, on my Facebook feed, pictures popping up of what purport to be idyllic living situations in nameless picturesque spots around the globe.
There’s the cosy cabin nestled in the forest with a roaring fire, occasional cushions as far as the eye can see, lit candles on every cleared surface, and shelves bursting with hardback books.
Or the pale blue dwelling that’s more windows than walls with a hanging hammock chair, where you can walk from the living room out onto the deck and dangle your legs in crystal clear water. I’m guessing Somewhere Greek Islands.
The most recent addition to this string of AI-generated getaways was a view from a high-rise apartment in a metropolis. It’s raining outside, but the tenant can curl up in their loft bed, reached by climbing softly lit stairs, positioned over a massive couch nook festooned with, again, throw cushions of all shapes and sizes. No bulbs stronger than five watts, and all golden yellow.
“This is my dream!” one poster wrote, referring to the pic of the residence on the sea. All well and good, but anything above a ripple on the water, and the whole bottom floor would be flooded. You wouldn’t be relaxing – you’d be anxiously scanning the horizon for fishing boats or jet skis. One hand on the binoculars and the other on the sand bags.
“If only,” another drooled over the isolated cabin in the middle of Deep Woods Anywhere. Yup – if the pic was to believed, it was no neighbours for miles and sub-par electricity. Stephen King or Jordan Peele would have a field day with such a setup. Every rustle or strange noise would have you stumbling over all those cushions to get to the window, so you could stare – wide-eyed – into the darkness, ladle held aloft ready to defend your stronghold. At the same time, you’d just need one candle to be knocked from its perch by a wayward knee, and the whole place would go up like a firework in a barrel of old cooking oil.
As for the nook in the skyscraper apartment, that probably appealed to me the most. However, with my fear of heights, the idea of climbing up a flight of stairs to my loft bed, balancing a charcuterie board and glass of wine, while staring down through the glass at cars on the streets hundreds of feet below, fills me with dread.
Another thing that really strikes me about these computer-generated retreats is that they are fairly obviously designed for one person … or two Hobbits. Like the endless tiny houses seen on TV, or the school bus transformed into a luxury mobile apartment by two people who thought ‘hammer’ was the name of a champion wrestler, these ultimate refuges from the madding crowd are super-compact. You could sit and be at one with yourself, communing only with nature, reading books, or reconnecting with needlepoint until you go cross-eyed. Another person in there, and you’d have to stand in shifts.
Yes, I get that these are more daydream than reality scenarios, but how long could you really stand it before you went crackers? For a weekend, maybe, but when you start talking to the seagulls, raccoons and whatever scurries around the 50th floor of a city building, isn’t it time to seek some other company?
I will admit that there are certain people out there who seem genuinely happy to reside away from the general populous. There are hermits everywhere, but we don’t know exactly how many because they’re, well, hermits. I’ve read about the solitary citizen of a small island, or the man who lived in the Alaskan wilderness for 30 years. I just can’t imagine it.
There have also been countless reports from those who gave up their jobs in the big city to go everywhere in a camper van and photograph their travels. They’ve never looked back, etc. My friend Angel Robledo, as we speak, is riding her motorcycle around Europe, camping at night, and rising each morning to the sight of extraordinary mountains, sunrises, babbling brooks, roaring waterfalls … I admire her so much – she really lives life.
For years, when I saw such posts from friends or journalists, I’d think, “Man … I wish I could be out doing that!” But now I’ve realised that’s just not me. Don’t get me wrong, I love nature. On a drive in Alaska, I had to pull over every two minutes to stop and appreciate the views. Same when we did the coast of California, and the Azores, and the fjords of Norway. And I’ve done my share of horse riding and camping. But I also know I love the bustle of the big city and all that comes with that. I like an indoor toilet and electricity.
I could do without a TV (so long as the new season of ‘The Sandman’ hasn’t dropped). I can’t cook in a kitchen with all the mod cons, so what hope have I got of trying it with limited resources? I once attempted to start a fire to boil some water (in a camping area that allowed it) and after 30 minutes of begging kindling to submit – to no avail – I wondered if I was the first person to fail at this task. Who can’t start a fire when they are surrounded by wood?
In conclusion, I’ve accepted that I want to have other people around. I don’t want to be sitting in some Thomas Kinkadian cottage on the outskirts of society, twiddling my thumbs and rearranging my cushions for the 50th time (“Maybe the striped navy next to the flowery pink to create a striking contrast … ”.)
Give me a great cocktail bar with real atmosphere and some live music any day of the week. That’s my happy place.
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