2 days ago
My first month as a solo female caravanner? Totally empowering
I've been solo skydiving over Salisbury Plain — three times no less — and tandem paragliding in the Himalayas. I've swum in the second-largest lake in the UK in the middle of the night, and I've taken on that terrifying treetop challenge at GoApe that involves a leap of faith into a giant rope net 12m above ground. And yet none of these thrills can quite compare to reverse-parking my caravan in front of a canvas-twitching campsite full of strangers, setting up my canopy and settling down for a beer — all on my own.
I'm in month one of a four-month trip around Scotland in my tiny Eriba Pan Familia, a 30-year-old metal bubble with a pop-top roof and no loo, and it's dawned on me: solo caravanning is the most empowering thing I've done. Sure, it's not adrenaline-fuelled (or at least, it's not meant to be) and it's hardly a bold pursuit, but when the prevailing narrative in society is that women can't drive well — we all know the sexist slur 'women drivers, no survivors' — let alone tow a trailer or caravan, perhaps it's no wonder it makes me feel like I've conquered Everest every time I park on a site without the need for help.
• 16 of the best destinations for solo female travellers
It's a curious thing, being a solo female caravanner; we're a rare breed. I've barely met any lone women on this trip, much less ones towing caravans. And it seems there's this conviction among many women that they could never do it themselves. I've been called brave more times than I can count over the past two years I've been out in this silly little vehicle, and when I post a video about it on Instagram, it proves my point: comment after comment reads 'I could never do this' or 'I'm too scared to tow', all from women.
Of course, when I started out, I was nervous; even the drive up to Scotland this time had my heart rate raised, despite the fact I've towed this van to Portugal and back. Although perhaps my nerves were a symptom of the fact my car had broken down the week before and so I'd had to borrow an unsettlingly pristine one-year-old BMW X3 with 1,000 miles on the clock to get going. Still, I hadn't let the unknown stop me from learning the ropes when I bought this caravan in 2023 and I strong-armed a good friend into letting me practise reversing his flat-bed trailer on an industrial estate. The fact many think they can't do it certainly massages my ego a bit (or is that the BMW?), but in reality it's not that hard, and I'm really not that brave. Plus, the two main caravan clubs run towing courses that will turn you into a pro in no time.
• 11 of the best group tours for solo travellers
For all its merits — the freedom, the empowerment, the mental health-boosting outdoor lifestyle — solo caravanning can also be isolating. Each time I park up somewhere new, it feels as if other campers are a little baffled by my presence. Anni, a fellow solo caravanner I serendipitously met on a park bench in Glasgow last month, has had much the same experience. 'The women look at me with a combination of suspicion and pity,' she said. 'Although once I get talking to them, they thaw and reveal they are actually envious that I am caravanning alone.'
And it's true. I've been stared down by other women on campsites while their husbands jostle out of their padded camping chairs to come to my rescue — 'She can't possibly unhitch that caravan alone!' they must think. Even if I don't look like I'm struggling, the 'Do you need a hand, love?' inevitably comes from somewhere nearby while I'm winding my jockey wheel up or plugging the cables into the car.
• I've been to 31 countries as a solo female. Here's where I'd recommend
After a week pitched on the edge of a hill in South Ayrshire at Culzean Castle Camping and Caravanning Club Site, where I witnessed sunsets so delicious that they made me feel drunk, I was quite happily reversing the car towards the towbar when a passing man decided to come to inspect my work. 'I just don't want you to prang that nice new BMW.' I'm sure he meant well, but what he didn't realise was that my 'nice new BMW' has a towbar-assist camera, so I can line up the car and the towbar perfectly the first time, every time. Instead of helping, he stood so close to the car that he set off the rear sensors and the safety measures kicked in, engaging the handbrake automatically.
But overly helpful men and suspicious campers aside, the feeling of towing my own home on wheels to wherever I fancy next is the most liberating and thrilling experience. I've spent a month zig-zagging around southern Scotland, from the ruined abbeys of the Borders to castles in Dumfries and Galloway and the lush green trails of Galloway Forest Park. I've parked on the shores of Loch Lomond, where I could swim right from my pitch, and camped in the sheltered glens of Arran, where my caravan was the perfect home after a day's hard hiking in the hills. Plus I've cooked lunches for one on coastal roads while waiting for ferries to carry me to further afield isles, and had fresh fish and seafood delivered to my pitch on the Kintyre peninsula.
It hasn't all been plain sailing — or towing, I should say. I was perhaps a little cocky in Glasgow as I pulled off a blind-side reverse into my pitch and scraped the van along an inconveniently placed planter (nothing a little resin polish on a rag can't fix). And a single-track road on the Kintyre peninsula had me reversing the van into a passing place so the oncoming motorhome could get by. It was what you might call a squeaky bum moment, but I just about managed to stay out of the roadside ditch as the massive camper went onwards, and I drove on feeling utterly triumphant.
I know there'll be more challenges ahead, but all I'm concerned with right now is where I'll park up next. To the beach or the mountains? The world may not be my oyster in this tiny van, but the Scottish Highlands will do.
Would you go it alone in a caravan — or have you? Let us know in the comments
