Nuclear Addiction.

We wrote a post recently about all the improvements we’ve been making to our van in anticipation of our next big trip, and one of the smallest yet most significant changes we made was to install this small water container under the sink

This will give us 15L of drinking water, filtered using a charcoal filter, but most importantly it will reduce our single use plastic bottle consumption. Living so closely entwined with our environment has made us acutely aware of our impact on it, and this is one of the small yet simple steps we’ve taken to protect it.

Installing this water tank meant a complete rethink of our kitchen cupboards to accommodate it too; we ripped out the old, rotten shelves, replaced them with new more functional ones tailored to our storage needs, and fixed all the wonky hinges. Everything now has a place, and nothing rattles and rolls around while we’re driving (apart from the cutlery drawer, which likes to try and make a break for freedom every now and then).

Our little kitchen is feeling fresh, organised and looking better than ever, and quite honestly we’re enjoying getting stuck into a bit of creative carpentry again. We can’t wait to use what we’ve learned on the interior for the Bedford, or to show you some of the other changes we’ve made!

You know that moment when you set up camp on a remote beach in Greece and then a family of 16 cats and a herd of 200 goats descends on you?

No? Just us?

This was rather a special place to stay, on the beach of a small yet extraordinarily steep coastal village which sat abandoned for the winter- no lights in the windows, empty boats moored up, a little windswept but beautifully and utterly peaceful.

We’d been parked only a few minutes when a dishevelled tabby cat emerged from the bushes, curious, warily checking us out. Then another smaller tabby appeared, and like Russian dolls so did a little tabby kitten, and then the smallest, cutest yet fiercest baby kitten too. 

More and more appeared in all shapes and sizes, until we had a crowd of cats all around us, yowling, climbing in the wheel arches, jumping onto the roof and sliding down the windscreen, and a couple even found their way into our dinner. Although they were feral animals really, I still found comfort in the crowds of cats, as I always found it hard to leave my own behind when we were on the road. 

This was the kind of unexpected magic that punctuated so many of our camp spots in Greece, always something unusual, always wild and incredible views. Nestled away amongst the sheer cliffs, or parked up on the sand, camped atop a mountain viewpoint or with waves lapping at our feet and views across the bay to Mount Olympus; Greece never disappointed.

Sometimes we find inspiration in the most unlikely places. There was a documentary on the TV last night about those who were living a nomadic life, living in tents, taking what provisions they need for food and shelter from the forests, and strangely we felt more akin to the nomads than those who lived a settled life, and were trying to encourage the nomads to do the same.

There was something in the ritualism of their lives, their constant uprooting, searching out new camp spots with all of their possessions on their backs, that seemed so timeless.

Then there was the intervention of the modern people, those who didn’t understand the need to constantly be on the move, and the many lures and distractions of modern life to tempt the nomads away from their tradition.

More than just a fancy, more than just a dream, we too feel that pull, the urge to keep moving, keep discovering and exploring. By road, by van, by foot or by plane. Following the landscape, chasing after the sun, hugging the curves of ancient rivers or mountain valleys. We upheave, travel, settle and reroot, time and time again. We never tire or bore of the constant unsettlement, but savour in the ritual of it. And over time, one thing becomes absolutely clear: it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey to get there.

We didn’t choose breakdowns. We didn’t choose to have no money. We didn’t choose challenges, but we chose a life on the road, and all the things that come with it. 

Maybe it would be nice to have a van that works all the time, to be able to go on a roadtrip that goes smoothly for once, to not be impeded by faulty parts or terrible weather or border controls, police and snow. But honestly, it’s the bumps in the road that make life exciting. 

We might have an old rusty crappy van, but the lessons it has taught us are invaluable. How could we ever have learned how to change an EGR valve, or replace a wiper motor, or bodge and improvise our way through so many problems had we not got an old van? And how could we have learned to drive on snow, or power our way through mud, or navigate language barriers with garages and police had our journey been free of kinks in the road? How could we have learned to get by, make do with less and improvise had we enough money to throw at our problems and make them go away?

Don’t ever believe for one second that life in a van is easy. That we live cushy lives on four wheels because we sometimes get to wake up by the ocean or spend a night cradled amongst mountains. It’s important that we don’t forget the hard work that got us here, the months of graft and the hours of planning and saving. And not to forget that that was just the start of it all, and that there are constant challenges to face every day that could make or break a person quite easily. And it nearly has us many times.⁣⁣⁣⁣

To drive across four countries with no windscreen wipers, vision obscured by rain, to drive through deepening snow with no chains on our wheels, is to step that little bit closer to the edge. To drive along a steep rocky scree track in the dark to escape from howling winds, to attempt a mountain pass braved only by 4x4s who shook their heads at us in disdain, to push our van to its very limits is to relish challenge and delight in its glow of accomplishments is to live that little bit closer to the edge. But our endeavours aren’t always successful, and the lowest of the lows hit on difficult days, days we wish we’d chosen to live in a house made of bricks and mortar instead of a rusty shell. But bricks and mortar need mending too, and steel and oil are more familiar beasts.⁣⁣⁣⁣

To live that little bit nearer the edge, to remove ourselves from comfort, to be pushed so close to our limits, these are the things we crave to feel alive. To test ourselves, to feel fulfilled, to know what we’re capable of. These are the reasons we live in a van, and these are the reasons we call the road our home.⁣⁣

Want to take a sneaky peek inside this gorgeous rustic home on wheels? Well guess what? You can!⁣ ⁣ Back in July we met up with Tom and Sophia of @vanderingaround while they were down in Cornwall and they were kind enough to give us a little tour around their recently finished LDV Convoy conversion. It features a wonderful cabin vibe with a cosy woodburner, beautifully bespoke kitchen and loads of unique little details dotted around. And have you seen their spice rack?!⁣ ⁣ Head over to our Youtube channel NOW to watch the tour of their wonderfully cosy home on wheels! Link below, and don’t forget to hit that subscribe button! 🙌⁣

This crisp Autumn air and crunchy leaves underfoot are making us nostalgic for a time last year we spent in perpetual Autumn, driving always further East chasing the turning of the seasons. The golden hues and early promise of thin winter sunlight seemed ever-lasting, each country we entered bringing the season back afresh.⁣⁣

In our minds we will only ever picture the Czech Republic as a vibrant carpet of ochre and crimson and gold, each of its National Parks a work of ephemeral Autumnal art. The tall sandstone towers of Hruba Skala, the fairytale castles perched atop, the vast forestscapes of Bohemian Paradise and that glowing harvest moon. Chilly autumn nights, warm end-of-summer days. Roasting pumpkin on the fire and picking chestnuts off the ground.⁣

⁣Camped up for the night in this vast amber forest, finding ourselves completely alone at the end of a sticky mud track, the first stars of dusk in the sky and a carpet of leaves on the ground, the only sounds we heard were the crackling of our fire and the distant noises of animals. We dismissed the busy tourist routes nearby, the crowded walk to a pretty yet overdone shrine, and made our own path wandering amongst unkempt fallen trees and scrambling up loose rocky cliffs to pass a day.⁣⁣

The moments we remember so vividly on our trip are the ones where we felt so completely and utterly alone, where not a single soul would be there to intrude and we felt safe and cradled in the arms of nature. These moments come right alongside the memories of dear friends revisited, kindnesses returned, and new friends made along the way. People that we invited into our home as strangers back in Cornwall now welcoming us with open arms into their own as friends. These are some of our fondest memories of Autumn, and these are the ones best shared.

@couchsurfing

Since moving into our van, everything has changed.

I don’t just mean we live more minimally, that we own less stuff and shower outdoors. I mean that since we moved into a van, our lives have been a series of life-changing events and moments that would shape us into who we are and where we are today. Our direction in this world is constantly changing, not marked on any signpost or scribbled on any map. And in this world, where we’ve come from is just as important as where we’re going.

In life you choose which road you’re on; you can take the smooth roads, the long roads, the never-ending highways, but they’re a bit, well, boring. Or you can take the bumpy roads, the dirt tracks, the ones that shake your van apart and rattle your bones so fiercely you don’t know if you’ll make it to the end. These are the challenging ones, those that some of us choose and some of us end up on incidentally, but either way the outcome is the same; it’s how you take the challenges, how you handle the bumps, that defines you. There are no wrong turns, no misdirections. Maps are arbitrary when fate is there to guide you.

It would be impossible to pick a single moment when our lives changed for good, when every adventure is another thread in the tapestry. Gradually our lives without motion became unsatisfying; our souls began to crave the stimulation of adventure, of constant movement, of a life on the road. The difficulties, the impossibilities, roads too steep to climb and nights too cold to bear. These are the the very quintessence of life, whether we take these challenges as a gift or a curse, and they are the rubber on our wheels and the fuel in our tank as we roll…

We never really had a “vision” for our van, no theme, concept or aesthetic. Our van is just reflective of us, of who we are, an amalgamation of the different cultures we’ve experienced and the countries we hope to one day explore. We have blankets from Mexico, tapestries from India, curtains from Thailand, herbs and spices from Spain, from Greece, from Albania. We have Cornish slate on our walls and Guatemalan coffee sacks on our seat. This fusion of cultures so visible in our decor yet invisible inside ourselves, each country weaving itself into our home and our souls simultaneously.⁣⁣

Our van is also never really “finished”, it’s an ongoing project, constantly improving and evolving just as we are as people. Its face is ageing and taking on its own patina over time just like the wooden cladding on our walls. The sunlight from a thousand views has shone through our windows, and the flakes of a dozen snowfalls has fallen on our roof.⁣⁣

We only hope our new project van, who has already lived a far longer and fuller life than our own, will become as loved and well-travelled as a campervan one day soon. ⁣