Right. So, we bought a campervan.
No idea what we were doing. None. We’d barely wrapped our heads around the difference between a motorhome and a campervan before we found ourselves knee-deep in research, drowning in YouTube reviews, and arguing over whether we actually needed a toilet on board (Kevin: yes, Mary: we’ll manage).
There were so many options. Tiny little vans that looked like they’d barely fit a suitcase, massive ones that felt like they’d need their own postcode. And then we found our van—a Peugeot Boxer Elddis Autoquest 196. A mouthful, yeah, but a beauty.
Why This One?
Six berths. For just the two of us. Bit mad, but hear us out.
- Space. A lounge area big enough for actual relaxing, not just perching on the edge of a bed.
- Proper kitchen. Kevin’s still convinced he’s a chef.
- Drop-down bed. No messing about with setting up sleeping arrangements every night.
- Solar panels. We liked the idea of going off-grid, until we realised that also meant no hairdryer.
- Reversing camera. Essential, because otherwise we’d still be stuck in a car park somewhere in Hull.
And we named her Wanderlust. Bit cheesy, but it suits. She beeps at us constantly when we forget to close cupboards, and Kevin has already managed to set the smoke alarm off making toast.
Leaving Hull (Sort Of)
Packing? Absolute chaos. You’d think we were moving to Mars. Spare fuses, four different maps, an emergency stock of Yorkshire Tea, Mary’s entire wardrobe (which, somehow, does fit).
The hardest bit was saying goodbye. We’re a close lot—family all live within two streets of each other. Emma and James, our two kids, came round with the grandkids for a proper send-off. Lots of hugs, a few tears. Sophie, the eldest, drew us a map of Europe with “SPAIN” circled in red, in case we forgot where we were going. It’s now proudly pinned to the campervan wall.
Our mates at the local pub did us a proper farewell meal. Lots of toasts, lots of bad jokes about us going full hippie, and a general consensus that we’d last about three months before missing a proper Sunday dinner and coming home.
They’re probably not wrong.
The Ferry Fiasco
First stop: Hull to Rotterdam. Getting the van onto the ferry was… a moment. Kevin had a mild panic about whether it would actually fit. The loading staff—who have probably seen every kind of panic-stricken driver alive—just waved us on like it was nothing.
Once on board, we found a cosy (tiny) spot to sit and watched Hull disappear into the distance. Mix of excitement and slight panic. Then the North Sea kicked in. Seasickness.
Kevin, in his wisdom, had decided that five pints of Guinness would “settle the stomach.” It did not. The man was gloriously wrong.
Rotterdam: Where We Learned We Are Idiots
We made it! First night in the van, parked up at a lovely little campsite just outside Rotterdam. Spent the evening figuring out how to actually use everything (Mary: “Did you read the manual?” Kevin: “What manual?”).
Next morning, we set off to explore Rotterdam. Lovely city, completely different to Hull. Clean, modern, full of cyclists who will run you down if you so much as blink the wrong way.
We wandered around the Markthal, picked up some stroopwafels (yes, very necessary), and admired the Cube Houses. Then, driving back to camp, we passed a sign saying “Eingang.”
“Ooh, that must be our campsite name!”
No. Eingang means entrance. We very nearly drove into a service road, thinking it was our campsite. First day abroad and we were already making fools of ourselves.
What’s Next?
From here, it’s Belgium, France, then finally crossing into Spain. Loose plans, zero clue what we’re doing, but that’s the whole point, isn’t it?
If you fancy a bit of campervan chaos, unexpected detours, and two Hull folk trying to make sense of Spanish road signs, stick around.
See you down the road.