Change. For some, a scary thing. For others, a necessity. Proof to their souls that they are still alive.
Freedom. For some, simply normal. For others, the most radical act of their life.
“Are you happy Vendulka?” My uni friend Ivo asked me a few days ago when we met on my journey up north. “There are ups and downs on a daily basis, of course. But when I zoom out, I am living a dream I wasn’t even able to dream before.” I answered. “That’s good.” He nodded and smiled and we continued walking.
Like migratory birds flying south for winter, knowing they can fly back north once it’s over. That’s us.
Winter in Fuerteventura, geographically almost in Africa, was beautiful. Slightly different from previous winters as we had many rainy days, and because of that our volcanic sandy island turned green. Even many locals said they had never experienced such colours. A truly unique experience.
“But still, it was not green enough” that thought popped into my head just now as I look outside through the window of my VendaVan at this magical, lush, wild forest in the heart of a Finnish national park. One of many here.
Yesterday I drove for many hours from the middle of Finland, where I had been teaching, down to the south for the upcoming Midsummer Agility Fest. I knew I probably wouldn’t reach my destination as it was already late when I hit the road. I had no idea where we would sleep and somehow that uncertainty felt so good. So liberating. One of the reasons I had been dreaming about the vanlife experience in the first place.
Because the world is our garden.
In Finland, because of Everyman’s Right, a concept in Nordic countries (like Finland, Norway, and Sweden) that allows the public to freely access, hike, and camp on public and private land, you can find incredible places like I am staying right now, almost around every corner. The core principle is “do not disturb, do not destroy”. Deal!
The best part about vanlifing here in general? You are mostly alone out there.
I have to admit that after a few summers here, I am becoming a little bit Finnish.
Yes, I do like my space.
Yes, I do like my solitude.
And yes! I have even reached the point where I can admit that something I used to say as a joke to my Finnish friends has become my own mantra: the best neighbour is no neighbour.
But how did we actually get here this time? That was the topic I wanted to write about. So here we go.
Long story short.
From Fuerteventura to Finland. From almost Africa to almost the polar circle. 7,000 km in 2 weeks. It felt as crazy as it sounds.
5,500 km on the road.
1,500 km on the sea.
6 countries.
4 ferries.
And many, many hours behind the wheel.
It was already the fourth time I had done such a long drive in such a short time. Honestly, I don’t know if it was because I’m used to it by now, or because this time I tried to go for at least one hour’s walk every day, or simply because I feel really at home in my VendaVan, but this time, even though it was exhausting, it just felt so good.
Our journey started on Monday when we drove to the south of Fuerteventura to be there for an early morning ferry the next day. We went for a long walk, and a long swim as the south of the island is one never-ending beautiful sandy beach — our European Caribbean, as my sweet friend Eva, who joined us for this “ocean liner – you have to experience at least once in your lifetime” experience, called it.
The ferry left at 6:30am for Gran Canaria, where we walked along the northern shore for three hours before boarding the boat to the mainland. 42 hours across the Atlantic. Hasta la vista, Baby.
We walked so much because we knew the next two days would mean limited movement. Limited, in reality, to two main routes: cabin – restaurant (three times a day) and cabin – doggie toilet deck (also three times a day). Sisu didn’t like to stay on the deck longer than necessary. It was too dirty, too smelly for her taste. Eliot, on the other hand, found the whole thing overwhelming and was always happily rushing back to the cabin, to the bed, to sleep as soon as possible.
There are two ways to travel with your dog on boats between Spain and the Canaries. Option one, the one that we did, is a pet-friendly cabin where up to two dogs can stay with you the whole time. Option two is putting your dog in a room full of cages. In my view, something like a doggie prison. You don’t want that.
After two days on the boat, we arrived in Huelva, on the Spanish mainland. Hallelujah. Three days through Spain followed 36°C madness, and VendaVan without AC was simply not the best match. I don’t usually fancy AC, but there are exceptions. This was one of them. Fresh fruit and vegetables, plenty of olives and olive oil, and breathtaking scenery as the landscape shifts from the desert-like south through central Spain to the green, mountainous Basque Country, where you finally reward yourself with pintxos and the most extraordinary French-style potato and egg tortilla. I even went to tell the chef. I felt he should know it was the best tortilla I had ever had. He was touched.
The good feeling that gave me reminded me: giving a compliment should be my daily bread. It’s free, and it makes two people feel good, the one receiving it and the one giving it. More compliments. More often.
Crunchy baguettes and pain au chocolat for breakfast. A country full of cows, cheese heaven, endless vineyards, pine forests, and small historical villages that make you feel you’ve travelled back in time. Welcome to France! We crossed this beauty over three days.
“You have to try our French fries!” my Belgian friend Pilou, living in Fuerteventura had told me. So I did. I stopped at one of the many friteries along the road. Those are small kiosks where everything is fried, but mainly chips. The one I randomly walked into was run by two guys from Kurdistan. We got talking.
They were political immigrants. “I studied economics and management back home. Then I protested against the regime and ended up in jail for four years. And now look at me — frying chips in Belgium.” one of them told me when I asked what brought him here.
It was a very quick stop. But it made me think for a long time. I finished my fries, hugged both of my new friends, thanked them for sharing their story with me, got back in the car, and continued north.
Freedom. Privilege. Possibilities. Am I even realising how lucky I am?
The next day I drove through Germany and stopped near Düsseldorf to meet my uni friend Ivo, who has been living there for a few years. I have always thought of him as one of the most positive people I have ever met. “Ivo is smiling even before he opens his eyes in the morning,” a mutual friend once said, back in 2007 when we all lived together in the university dorms. We hadn’t seen each other in years, but after two hours of walking and talking and hugging goodbye, we agreed: we hadn’t changed much. In the best possible way.
We slept in Travemünde, where we caught an 8-hour ferry the next morning to Malmö, Sweden. The highlight? Sailing under the Øresund Bridge — that extraordinary structure that starts as a bridge over the sea and then disappears beneath the surface into a tunnel. We had driven over it back in 2018 on the way to the Agility World Championship in Kalmar. This time we went underneath. Same same, but different. And still kind of magic.
Two more days of driving brought us from southern Sweden to just above Stockholm, to Kapellskar, where we took our last ferry of this journey. Driving through Sweden is like driving through a forested fairytale. You just can’t take your eyes off nature.
Europe is magical. Every country has its own language, its own traditions, its own style. Different people, different food, different nature, different everything. If I had to describe those two weeks in one sentence, it was like going to the cinema for a very long, very colourful, very emotional film. How much does the ticket cost? It’s priceless. And still available to everyone.
And wheheeeey, the unreal become real, after the nine hours and thousands of islands that are part of Åland and Sea Archipelagos on the way through Baltic Sea between Sweden and Finland, we finally got to our final destination.
For now.
I thought about that man in the friterie for a long time after I drove away. He protested for what he believed in. He chose his freedom so fiercely it cost him four years of his life. I was simply born into mine. And somehow I sometimes forget that.
How lucky I am.
With love and gratitude
Vendula
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