If you listen to BBC Radio 2, you may have heard me on the Jeremy Vine show last year, extolling the virtues of towing a caravan for your summer holiday.
These little homes on wheels we pull get a bad rap, don’t they? Much maligned on the roads, caravans are oft-called “wobble boxes” and receive eye-rolls from other drivers speeding past on the motorway.
But I pity those who don’t know or don’t understand the many joys of camping in a caravan, for they will never feel the utter elation and deep sense of satisfaction that I get every time I finish my set-up and sit down with a cold beer in hand.
This charming van
My own caravan is a charmer. She turns heads on the roads – and sometimes on campsites, too – as she’s a tiny, 30-year-old Eriba Pan Familia with a retro little pop-top and curved corners. She looks like the lovechild of an Airstream and an old model VW campervan, and at just two-by-four metres inside, she’s a cosy little queen.
She has no toilet or shower, and I’m yet to find a caravan awning that will elegantly fit her old-fashioned, 180cm-high rail, but for three months, she was my home as I travelled Scotland in search of the best dog walks and paws-friendly pubs, for a guidebook I’m writing.
I have parked up on some cracking pitches. One of the most enchanting was on the shores of Loch Lomond, where, after pushing the caravan into position on my own in the middle of a heatwave, I was able to strip down to my swimmers and dive right into the loch mere metres from my pitch.
The dog watched with a look that said, “Don’t even think about trying to get me in there.” He’s more of a land lad than a salty seadog – or lochdog, I should say.
In Ayrshire, just a few hours’ drive from Ardlui in Loch Lomond, I stopped to camp at Culzean Castle. I think that this Camping and Caravanning Club Site is one of the best caravan sites in the country, located on a hill within a National Trust for Scotland estate which boasts sandy beaches, a fine castle and some excellent Victorian architecture.
Early birds catch the worm
The early birds definitely catch the worm here; take a wander and you’ll have the splendid beaches and lawns all to yourself.
Add to this the fact that Ayrshire has some of the best sunsets in Scotland and that many of the pitches at the campsite look out across sloping farm fields towards the ocean, and you’ve got a recipe for a truly spectacular break.
Dusk views from my caravan’s panoramic front window were so utterly mesmerising, they made me feel tipsy.
In Invergarry, meanwhile – a tiny village set within the Great Glen between Fort William and Fort Augustus – I checked into the family-run Faichemard Farm Campsite.
My pitch was right next to the toilet block – always a welcome experience, because my Porta Potti and toilet tent set-up isn’t ideal in high winds – but it still felt incredibly remote and wild.
A small pond glowed green with algae and aquatic plants behind my caravan, and I was surrounded by trees and tall grasses.
Unexpected visitor
On my very first evening, hiding away from the rain in the Eriba, I was shocked to find a deer traipsing through my pitch, snaffling grass as it mooched.
I held my breath, got my camera, and quietly stepped out of the van to capture the beautiful moment.
You’ll be relieved to know Arty the dog remained peacefully asleep under a duvet, otherwise it could have turned into a very different kind of evening.
Of course, it hasn’t all been complete bliss. There have been days when it felt like all I was doing was constantly tidying up after myself. It’s a continuous game of ‘stuff Tetris’, tidying things away so I can cook, tidying things away so I can sleep, or tidying things away so I can tow the caravan to our next destination. Then comes the great re-tidy when you arrive.
I’ve got my set-up down to a 30-minute mission, so I am usually settled in my chair with a drink by 2pm. But that doesn’t negate the sheer physicality of it all.
I’m not lamenting the caravanning lifestyle. All of the tidying, pushing and pulling the van into position, setting up my Isabella sunshade, lowering the legs or battling with the tow plugs for the car while sitting on gravel that embeds itself in your knees, is its own kind of mindfulness. In these moments, I am unreachable.
My phone is elsewhere, my mind is on the task, I am at one with my inner camper.
Sure, my Eriba is a small caravan – and feels even smaller when the weather turns. But over those three months, she begun to feel very much like home.
On those rare evenings when I’ve stayed away from the caravan, with friends or in hotels I need to review for my guidebook work, I have missed the patter of drizzle on the roof, or the tinkle of zips on the pop-top as the breeze pushes through the canvas.
Heard it on the Jeremy Vine…
During the Jeremy Vine show segment, a campervanner was employed to counter my arguments on why caravans are so brilliant. While the freedom of a layby is occasionally enticing – I’ll admit to feeling a little envious of the motorhomers and van-lifers enjoying seaside park-ups in Arran – there’s nothing that will turn me away from my caravan now. Not even an en-suite loo.
Follow Lottie on Instagram @lottiegross
If you’re considering buying an 8ft-wide tourer, see how Peter Baber got on when he towed the UK’s first 8ft-wide two-berth caravan to the New Forest.
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