Tag: life on wheels

Life on Wheels- Version 1

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Before I had my van, Nessie, I had a car. A very small car. She was my first taste of life on the road. My tiny-home-on-wheels, version 1. 

A few weeks before leaving my job in higher education in 2015, I had a sudden surge of inspiration while I was dropping off to sleep one night. The next morning I turned my car into a camper-car. Shortly after, she was christened Nancy, the nano-camper. She was to be my part-time roving home for two years, before I embarked on a wonderful joint journey in Nessie.

During the two years of Nancy, I had some amazing journeys, discovering new places in both outer and inner landscapes. The first trip was to the Isle of Skye via Glencoe. This was my first solo trip to Scotland at the age of 32. I couldn’t believe I had never been that far north until then. I fell in love, and the love affair with Scotland continues. You could say I’m wedded to this land now (though I do have dalliances with the English Lake District on occasion). 

Back in the Nancy days, I also spent time in Devon while I embarked on a course in nature connection and environmental education at Schumacher college in Dartington. This was to be one of my most transformational experiences since leaving my former life behind. It is difficult to begin to describe the deep learning, realisations and connections that I made in that time, but it continues to have ripples in how I live today. 

While studying in Devon, I also stayed in a cabin on Dartmoor where I met Maggie, an elder, a writer, and a beloved mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. I stayed on her land, Mill Farm, for a few weeks helping tend her garden in exchange for staying in the cabin. Sadly, Maggie passed in 2022 though she lives on in my memory. She was always learning and creating, still curious and open in her nineties. Whilst I learnt much from the course at Schumacher, my time with Maggie and at Mill Farm also taught me about how to connect with land and people. 

On another trip in Nancy, I discovered Dumfries and Galloway. I have no idea what led me to the area; sometimes we follow an inner impulse that we do not know the origin of. I arrived in May, following a short stay at Samyeling, a Tibetan Buddhist Monastery in Eskdalemuir. I remember how green and lush the fields were as early Spring unfolded. I was quietly touched by the understated beauty, compared with the grand scale of Glencoe, or the rugged mountains of the Lake District. It felt like a quieter place to be. There was a sense of community, which feels vitally important in these times of separation and division. Since spending more time in the region over the past couple of years I feel like I’ve connected with the place more deeply, and with the people who call this place home. 

Reflecting on those journeys, I remember feeling that Nancy was facilitating my freedom. She wasn’t just a car, it felt like she was actively supporting me somehow. She was my first taste of living in a tiny space, but I also knew she was just a stepping stone; my spine could only take so much of being crammed into a Seat Ibiza. She allowed those early explorations and gave me the confidence that I could cope with smaller spaces and solo travel, so for that, I’m grateful for the times we shared. 

When it came time to part with Nancy and to move into a slightly larger home on wheels, I was really sad. I had to decommission her, and turn her back into a regular car. I felt guilty in some way, like I was letting her down. I hoped that someone might want her for similar adventures, but it turned out there aren’t many people who are as enthusiastic as me about sleeping in tiny cars! 

Now, nearly six years after parting with Nancy and having formed quite an attachment to Nessie, I realise that it wasn’t ever my conscious intention to live in a tiny home on wheels. Somehow it just unfolded in an organic way, with small nudges of encouragement from friends and other people I met while exploring, and mysterious flashes of inspiration. I can’t help but think what the next iteration of this simple, connected life will be. For now, I am content to wonder.

Life on wheels – why?

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A question I get asked regularly is why I’ve chosen to live in a van. The answer lies somewhere between choice and necessity. Mainly, this is a choice because I know of no other way that I could live with this relative freedom to park up in many natural, wild spaces and get the immersion in nature that I feel I need as a vital part of my life. In a smaller part, it’s necessity, because I haven’t found a way of earning enough money- that doesn’t feel destructive to the planet and that is also healthy for me- to buy a piece of land to live this low impact life in one place. In some ways this is the dream of rooting myself in the rhythm of one place, to get to know it intimately and it me. But the current (and numerous) obstacles to owning land in the UK make me think this is a dream that will not be realised. 

And right now that feels ok because I have found many ways of creating a connected and rich life while not being rooted in one place. Some of these practices are simple- sitting silently and observing, listening to the sounds of a place, walking barefoot. I also love to forage and I often remember places I stay because of something I foraged there; greens, berries, firewood. I now have a mental map of the places I’ve been, based on the things I’ve gathered there. 

I can’t say it’s easy living in this way. There is nothing particularly convenient about it. But I’ve discovered that I like to challenge myself with finding resourceful and low-impact ways of doing things. With limited space, everything has to earn its place, so I love to find multiple functions for one object; my cajon is also a table, a stool, and a laundry basket.

I’ve realised that modern ways of living, though seemingly convenient, actually have complexity behind them and a certain way of tethering and limiting us. I don’t have a fridge, so keeping food cool is obviously tricky. If I did have a fridge, I’d need a more sophisticated power set up and I’d probably have to spend time on sites charging up. That would mean more expense, more technology to maintain, more emissions. That could be limiting for me in terms of finances and freedom. My ways around it are to eat less foods that need refrigeration, or to use a stream or river to keep things cool. (Making ghee out of butter which lasts a couple of months unrefrigerated means I can have some little luxuries!) 

On the whole, not having a fridge is a sacrifice I’ve found to be worth making, and doesn’t feel at all limiting, if anything it feels more freeing. My diet could be considered to be basic, but I eat far less processed ‘convenience’ food and I think carefully about what I really need to eat. I also forage more, so possibly I get more varied microbes and micro-nutrients into my gut ecosystem than if I didn’t eat wild food (there’s currently a controlled study into wild foods and how they affect the human gut microbiome, The Wild Biome Project discussed on The Food Programme: Eating Wild on BBC Radio 4). In short, I feel healthier than when I do spend time in houses and around modern conveniences. 

Space to wonder

But, let me be clear, this isn’t an Instagram lifestyle. For one thing, I shit in a bucket. And my van is of an age where she constantly needs care and repair. It is challenging. Sometimes it’s really rubbish. When your van breaks down in the middle of nowhere and you’re precariously parked in a layby, or the rain is incessant and you have condensation on every surface, not to mention moss growing on your window sills, you just wish you had a cosy, dry home to go back to. And sometimes I just don’t want to have to move on, I want to be able to say, This is where I live. Here. 

But living in this way I feel like I’m learning every day. No two days are the same. Generally the people I meet when I’m travelling are friendly, kind and interested. When they’re on holiday or travelling, they seem to be more open and curious, and so am I. It’s as though people have stepped out of their normal lives for a while and there’s space. That’s what it feels like to live in this way; no plans or routines, space and time to wander and wonder. There’s a richness in this life that no money can buy. I’ve met some wonderful people who are now dear friends, and this is one reason I carry on doing it. 

There may or may not come a day when I feel that this isn’t the way I want to live and I’m not thriving anymore but right now, despite the challenges, this is how I want to move in the world. There’s a freedom, a rich simplicity that I haven’t found through living any other way, and so I’ll continue to stravaig through life. 

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Life on wheels

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my simple van setup and practical considerations

My van, affectionately named Nessie, has been my home on wheels for a few years now. For those who are interested in the vehicle particulars, she’s a Vauxhall Movano long wheelbase, high top roof, 2004 registration. She was originally an NHS patient transport vehicle and so she was well looked after before she came to me. Nessie has evolved over the past 5 years into my cosy, creative home. For a while, she was a home to both myself and my partner at the time, and occasionally she has been home to my parents’ hound, Isla (aka Beanie), a part-time travel companion. 

Electrics and charging

Early on I decided to keep things relatively simple, some would say primitive, for a couple of reasons- so that there’s less to fix when it goes wrong, and because I’m trying to live in a more wholesome, low impact way. This means I don’t have a sophisticated power set up; no fixed solar panels, leisure batteries, inverters or 230 volts. Everything I have is stand-alone and small-scale- a 30 watt 12 volt mobile solar panel for charging power banks which in turn charge my phone, tablet, light and other electronic gadgets.

Cooking and heating 

Cooking is on a vintage two-ring gas hob. Heat is from the woodburner, which also works for cooking when the fire is burning hot. I do have a diesel heater (which came with the van), but the woodburner now renders this obsolete. In summer, one of my favourite ways to connect with a place is to go foraging for firewood, especially on beaches. I have a very good saw and a small hand axe for preparing wood for the burner. In winter, it can be tricky foraging for wood as it is usually wet and storing wet wood in the van is really not a good idea. I have a couple of places that I store wood to season for future use but in winter I do have to buy wood to keep my fire going.

Lighting 

Lighting has been one of the most tricky issues, especially in winter with the long, dark nights. I tend to use candles for ambient lighting, but if I need to cook or do anything crafty, I use a Biolite Alpenglow 250, one of the best (but by no means cheapest!) rechargeable lights I’ve come across for my small space. I have tried other cheaper lighting – fairy lights and bendy LED lights that plug into power banks-  but all of them have failed me, and I hated having to buy disposable batteries for the fairy lights. 

Water 

I don’t have a water tank or running water. I use multiple 5 litre water bottles and top these up whenever I find a decent water source. For me, this works brilliantly. I don’t have to go to a site to fill up water and I can even fill up smaller bottles from freshwater springs if I’m lucky enough to find one. I know there could potentially be some issue with BPAs when you reuse plastic bottles but honestly, I feel like there are so many other ways I could potentially be ingesting and absorbing nasties that this is one thing I’m not going to worry about.

It probably goes without saying that I don’t have a shower. This has never bothered me. I can easily keep clean in summer with regular dips in rivers, lochs and sea. And it’s amazing how little water it takes just to have a flannel wash in the van. When I want to wash my hair I get the woodburner going and heat up a full kettle of water and then wash it in the washing up bowl.

Waste 

I don’t have a conventional toilet or waste system. It’s about as basic as it can get. I have a Tupperware jug to pee in, and a compost loo ‘system’ – a 10 litre bucket and sawdust- for poop. When the bucket is full I take a good long walk into a remote woodland, dig a big hole and offer the soil my gift. That’s the nicest way of putting it! The compost loo is actually an upgrade; all I used to have was a garden trowel and then I’d have to go for walks to find a secluded and safe spot. This really was inconvenient at times so I was thrilled to get a bucket (see photo)!

I understand some of these basic ways would be off-putting for most people. It was the same for me at first, and mostly it takes longer to do things because I can’t just flick a switch to heat water, or flush a toilet to dispose of my waste. Some days I would just love to step into a hot shower or turn on the central heating. But I have become more aware of how much we waste when we can just turn on a tap, and how we take these modern systems for granted. I’m now more conscious about how I use water and whether I really do need to be clean to the point of being almost sterile!

If any of this interests you and you need any support or information about setting up and living in a simple home on wheels, please connect with me. I’ll write more about why I choose to live in a van in future posts.