Two years ago I embarked on the maddest journey of my life. Having driven just a few hundred miles with my 1997 Eriba Pan Familia previously, on 27 February 2024 I left the UK on a very soggy Tuesday with the dog in the boot and my dad in the passenger seat to begin a 2500km road trip in the caravan.
My dad and I have always had a good relationship – we have plenty in common, from ale-drinking to our avid Radio 4 listenership – but a solid month in a small caravan measuring two-by-four-metres with no toilet or running water was a whole new test. We’d never spent an entire month in one another’s company before, and we really didn’t know how we’d fare.
Bonding in Bordeaux
As it turned out, we had a wonderful time – for the most part. We arrived in France after the short Le Shuttle crossing (see: how to register a caravan for Europe if you’re thinking of doing the same) and drove an hour to our first site in the Hauts de France region. It was rustic, to say the least, with no toilet block and not a staff member to be seen. We picked a pitch, unhooked the van in the pouring rain, and immediately got the heater going to take the bite out of the 8°C temperatures.
After a short battle to get the gas working and a quick wild wee behind an activity shed by the lake, we were settled in with a bottle of Bordeaux from the local bar and a pre-made chilli con carne that had us warmed up in no time.
This was a sign of things to come, as we bonded in each new place over the local booze on offer – strong beers in the Loire, sparkling wine in Catalunya – and we ate like champions, either cooking local produce nabbed from a market or ordering takeaways from the campsite bar (the seafood paella at Vilanova Park near Barcelona was the best). We walked for miles, threw the ball for Arty the dog on countless beaches, and had caravan picnics at motorway aires like we were long-time caravanning pros.
The ups came alongside downs, of course, and it wasn’t all easy going. We damaged the jockey wheel within the first few days while driving through France, but found a supremely helpful campsite maintenance man in San Sebastian who could bash it back into shape for us. And our first week on the road was plagued by driving rain and gale-force winds up to 70mph – a little unnerving when your pop-top feels as though it might fly off.
The three days I spent groaning in the caravan bed with food poisoning was perhaps the most challenging time. With no loo on board and a small, demanding terrier in our party, it’s safe to say I was suffering. But this grim moment in time turned into another bonding exercise, really, as dad stepped up and looked after me as he had once done when I was a child.
After I’d spent six months caring for my dying mum two years before, it felt heartening to be cared for by a parent again. Of course, next time, I’ll just wash my hands better after handling the raw chicken and avoid the whole situation.
Too many cooks?
Despite all that, we got into a pretty good groove while on the road, making every day an enjoyable adventure despite the close quarters in which we were living. Dad and I managed to fall into a natural routine in the van.
On arrival, for example, I always set up the pitch and began the great unpack of the van while he took the dog for a sniff about the site (don’t miss my seven must-have accessories if you’re caravanning with a dog). And it was always his job to turn the gas on and off before cooking, or to run the bin bags down to the refuse area. If you split up the jobs as equally as you can, it seems life in a small space becomes far more enjoyable.
This goes for the cooking as well – they say too many cooks spoil the broth, but I say too many cooks in a tiny caravan spoil the experience for everyone. My advice? Take it in turns – nobody wants an argument where sharp knives are out.
While I’ve never been one for grudges or bad moods, I’ll admit to occasionally becoming irritated with my dad – we operate at different speeds, mine being 100mph and his a leisurely, retiree-style ‘20’s plenty’. But for this trip, I had to learn to let that irritation go, else it would put a dampener on every day. And so I waited patiently when he took an hour to have his morning shower, and I let go of my innate desire to rush around.
I slowed down, chilled out and let many more things go as we travelled. I’m certain we both took this attitude. The only thing that really irked us was that brutal so-called ‘Eriba kiss’ – the bang on the head as you exit the van without concentrating – a small price to pay for the fun of adventuring around Europe in a little caravan.
Don’t miss what I had to say about my biggest caravanning misconception either, as I thought it would cost less than holidaying abroad. You can also take a look at why I find towing empowering, too.
You can follow Lottie on Instagram at @lottiegross
Images: Lottie Gross
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