The journey from cursing bloody caravaners to becoming one of them

When the initial high wore off on our maiden voyage – and I realised how slow we were going – I had to swallow my rising panic and remind myself that being slow was actually the point.

Bloody caravaners. Virginia Tapscott would curse them all the way from Mount Isa to Narrabri. Picture: iStock

Bloody caravaners. I’d curse them all the way from Mount Isa to Narrabri. We’d do the 1800km journey from the Isa to our home town in two days – overnighting in swags on the back of our ute parked unceremoniously at a rest stop on the side of the road. At the end of every overtaking lane, at every bend in the road with double white lines, there they’d be. The smug rear end of a Jayco or Millard chugging along enjoying the journey while I had somewhere to be.

Maybe deep down I was envious of their leisurely pace and luxurious mobile living areas. Their ability to pull over, have a few quiet sundowners, a nice dinner, then lock the door before snuggling down in a nice, comfy indoor bed. The caravaners and their freedom, their slowness in a world of lead-foot drivers, really made my blood boil. So nobody is more surprised than me that I have now joined their ranks.

I used to pass the time stuck behind a caravan by guessing how much their set-up cost and how much fuel they were chewing through. I’d then calculate how many international holidays they could have bought instead of a caravan. Or how many nights they’d have to use the caravan, rather than stay in a motel, for the investment to pay for itself.

Then slowly I began to see that caravanning was about more than avoiding motels. It was a lifestyle choice. It’s an attraction to being self-contained and self-reliant, the ability to go anywhere. Almost like softcore doomsday preppers on holidays.

I’d always enjoyed camping and the outdoors so I waded into the second-hand caravan market. I swore we were only browsing. Several years passed and we grew increasingly tired of wrangling tents, packing eskies and swags. Cramming two days of driving into one. We did our research and finally took the plunge.

After years of camping, Virginia Tapscott and her family finally took the plunge into caravanning. Picture: Getty Images

Our maiden voyage started out with us showing our new-found solidarity with caravaners by waving at every one that passed us. When the initial high wore off and I realised how slow we were going I had to swallow my rising panic and remind myself that being slow was the point. I watched the other holiday-makers whiz by in their rush to get somewhere and felt the curtain slowly being lifted on a secret caravaners had known all along. If we are stuck in a constant state of getting somewhere we miss the life that is happening to us in the here and now. For many people, caravans are not just a home away from home – they are a life away from our busy lives. A portal to a situation where we can’t help but be in the moment – where the journey is the point.

After a few extremely convenient and comfortable roadside breaks, I was a born-again caravaner. The true test of my commitment to the cause was letting the kids christen the caravan toilet in the full knowledge I would have to somehow get the sludgey slush out again. After a few stops at public toilets that were heaving with people, ransacked and running out of toilet paper, I decided it was time to use our portable sewerage system.

Beyond the excitement of doing a poo in the caravan, the kids wholly embraced the home on wheels and the adventure of it. It was a reminder that home for them was wherever we were and exploration was second nature for kids. For once they could not wait to snuggle down in their own bed.

Caravanning forces us into the great outdoors much more often than home living, particularly if the kitchen is outside. We felt closer to the stars at night. We rode our bikes in the countryside that was usually a blur out the window.

A camping site by the Darling River in Australia. Picture: Getty Images

It was with great trepidation that I did what thousands of caravaners do every day – emptied the contents of the toilet cassette into a communal toilet dump. I held my breath and squinted my eyes as I lifted the blue hatch, terrified of what I might find. Rather than a splattered and smelly faecal crime scene, a brown anaconda slithering out from the dark drain, I discovered I’d been to less sanitary public toilets and got to work.

The willingness of people to get this close to being splattered by poo on a weekly basis is testament to the sheer enjoyment of caravanning. The number of caravan or RV owners has jumped 21 per cent since 2019, according to Tourism Research Australia. The joys of having a home on wheels are not so secret any more, with caravans in almost a million driveways across the country. It seems the busier modern life gets, the more we try to escape it; the more we push back against the pressure.

Before we left on our first trip I worried I was more attracted to the idea of caravanning than actually caravanning. That the reality wouldn’t match the Instagram aesthetic of the caravanning families I follow. That it wouldn’t be as fun as I’d imagined it to be or, worse, we’d have some kind of disaster riddled-journey reminiscent of Russell Coight or National Lampoon’s Griswolds.

Turns out it’s one of the rare examples where reality exceeds expectations. It’s really just that good. Sure, there is a bit of work involved – still a bit of setting up and packing up. It’s not for people who believe a holiday involves lying on a beach for a week straight. But for anyone who enjoys the outdoors and camping, it’s camping made easier and more accessible. It makes camping more realistic for families who have a bit more luggage. For parents who realise they can’t simply roll out a swag and survive a few days on beers and sausages as they might have done in their youth.

By far the best part of having a caravan is not getting stuck behind caravaners any more. If you can’t beat them, join them. Unravel the mystery and see for yourself why caravaners are so smug. Become a bloody caravaner.