It’s 2am on Christmas Day 2020 and I’m driving rapidly north through Italy. Just a few hours ago, I dipped my hand into the cool Mediterranean waters at Italy’s southernmost point in Sicily, marking the completion of my Italian Grand Tour – 100 marathons in 100 days, 4,216km from northern to southern Italy, running on foot.
The idea was that we – me, my better half Nikki and our one-year-old Vizsla pup Poppy – would spend Christmas in Sicily, before heading to the Alps. But a second wave of pandemic restrictions has changed those plans and now we’re racing across the borders of Italy’s 20 regions as quickly as they go into lockdown. It’s akin to the parting of the Red Sea.
Miraculously, that day we make it to the mountains, where we camp down for the next four months. But even if we hadn’t, it wouldn’t have been so bad, because we’ve brought our home with us – the van that I’m driving.
Poppy inside the van a few weeks after Nick and Nikki moved into it
© Nick Butter
French Alps, winter 2020
© Nick Butter
Hooking up with other nomads at the Dolomites on the Italian Grand Tour
© Nick Butter
Nick and Nikki with their kitted-out Mercedes Sprinter
© Nick Butter
Man’s best friend…
© Nick Butter
Today, in 2022, the world has opened back up, but I’m blessed to have never really been locked indoors. I’m parked just a stone’s throw from Newquay’s Fistral Beach, working on my latest book, Running Britain, which chronicles my post-Italy endeavour: a record-breaking 100-day, 200-marathon run around the British coast last year. Fistral is my base when I’m not crossing countries and continents. On a clear day like this, it’s all golden sand and blue sky as far as the eye can see. And it’s the place where I park my rolling home.
I moved into the van in November 2019. Having just completed my Running the World expedition [a marathon in each of the 196 countries in 96 weeks], I felt that I didn’t want to be confined by four walls any more. I also felt I didn’t need them. My van – a Mercedes Sprinter with a high, extra-long wheelbase – isn’t fancy, but it’s robust and reliable. My brother is a brilliant carpenter and he converted it, purpose-building all the storage cabinets for me. We named the van Christopher, after him.
I like to swim in the sea every day, but for today’s routine here in Cornwall I’ve added a run, some paddleboarding and a three-hour gym session. I’m in the flow of my ‘Fit in 50 Challenge’ – spending 50 weeks working with fitness-research specialists who are performing monthly health checks on me, including blood tests, 3D body-mapping, DEXA [bone density] scans and testing my VO2 max [the maximum amount of oxygen the body uptakes during exercise], to help me better understand how to get the very best out of my training and which will hopefully be useful to others, too.
I’m also trying to strengthen my body for future trips. I’m planning to run north-to-south through New Zealand, so I need to be on top form. I’ll be taking the van and Poppy. She likes to keep up with me, although I’ve recently trained her to hop into a specially adapted stroller when I’m on a particularly long run.
All packed up with everywhere to go
© Nick Butter
Inside, I have everything you’d expect to find in a conventional home. A hob and grill, fridge-freezer, hot shower… I even have dimming lights and a pizza oven in the back. On the roof is a TentBox that pops up to create an ‘upstairs’ space with another double bed, stretching the sleeping capacity to six. We’ve fitted a solar panel on top of it, so all our power is sustainable. One thing I love is the LPG heater. It’s efficient, quiet and heats under the bed, sending warmth to your toes when you’re making tea on the stove
Living in the van gives me flexibility and freedom; being able to just pack up and go is invaluable. In a few weeks I’m off to do some running in Spain, France and Portugal. That said, my van does more than just get me from A to B; it allows me to connect with nature in a more immersive way. What most people don’t see about being in a van is that most of your life is spent outdoors – you have the doors or the roof open, you’re climbing in and out to go running, or you’re by the beach – so you spend very little time inside it.
It’s also a cheap way to live. When I want to travel, I have to pay for fuel, but if I stay in one place it costs me nothing – everything is powered by solar. I’ve met a lot of like-minded people who’ve travelled the world in their van. Being part of that community is so enlightening – you hear about their adventures and exchange ideas for a better van-life experience.
I’m often asked if there are any drawbacks. I’ll admit, I’d like an extra cupboard or two to just chuck things in. When you have limited space, every cubbyhole counts, so you either use something or it goes. Not every day is Instagram perfect, either. Although there are some amazing #vanlife shots on social media, they don’t illustrate the more pragmatic side of living on four wheels.
You can’t always stop within sight of the ocean and you may have to stay in a supermarket car park for the night. But it also doesn’t matter – when you’re safely cocooned in your camper with the blackout blinds pulled down, you can forget where you are. I’ve frequently woken up trying to remember. Then you have a check out of the window and half the time you’re right, half the time you’re not.
I only think about safety when I leave the van, because my whole life is in it, and especially if I leave the dog inside. In Italy, we got broken into a couple of times, but I frequently go to sleep with the door unlocked, sometimes even open. What I’ve learned from travelling the world is that 99.9 percent of people are good.
It’s an unconventional way to live, but knowing you have a paddleboard at the back, a surfboard on the roof and a stove to make hot food makes life reassuringly simple. And nothing beats lying in the bed and looking up through the huge overhead skylight. When the weather is warm, you can climb through it and lie on the top deck. At night, it’s a very special thing to be able to gaze at the stars and drift off to the sound of the waves. There really is no better way to sleep.