Henry and I both like to think of ourselves as all original and creative and cool. Surprisingly, it turns out we’re not. When we told the cargo van specialist at the Ford dealership that we wanted a van to convert to a camper, he muttered, “Oh, geez, another one!” and barely refrained from rolling his eyes.
Okay, so apparently we’re not the only ones who developed an itch to take to the road during this past year. And now we learn there are whole groups of people who have been doing this all along.
You’ve probably heard about the film Nomadland, especially after it won a big pile of well-deserved Oscars. Based on the book by Jessica Bruder (which isn’t nearly as good as the movie), it’s about a subculture of contemporary nomads who have essentially been squeezed out of traditional 9-5 life or who have left that by choice. Such folks live in kitted-out, jerry-rigged vehicles, whether it’s a van, a big RV or trailer, or even a tiny Prius. They move from temporary job to gig work to make ends meet, working as campground hosts in the summer, Amazon warehouse runners in peak holiday shopping season, and at other low-status seasonal jobs that barely seem to pay for the gasoline they need to keep traveling. The movie Nomadland had, I thought, an ultimate feeling of optimism and freedom. The freedom has a cost, though—such a life may be interesting, but it’s also difficult and uncomfortable.
And then there’s the stereotypical population of sock-and-sandal-clad geezers who travel in giant RVs fitted with all the comforts of home, including recliners, large-screen tvs, and washing machines. Our recent visit to a Camping World store, which serves the RV community, revealed an entire aisle of various satellite dishes, extra large capacity folding camp chairs, and light-up plastic palm trees, which I imagine lend a tropical flair to your campsite whatever your latitude. (The American flag flying in front of the store was as big as the footprint of my house. And I’m only exaggerating a little.) In reality, RVers come in all types; certainly the senior crowd, but also whole young families and single hipsters. But the stereotype persists.
And speaking of hipsters, there’s the whole #vanlife thing. Young folks, singles and couples, are building out vans and creating masterpieces of self-constructed mobile living spaces. Many of them have Scandinavian-like clean design. These are the minimalists; people who only want to own one frying pan and one towel and don’t accessorize. They also own a super high-end technology because they make their living working remotely or as social media creators and influencers. The man-bun is a popular hairstyle among this crowd. There’s a recent article in the NYTimes about #vanlife that has some good exemplars of the breed (no man-buns, though).
Some people go in for “skoolies,” school buses converted into tiny homes on wheels; generally more house-like than vans (more space!) and more in the spirit of upcycling than RVs. Although they vary widely in style, these can be more cabin-like than many vans, with ship-lap walls and even tiny wood stoves. I’ve also seen rebuilt ambulances, bread delivery trucks, and prison trucks.
But there are also people like ourselves, retired or nearly, who build a van for the fun of the build and the travel that follows. We’re definitely not going to work for Amazon’s holiday rush, our van will have a proper toilet and shower but no satellite dish, and Henry’s not going to grow a man-bun. We like our belongings too much to want to live in a van permanently. But we’re having a great time designing the van and thinking about all the National Parks we’ll visit once it’s ready to go.
Elizabeth
Henry