So here we are. Two ex-postmasters from Hull, knocking about in a campervan, making it up as we go along in Spain.
It still feels weird saying it. We spent decades running the local post office, tied to the same four walls, the same routine, the same customers who, let’s be honest, we sometimes saw more than our own family. Then one day, we thought—what if we just… didn’t?
And that’s how we ended up here, swapping parcels for pintxos and drizzle for sunshine.
From Stamps to Sunsets
Hull’s home. Always will be. It’s the kind of place people love to mock—usually people who’ve never set foot in it—but if you know, you know. The marina, the proper fish and chips at Bob Carver’s, the Tigers at the KCOM, the weirdly named pubs… it’s ours.
We’re not running away. We’re just stretching our legs.
Retirement sounded great in theory, but after three weeks of staring at the same four walls and driving each other up the wall, we knew we needed a plan. Not a “let’s move to Spain permanently and open a beach bar” plan (we’re not completely mad), but something that kept us moving, kept us curious.
Enter: the campervan dream.
Why a Campervan?
Well, for starters, we’re not exactly backpacking types. Nor are we made of money. Hotels and flights get expensive, and neither of us fancies dragging suitcases up flights of stairs at our age. But a van? That’s a home on wheels. A different view every morning, a fridge full of our own food, our own bed. And if we don’t like somewhere? We move.
Also, let’s be honest—Kevin likes his gadgets. Solar panels, fancy dashboard screens, an awning that (in theory) should fold away neatly but always turns into a battle. Meanwhile, Mary’s just happy it has enough wardrobe space for the “just in case” clothes.
Why Spain?
Spain was an easy one. Sunshine, good food, cheap wine. After years of Hull’s sideways rain and a sea that looks like it wants to kill you, it was time for a change.
Plus, Spain gets campervans. Loads of places to park up, great little coastal routes, and a whole culture of people doing the same thing.
And yes, Kevin was mostly thinking about tapas. And Mary’s convinced she’s going to learn flamenco. Watch this space.
Leaving Hull (But Never Really Leaving)
Leaving wasn’t easy. Not the city—the people.
Family, friends, grandkids. That’s the hard bit. We Facetime them regularly, even if Kevin still can’t work out how to unmute himself half the time.
We’ve got two kids, Emma and James, and four grandkids—Sophie, Max, Lily, and Ben. Telling them we were heading off on this adventure was met with a mix of encouragement and a bit of “what are you two playing at?”
We promised to come back regularly. There’s nothing like a Sunday roast at home with the family, after all. (And, let’s be honest, sometimes you just need a proper Yorkshire tea. Spain’s got a lot going for it, but they don’t get tea.)
Life Behind the Counter
The post office was our life for decades. We knew our regulars, we knew who had the best gossip, and we definitely knew who would come in moaning about Christmas stamps being released too early every single year.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was ours. We had laughs, we had long days, we had countless cups of tea with customers who had no intention of posting anything but just needed a chat.
But when the time came, we were ready to hang up the stamp books.
Meet “La Viajera”
Yep, we named the van.
“La Viajera”—The Traveller. Felt right. Took us weeks to find the right one, several arguments, a lot of YouTube videos about “essential” van features (spoiler: most are not essential), but in the end, we got one that ticks all the boxes.
It’s compact enough for Spanish roads but big enough that Mary doesn’t feel like she’s roughing it. Small kitchen, proper bed, and yes, swivel chairs, which Kevin is far too excited about.
It’s already been the source of multiple heated debates, mainly about who forgot to empty the water tank (Kevin) and who brings too many shoes (Mary).
Why This Blog?
Honestly? To keep our brains from going soft.
Retirement’s weird. You go from being busy every second of the day to suddenly having… nothing. Sure, we’ve got Wordle, but we needed something else.
So here we are—writing down our wins, disasters, unexpected detours, and whatever else happens along the way.
Mostly, we want to show that retirement doesn’t mean sitting still. You can still explore, try new things, and occasionally get completely lost in a Spanish town because someone (Kevin) insisted on taking a “shortcut.”
What’s Next?
Who knows? That’s the beauty of it.
Maybe we’ll find hidden gems along the Spanish coast. Maybe Kevin will finally learn Spanish beyond ordering a beer. Maybe Mary will master flamenco. (Or at least not trip over her own feet.)
Either way, we’ll be sharing it here.
So, if you fancy a bit of campervan chaos, Spanish sunsets, and two Yorkshire folk just figuring it out as they go, stick around.
Welcome to Camp España.