Life lessons learned in the back of a van during a trip to Ibiza
- Maddie Luchsinger
- Jun 11
- 7 min read
Lessons I learned from that time I camped with someone I'd only known for a few weeks in Ibiza — an island I'd never visited — as someone who had only ever been camping once.
Before we dive in to my trip to Ibiza, let's back up: It's March of 2023, and I'm staying in a hostel in Paris. The price was right, the vibes were great, and it left a little to be desired in the way of cleanliness, but I met friends who would change my life forever. Two, to be exact, but this one is about a very special friend we'll call Belle (that's not her name, but in the words of Raye: "I'm just tryna be respectful.").
Belle and I hit it off, for several reasons. Her plans changed drastically on arrival, so she was looking for something to do, and since she had previously lived in Paris — and I was open to having my personal tour guide — we spent a lot of time exploring together. She also had to work during the day, so she was accommodating of my schedule (we spent a lot of time in cafes, and walking to cafes).
Belle and I walked around Paris together for 4 days, and she gave me some solo travel tips I still use to this day. When it was time for her to leave, I was a little devastated. So, naturally, four weeks and five cities later, when she asked me if I wanted to rent a van and camp in Ibiza, I said, "Of course I do."
Had I ever camped out of a van before? No. Did I pack for this two month trek across Europe expecting to camp at any point? Also no — in fact, I packed to work my cushy remote job. Did I know Belle well enough to agree to sleep in a van parked at isolated beaches for 5 days? Arguably, probably not.
To this day, I think of this side quest on my journey as one of the most important experiences of my life. Here's are the lessons I learned in the back of a van, driving across Ibiza:
1. The things people tell you about yourself don't have to be true.
Ultimately, I think this lesson is something I've taken away from solo travel in general, but it smacked me in the face in Ibiza. I was — well, to put it nicely — a somewhat neurotic kid. In fact, if you google "neuroticism," that's more or less how I spent my childhood. I was anxious, hyper-vigilant, and probably coping with undiagnosed ADHD. I didn't act out as a kid, but my anxiety, perfectionism, and fear of change were common themes. Don't believe me? I used to sort my t-shirts into "approved to wear to swim practice" and "never wear to swim practice" piles.
I won't sit here and say, "I grew out of it," because in many ways, I didn't. I just developed coping skills. But those coping skills sometimes went unnoticed by the people around me. Hearing, "Oh, you wouldn't like this," or "You could never survive that," wasn't uncommon in my life. It's not that anyone was trying to be nasty; if anything, the people I cared about felt like they were watching out for me.
Once you've heard a story so many times, you start to believe it, and I wasn't an exception to this rule. But if there's one thing about me you should know, it's that I love to do cool things purely out of spite — which is how I ended up in that van in the first place.
At the end of that five days, the narrative I believed about myself changed. Somewhere deep down, I must have known what other people had to say wasn't true at all.
2. You can't pass judgement without giving it an honest shot.
Our first full day in the van sucked. It was terrible. I couldn't drive the van, and Belle had a hard time maneuvering it at first. It wasn't our van, so figuring out where to find things we actually needed was hard. We didn't really know where we were or where we wanted to go, so we ended up driving around aimlessly. In an effort to find a beach, we hiked over a mile just to find a cliff face. And, to top it off, the public beach bathrooms we expected to have access to were all closed, because we decided to kick off this adventure a week before the official season.
When we did finally manage to get ourselves to the sea, the weather got a little chilly. We eventually convinced ourselves to get in the water... only for me to be immediately stung by a jellyfish.
As we fell asleep that night, Belle asked me what I'd rate our first day. I think I landed on a 6 out of 10, if only because we got to lay on the beach for an hour pre-jellyfish and use a real bathroom. She gave it a 6.5, but she wasn't the one with the jellyfish sting on her arm. I think we both knocked our scores up a point, because we both felt bad we had talked the other into doing this.
If the trip had stopped there, I probably would have written it off. A crazy side quest, a few stories — but that's all. Instead, we woke up the next morning determined to have a better day. And we did. The day after was even better. By the time we turned the keys back over, I'm pretty sure you could have convinced both of us to live in that van.
3. Time is the great neutralizer.
Here's the thing: I'm a pretty laid back person. Traffic doesn't bother me. Cancelled flights I usually handle with grace. But stick me in a van with a vegan (yes, Belle was vegan) in hot weather with no shower and slap a jellyfish sting on my arm, and you'll find me in the running for the day's Grouchiest Personᵀᴹ.
What's crazy about that awful first day is that I look back at it with so much fondness. Would I really have enjoyed the following days to their full potential if it hadn't been so bad? Who's to say, really. What I do know is that the more time has passed since the trip, the more fondly I've thought about that first day — jellyfish sting and all.
Since then, this is a lesson I've learned a lot, over time. In the lease "woo woo" way possible, I've really started to believe that what's meant to happen will happen, and there is joy to be found in even some very bleak moments.
4. Don't let someone else's fun steal yours.
On our first day, when we hiked to the edge of that cliff, we spent a lot of time looking down at the cove. Eventually, a yacht came through, anchored in the cove, and we people watched. I remember looking down at the people on the yacht, and thinking they probably had showered in the last 24 hours, had reliable bathroom access somewhere, and they also probably weren't sweaty and hungry. They were blasting fun music, and I just wanted to be on that boat so badly.
Looking back, I'm glad I wasn't on that boat. I'm sure it was so much fun, and given the chance, I'd love to go back and have that experience, too. But the experience I did have was incredible, and if I would have spent the rest of the trip wishing I was on that boat, I would have missed out on so. much. fun.
We live in an era where it's really easy to compare my trip vs. your trip vs. his trip vs. her trip vs. their trip, and ultimately, I think everyone's trip is fun — no matter what it looks like. It's a cliche for a reason, but comparison is the thief of joy.
5. Getting wildly out of your comfort zone is important.
The idea that getting out of your comfort zone to understand the world around you wasn't new to me, when I climbed into that van. When I set off on that 60-day solo journey, I knew I was inviting in a lot of things I didn't like: Change, mostly. But even so, it would have been easy for me to stick to my comfort zone on that trip — staying exclusively in hotels and Air BnBs, getting to bed on time for work every night, keeping to myself. You could still argue I was having a hell of an adventure, being on my own in multiple countries for two months.
What I took away from the van was that I tend to step just far enough out of my comfort zone that it's easy to step back in, and I realized that sometimes, it's even better to jump a little further; instead of being able to step back when things go wrong, you learn what you're capable of when you instead have to claw your way forward.
I can't say I would have rented that van completely solo; I wouldn't have, if only because I couldn't drive it. But five years prior, if you had told me what the end of this Europe trip would entail, I'm not sure I would have believed you. Instead, I learned a lot about myself and what my capacity for joy is. My relationship to work changed. My relationship to the outdoors changed. When we turned the keys over, my relationship to myself changed.
If there's one thing I hope you take away from my story, it's that you're capable of doing so much more than you think you are. Maybe you don't need to rent a van on an island you've never been to, but if just one person reads this post and books the trip they've been thinking about (even to just the town next door), I think my job is done.
Catch more of my pictures from Ibiza here:
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