Best family holiday ever: One man's ode to the campervan

It started for us 10 years ago, when our kids were four and two. Inspired by a dream family holiday to Europe two years before I was born, a torment of being the youngest child I carry with me to this day, I decided to make up for it with my own family.

We ignored the doubters who reckoned a toddler, in particular, would turn that confined space of a campervan into a travelling hell on earth. And we set off on a 4000-kilometre adventure around France and southern Germany.

It was an extraordinary success. The kids loved everything about the van and the campgrounds that awaited us in and around quaint villages and tourist towns.

We loved the ease of packing up and moving on to a new location every day. The relaxation of wine and cheese outside in the evening air when the kids were down to sleep.

We were hooked. And when we got back we let everyone know.

Since then we've plundered long service leave balances and bled our savings account to do it three more times. We've taken a campervan around Spain and Portugal (kids ages 6 and 8), Italy (9 and 11) and last year we blew off our pandemic travel cobwebs by returning to France and the UK with our 'tween and teen. Each time we come back and tell ourselves that was the last trip. "The kids are getting too big for this." "We can't justify spending that much money again."

Or can we? Because after a few short months back home, one of us will wonder aloud whether maybe we can squeeze one more in before it all becomes too impractical. And sure as greywater stinks if you don't empty a van's tank out, that wistful talk inevitably leads to us walking around a motorhome in a gravel car park somewhere on the outskirts of a European city, marking off on a diagram any dents put there by previous customers. And away we go again.

I'll be honest, the first time you find yourself in Europe behind the wheel of a seven-metre motorhome/campervan/autocaravana (never an RV, wrong continent) is a little terrifying. Not only are you in command of something quite huge, full of beds, bathroom, kitchen and lounge, you're doing it on the wrong side of the road. You do wonder whether you've bitten off more than you can chew. There is a certain stretch of autobahn just west of Frankfurt that will forever be the place where Dad Freaked Out just a little bit.

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But no matter how sketchy those first 20 minutes or so may be, soon you feel like you've got this. Soon, you feel as comfortable as if you're behind the wheel of the family sedan.

And then, the fun really begins.

To have been sitting up high behind the wheel of a motorhome with a month of holidays ahead of us and no fixed plans will be one of my life's fondest memories. Kids clicked in behind, trusty navigator of the road and life by my side, and adventure ahead. Even the highway road signs with the likes of Paris, Milan and Barcelona as far-flung destinations give you a thrill. "Should we go to ... San Sebastian?," I call out with a dramatic flourish. I'm completely ignored by the kids who are sitting behind with headphones, watching Cars 2 on an ipad. But yes, we do go to San Sebastian and eat pintxos and join the locals promenading along the beach and tell ourselves how damn lucky we are.

When people I speak to tell me they fear travelling with little ones and are waiting till they're five, six or older, I try to encourage them not to delay if they can afford it. In many ways, our first trip when the kids were small was the sweetest. Because we knew we couldn't go too far in any one day and had to fit in enough naps, we kept modest ambitions.

A typical day was spent as follows: picking up some fresh bread or croissants from the campground shop, then a couple of hours driving to a new destination.

Usually a campsite is walking distance to town or on a bus route, so we would make our way in to see some sites, before having a fabulous "menu du jour" (fixed price, two or three-course meal, often with wine included) in a town square, or we'd eat a picnic lunch.

After a bit more exploring we'd make our way back to the campsite for a couple of hours of the kids playing and the grown ups enjoying wine and cheese. Dinner would be a one-pot wonder pulled out of the freezer and cooked on the gas stove before stories and bedtime. Grown-ups would wind down with a game of Yahtzee, a glass of red and a bit of planning over the old-school Michelin map.

Repeat the next day. And the next. And the next.

The fundamentals have remained the same on the subsequent trips, though as the kids have grown up we've got more adventurous. In Spain, we were able to stretch them out into the evenings (Spanish night life doesn't start till late) by taking card games to play in a bar while waiting for flamenco to start, then coming home to the van late at night when the air had cooled. In Italy, we ran and tumbled giddily down the side of a volcano, and washed the black ash off in our teeny tiny shower afterwards.

In the Black Forest in Germany, as rain bucketed down, we sat cosily in the front seats in our riverside position, watching ships pass by through the afternoon.

While its purpose is to take you somewhere different each day, the campervan is far more than transport and accommodation. It's your constant, your home.

One thing I didn't expect on our first five-week trip was to hear how extraordinary we seemed to people. Other holidaymakers - especially Americans - would marvel at how a family could be away from work or school for so long.

Americans' holiday entitlements seem terrible compared to ours. They had to pack too much into too few days, and they envied us for our more leisurely pace.

And no one could believe it when we told them about being on long-service leave. The exoticism of our wildlife had nothing on that strange Aussie wonder.

In a way, this really reinforced the "why" of our trips. With such a luxury most of the planet can barely imagine, we feel almost duty-bound to make the most of it. And it's not lost on us how retirement dreams can be cruelly snatched away, so best not put all our eggs in that basket.

Our good fortune as Australians even seems to extend to how our schools regard travel. UK friends talk of being issued fines by their schools if their kids miss any term days due to family holidays.

We've politely asked the kids' schools to allow the kids to miss half a term. Principals and teachers have taken the view that travel teaches in its own way. And this is true.

Our kids now have a pretty decent grasp of history. When Dad comes up with a circuitous itinerary of Britain that deliberately progresses from neolithic (Stonehenge) to Roman (Chester) to Viking (York) to medieval (Warwick Castle), they broadly know what I'm talking about, even if they're not as excited as I might hope. They even impressed the tour guide at the Coliseum by knowing what that sponge on a stick was for (if you don't know, all I'll say is ew).

They're not perfect but they're generally easygoing in strange situations and adventurous with food. Black squid-ink pasta, roasted sheep face or even crab guts, they'll give it a go.

As a family, we love nothing more than cramming into the buffet seating of the van at night to play a card game or write down the five things that made that day special.

Through travel our kids are growing up rich in experiences and perspective, and our family is closer because of it.

Now all this is well and good, but what about the nuts and bolts of cost, people ask?

Well, even without all its many benefits, renting a campervan makes financial sense. While you might wince when you price the van for 28 nights or so (we paid about $5,000 for that stretch in France last year), you soon realise how favourably that compares to the cost of booking a hotel for a family of four for that many nights, not to mention renting a car or paying train fares. Plus, you shop at big supermarkets, saving heaps compared to eating all your meals out.

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You'll pay $30-$50 bucks for a pitch at a proper campsite, but there are also ways to stay safely and legally for free or very little in many places.

But even if it wasn't significantly cheaper, the main advantage is how much easier your trip will be. During shoulder seasons - we always travel in September/October - you'll almost never have to book ahead for a site. In most, you'll be able to rock up and have your pick of the pitches.

This flexibility is gold. You can stay on an extra night if you really like a place, or heed a tip from a friendly old Dutch couple about a great town they've been to that you'd never heard of.

Or you do what my mum and dad and siblings did way back when and visit local tourism offices, pick up some brochures and decide where to go next. What was a vaguely planned route when you left Australia takes on its inevitably different shape that way.

Our battered Michelin maps, with routes inked and highlighted, now sit on the bookshelf as treasured souvenirs. They're occasionally pulled out and pored over with the campervan-curious visitor; the preaching tool of the campervangelist.

Only a few friends have so far actually taken the plunge, which is a pity, but no one said the conversion business was easy.

As the kids transform into long-limbed teenagers, the campervan is becoming a crowded space for the four of us. We hope we have one more big trip in us, but, with the sense of sadness parents go through as their kids grow up, we know this chapter of our lives is drawing to a close.

But how sweet it's been. While our finances would look a lot healthier without these trips, they've been the best investment we've ever made. Even to this day, we draw down on the experiences. We pull out our spending diaries and mentally reconstruct this or that special day. "What was your favourite day of the trip?" we ask each other.

Because of their pace, perhaps because of the simplicity, campervan trips stay with us in a way other holidays have not. And it's why our retirement dreams most certainly take us back there, perhaps driving in convoy with the kids and grandkids.

Even if we won the lotteries we never enter, our desires would never get much more extravagant than a campsite with a nice view and a hot shower. If I can be lucky enough to be an old bloke making small talk with another old bloke as we do our dishes at the camp kitchen someday long in the future, I'll be happy.

And here ends the sermon.