The Wave-of great importance

One of the most important things to know about Kombis


A VW CAMPERVAN STORY PLUS 'THE WAVE'

A great story of Vincent courtesy of The Observer
NO VAN ORDINAIRE



A campervan is transport, hotel and kitchen rolled into one. Antony Barnett, a long-time devotee, introduces us to Vincent, the fifth member of his family, and the arcane lore of the 'VW wave'

Sunday July 22, 2001
The Observer

First a confession: we call our VW camper van Vincent as in Vincent 'Van' Gogh, geddit? Oh well, it was my wife Sally's idea anyway. Vincent, our only vehicle, has been a fully-fledged member of the family for five years but the summer is when he comes into his own.
If we're fed up with overheated city life, then we stock the fridge up with food, bundle our two kids into the camper, turn up the stereo and head off down the high road to a beach in Devon or a campsite in the New Forest. And, best of all, if we feel like moving on the next morning, we can pack up in an instant and look for greener pastures elsewhere.

My five-year old daughter, Alice, and two-year old son, Arthur, love Vincent. They love clambering into the double bed in his pop-up roof, unzipping the canvas windows and peering out on to the beach or field or whatever bit of land will be their home for the next few days.

They love watching Dad - and occasionally Mum - cook on the two-ringed gas stove that lifts out of the wardrobe and eating round the collapsible table that folds out from the floor to feed four.

They love Vincent's spare wheel bolted to the front blue exterior and they love his smile (he does, honestly).

OK, so he struggles to do more than 60mph, accelerate up hills or keep us warm in the winter but do Renault Espace owners call their vehicles Roger? I doubt it. And I bet they don't make curtains for their side windows out of Rajastani bedcovers either.

VW campervans or Kombis were people-carriers before people-carriers existed or were called MPVs. But invest in a VW and you're buying a lot more than an engine, a set of wheels and enough backseats to drive a tribe to the out-of-town multiplex cinema.

For a start, there's the wave. VW campervan owners wave when they pass one another. I'm not really sure why or who started it, or even if it's an entirely legal manoeuvre, but once you're behind the wheel of a VeeDoubleUer you're part of the unofficial club whether you like it or not.

Sally and I joined up in March 1997, a few months after Alice's first birthday. Although we knew it was time to buy a sensible family car, we just couldn't bring ourselves to. We had met travelling through Asia and a VW campervan seemed to sum up our spirit at the time. So we spent £3,000 on a then 23-year-old blue VW Westfalia campervan.

Our first trip came that Easter. Some friends were camping at Llanthony Priory, the twelfth-century crumbling Welsh abbey in the heart of the Black Mountains and, eager for our first trip in Vincent, we decided to tag along.

It was somewhere up the M4 that I got my first taste of the waving malarkey. I noticed the driver of a green campervan on the other side of the motorway flashing his head-lights and waving at me with a strange grin on his face.

'God, who's that mad man?' I asked my wife. 'I think he's just being friendly because we're in a VW,' she replied reassuringly.

Twenty minutes later, it happened again. Another VW campervan passed, another driver smiling and another wave. By the time the next oncoming VW was spotted, I was already prepared, flashing my lights and waving back like a lunatic at some stranger just because he was driving the same vehicle as me.

Over the years, my waving technique has changed, particularly after being in Cornwall a number of times where every tenth vehicle is a VW campervan and waving too enthusiastically is definitely unhip as well as hazardous. My wave now involves gently lifting the index finger of my right hand from the steering wheel and simultaneously nodding my head at a slight angle to the right. I think this is fantastically cool, although my wife tells me I look like I've got some rare muscular disease and my daughter, Alice, asks if there is something wrong with my neck.

Still, driving home from a long trip when it's late, dark and wet and spotting a flash of lights from a fellow VW Kombi travelling in the opposite direction, a certain bond connects over the crash barriers, lifting the spirits for an instant. Yes, yes, yes, I know this sounds stupid, but it's true, believe me.

Over the last five years, we have had some great family holidays in Greece and Italy but some of our best memories have been with Vinnie the Van in France, Ireland and around the British coast.

Our first trip to Llanthony Priory holds particularly special memories. At any time of year, the Priory is a magical place, with its medieval cantilever arches set against a backdrop of Offa's Dyke. But it was made even more mystical by the fact that the Hale-Bopp comet was blazing a trail through the heavens above.

With Alice asleep in her buggy, Sally and I returned to the van after a few drinks in the Priory's intimate vault-come-pub. We converted the back seat into a double bed with a simple pull and snuggled in with our daughter. Shutting all the curtains apart from the one over the back window we lay staring up at Hale-Bopp strutting his stuff across the star-spangled night sky. It was one of those perfect moments we will always remember.

In the morning, our friends in their wet tents woke to a ground frost and a struggle to get their damp stoves alight, but we stayed snug in our van, boiled some water on the stove to warm milk for Alice and make coffee while listening to The Archers on the car radio. Never before had Eddy Grundy sounded so full of charm.

Over the last few years, we have found some great boltholes within three hours of London for weekends, but one of the best features about campervanning is the sense of freedom you get on longer holidays. If something is not right, you can just pack up, turn the ignition and off you go. The summer after we bought Vincent, we decided to head to France and booked the overnight ferry to St Malo. We didn't really have a plan as such - one of the great things about having a camper - but thought we'd head towards the south Brittany coast and find somewhere nice to stop.

It had been raining for days in England and, sure enough, as we arrived the rain had followed across the Channel. By the time we arrived in Carnac, the rain was torrential, so we headed south down the Atlantic coast looking for a break in the clouds.

Several hours later, after a few waterlogged stops, we were closing in on Île de Rànear La Rochelle which the Rough Guide told us has more days of sun per year than the Cote D'Azur. But there was no sign of that golden star in the sky, just bucketfuls of rain teeming down on the boats in the harbour. So we carried on heading south until, exhausted and damp, we hit the Dordogne at about 9pm. For the next three days, it rained solidly and despite my lack of French I became well versed in reading the weather chart at the back of Le Figaro which told me the whole of Europe was under black clouds and half of Germany was flooded.

Yet in the Wednesday edition, a little soleil was depicted over Cognac, providing us with a ray of hope. So we packed up, leaving the Eurocampers in their stationary, leaking canvas homes and headed north to the birthplace of RÃÂÂmy Martin and Hennessey. And, sure enough, when we got there the sun was shining and the cognac was flowing. On that trip, we also made it back to ÃŽle de Ràwhich was by then living up to its billing with the sun beaming down.

We fell in love with the island, in particular the capital, St Martin, and it's a great place to take a VW. We've been back on a couple of occasions but each time we travel via different routes, stopping off wherever we like. Last time, we managed a long weekend in Carnac and on the way back enjoyed a few days on a great site in the Loire Valley.

So there you are. A few words that will either whet your appetite for owning a VW or put you off for good. It's either in your blood or it isn't.

This summer, we're heading down to some of our favourite secluded spots in Cornwall, which I don't want to spoil by revealing to too many Observer readers. But if you feel the urge to buy a VW, are heading that way and drive past a blue V-reg camper with the driver lifting a finger and nodding in a strange way, then please wave back.

Excellent story Warren.

Yeah that was great Warren .

So inspiring.