The Van Plan

It probably started years ago without me knowing, my desire to rove about, travel, see things, do things and try things. It's a product of my parents, dragging me around France for the summer, as well as all around the UK for the rest of the year, to see medieval towns, churches, beautiful beaches and historic monuments. I enjoyed every second of my childhood, even if there are a few infamous family photos where my sister and I are scowling outside a cathedral or even more dramatically crying halfway up a hill.

For as long as I can remember, I have felt at home on the road. Sleeping in the back of the Landrover on the way down to catch a ferry in Portsmouth as dawn crept upon us has slowly turned into me hopping into my Suzuki swift and racing to the coast, even if just for a couple of days. I feel like it's almost my duty, to continue this journey that my parents started me on, the never ending road trip.

And then, of course, I decided I wanted a camper. It started with an unhealthy obsession for the vintage split screen Volkswagen's, which apparently gave my Dad a headache straight away because he told me that he 'wasn't spending his summer lying on his back underneath one of those rust buckets' - so, with a heavy heart, I realised that wasn't going to work. Then I moved onto the Volkswagen Autosleeper Tridents, which are a ready made camper, produced in the late 80s and early 90s. But it still wasn't exactly what I was looking for. So Dad, being the all seeing, all knowing Dad, who was significantly worn down by my persistent whining, suggested that we find a modern-ish van and convert it.

There were many times I had thought I'd found her, when it turned out it had already been bought, the advert was 2 years old, or that it was a dodgy Irish import. I was beginning to give up hope and ready myself to move on to the next daydream when I found her. Sky blue, a ridiculously low mileage, and just over two hours away. It took a couple of days of relentless 'Can we go and see it?'s and a lot of finger crossing from me that she was still for sale until eventually, on a rainy Wednesday morning, me and Dad hopped in the car and travelled to go and look at her.

Obviously, for me, it was love at first sight. After a test drive and a little haggling with the garage owner, I had put down a deposit and she was mine for £5,800 (which in VW talk for a long wheel base transporter with just over 34,000 miles on the clock, is nothing short of a miracle.)

So, we got her home, and work was started the next day by my dad. He was up, cutting down the ply ready to make way for the windows. I wiped my savings completely out with buying her and so most things bought from here on out are an ongoing debt between me and the ever reliable bank of Dad.

The first thing we discovered was that there was a slight leak coming from somewhere and collecting in the cab underneath the mat, so out everything came for us to investigate. After several hours and plenty of swearing later, Dad and I found a tiny hole under the bonnet on the right hand side, we tested that it was definitely the culprit by firing the hose down and sure enough, the water came trickling down. We sealed this and on we went with the insulation. (For anyone converting a van themselves, the insulation we used was called 'veltrim')

 

 

As we continued with the conversion, I was becoming more and more amazed at just how much Dad knew. Spending this time with him and listening to his methodology has trebled my respect for the man that I already relied on for everything. If anything goes wrong, I ask Dad, if i'm not sure about something, I ask Dad. If something breaks, be it the TV or my delicate excessively priced sandals from Accesorize, I know Dad will be able to fix it. I value him more and more everyday, and I know that I'd be stuck somewhere in a lot of trouble if I didn't have him. 

 

Of course, Dad made sure we both cut out for the windows and fitted them ourselves, (Good prices from a company called Van Demon with the fitting kit too) He bought an air nibbler and some suction handles and we were away. 

 

Carpeting the van gave me the first real insight into what the van was going to look like as a finished product, just knowing that I'm going to be sleeping against that exact carpet when I'm travelling over Europe gives me so much excitement as to what the van is going to see, where its going to go, the meals I'm going to cook, the starry skies I'm going to sleep under. 

 

Being a long-wheel base, the van gives me even more space inside, which straight away means a bigger bed and more living space. Not wanting to be like every other conversion, I'm going for a long bench seat down the side of the van in order to keep my space maximized and also so that when lying in bed, somewhere completely off the grid in Europe, I'll be able to open my big sliding door and look out at the amazing views that she's going to take me to. I took a lot of inspiration when dreaming up my lay out from a van called 'The Rolling Home' and I'd recommend checking the book out if you appreciate beautiful images and travelling. 

 

Despite me feeling like I'm a pretty good driver, like all Dads, mine reassures me that I'm not. In order to help me adjust from driving my little Suzuki swift to a long wheel base van, Dad wired up a reversing camera for me and fitted a touch screen radio which was pretty difficult to find for my particular van as well as bloody expensive. Despite me feeling somewhat useless when I'm watching Dad work, his colourblind-ness allowed me to help him out for a couple of hours when wiring the new radio up. 

Even now, I like to lie on the ply floor in the van and look out of the window, just to imagine what I'll be looking at next summer, and plenty of summers after that, through the very same window. 

 

We fitted new seats that both recline and are slightly comfier than the original ones. These were sourced off ebay and mean that you can also squeeze through the middle of them to access the back without getting out of the van.  

 The next stage of the conversion is to get the bed built and then we can arrange the rest of the layout around this. Once the bed is in, shes sleep-able and I can't wait. Getting the bed welded together will be the only part of the conversion me and Dad haven't done ourselves yet, and although there's still a long way to go, I hope you can see the hard work and love that's gone into it so far. The van as she currently stands is below, and the panels you can see inside are the roof - which needs to be cut so that the spotlights can go though and then covered in a nicer material. We will then need to buy a gel or dry cell leisure battery which will fit under the bed and the floor lining can then go down.

It's been an amazing journey since she came home on the 2nd April, and every time I look at her I know she's raring to go, to see the coast, to travel around the mountains, and to show off the amazing rare sky blue colour that she has been sprayed (she started life a deep red colour and was sprayed by the company who kept her at RAF Waddington, where she was used to transport parts.) But one thing that has happened along that journey, is that I lost one of my travel companions that has been with me for as long as I can remember, all over the country. Floss, our family dog, who was 15, had to be put to sleep. She had a brilliant life though, and so when Dad asked me what I was going to call the van, i knew straight away what to say,

"Floss, so that she can even have more adventures."

 

Starry nights in Nefyn

I had a day recently, that took me right back to where I was before my degree, before any serious relationships or commitments, back to holly the young dreamer with an impulsive rebellious streak.

It was in the place where my heart often longs for, Nefyn. The day started perfectly, the sky was a hazy cornflower blue shrouded in sea mist, the heat almost felt exotic.

We went for our usual 10 mile circuit to the golf course, to the crowded bar on the beach, a lazy dip in the crystal turquoise sea, through winding country lanes with high hedgerows and singing birds.

It wasn't until later on that night that the real magic happened, despite the beautiful day. The air cooled, darkness came, and we stayed warm with drink and talk of happy memories. When the time came to wander back over to our caravan, my dad called me outside to take in my favourite sight.

And so there we stood.
Heads thrown back in an intoxicated awe, gazing at the stars above, feeling like precious little dots in a snowglobe adorned with twinkling Christmas lights.

My dad interrupted my philosophical bliss by pointing out the saucepan (or Orion for the savvy astrologers out there) constellation, and I knew this was a moment, just a small moment, that I would remember forever.

It was one of those silencing moments where you feel like the only person alive on the planet. There I was, slightly drunk, squinting at the sky with my impaired eyes, mouth slightly open in pure wonder at just how many tiny lights shone down on us in that second.

It was funny really, because we had just been discussing tax and the effects of life, death and money on the middle class, and outside we walked to be greeted by natures display on how insignificant tax and money is in this grand scheme of life in which we all play the starring role.

The stars, for me, have always been beautiful, so far away, gazing down on us and sprinkling hope, beauty and light. Nature is so powerful, breathtaking - it can erase all the worries we have in life because it is just so much more significant. This experience reminded me that whenever things are getting too much, when the stresses of modern day life are wearing you down, take some good company or go completely solo, leave the phone at home and go see some awe inducing sight of nature - whether that is a waterfall, a sunset, a starry night sky or the glistening diamonds that play upon the surface of moving water - I can personally guarantee you will feel better.