VanGo!
The idea of minimalism has always appealed to me in concept. The idea of making due with just the few essential items that one needs or wants and nothing more is quite attractive. I have gone through multiple bouts of organizing and decluttering, and though I am fairly well organized and have (mostly) avoided hoarding old newspapers and such, I still have a lot of material accumulation. I am not talking about valuable paintings or a garage full of classic cars, but more sentimental items that I can’t bring myself to get rid of, or backup parts for things that might get lost or need to be replaced but probably won’t.
For example, a few years ago one of the little rubber feet for my stand mixer went missing, causing the mixer to wobble back and forth on the counter like a table in a cheap bistro. I could only find a full set of five available for purchase and though they were not expensive, I still have four left sitting in a drawer against an unlikely future in which I lose another of those feet. You know as well as I that as long as I have those spare parts, the feet are secure. The moment I throw them out, one will disappear. Of course, Marie Kondo says toss ‘em; they don’t ‘spark joy’. “If you need another, buy it again,” but my frugal side won’t permit this.
So I have come to enjoy what I think of as short-term minimalism in the form of travel. In 1986, Barbara and I hopped on board a People Express flight ($99 D.C. to Brussels) and began a 16-month trip around the world with just a backpack each. Inside were all the clothes we would need for every kind of weather, sleeping bags and pads, a tent, a cook stove, and a set of pots. This kit took us from the sweltering heat of the Negev Desert to below freezing temperatures at the top of Mt. Kenya.
More recently, I have been determined to never fly anywhere regardless of how long a trip with more than will fit in an overhead bin. I’ve spent a month in Israel with a carry-on bag.
Now, as Barbara wraps up her final months of regular employment, we are beginning to prepare for the ultimate road trip and the question of exactly what we should, what we can, take with us is at the fore.
In case you missed it, back in the summer of 2020, we were shopping for a camping solution. My old bones do not enjoy sleeping on the ground as much as they once did. Truth be told, they never enjoyed it all that much. We looked at tiny teardrop campers, Casitas, truck slide-ins, and even old VW Hippie Vans. None seemed quite right for us. We didn’t want to tow something and my conscience won’t allow me to drive something that has horrible fuel economy, even when, at the time, gas was around $2.25 a gallon. (Our Honda Civic gets 45 mpg on the highway.)
As we were preparing to drive home from a long visit with the kids in Colorado, we stopped to check out the work of a guy we’d found who converts Toyota Sienna minivans into Campers. He calls his company Oasis Campervans. One look and we knew we had found our solution. We drove home, bought a used Sienna and drove back to Colorado. Three weeks later we had our camper.
You probably know what a Toyota Sienna is, maybe you even have/had one. It is the classic soccer mom car. But though it is roomy for a car, as an RV it is, well, compact. Our has room for us to lie down at night and for the two of us to sit at a tiny table when in ‘day mode.’ Under the rear hatch there is a ‘kitchen,’ though for safety we have to move the stove out to a table to cook. But, our ‘RV’ drives like a car, parks like a car, and it gets 27 mpg on the highway. Not as good as the Civic but also not shameful.
So far, we have traveled the length of New York State (with Barbara on a bicycle and me following along) and to Maine and back. This summer we are planning to go a little further afield by driving to Alaska.
Yes, it’s really far.
The distance and the length of time we will be on the road, means we need to be very thoughtful about what we bring. We have limited space and we just can’t bring it all. Decisions must be made and many of these go to the heart of my identity.
For example, I have decided that we will leave behind the handblown glass Chemex Coffee brewer with which I prepare my coffee every morning, replacing it with a folding silicon pour-over filter holder that can make coffee directly into an insulated bottle. Less clear is whether I can survive without a coffee grinder, and drink pre-ground coffee for the duration. It would save precious space, but pre-ground coffee? Yikes! And is it even possible to make coffee without a kitchen scale?
And those are just the issues around coffee! Still in question is the exact make-up of the rest of our batterie de cuisine. Should we bring the cast iron skillet AND the stainless-steel pan or just one of the two? Can we manage without a whisk? How many saucepans are required? What spices are essential and what can we live without. How much Diamond Crystal Salt is enough?
Clothes present similar questions. The number of changes of underwear determine the days one can go without finding a laundromat. But the more changes of clothing, the more space they take. We need clothes for all weather. Alaska is wet and even in the summer it can be cold. We also need bulky items like hiking boots, rain gear, day packs and, of course, assorted computers, iPads and various technology. Room must also be found for bedding, pillows, lanterns, fuel for the stove, and a reasonable amount of reading material.
I actually love this process. I have often said that my favorite parts of travel are packing the van before the trip and unpacking it when we get home. I am joking, of course. Somewhat. I think I am not alone in the joy I feel arriving home after a long trip. But there is something challenging, even exciting, about the process of considering what you really need and what you can do without. Each item is carefully considered. Is there something smaller that can replace it?
Of course, we can buy anything we need on the road but to me, buying something, even something inexpensive, that we already had but left at home represents a kind of failure, even if it is just a bottle of aspirin. I wasn’t as prepared as I should/could have been.
A friend who once owned a Sienna but no longer does offered me the old roof carrier still inhabiting his garage. It is tempting. We would be able to fill it with all kinds of items that we might need. It would dramatically expand the room for ‘just in case.’ But I am trying to avoid this. A roof carrier would no doubt lower our gas mileage a bit and feels like something of a cop out. It would also slightly detract from our stealth as a campervan.
Departure is still more than a month away and there are still many weeks to whittle away at the supplies to pack and unpack many times to see exactly where each item should go.
Travel is the best of both worlds. It’s an opportunity to rough it. A chance to understand what possessions are most essential to your comfort and happiness, all the while knowing you will eventually return home where all your spare parts live, where you never have to commit to just one skillet, and where your coffee will always be ground just before brewing.