Drawn to the #vanlife? Travellers share the joys (and realities) of the endlessly open road

For many people, the lure of van life, with its promises of endless travel, abundant nature and minimalist joys, is the stuff of Instagram dreams. But while the glorious freewheeling possibilities can’t be denied, there are less hyped sides that aspiring nomads should know, from the planning involved to the not-so-cheap costs — a reality you’d hear from even passionate van lifers.

Several years ago, Kira and Logan Moore, both 36, sold their bricks-and-sticks house in Squamish, B.C., quit their jobs and bought a van. Their goal was to turn their 2015 Roadtrek Zion into their full-time quarters, decorating it with the postcards they’d collect along the way.

To date, their home-on-wheels has enabled them to tour 46 national parks, with southern Utah’s “Mighty Five” among the most jaw-dropping. They’ve seen places that would’ve been otherwise inaccessible, including wild, untouched stretches of the Northwest Territories only reachable by winter roads and ferries. “The pleasure and joy and simultaneous discomfort and constant uncertainty is the gift we gave ourselves,” the two wrote in an Insta-post celebrating their three-year “vanniversary.”

The couple are far from alone in their endeavour, which allows them to travel readily (pandemic restrictions notwithstanding), live basically and eschew many of the stresses attached to a traditional 40-hour workweek and mortgage.

Similarly, Amanda Shale, 36, decided “it was time to stop working myself sick” to pay bills. Instead, the van lifer from Vancouver Island says she’s striving for “housing autonomy,” and is happy to pick up odd jobs like foraging and picking fruit, while developing her YouTube channel.

For her, van life is a means to access simple joys, like being able to ramble in forests, splash in lakes and listen to birdsong. She doesn’t often venture outside B.C., but admits, “If I could afford the gas and could get my van reliable enough, and maybe some way to have heat in winter, to explore more of Canada, I absolutely would.”

Shale’s concerns underscore the fact that RV living isn’t, of course, free. Along with the costs of food and fuel, there are car payments, vehicle repairs and more.

Self-described adventurous spirits Cheryl and Jeff Rothwell, 38 and 39, recently settled back down in Ontario after a “two-year vacation” on the road. They’re expecting a baby and were worried they wouldn’t be able to afford a house on land if they waited too long. They were content to put down roots again, given the rising costs of van life.

“We did a lot of research before we started and really thought we would save money. But as the nomad lifestyle becomes more and more popular, everything involved keeps getting more and more expensive,” Jeff says. Take park fees, for one: They’ve risen so much, they sometimes cost as much as a hotel room, the couple notes.

In many respects, the lifestyle is happy-go-lucky, with no work commuting, no rigid scheduling, and unbounded free time for hiking, reading or just being in nature. But it still involves decision making — it’s not totally fly-by-the-seat-of-one’s-pants.

There’s no avoiding the more mundane details: “Where are we going to sleep? Where are we going to get water or dump our tanks? Are we going to get gas and food?” Kira asks. Even so, the Moores can’t wait to get back on the road, with their sights set on getting down to Central and South America, and potentially renting a van in another country, too. “The travel bug is still alive and well,” Kira says.

Tyler Wickens, 25, and Meagan Teodoro, 26, both “wandering souls” from Toronto, are nine months into their van life. So far, it’s taken them westward, where they’ve watched the wondrous sunrise at Banff National Park, paddled the turquoise waters of Lake Louise and driven the scenic Icefields Parkway.

Their philosophy is “Less house, more home,” and while residing inside an 80-square-foot space inevitably requires sacrificing some comforts, they say the good outweighs the bad, no contest. They have no desire to return to their past lives, he as a carpenter, she as a flight attendant.

Instead, they’re working on a business plan around van builds (they’ve documented their own vehicle upgrades on their Instagram, @biglittle.van). The endeavour will be both a means to earn money and to give back to the van-life community they cite as instrumental in inspiring and propelling their journey.

There’s quite a supportive community online, but Kira stresses that social media has “done a bit of a disservice in painting a pretty picture of epic views, shining interiors and cute couples living that sweet van life.”

Even with the realities, the Moores say they’ve relished almost every minute of their journey, which has taken them all the way to the opposite coast. “We fell in love with the Maritimes,” Kira says. For the couple, the road remains open, with no end in sight for the unexpected.

The Star understands the restrictions on travel during the coronavirus pandemic. But like you, we dream of travelling again, and we’re publishing this story with future trips in mind.