I THINK travel is just the best thing there is. It took me a long time to
realise that it gives you everything drugs do, taking you to new places and
new experiences and even new friends. The difference is, this time those
things are real. My book is seen as a memoir, but really it’s also a travel
book, because part of the fallout of being in a successful rock band is that
you get to travel a lot. Although you don’t have to be rich to end up on top
of a mystical pyramid in Mexico, as I did (we were arrested and had to pay a
$500 bribe because it was a sacred site) — you just have to be open to fresh
experiences. But maybe not that one.
Our first family holidays were camping, on the Isle of Wight and the Isle of
Purbeck. Camping is brilliant for kids. I think trying to get children to
conform to hotels is a waste of time. It just annoys everyone involved. With
camping they can go feral and roam around and do that whole Swallows and
Amazons thing. We progressed to a trailer that unfolded into a tent, which
we called the Amazin’ Raisin’, and then to a VW camper van. We put that on a
train and went to Ullapool, which was so good, we did it again the next
year. It’s where the Queen goes on holiday, for God’s sake. Why are people
jumping on 99p flights from Stansted when we have places like that?
Then we went abroad, to France, and that just changed everything for me. It
was raining at Le Havre, but it still looked enchanting, just so different
and somehow more culturally advanced than what we’d left behind. It was
there, as a young teenager, that I got into cheese. My dad never cooked —
probably because grandad was a chef, and it was his form of rebellion — but
I had a shock when I realised he knew his way around the deep end of a
cheeseboard. I’ve been hooked ever since. When I learnt to fly, we would
stop off at La Rochelle airport on the way to the south of France, even if
we didn’t need fuel, just for the baguettes fromages. These are the finest
sandwiches in the world: no butter, just the best camembert.
On that first VW tour, we decided to drive down to Geneva to see one of dad’s
friends. Then the wanderlust kicked in. My dad unfolded this giant map and
we realised we could go all around Italy and along the French Riviera.
Driving a camper van is just like sailing: you set off heading for a port of
call, but with a great sense of freedom. The only difference is the
snobbery. And the price. It was then that I fell in love with the glamour of
the Riviera, and it probably influenced my decision to do French at
Goldsmiths College, where I met Graham Coxon and his friend Damon Albarn.
If there’s one favourite country from the Blur touring days, it’s Greenland.
It’s just so vast, primeval and startling. You have no idea of scale or
distance because there are no trees. The glaciers could be one mile or a
hundred miles away. It’s similar in Iceland, another wonderful, beautifully
bleak country. Some might find it too barren, but I think there are no ugly
landscapes in nature.
I actually have a soft spot for all things northern. One of the best festivals
to play, and to go to, is in Sweden. It’s called Hultsfred, and it is out in
the wilds, with lakes and forests and water everywhere. Unlike some
festivals, it feels clean and wholesome, and there is such a palpable sense
of joy and liberation after the long winter, it’s infectious. And the Swedes
are friendly and sexy. If anyone out there is looking for love, I’d say get
up to one of Sweden’s music festivals, you’ll have a great time.
In some ways we were lucky in the 1990s, because you could fly guilt-free.
It’s not the same now. I try to carbon-offset my travel, but I’m fortunate
to live on a farm and I can plant my own trees. I’m not sure you can trust
anyone else to do it. Actually, we’re staying at home this year. Claire, my
wife, and I have decided we’ll hire a pianist one night, a masseuse for one
day, a chef for another night. Instead of going across the world to a
resort, I’m going to bring the hotel to me. It’s probably cheaper, too.
