Forget the Instagram version. No Alpine sunsets, no drone footage, no artfully arranged coffee cups on clifftops. This week I’m proving you can live this lifestyle without constantly chasing new postcodes.

My job’s in Fife, I’m based around Dundee, and most nights I’m parked somewhere between the two. It’s van life’s quieter cousin — less wanderlust, more routine. Think sodium streetlights instead of campfires, the smell of the Tay instead of pine forests, and Tesco car parks instead of wild meadows.

But here’s the thing: this is where van life actually pays off. Not in the highlight reel moments, but in ordinary Tuesday nights that just work.

So instead of chasing scenery, I built a circuit — a loop of spots I know like the back of my hand. Here’s how that week unfolded.

My general rule? Never more than two nights in the same spot, three absolute maximum. Any longer and you start looking suspicious. Plus, if it’s one of those scenic spots where locals come to enjoy the view, I’m not about to be the van that ruins it for everyone else.

Honestly, if I had a decent-looking Transporter or Crafter — something that blends in properly — I might chance my luck staying longer in some places. But my rusty white Sprinter? It screams “someone’s living in here” from a mile off. Better to keep moving and keep welcome.

Sunday: The Tay Spot That Never Fails

There’s this riverside spot I’ve been using for years. You can’t get a decent photo of it — mist swallows the light, turning an ordinary car park into something that looks moody and mysterious — but it’s still just a car park with a view. But it’s reliable.

A couple of other vans are already tucked in when I arrive, plus that white car-camper I’ve seen around before. That’s all the social proof I need. Dinner takes ten minutes, blinds go down, and the wind does its usual thing of rattling everything that isn’t bolted down.

Come morning, everything’s grey and still. I’m rolling out by 6:50 with a proper brew and zero hassle. Five years of using this spot, not one bad night. Sometimes boring wins.

Midweek Chaos: Back to Mum and Dad’s Street

Wednesday throws a curveball. Plans collapse, as they do. I’m stuck back in the city, it’s already dark, and the simplest answer is parking outside the parents’ house.

Residential parking comes with rules you don’t find online: creep in quietly, don’t start reorganising your entire van at 11pm, keep the lights dim. Ghost mode activated. In late, out early, job done.

It’s not going to feature in any van life documentary, but it works. Sometimes the most practical solution is also the most obvious one.

Tesco Drama and Kitchen Disasters

Every van lifer knows the supermarket routine. Fuel up, stock up, catch up on emails using their WiFi. Tonight’s ambitious plan: pepperoni pasta in the desktop oven.

What could go wrong? Everything, apparently. The pasta decides to weld itself to the tray while I’m distracted by some bloke in the trolley bay who’s decided this is the perfect time to practice trumpet. Badly.

The van fills with smoke, heat, and second-hand embarrassment. I’m scraping carbonised pasta off metal while listening to what sounds like a dying swan. You genuinely can’t make this stuff up.

Road Closure Roulette: The 20mph Village

A random road closure sends me hunting for Plan C through a village that takes its 20mph limit very seriously. I crawl through looking for anywhere that’ll do.

Find a quiet corner that’s only slightly wonky. Nothing a strategically placed pillow can’t fix. By morning I’m gone before anyone’s had their first coffee, leaving zero trace I was ever there.

That’s the deal everywhere: blend in, move early, don’t give anyone a reason to remember you.

The Real Game: Reading Places Like a Local

This version of van life doesn’t make for exciting YouTube content. It’s not about epic road trips or wild camping adventures. It’s about knowing your patch, reading the room, and working within realistic limits.

Park4Night gets used as a starting point, not gospel. I check recent reviews, cross-reference with my own experience, then trust my gut. The criteria stay simple: quiet after 10pm, no history of trouble, ideally with other overnight vehicles nearby.

The golden rule everywhere: late in, early out. Be invisible, be respectful, and you’ll always have options next time.

What Working Van Life Actually Looks Like

This is van life’s unglamorous side. The version that fits around shift patterns and family visits, where success is measured in clean getaways at dawn and kettles that still work after five years.

It proves you don’t need to chase horizons constantly to make this work. Sometimes the smartest move is finding your own little circuit, learning its rhythms, and living comfortably in the gaps between work and sleep.

The romance is quieter here. It’s in the satisfaction of a system that works, a routine that doesn’t fight against your actual life, and the knowledge that tomorrow you’ll wake up somewhere different from where most people sleep.

By Thursday night, I’d stopped chasing novelty and started enjoying the predictability. There’s comfort in knowing what works.

Next Week’s Simple Targets

  • Restock water and empty the rubbish before Friday
  • Batch-cook something that won’t require metalwork to clean up
  • Find alternatives to that closed road and log them properly
  • Test one new spot within the same radius — keep things fresh
  • Remember: safe and simple beats scenic every single time

The Reality Check

By Friday, the van smells faintly of effort and pasta disasters. The route was ordinary, the nights were quiet, and somehow everything just worked.

That’s full-time van life in one area: not glamorous, definitely not dramatic, but steady as a rock. And steadiness, it turns out, is exactly what keeps the whole thing rolling.