How Van Travel Cured My Road Rage

Now, I’m not usually one to lean on stereotypes—but behind the wheel of my beloved Fiat 500, I liked to think I could pass for Italian: stylish, impatient, and always ready to gesture dramatically in a traffic jam. Fabio and I covered more than 100,000 miles in our ten years together, and while I can recall every road trip, I’d long stopped counting the moments my temper got the better of me.

Enter my new prized possession, a 2009 reg transit van named Zelah. A little rough around the edges with an oil leak to boot, I’ve been forced into this slower paced travel style; a few miles an adventure within itself.

While many are quick to throw around so-called terms of endearment (hunk of junk springs to mind), there’s something oddly romantic about crawling along the M5, never quite making it past 60mph.

Not only have I let go of my need-for-speed, F1-wannabe ways, but I’ve also handed over the keys—literally. I’ve never been one for the whole ‘passenger princess’ thing, but once the control-freak reflexes cooled, I found myself starting to enjoy the view, watching the world drift by, one hedgerow at a time.

Of course, it’s not all plain sailing—or should I say, driving. In the nine months I’ve owned Zelah, she’s had her moments. Even after some expensive TLC, she threw a tantrum halfway to Cornwall, leaving me stranded until 3am while the AA played knight in high-vis armour. Still, there are worse places to wait than your own kitted-out van, dozing off between rescue updates.

In a short space of time, Zelah and I have clocked up some serious miles—returning to my home-from-home in Falmouth, exploring a slice of Scotland, ringing in the New Year in the New Forest, visiting family in Manchester and Kent, and road-tripping to weddings in Gloucester and York. We might not be the first to arrive, but having the option to simply open up the back doors and watch the world slowly wake up from the comfort of a cosy bed is something I’ve come to cherish.

Though I’m by no means ready to become a full-time van-lifer, weekends escaping the city to slow down and reset—whether it’s a leisurely drive to a wild camping spot on the cliffs or a lovingly prepared stovetop coffee at a quiet park-up just a few miles from home—have been my salvation during a turbulent adjustment to London life. Who would’ve thought a beaten-up van could be the cure to years of road-induced angst?