Between the sky and our rooftop tent

It all started for us with a pickup and a rooftop tent. Back then, our trips lasted two or three weeks. A classic annual vacation, except at some point we no longer wanted to get to our destination as quickly as possible. We wanted to get away. As far as possible, as quickly as possible. Most of all, we wanted to stop reaching the end of a trip with that familiar feeling: What a shame, it’s over. Little by little, vacations became adventures.

I, Linda, had already slept in regular tents, traveled in motorhomes and even bivouacked. Then came the rooftop tent. Suddenly, I thought: This is pure luxury. We slept in it through all kinds of weather, during ski tours, in ice and snow as well as on hot summer days. We were right in the middle of nature, listening to the wind and the sounds around us. Eventually, we thought this is really all we need. At least, that was what we believed at the time.

Two week trips gradually became longer journeys. Those longer journeys created a desire for more time. Eventually, we made a decision that sounds pretty crazy to a lot of people. We deliberately gave up our house and everything that came with it.

We radically reduced our possessions. Things that had once felt important suddenly became things we could sell, give away or leave behind. The less we owned, the less we felt like anything was missing. Quite the opposite. Suddenly, we had something money cannot buy: time.

Then came our van. We spent an entire year renovating it from the ground up and converting it exactly the way we wanted. Every corner had a purpose. Every decision was ours.

Of course, there was one thing we absolutely had to have: an oven. Other people might consider it completely unnecessary. For us, it was a little piece of home. We baked casseroles and desserts. Sometimes we spoiled ourselves so much with food that you could say we ate like royalty in the van.

Our home became so cozy that eventually we ran into a problem. We spent too much time inside it. The life we had come looking for was outside. So we set off. Three years of full time vanlife followed. Our wolfdog Sepp came with us. He was only six months old at the time, still small and clumsy, already right in the middle of a life full of adventures.

Our route took us across Europe, from northern Scotland to southern Portugal and onward to eastern Turkey. The moments that stayed with us the most were often the stories between the famous sights and not the sights themselves.

One of those stories began in Turkey. A storm rolled in. This was far beyond a little rain, it was one of those storms where eventually you stop looking at the clock. We were stuck.

While the storm raged outside, we sat together in their living room. At some point, they handed us a plastic bottle filled with fresh milk, straight from their cow. The cow was actually still downstairs in their basement. That bottle meant far more to us than milk. It represented hospitality. Trust. It became a reminder that sometimes the richest gifts arrive when you least expect them.

Of course, there was another side to traveling this way. For example, there were stormy nights in the rooftop tent. At some point, it stopped feeling as though we were lying safely inside a tent. It felt more like the entire thing was hanging somewhere above the landscape, waiting for the wind to decide where it wanted to take us.

So there was only one thing to do. Close everything. Climb down into the vehicle. In the middle of the night, we sat there listening to the storm and waiting. At the time, it was simply uncomfortable.

Today, that exact night is one of the stories that makes us grin. Because vanlife is simply not just an evening sunset with a glass of wine outside the camper every day. Sometimes it sounds more like this:

Portugal gave us a completely different memory: the famous pizza party. It was one of those nights that is almost impossible to explain. You had to be there. You had to stand in the middle of the crowd, feel the energy and eventually think: “What the hell is happening here?”

Those are exactly the kinds of experiences we love. They do not fit into travel guides. They never appear on a checklist and they cannot really be captured in a photograph. You simply have to experience them.

While we traveled, our neighbors changed constantly. One day it was another camper. The next day it was a flock of sheep. A day later, it might be a local person curious to know where we came from. Sometimes there was simply no one around. Only nature.

There is one question we hear all the time: “Where was the most beautiful place?” We do not have a single answer.

Scotland is completely different from Portugal. Portugal is completely different from Turkey. That variety is exactly what makes traveling so beautiful. We have no desire to declare one country the winner. We would rather appreciate what makes every place unique, from its landscapes and people to its culture and individual character.

When we travel, we are guests. As guests, we cannot expect the world to feel exactly like our own living room. Perhaps these are the most important lessons vanlife has taught us:

We gave up our house, reduced our possessions and learned to live with surprisingly little. And still, we rarely felt like we needed more. So what happens next?

Maybe one day our next home will be a large expedition vehicle. But maybe it will be the exact opposite: something smaller and simpler, with more time outside, more off road travel and even less standing between us and the world.

Perhaps this journey was when we first truly understood something. A home does not have to be one fixed place. It can be anywhere we wake up curious to discover what the next day will bring.

In the end, it is not about the kilometers we drove. It is not about the countries we crossed. It is not about the places where we parked. It is about the stories in between.