This site has now been retired. I've moved to my new site Silverknife, where you'll find new blog posts and all my latest projects and photos. These pages will remain for at least a while, as I know some of you are still looking through the archives, but I'm reposting my travel journals and many other articles on the new site. Come and check it out.
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So, following on from yesterday's post (and now only 5 days behind!)...on Thursday night I set out again to hunt the wily bin. I was much better prepared this time, with two whole torches and a new sense of confidence. I'd also deliberately not eaten dinner, reasoning that hunger would be a powerful motivating force to find something worthwhile. This time I didn't bother to set out until 11pm, since on Tuesday I'd wasted a considerable amount of time avoiding people.
The time was much better, the streets largely deserted and I felt a lot more confident exploring and investigating. Almost immediately I found bins to peek into, and quickly developed an efficient routine of lift the lid - sweep with the flashlight - lower the lid quietly - move on. No rooting about as yet, I was still too self-conscious. Yes, I know, I'm a pussy. I like to take baby steps, pushing back the boundaries bit by bit, gradually desensitizing to all that programming and nerves. It works for me. And quite soon, as I passed a row of shops I'd mentally tagged as promising, I found a utopian bin lair - a long narrow alley along the back of the shops, with all the bins neatly lined up. It was dark and set back from the road, making a perfect private little diving area. I worked my way along the bins with more confidence, actually having a fish around in each, but it was all packaging. But at the end, I found a mostly empty bin with just three clear plastic bags in. And the top one contained doughnuts, pastries and rolls.
It's amazing how conditioning can hijack your brain. I skimmed the bin, went "oh, it's just some old baked stuff...", and went on my merry way. I'd gone several yards before the thinking part of my brain kicked back in to say "...exactly the kind of thing I'm out here looking for!", and I turned back. I was perfectly shielded from sight between two larger bins, and I quickly lifted the lid, lugged the top bag out and dropped down in the shadows to survey my find. The goods in the bag were in perfect condition, even the outside of the bag was as clean as a whistle. I took out a glazed doughnut, inspected it - clean, perfectly formed, clearly fresh. It smelled good. There was no rubbishy smell around the bag at all. So I dropped the bag back in the bin, and as I walked on I ate my free doughnut. It was honestly one of the most exciting culinary experiences of my life. It was fresh, soft, tasty, not even the slightest bit dry. It had obviously been dumped that evening at closing time, purely because all their goods had to be sold that day. I was nearly bouncing off the walls with the excitement of my discovery (and the sugar rush). I did a fair bit more exploring that night and found some great potential sites but nothing else to nab, but on the way back I stopped by the same bin and picked up a cookie for the walk home (it was shortbread and not even slightly soft, a pretty good indicator of freshness) and a macadamia nut pastry which I had with my coffee in the morning.
So - I ate things out of a bin. And they were good. It's made me think a lot over the past few days about the potential of the freegan lifestyle, or something closer to it. And also about how thoroughly programmed we are about rubbish, about what's dirty and clean. We are taught, in school and at home, that some things are "just dirty" and you don't go near them. Kids instinctively gravitate to mess and muck, of course, and for safety reasons they need teaching about things that might harm them. But (as many dumpster divers point out), we have senses and an immune system for a reason. The depth of the fear we are taught to feel for anything remotely dirty is way out of proportion, and actually keeps us from exercising (and strengthening) our body's natural senses and defences. We can almost always tell if food is bad - we can see it or smell it. And binned food is by no means a minefield of disease - the vast majority of it is perfectly good, fresh food, which half an hour before it was dumped you'd have been happy to purchase right off the shelf.
The interesting thing is, the experience has also made me think more about my consumption and my own waste. Today I went to buy kitchen roll, which I go through in large quantities when I'm cooking, and at the last minute I changed my mind - instead I spent the same amount on a good absorbent cloth, which I can wash and reuse. I'm becoming more aware of the amount of paper and packaging which I wedge into my bin every day. I'm beginning to resent, just a little bit, the money I spend on the inessentials of life, all those things which I use and discard every day. A tighter, leaner way of living is definitely going to be a plus on my travels, and I actually think dumpster diving may become part of my lifestyle as I go. I might not be living free this month or the next, but by the time I come back from my journey maybe I'll have reduced my unnecessary consumption to the extent that a largely self-sufficient lifestyle is a possibility. Or maybe I'll get caught up, like the author of Evasion, in the pure joy of living free. No job, no responsibilities, an urban hunter gatherer living on society's waste.
I'm going back out there tonight, with yet more confidence and a new and broader mission - first to find a source of fresh veg and fruit, and then to start replacing, bit by bit, my purchasing with scavenging. And I couldn't be more excited if there was money in it. :-)
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