When I set out on this trip, I expected it to be a mostly solo adventure peppered with visits from old, steadfast friends. But as often happens, fate had other plans—and those plans came with European plates and a high-top Vanagon. Enter Mathilda and Jonas, who have become integral to my journey, turning what I thought would be solitary into something wonderfully communal.
We first crossed paths back in Ontario at Busfusion. There they were, sitting outside their unmistakably European van, leisurely enjoying breakfast while everyone else frantically packed up. It was my first positive impression of them—kindred spirits who knew the value of savoring the moment. A shared affinity for slow mornings and bad luck bonded us further when we met again at the water station. They had a spillover issue in the van just as I lost the bearing in my water inlet and the heavens opened up for a downpour. We all stood there drenched and laughing at our shared misfortunes. Mom and I invited them to park in our Lake Simcoe driveway if they ever needed it, and off we went on our separate routes.
Fast forward to San Francisco, where serendipity struck again. There they were, Mathilda and Jonas, in Sausalito, miles away from Ontario but as familiar as ever. After catching up, I kicked off with the famed 17-Mile Drive, a route so manicured it’s basically a supermodel of coastal roads, while they by-passed the fee and drove a free road. The drive is stunning, yes, but also outrageously expensive for what amounts to permission to use a public road. Don’t get me wrong—the ocean views, cypress trees, and stately mansions were worth seeing, but I couldn’t help wondering why all the wealthy homeowners lining the route needed to charge me to look at their backyard. If crowd control is the goal, might I suggest a free booking system instead of highway robbery? That said, I’m glad I splurged even if Mathilda and Jonas got the last laugh as I grumbled about “scenic toll extortion”.
Our coastal adventure hit its stride with stops along Big Sur. We camped by beaches, including one conveniently next to what might be the most famous Taco Bell in existence (seriously, it’s oceanside with a patio—what even is this place?). We crossed the iconic Bixby Creek Bridge, where it’s impossible to even take a bad photo. We explored Pfeiffer Beach, where the sand has streaks of purple, making it feel like something out of a fantasy novel.
Then there was the Henry Miller Memorial Library—part bookstore, part shrine to the famed author, and all heart. It’s a quirky, offbeat stop nestled in the woods, where time slows down and you can almost hear the whispers of literary, cinematic and musical ghosts. We lingered, as one does in such places, soaking up the art, history, and general weirdness of it all.
Traveling with Mathilda and Jonas means embracing the rhythms of the ocean. As surfers at heart, they scoured the California coast for the best waves, while I ventured into the communities dotting the shoreline. While they were paddling out to catch the big one, I was catching glimpses of how the other half lives—and what an eye-opener it was.
Newport and Laguna Beach were the highlights of my “luxury van-lifer” experience. I parked Shevanigans on streets with jaw-dropping views of the beaches below, wedged between multi-million-dollar homes. It was the closest I’ll ever get to living the high life, though my one-pot propane stove dinner brought me squarely back to earth. Luxury at its cheapest!
At first glance, some of the homes on the waterfront in Newport seemed… dare I say, affordable? Quaint, even. Then I walked around to the beach and realized I was only seeing their front doors. The real estate equivalent of an iceberg, these “quaint” homes were actually five-story mansions cascading down the cliffs like architectural waterfalls. Naturally, I assume the owners secretly envy me and my compact Vanagon life. Who wouldn’t?.
That theory was almost proven when I stumbled upon a couple on a date night in a classic VW bus parked in front of a million-dollar home. Fairy lights twinkled, candles flickered, and wine glasses clinked through the unmistakable aroma of steak in the air. I couldn’t resist interrupting their idyllic scene to ask if it was okay to park overlooking the beach at night. Turns out, the guy owned the house behind the bus but preferred wining and dining in his VW. See? I rest my case. He assured me I could park anywhere, confirming that van life really is the pinnacle of glamour.
Wandering the streets of Newport and Laguna felt like stepping into a real estate magazine. The homes were over-the-top, the Halloween decorations even more so. One house had a graveyard with animatronic zombies popping out of the lawn—because why not? At night, the interior designs were on full display, backlit by chandeliers bigger than Shevanigans herself.
In Laguna, I hiked the appropriately named “Top of the World” trail just in time for sunset, gazing out over the rolling hills and ocean. If I were a rich woman, I’d probably still live in my van, but I’d park it right there. The Halloween extravagance made me a little homesick for my own spooky traditions, but I decided to set my sights on celebrating Mexico’s Day of the Dead instead. A new goal and a new deadline—van life thrives on loose plans and festive excuses.
After soaking up California’s beach vibes, Mathilda, Jonas, and I reconvened inland at Splitrock Farm, a vanlife community in Fallbrook that redefined the meaning of “rustic charm.” This place wasn’t just a farm—it was a melting pot of four-legged friends and fascinating humans. Alongside dogs, goats, sheep, and llamas, the farm boasted a potbelly pig who decided my van was his new hangout. Finn, giddy with the swine invasion, had to be restrained while I attempted to explain that potbelly pigs aren’t plush toys. Alongside the domesticated animals, snakes slithered into view now and then, and we discovered crazy spider-ant hybrid creatures that walked straight off a sci-fi set.
Here we stayed a couple of nights. Between shopping trips and checklist-making, we tackled the installation of my shiny new DC-to-DC charger. Mathilda, a seasoned pro by her third installation, guided me through the process like a solar sensei. Jonas lent his brute strength to crimp the heavy-duty cables, performing the task with only minimal sarcasm (a miracle, truly). Shevanigans is now equipped to charge her lithium auxiliary battery while driving, ensuring I’ll never again have to devour everything in my freezer after a couple of cloudy days. Progress tastes like properly preserved frozen foods, folks.
In this short time, we met a stellar group of campers who had spent significant time in Mexico. Their advice became our treasure map, filled with tips on where to camp, what to eat, and things to do. Megan and her incredible rescue dog named Karl (honestly, how can you not love a dog named Karl?) hosted a farewell bonfire for us, complete with a taco buffet, roasted corn, and other culinary delights that made the evening feel downright magical. There’s something about sitting under a sky full of stars, surrounded by laughter and the warmth of a fire that makes you believe the world is all warm fuzzies.
What started as a chance meeting in Ontario has grown into a friendship that feels like it’s been there forever. Mathilda and Jonas bring such a sense of calm and joy to the journey, and their humor and warmth make every campsite, every meal, and every pit stop richer….and then, quietly at dusk, a Sprinter van rolled up. Out stepped Spencer, a Colorado escapee with an easygoing demeanor and a twinkle in his eye that screams, “adventure awaits.” By morning, we had declared Spencer a part of our convoy. What was a van duo — is now a trio, ready to tackle the border and beyond.
Strangers becoming friends is one of the best surprises travel has to offer.
See you in Mexico!
Sheilagh, Finnigan and Shevanigans