Living in a van reveals things about our society that are easy to overlook when you have your own apartment or house. Before vanlife, I’d retreat to my own space and rarely think about how separated we live, especially in the continental USA. After all, when you have everything you need to be comfortable in your own space, why leave it?
But it is that comfort that is driving our communities to feel so isolated. Look around a café or a park and you’ll see it: everyone’s either glued to their phone or huddled in the tight-knit group they arrived with. In the grocery store, in the airport, at a museum. No one is interacting with other groups; couples are only talking to each other; individuals are just huddled on their phones.
When did it become weird to talk to someone standing next to you? To break the preverbal bubble we cast ourselves in?
Real, offline connection is a skill; one that gets stronger every time you use it. That campfire on Kaiti Beach from my previous post is a perfect example. It would have been so easy to be intimidated by the family already gathered around the fire, but approaching those strangers and simply talking to them led to not just one, but several new friendships.
Living in a van in a country where the people and communities take the time and expense to upkeep public spaces where conversation and connection can thrive has been an eye-opener. It makes talking with the people around me that much easier and reveals how disconnected we have become, for people to be afraid of initiating a simple conversation with a stranger.
As I pull out my cooking supplies for breakfast, I spot Leon and his girlfriend doing the same. Since I didn’t get the chance to meet her the night before at the bonfire, I go over to introduce myself.
Her name is Carolina (Caro for short)(( HI CARO IF YOU ARE READING THIS I MISS YOU AND LEON BOTH!!!)), and she’s from Argentina. Leon and Caro first bonded over their love of the Spanish language, but quickly discovered a much deeper connection for each other.
We chat for a bit, but Caro and Leon are soon headed to work at Sunshine Brewery-the only brewery in town. They invite Morgan and I to join them and some friends for a sunset get-together later.
With my evening plans locked in, I spend the day working on my blog and virtual assistant business at Zephyr Wainui Cafe (seriously, try their smoothie bowls).
The café is nestled in a dreamy little neighborhood, overlooking the bay where sets of sleepy waves roll in one after another. There is a pleasant breeze that keeps the clouds from hovering long enough to steal the sun’s warmth. I look out the window and see women riding horses down the street. It feels like something out of a storybook.
As the sun starts to near the horizon, the crew arrives. Leon and Caro introduce us to their friend Lucas, a true hippy, and instantly likable. We climb to the highest point for the most jaw-dropping sunset I’ve seen yet (though, honestly, it’s getting hard to rank them). But I am told that — surprise — this isn’t everyone joining tonight.
More vans pull up, and Caro explains that the orchard workers they used to work with are all arriving. Some have been away for months, so this is a big reunion. Suddenly, I’m surrounded by approximately thirty strangers from all over the world- Japan, Holland, France, Italy, Argentina, Germany, and more.
I feel awkward and a little lost. I’m not used to being around so many people at once and I wasn’t expecting to be! Why can I be so relaxed in a small group, but freeze up in a crowd like this? It’s frustrating. I know it’s just my mind playing tricks on me, and I want to work on it.
Social pressure is real, but it’s a limitation our own minds invent.
Thankfully, I’m already very comfortable with Morgan, Caro, and Leon, so I stick close to them while the others revel in their reunion. Their voices carry across the lookout spot, the energy palpable in the warm air. I’m grateful to be part of such an incredible atmosphere. The weather is holding out and I know the sunset will be one for the books.
Sure enough, I can’t quite suppress a gasp at the way the light filters through the clouds. A painting of exquisite proportions lay out in front of me as if it weren’t a painting master’s dream. I think of all the people doom scrolling on their phones inside, completely unaware of the beauty surrounding them, slowly slipping away with each moment.
How many moments like this has I missed, nose buried in my phone?
Despite my nerves at being thrust into a social situation I wasn’t anticipating, I get invited back to thei communal living space of the orchard workers for a party. About half the group lives and works at the same orchard just outside town. I debate whether to go, but remind myself: “Feel the fear, do it anyway.” So I decide to go.
After a short drive past row after row of cultivated fruit of all kinds, persimmons, feijoa, kiwi, and apple, I arrive at the orchard house. There are several small buildings where workers live, and a big courtyard with chairs arranged in a circle. I take a seat next to Leon and try not to feel like an outsider. It’s clear this group knows each other well.
There are people from Holland, France, Germany, Argentina, Spain, Japan, and just one other American-Laura. She and I quickly become friends. She wants to be a tattoo artist, but for now is looking for bakery work to fund her travels. She suggests I buy a perfume to remember New Zealand by, as smells are so integrally linked to our memory. We share the treasured smells of our travels. I show her the floral chapstick I traded with my best friend Shea in Hawaii, and an oil I brought from New Orleans.
She eventually departs to make dinner and I finally get some time to talk with Caro. She’s warm and open, and we end up discussing Josh (from the campfire she missed but heard about) and the political climate in Argentina. I’m surprised to hear how similar it is to what’s happening in the US- disconnection, fear, and anger at the opposite side of the political aisle. We talk for ages, tuning out the rest of the group as we share our worries about the digital age and how hard it is to connect and share honestly.
One comment that particularly struck me is about how important it is to keep the conversation open. It is SO easy when we talk online to bash and rave endlessly at each other instead of taking the time to understand the emotions and experiences behind the aggression and fear. It shouldn’t be about “convincing” the other person; it should simply be about sharing. About finding points of connection. When someone dear to you votes for a politician you hate, how do you reconcile it? You listen, you share, and ultimately, both people should walk away with a better understanding of each other, even if their beliefs are still not in agreement. Crucial conversations are incredibly difficult to have and it seems to be getting harder in the digital age.
By the end of the night, Caro invites me to stay with her family in Argentina anytime, and I offer the same for her in Virginia. A friend forged forever.
I am struck again by how different it is to connect like this. To read body language, make eye contact, see and love each idiosyncrasies, and find an understanding with each other, even when conversation gets real. I truly believe there is a power to in person conversation. And I think that is the biggest lie that our online world tells us.
At the end of the day, it is OUR responsibility to show up IN PERSON for our community. To have the hard conversations with friends… or with complete strangers.
Going with Gubs 