Jennifer Sheahan: I love my microcamper, but it’s not always a bed of roses

From noisy neighbours, changeable weather and a ban on dogs, it's not all smooth sailing on the road.

A quiet spot in a Bordeaux vineyard campsite before noisy neighbours arrived.

Last summer we took off on a last minute campervan trip to Carlingford. A lot of the campsites were full but we found a space in a busy beach site. The pitch beside us was taken but the occupants were out for the day. We set up camp, delighted, and headed off for oysters and Guinness.

We came back to chaos. The neighbours had returned, in numbers and in flying form, and they were not for quietening down. Two dogs yapped endlessly, there was relentless shouting, and every time we tried to sit down someone stumbled over to strike up a drunken conversation and try to poke around our campervan. Hints were not received. There was no hope of sleep. We gave up.

Enjoying oysters and Guinness in Carlingford.

We packed up and drove home, with no other spots available that night. Perhaps we could have found something if we searched hard enough but it was after eleven and the thought of unpacking again was too much.

I have written plenty in these pages about why I love touring around Ireland and beyond in my little Nissan Serena micro-camper, and I stand over every word of it. I love it. But it’s not all sunsets and sea-swims.

You can’t choose your neighbours

Carlingford was an extreme case and I’ve never had anything like it since, but a campsite is an ever-changing village of new neighbours that you have no control over. In my experience, most camping neighbours are a dream. Campsites are generally full of fun, sound people who also want a good night’s sleep.

You have to put in the work to find the good wild camping spots.

But occasionally there are loud parties, noisy generators, or a guitarist whose enthusiasm outstrips their talent (everyone shhhhh…). One time an otherwise lovely Italian family parked up right beside us in a vineyard campside in Bordeaux and blared bright lights while making a very noisy dinner at eleven p.m. (which smelled unreal, somehow making the situation worse). There’s no fix for it. Just try to find a secluded pitch, and bring ear-plugs.

Rain rain rain

If you go outside in Ireland, you’re likely to get wet. It is what it is - we’re not made of sugar, we dry off. It’s the aftermath that can be an issue when camping equipment comes into play. Due to the tiny nature of my microcamper, I have a driveaway awning that I erect when I’m staying any longer than a night. It’s the Vango Tolga, one of the smallest and neatest on the market, but taking it down in the rain is a total pain in the boot. It means it must be dried out properly when I get home, and there is no way to do this in my tiny house that doesn’t involve taking up half the available space.

Putting up the awning tent is fine until it rains.

Having an awning is invaluable for adding living space, and I’m happy with the one I have, but my advice is to get the smallest one that you can and have a plan for where to dry it out if needed. Do NOT leave it wet - it will grow mildew and eventually rot.

A grand stretch

Once you’ve hiked, swam, walked the dog, swam again, and burned the sausages, it may only be around six or seven p.m. If you’re in good company, and especially in good weather, this can be the best part of the day, featuring unbeatable chats around a campfire or pints in a local.

If you’re solo, or it’s miserable out, you’re really just sitting in a van in a field, waiting to be tired enough for bed and wondering if you should maybe just drive home.

A great fix is to choose campsites that have communal spaces, or that are close to a village. Failing both, bring entertainment. Books, board-games, cards - even a tablet for cosy movies.

Freedom ain’t free

The image I had when I envisioned buying a camper was taking off at the drop of a hat and waking up to a seaside sunrise. The reality is that campsites can fill up fast, some don’t take bookings and are full when you arrive, most are seasonal, and many car parks do not allow overnight parking or vans over two metres. My vision is possible, but you do have to spend time getting to know the good wild camping spots and prepping in advance for anywhere else.

Small is mighty… restricting

The best and worst thing about my campervan is the size. I love that it fits on my tiny street, and in car parks, and that it’s easy to drive, and that I can use it as a regular car. It doesn’t look like a camper, which is a huge advantage. But small means no living space. If I want to get changed, or hang out, or go to the loo, I must either exit the vehicle or set up my awning tent. It’s an easy one to set up, as they go, but it’s still twenty minutes even with two people.

No dogs allowed

I always want to bring Perry camping, and I usually do. He doesn’t enjoy driving, but he loves it when we get there. Frisbee on the beach is his favourite thing. Not every campsite takes dogs though, and taking one with you limits your available activities. 

Perry and his frisbee on Derrynane beach.

You can’t just leave them in the car on hot days, so if you want to dine indoors, or wander a gallery, or you end up near a dog-free beach, it can really restrict your movements. On balance it’s still very much worth bringing your furry pal, but some planning is required.

There are a lot of chores

Water in, waste out, tank clean, battery checked, gas canister full, bed made, bed unmade, boot unpacked, tent set up, washing-up done, wet clothes drying, tent packed away, rubbish bins located… It can be hard work, honestly. I usually don’t mind though, because I quite like the forced slow-down that all these tasks require. It’s relaxing, unexpectedly. But not as relaxing as a spa hotel with room service.

That said…

It’s definitely all worth it. Just go in with your eyes open.