A Man Without a Van

It’s been over a year since I last saddled my backpack and commenced a new voyage, two years discounting a whistle-stop fortnight in Greece, and so there’s been a copious amount of time to mull over my long-term travel plans (as well as my receding hairline and rapidly sprouting ear hair). Since COVID-19 came on the scene and as all of you are already aware, options for tourism anywhere that wasn’t named Grimsby or Slough have been very limited and so most of my abundant spare time was spent fantasising about sipping caipirinhas on a Sri Lankan beach or searching for shipwrecks in the Namib Desert or getting mauled by a sun bear in Borneo.

At the start of the pandemic, almost a lifetime ago, I found myself hauled up at my old stomping ground – the enigma that is Kidwelly Town – and vowed that I would use the time to plan and prepare a more permanent nomadic lifestyle, as well as vowing never again to buy vegan sausages from Peter Peric the master butcher. Van life, as it were, was something I had contemplated for an endlessly long time but had always struggled to realise a method of funding a stable and successful life on the road. It seemed as though unless I was able to sell artisanal handcrafted oak serviette holders online or become a freelance alternative milk carton designer, the chance of a regular income from the backseat of a van seemed slim.

However, just as the schools started closing and my teaching moved online, a glaring opportunity presented itself in front of me – just as masterfully as Peter Peric did with his meat-free bangers. Fortunately, the result of my signing up to several online teaching platforms was far more successful than my veggie toad in the hole. One particular site I registered on took off like a ruptured duck on steroids and I soon started to reap its ripe rewards. I swiftly reached a point where I could sustain myself remotely, given a portable whiteboard and decent internet signal, and the only thing that prevented my roaming reverie was a vessel from which to open my mobile teaching office.

Enter Vishnu and Lowri: a 2016 Vauxhall Movano with a dodgy sliding door and a 1997 Commonwealth water polo player with a dodgy knee (or two). After meeting the latter and instantly bonding over our shared love of living in incredibly small spaces, plans, sketches, and designs for our future headquarters gathered a pace, and the search began for a crack team of converters with the skills, and patience, necessary to realise our demanding vision. After weeks of hunting, a courageous couple from Bristol answered the call – with work starting on Vishnu’s dramatic transformation at the beginning of the summer.

Fast forward a little under four months, and Vishnu was ready for its first test trip. We selected the wonderfully named Westward Ho! for our dry run – the only placename in the UK to include an exclamation mark – and soon discovered having an electrical system more complex than the Three Gorges Dam was a poor decision, especially since my ability to repair anything electrical stops at changing a fuse. However, several alterations to our solar panels and leisure battery wiring should ensure its reliable use when in the wild – only time will tell.

With the conversion all but completed, the final stage involved adding our own personal belongings to the mix, as well as small appliances, kitchenware, miscellaneous tools, spice rack and alcohol – essentially everything one would need to survive for several weeks off-grid. Countless Amazon orders later (that may have been the sole reason for the great cardboard shortage of 2021) and our van, classroom, and soon-to-be home was ready for its first mission: crossing the Channel and heading into the great unknown (otherwise known as France). Wish us luck.

J