What it’s really like to live van life: The pros & cons of living in a van
Van life is epic. But it’s not what the pictures would have you believe.
A classic “freedom camp” (read, carpark) in Dunedin
Before buying a campervan, I couldn't drive.
But when New Zealand’s borders slammed shut in March 2020 and my travel options shrank to the limits of the country, I made the leap — after many white-knuckled driving lessons.
Having my own campervan gave me a new sense of freedom and desire to explore my own country.
I’ve now clocked up more than 15,000 miles on New Zealand’s roads, traveling alone and camping in my van.
Van life — or living out of a vehicle — used to be a last resort. Today, it’s more of an aesthetic fantasy for people disenchanted with the consumerist demands of the modern world. I dived into van life, boho cushions and all.
I’m a huge advocate for living in a van — but I’m happy to spill the tea on the realities of the lifestyle as well. Here’s what it’s really like, grit, grime and all.
What’s it really like living in a van?
I spent months living out of my van and working remotely along the way.
Honestly, living in a van can be challenging.
I love the outdoors, but even I find it hard to go without a shower for long periods of time. It’s also tough constantly thinking about where to park, when I can next charge my laptop, and how to eat healthy when cooking in one pot.
And when the weather turns cold, wet and miserable, all the fun is leached out of the campervan lifestyle.
Van living is not without its downsides, but the freedom and adventure outweigh the negatives for me.
The main challenges of van living
If you’re curious about van life, these are the things I found most difficult.
1. I admit it — I’m messy. So my van is chaotic
Search #vanlife on any social media platform and you’ll see aesthetically pleasing interiors lit by the warm glow of fairy lights, not a boho cushion out of place on the pristine couches.
Inspired by the vans I saw on social media, I decked out my first van out with flax linen bedsheets, bamboo memory foam pillows, and a full rose gold cutlery set. I had a tan and teal color scheme and it looked beautiful.
Until I started sleeping in it.
After a few days of traveling, my van looked like someone had turned it upside down and shaken it.
When you’re sleeping, eating and working in a couple of square meters, there is no logic to where things go or how you pack. Chaos reigns and I was mostly okay with that.
Some nights I spooned my half full hiking pack, because I just didn’t have the energy to tidy everything away before tumbling into bed and going to sleep.
Between sand, dust, damp towels, and everything else, my van was an unaesthetic mess from the moment I set off.
2. Keeping devices charged starts to feel like a second job
Between my laptop, phone, e-reader, camera and powerbank, I felt like I’m constantly monitoring battery life and frantically calculating how many minutes of work I can do on my dying laptop.
I have an inverter in my van as well as USB charging ports, so when batteries ran low I either have to drive for a while, or find somewhere I can feasibly sit for several hours while I charge everything.
Forget good coffee, abundant power sockets are my main criteria for choosing cafes.
Only the more expensive holiday parks and campgrounds in New Zealand have lounges where you can charge devices. They cost almost the same as a dorm bed in a hostel, so sometimes I choose to check into a hostel for a night, just for the hot showers and power plugs.
Which brings me to my next point.
3. Showering becomes very sporadic
Swimming in a river is the closest I get to a shower some weeks
Because I prefer small, nimble vans, I don’t have a plumbed toilet or shower.
In New Zealand, free public toilets are common — you can find them in nearly every small town, and by most beaches.
So, finding a bathroom isn’t often an issue for me.
Sometimes free camping spots are just carparks and don’t have a toilet nearby, so that means making a stop by a toilet before going to sleep and then driving to a toilet again as soon as I wake up.
Showers are more of an issue.
I’m going to be honest, I’m okay with not showering every day. But, I travel solo. This might be a different story if I had a partner in my van with me.
Most of the time, I swim in rivers, or shower in cold showers at public beaches, or even make do with a dip in the ocean.
DOC campsites sometimes have shower facilities, although they are usually cold. So every now and again, I’ll pay for a campground with a hot shower, or book into a hostel for a night.
Once in Nelson, I had lined up a date with a local guy. He very generously offered to let me shower at his place before the date, which was very open-minded.
I know that some van lifers swear by baby wipes, but my conscience won’t let me use them. It seems very wasteful to me to use wipes one time for a sub-par wash, when I can either splash myself with water from a basin or just go for a swim.
4. You have to constantly think about basic things — like finding drinking water
My morning coffee set up at a DOC campsite
Small things suddenly become constant worries when you’re living in a van.
Like always having a supply of drinking water.
You can drink water from the tap anywhere in New Zealand, and quite often drink from streams in wilderness areas too. So it never occured to me that having water on hand might be an issue.
But my van’s water tanks weren’t good for holding drinking water — the cheap tanks have an intensely plastic taste, plus the water sometimes sits in there for a while.
So, I had to start filling up a separate 10 litre water jug to make sure I always had some water.
If I stay in a DOC campsite, filling it up isn’t a problem. But in freedom camping spots, which are sometimes just a carpark and a public toilet if you’re lucky, taps aren’t always available.
5. Trying to work while living in a van is tough
A cafe in Dunedin where I worked for a few hours
As a freelance travel writer, I need internet access and somewhere to set up my laptop most days.
Technically, I could transform my van bed into a couch and table.
In reality, I was never going to invest energy into hauling everything out of my van, tetrising the bed and mattress into a couch shape, and piling my belongings back in again.
Especially when the resulting set up still involved me hunching uncomfortably over my keyboard.
When working from inside my van, I sat propped inside with my laptop balanced on top of cushions, or sometimes my chilly bin, in a vain attempt to correct my terrible ergonomics.
As well as bad posture, this make it hard to be productive.
When you’re working from the back of a van, or from cafes, or even from the occasional park bench, there is no way to do an eight hour stretch.
My work day looks more like doing a few hours from my van, then driving for an hour or two to find a cafe where I can park up for another few hours, then a last sprint in my van or wherever else I could find to open my laptop.
I sometimes sent emails from the drivers seat with my laptop propped on the armrest, because all available cafes had closed.
Some vans come with better set ups, but even with a power source and somewhere to sit, I don’t think you can realistically lead a productive work life from a van.
6. Wifi and mobile reception determined my destination, not the views
Setting off on my remote work odyssey, I felt free, untethered.
I could park up next to any beach I wanted and hotspot off my mobile data to work. Days into the trip I realized I was indeed very tethered to the presence of mobile reception.
Countless times I arrived at a destination only to realize it was a mobile black spot, and had to turn around and drive until I could get a few bars of reception, usually in a dusty car park far from the scenic vistas of my dreams.
7. Entertainment options are very limited
With phone and laptop battery power such a hot commodity, I ended up reading a lot. And with it getting dark around 6pm, I ended up going to bed by 8pm. Van life turned out to be a very quiet life.
It was even worse when it rained.
Whenever wet weather set in, I had to huddle in the back of my van, using my laptop until the battery died and then staring vacantly out the window, loathe to step outside and get wet because there was nowhere to dry clothes out except somewhere inside my van.
On rainy days, I ended up driving places just so I could crank up my heater and throw on a podcast.
8. As a solo traveller, van life can be lonely
I’m a constant solo traveller, and van life can make me feel even more alone.
I thought campgrounds would be full of other free spirited travelers, swapping smiles and van life tips over freshly brewed coffee in the morning.
Instead, I found campgrounds to be full of either retirees in giant motorhomes, or just people keen to keep to themselves.
9. In New Zealand, van life can be just as expensive as paying for rent
Giving the cost of living in New Zealand, I thought having my home, office and vehicle all bundled into one would be cost efficient. It wasn’t.
Because there were limits to my laptop battery, willingness to go without a shower, and patience, I stayed at campgrounds during the week.
Campgrounds cost between $15 and $25 NZD a night. On top of petrol costs, and the many coffees I had to drink to justify my extended presence in cafes, I pay roughly the same as I would for my shared room in Auckland.
10. It’s hard to keep up a healthy lifestyle while living in a van
With no fridge, storing fresh fruit and vegetables in my hot van is a pipe dream. Plus, doing dishes in a van sink is enough to put me off cooking. I eat a lot of sandwiches and crackers.
I ambitiously have a yoga mat in my van, the perfect addition to my free spirited lifestyle.
I rarely find a spot I want to unroll it though — grassy campgrounds, or carparks, aren’t really the ideal places.
11. Finding places to camp — and constantly having to think ahead — can be exhausting
Between having to find somewhere to park up each night, carrying out the time consuming admin of constantly trying to keep my van in order, and mapping out where my next mobile hotspot or wifi location was going to be, I don’t always get the chance to relax and enjoy the places I pass through.
If you’re living van life on the move, it can get tiring not knowing exactly where you’ll be parking each night.
Freedom camping spots in New Zealand are often limited and can fill up early, so you ideally want to be there by 3pm.
This can get stressful if you have a day of long driving or activities.
I travel alone, so I’m the only one making all of these decisions. Sometimes I wish I had a travel partner, so I could step back and let them take the physical and metaphorical wheel for a while.
Tip: If you’re planning on travelling New Zealand in a campervan, use Campermate or Rankers apps to find campsites around the country.
The things I love about living in a van
Don’t let the realities of van living throw you off, though.
Most of the time, I’m happy in my van.
There’s something wonderful about the freewheeling lifestyle, of having my bed and my kitchen with me wherever I go. It suits my nomadic lifestyle.
Every new horizon promises endless possibilities.
Even when I’m unwashed, eating hummus and crackers for lunch (again), and despairing at the amount of sand that has crept into my bed, I still love these things about van life.
Waking up next to the beach
Is there any better feeling than waking up metres from the beach?
I love rolling open my van door and going for a sunrise stroll along the beach, without having to drive anywhere.
It’s teaching me how to be more minimalist
When I first hit the road, I installed small pot plants in the back and bought pure linen sheets. In short order, the plants died and the sheets accrued some unidentifiable stains.
Don’t let the Instagram photos trick you into believing van travel is like living in a boho apartment on wheels. Most of the time, I'm piling things into any available space and doing my best to minimize sand.
Pack light and be practical.
Things that I've found are useful; a pocket knife, a five-liter container for drinking water, a good chopping board, and a fast-drying microfiber towel. Things that aren’t useful; a full set of cutlery, wine glasses, and different-sized plates. I use one bowl, one spoon, and a drink bottle, despite my well-stocked kitchen.
Thanks for reading this far! I hope this gave you an idea of what van life is like.
If you’re interested in exploring New Zealand in a campervan, you might find these articles interesting as well:
