Van Camping: Who Needs a Hotel? Well . . .

By Cindy Loose
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, April 6, 2008

The GPS device I've been calling "The Lady" keeps directing us in a confident, strident voice: "Turn left in 10 meters. Turn left now." But any left turn off this dirt road somewhere outside the ruins of Pompeii would put us through a ditch, a fence and into a greenhouse. Even through the darkness and pouring rain, we can see that much.

The extent to which we've become lost in a strange and deserted agricultural area has clearly confused The Lady, but she refuses to just admit it and shut up.

This is one of the many both high and low points of our camping trip by van from Rome to Amalfi. A high point because we see the absurdity of our condition well enough to laugh hilariously; we are having an adventure. A low point because we're tired and hungry, and we've already been lost enough times on this trip to know that our destination isn't necessarily going to become clear any time soon.

On what was planned as a four-night camping tour of the famed Amalfi Coast, we travel singularly beautiful mountain roads that overlook a coastline widely considered the most stunning in Europe, if not the world. We stop in fairy-tale towns where houses painted in bright pastels cling to cliffs towering over a brilliant blue sea. We marvel at ancient ruins and visit cathedrals gilded in gold. We pass terraced orchards heavy with lemons the size of grapefruits, part of the scenery that has inspired writers from Robert Browning to Ernest Hemingway and Gore Vidal.

We also spend a night parked along a busy road, trying to ignore the barks and howls of packs of stray dogs. Just as they go silent and we think we might grab a little sleep, the roosters begin to crow. That was before the time we ran out of gas, but after the time we became trapped behind the automatic gate because the machine at a highway toll gate refused to take my ticket and the attendant refused to answer the help bell in person but kept yelling through an intercom, in Italian, in an increasingly angry voice. (Eventually the machine sucked in my credit card and popped out what seems to be a fine of nearly $100.)

This trip with my teenage daughter and her friend was planned as both an adventure and a relatively inexpensive way to see some of Europe. A budget alternative on the Continent has never been more compelling, given the current exchange rate of about $1.60 per euro.

In the end, the trip was most definitely an adventure. A budget alternative, not so much. And that's before I had to pay for smashing the van into a tree.

Great Expectations

The combined mode of transportation/lodging is increasingly popular with Americans traveling to Europe and is a major trend for Europeans visiting America, according to Kevin Broom of the Recreation Vehicle Industry Association.

At http://MotorhomesWorldwide.com, a motor home that sleeps six goes for as little as $142 a day for a week-long rental in Italy in June and July, including 60 miles a day. Vans, which sleep four, are more scarce, but the site connected us with Van Italy. In summer months, vans rent for $150 a night, with unlimited mileage. A campsite for four could cost an additional $40 a night.

By comparison, the average price for a room for just two in Italy is $202 a night, with rates higher in major cities and tourist attractions, according to Smith Travel Research, a firm that tracks lodging data. And without a van or RV, you'll of course need ground transportation. Renting a car will probably cost close to $100 a day this summer, which puts the daily travel and lodging expenses for a family of four up to $504, not including fuel.

Camping can also put a dent in food expenses. I figured we'd prepare at least a few meals in our little van kitchen, which included a refrigerator, burners and sink. As it turned out, we were in a campsite only one out of four nights, so that didn't work out for us. Instead, we reluctantly paid huge amounts of money for restaurant meals.

Take, for example, our dinner in Rome. My daughter had a bowl of soup in an ordinary neighborhood restaurant, her friend had a salad and I had an entree; we ordered no drinks except a shared bottle of water, no appetizers, no dessert. The bill: $79, including a $14 charge for the bread that automatically arrived on the table.

But all this is not to say our hopes had been unrealistic. In our van's trip diary, entries included one from an American family of four who reported a swell, fun-filled, problem-free tour down the same Amalfi Coast, except for the one time they got lost. (I'd like to point out that they had an adult human navigator on board.)

Which Way Is Pompeii?

Sometimes in life, a single mistake leads to all sorts of stress and problems that just spiral out of control. For example, you become pregnant as an unwed teen, or you marry an alcoholic, or you take someone's word that a GPS is really easy to use and so you don't insist on spending the time to program it yourself.

I had tried to be careful, staying the first night in a hotel to avoid driving foreign roads in an unfamiliar vehicle after an overnight flight. The next morning at Van Italy's base just outside Rome, though, I am excited to see our Volkswagen van and eager to get on the road. I learn how to pull out the seats to make a double bed, to pop up the van's top to make another double bed, to fill the water tank for the cute little sink, and to plug in at a campsite for heat and power. Van Italy's owner types into the GPS my first destination, the city of Gaeta, 92 miles away. He assures me it's programmed for the coastal road I've studied on maps, and off I go, guided by The Lady.

And go, and go. With no sign of the coast. Eventually I pull over to study a map, but I have no idea where I am, so I decide to keep trusting the GPS. I go on and on. Finally, a sign for Anzio. I have no idea where it is in relation to my planned destination. But I recognize the name, and my knowledge of World War II history tells me it's on the coast. Deciding to go there because the name is familiar is a clear sign, in retrospect, of my desperation.

Besides, the sign says it's only eight miles away. Ten minutes, I'm thinking. It's my first lesson in how long it can take to drive eight miles on a narrow, congested Italian road. To say nothing of how long it can take to find a place to park.

It turns out to be a lovely little town, with numerous restaurants along the water. There's even a tourism bureau, and I go inside to find out how to get to the coastal road. No, no, insists the woman. Do not go on the coastal road. Go back on the road you came. She won't or can't tell me why, but mercifully speaks enough English to give some advice.

It's almost dark and pouring rain, so I try to program the GPS to head to the nearest campsite, which happens to be in Pompeii. I spend nearly an hour pushing buttons and tapping the screen and cursing The Lady until, by luck, I get a screen that allows me to type in "Pompei," which I'm hoping is Pompeii in Italian.

I follow instructions and find myself on a major highway -- a toll road that, by 10 p.m., takes me to a Pompeii exit. It's the exit where the machine refuses to take my ticket and then fines me.

An exit ramp is usually a foolproof means of reaching a town. Instead I find a creepy, run-down area that seems deserted. I follow The Lady's directions and suddenly am on a dirt road among fields and greenhouses. Could it be that nothing around Pompeii has been rebuilt since the volcanic destruction in A.D. 79?

Finally, I hit a lovely town square, fronted as usual by a beautiful church. By now it's 11 p.m. and we haven't had dinner, and I am too rattled to try to find the campgrounds, which are probably miles outside town in some area impossible to find in daylight, let alone a stormy night.

I pull into the first hotel I see, which turns out to be the lovely Hotel Forum, surrounded by a beautiful courtyard garden. At about $180 a night, it is, by Italian standards, a bargain.

Next morning, I discover that the campgrounds are about 50 yards from the hotel, directly across the street from the Pompeii archaeological site.

Almost Perfect

Pompeii was not even on my agenda; I was planning to visit the smaller archaeological site at nearby Herculaneum. What a stroke of luck that our being lost brought us to this amazing place.

Stone walkways connected gorgeous homes with frescoes and inner courtyards to parks, theaters and shops. A huge, still-intact aqueduct brought water to the homes of an estimated 20,000 residents and to the villas of Romans who came to Pompeii to vacation.

All three of us had the same thought on seeing Pompeii, which lay buried in ash and pumice for more than 1,600 years before it was rediscovered: Why can't anyone build towns like this anymore? Even in a state of ruin, it was clearly once a fantastic place to live.

At the hotel, I use the computer to access http://www.viamichelin.com for directions to our next campsite, near Positano. Do that before leaving home; in Italy, the directions are in Italian. A kind receptionist volunteers to translate, but then advises that the directions take me back to the highway, and that is not a good way.

Luckily, the coastal road I wanted in the first place is straight ahead. It is within my own navigational abilities, and crossroads are well marked.

I am so proud of how well I drive this van. I am negotiating narrow, winding roads, often with cars parked along both sides. But I am in perfect harmony with my driving machine, and know within an inch exactly where it is in relation to other cars and the stone walls along the cliff. In fact, I find that if I grimace and hold my breath, I can expand a passageway by several inches.

I don't worry when I pass Positano, figuring the campsite must be just beyond the town. But then darkness falls, and the rain begins again. Stopping for dinner and directions at a wonderful roadside restaurant, La Taverna del Leone, I learn I'd passed the turn for the campsite miles before reaching Positano. But no matter: Owner Guida Cristofaro tells me the campground is closed for maintenance.

You may park the van in our lot, he graciously offers.

I wait until the girls have eaten before breaking the news. "Where will we go to the bathroom?" asks my daughter, Maddie. Then we all burst out laughing, because where we'll have to go if we awake in the middle of the night is obvious. Her friend, Yasmin, fantasizes about coming into the restaurant in her pajamas, toothbrush in hand, and again we are laughing, enjoying the absurdity and sense of adventure.

And in fact, despite being just an indentation in the road, it's a lovely site. We stand at a stone wall overlooking a cliff and look at the dazzling stars. If only we weren't cold and if the dogs didn't howl and the roosters didn't crow, it would have been delightful.

Indoor and Outdoor Luxury

Heading back to Positano the next morning, the van conks out just as I pull into the long, narrow road that drops to the town and the sea. I glance at the gas gauge. Suspicions confirmed.

I coast into a parking lot. An attendant gives me a can and tells me there is a station less than a mile down the road. Cold and hungry, walking in a drizzling rain with the girls, I reach the gas station. The can is heavy. I'm wondering if I can carry it back up the mountain when one of the parking lot attendants pulls up beside me; he has borrowed a car in order to fetch us.

Our spirits quickly rise after we have breakfast and explore Positano. An imposing cathedral overlooks the water and the islands just offshore where sirens are said to have attempted to lure Odysseus and his sailors onto the rocks. We select a lunch spot on a terrace at the edge of a cliff overlooking the water.

A delightful morning, followed by a visit to the equally gorgeous town of Amalfi. And we even allow enough time to find -- well before dark -- our campsite. Nettuno Village is a glorious spot along the water, in the shadow of one of a series of stone towers built along the Amalfi Coast to repel invaders. This tower, built in 1567, has been turned into an apartment hotel, a romantic spot where the top floor in particular is popular with honeymooners.

We explore the waterfront and the small town, eat dinner and settle in for the night, with lights and heat and the sound of the water smashing against rocks. The upper bunk is cozy, womblike, and I am lulled into blissful sleep.

There are several seaside restaurants from which to choose for breakfast. I would love to spend another night, but the van is due back by 10 a.m. the next day, so I have chosen a campsite just outside Rome. I'm in a hurry, given that it's nearly 200 miles from here, part of that on slow, winding roads.

I have driven narrow roads for three days and have backed up through stone entranceways only inches wider than my van without so much as a scratch. Now, in a camping area with wide-open spaces, I back up directly into a tree. The sounds of shattered glass and crumpled metal make my heart stop.

The back window is now a big hole surrounded by shards. I try to open the damaged trunk with the key I've been using for both trunk and ignition, and the key jams in the lock.

I'm about to dissolve into tears, wondering how I'll ever get back to Rome, when I discover that a second key on the ring also starts the ignition. We are saved. But camping is now out of the question.

It's 4 a.m. Eastern time, but I don't hesitate to use my cellphone to wake my husband and, without telling him I've crashed, ask him to find me a cheap hotel in Rome for the night. He soon calls back: He's emptied out his Starwood frequent-stay account to book, for free, a night at the Westin Excelsior.

That night, in what I've concluded is the most enchanting city on Earth, we sleep beneath a chandelier in a deluxe room being offered that night on the hotel Web site for nearly $600 a night -- a bargain, given that the rate sheet at the hotel lists it at $1,400 a night.

Yet I actually enjoyed my one night at the campsite just as much as my night in the lap of luxury. The two experiences are too different to compare, and each has its allure.

Obviously, the getting-lost and crashing parts were horrendous. But the night camping by the sea and the night in grand style, to say nothing of the days exploring towns along the coast, made up for a lot.

Besides, some day soon, perhaps even the worst of times will seem nothing more than a wonderful, big adventure.