What’s your next adventure? That’s a question we often hear now that my husband, Joe, is retired. This summer Joe’s standard answer was, “Iceland. We’re renting a van and taking two weeks to drive around the island’s Ring Road. It’ll give us a chance to try out the camper van lifestyle.”
It took me a while to catch on, but I finally asked Joe, “What exactly do you mean by ‘the camper van lifestyle’? I thought Iceland was just another trip.”
“I think a van would be a great way to explore North America. We don’t need an itinerary or reservations, just a destination. Besides, you’re the one that wants to visit all the National Parks.”
“Is that the only way to see the National Parks?” I asked.
“It’s the best way,” was Joe’s answer.
Hmm. I thought. At least a van is better than a tent. Joe initially thought “the best way to see Iceland” was to rent a four-wheel drive Subaru Outback with a rooftop tent. Our college-age son took one online look at the vehicle and said, “That’s a bad idea. I drive a Subaru. You don’t want to sleep on top of one.” I was thankful for his input.
We completed the Iceland trip in a Volkswagen California. I loved that four-wheel drive van. Not only was the diesel engine efficient (30 miles per gallon), the interior design was spacious. The table folded flat and snapped into the sliding door panel and two chairs were stored in zip-up panels in the rear hatchback. There was plenty of room in the rear for our food stores and gear. Also, the pop top provided the fresh air feeling of tent camping, while we remained safe and dry under a rain proof roof. But a Google search revealed that Volkswagen camper vans are not available in the United States.
After less than a week in Iceland, Joe decided we passed the camper van lifestyle test. So, he started a dialogue with a van conversion company in the United States. Maybe I should have groused a bit about wearing the same pair of pants five days in a row. Or perhaps complained about vying for sink space to brush my teeth in a unisex bathroom while a teenager was standing guard over his charging I-Pad, a lady was filling up her noodle pot with water and a couple of campers were taking a sink bath.
In just one conversation, Joe learned that the build process — the art and engineering of taking an empty cargo van and adding cabinets, a galley kitchen, a bed and a pop-top roof, a water tank and a heating system — can take anywhere from nine months to a year. Joe was a bit deflated, while I might have been more than a little relieved. A year would give me the much-needed time to embrace what I think of as the “van people concept” — traveling, sleeping and living in a space smaller than the average laundry room.
