The last two summers have broadened my horizons, it was my introduction to the world of campers. A six-metre van with a kitchen, toilet, shower, bike garage and air conditioning - the full package. I've been following the vanlife scene for a few years now and, as an unsullied newcomer, I have my first steps behind me. My original expectation: the great freedom and total independence that the scene proclaims with relish.

Everything is forbidden and the scene is full of spitballs

But then I quickly realized: wild camping is forbidden in the Alps. In fact, everywhere. The search for a suitable pitch was often an annoying spit-and-polish route between night parking bans, threats of fines and traffic noise. The vision of great freedom turned out to be an illusion. As a camper, you are either cheeky or you always have a sinking feeling in your stomach. Or you stick to the official pitches and campsites. And here comes insight number two: I have rarely come across so many spitters as in the bus scene. I was regularly reprimanded by my peers because some detail didn't meet their expectations. Even on pitches in the great outdoors. I remember vans around which a fence was erected. The only thing missing was the garden gnome or the wobbly dachshund. The coolness of the hippie bus has nothing to do with the reality I experienced.

The crux of the toilet

And then there's the issue of the toilet. Most campervans don't have one, so you have to relieve yourself behind the nearest bush. This is actually an unacceptable mess. In my case, the campervan had an integrated high-tech wet room with electronic flushing and an airtight seal. But the sealing didn't always work, the bag often tore, sometimes there was no water left in the tank or I accidentally rode over the full disposal bag. An intimate friendship between me and the mobile toilet never really wanted to flare up.

But I also discovered a great camper highlight: the fridge. It's a great way to grab a cold beer and antipasti straight after the tour. And then a second and third bottle, because you don't have to drive anywhere. Until perhaps the village policeman comes around the corner and points out the camping ban. But we've already covered this topic.

About cheaper...

And then there's the issue of your wallet. If you only have the purchase of a campervan to consider, you'll realize on the other side a good 500 nights in an upscale hotel standard. With this contingent, I can make it through the next 15 years or so. Or to put it another way: if you want to save money, book a hotel.

In summary, my first time as a campervan was not love at first sight. But I'm giving this relationship another chance. Because there were lots of funny moments. I met original and interesting people as well as the skewers. And I've always slept in my own bed linen. The advantages are undeniable. However, my flair for great hotels remains unchanged. A nice boutique room with a large bathroom and a secure bike cellar with a socket for my empty e-bike are still at the top of my list of requirements.

More blog posts by Thomas Giger

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