Van Life
I wanted to write about something I think is really cool, kinda gross, and extremely fascinating; van life. Did you know that people live in their vans? I definitely didn’t. They aren’t homeless or broke. They weren’t evicted from their apartments or booted out of their parents’ homes. They chose to set up camp in their cars. And it is so sick.
I moved to San Diego from the bay area, a hub for mindless fast-fashion shopping, overpriced food, and bougie happy hours. Life revolved around money — and spending it. As far as vans go, they were pretty much non-existent. People weren’t using them for their daily commute, let alone sleeping in them. The only vans I saw were for house cleaning and critter control businesses, or run-down ice cream parlors on wheels.
Fast forward almost two years and I’m living in sun-soaked San Diego. Life is different here. Slower, warmer, more (for lack of a better word) chill — and absolutely crawling with vans.
In fact, my first experience with a boy in San Diego involved a van. I remember stepping outside my apartment to meet him for our first date, and there it was. Huge and white in all its glory; a sleek, speedy, sporty VAN. Scratch that. The van was far from sleek. It was a $2000 buy on its last legs; torn seats, bumper dents, roll-up windows and all. But I loved that van, and still do. The inside is built out with a bed where my (now) boyfriend and I spend nights snuggled up beneath the stars listening to waves crash just steps away. Sometimes it sits strategically parked walking distance from the bars in Pacific Beach — a haven that we drunkenly stumble to after a night of dancing and boozing. I love that van, and the incredible (and sometimes reckless) adventures it’s brought me.
BUT, would I live in said van? That’s an entirely different question.
There’s a lookout above Swami’s beach I go to quite often. Concrete benches line the cliff that overlooks one of the most popular surf breaks in Encinitas. I like to stretch here after my runs, take my coffee and soak in the sun, or just sit and watch the waves whenever I’m bored and don’t feel like being inside. Swami’s is known for “van people.” They park their vans at the lookout to surf, strike up nonsense conversations, and play music on bongos and harmonicas when the sun sets. They’re some of the happiest people I’ve ever seen. And they live in vans. VANS! It’s an acquired taste, that’s for certain, but the kind that leaves a delightful tingling sensation on your tongue.
To me, van life means more sunsets, more travel, more seeing, more LIVING. It means forgetting, even if just for a few months, a few weeks, or a few moments, the mundane and repetitive life that so many of us have fallen victim to. It means forgetting, and cruising down the coastline, and bonfires, and surf sessions, and scrambled eggs on a portable stove, and making memories to remember.