The Volkswagen California 6.1 Ocean campervan: the Swiss army knife of vehicles

Never been on a camping trip? Driving one of these novice-friendly all-rounders is the ultimate way to answer the call of the wild

I’ve always fancied a campervan. Not a motorhome – those behemoths are too bulky and awkward for my liking. But campervans seem to be the sweet spot, with all the comforts that you miss when camping in a tent: proper chairs, a table that doesn't fall over in a strong breeze, heating, a fridge and a proper bed. Something that you can park easily in a normal car park yet also use as everyday transport.

But how easy is campervanning, really? Is the reality as good as the lifestyle images suggest? And what if you’re a total novice to this sort of thing; is it as easy as get in and go, or is a read of the instruction manual required before you get anywhere?

That's what I wanted to find out and there seemed no better place in which to do that than in Cornwall, infamous for its awkward, narrow roads, busy tourist hotspots and more.

There is a healthy market for campervans from many different makers but, let's face it, Volkswagen is the default. The brand that almost any member of the public would say if you asked them to name a company that makes campervans, thanks mainly to its Type 2 camper exemplifying the Sixties hippy dream and inspiring a million memories among impecunious adventurers.

Bringing the story bang up to date, VW has just launched a new version of its highly-regarded California campervan, with the new California 6.1 offered in both short wheelbase and long wheelbase – the latter including a small on-board toilet.

Our short wheelbase VW California 6.1 Ocean comes with a 148bhp, 2.0-litre diesel engine and a seven-speed DSG automatic gearbox. It may be short of a toilet, but it does sleep four; two in the top double bed, which nestles in the roof section that opens up electronically, and two on the slightly smaller downstairs double, which you construct out of the rear seats and boot space. More than ample for the three of us on our trip around Cornwall's scenic spots.

I could have parked a Concorde on our driveway and there would have been less excitement when the California arrived. Stick a posh campervan on your drive, raise the roof at the press of a button, and before you know it there are kids from the other side of town milling around to have a go at clambering into the roof bed.

I could have sold tickets for the experience, with additional fees for checking out the pull-out table, the lit ‘wardrobe’ cupboard, the fridge, and having a go at turning on the auxiliary heater via the small touchscreen mounted in the roof. It's a 21st century Narnia for kids, the VW campervan, even if The Lion, the Witch and the 230V inverter doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

To be honest, I was just as thrilled about the whole experience. For the kids and for us childish adults, the instant sense of spontaneous adventure that's inherent in a campervan is endlessly enthralling.

And, on the common sense side of things, there is just so much space inside for a vehicle that isn't that large on the outside. Just being able to step through the sliding rear door and into the vast, open space in front of the seats, complete with cupboards and mini kitchenette with hob and fridge, is properly exciting. Adventure beckons the minute you slide the door back.

Mind you, the packing was yet to come…

Our trip took place over the school half term, so our plan was to drive to Cornwall later in the evening to avoid the worst of the traffic. This all went remarkably smoothly. I stuck some camping chairs and sleeping bags in the big boot space, plus our suitcases, and all the things you need for spring time in the UK – swimming costumes, flip-flops, suncream, hats, umbrellas, waterproofs, wellies and extra blankets.

I’ll say it again – the storage in the VW is a work of absolute genius. There's even a small hanging space in a cupboard that also has a lit mirror, as well as a big overhead compartment above the rear seats that's ideal for shoving your bathroom stuff and towels so that they’re easily accessible when the bed is set up. Mostly, I’m worried that I’ll forget which secret stowage area I’ve stuffed whatever item I’m after.

Nonetheless, I can't hold my terrible memory and habit of losing stuff against VW's remarkable interior layout, so with everything packed (somewhere), I pointed the van to the south-west.

The drive was a joy. I expected the worst of school holiday traffic trauma, but the sun was going down, the scenery was gorgeous (and a van will trump any SUV for a smug, high seating position and lofty views over hedges), we stopped only once for a quick loo-and-snack stop, and Cornwall arrived remarkably quickly after leaving our Hampshire home.

Our first stop on the holiday was the driveway of a friend's house. The narrow drive was navigated easily, the roof popped up and the wine opened in no time. Now to drop the lower bed, which involved sliding the rear seats forward and collapsing them. Easy, right?

Well… The first handle I pulled to move the seats instead opened a hidden drawer beneath them, which I hadn't discovered until this point. It holds the cable for connecting the van's auxiliary battery (which powers the overnight heater and more when the engine is off) to an external power source, plus a huge number of other things that look important and which I didn't have the time or the inclination to figure out at that particular moment.

Must be the second lever. I pull it. The seats give a tempting wiggle. But nothing happens. I search around, I check the backs of the seats, under the seats… They definitely slide forward and fold down, and I’m definitely missing something obvious, here... I’ll be honest, I didn't want to resort to the instruction manual so I resorted to YouTube, which immediately churned out a multitude of perky presenters showing that I was pulling the right lever all along, but you have to actually rock the seats surprisingly hard, while pulling with all your might before they slide.

I hate to say this, as a staunch feminist and proud owner of good upper body strength, but I enlisted the husband and with a fair amount of effort we got the seats down.

A comfortable night was had by all. The auxiliary battery was full, indicating more than 40 hours of use, so I switched on the heater using the overhead screen that offers all kinds of useful readouts. There was even one to show whether the van is parked on an even plane so that you don't end slide to the end of the bed during the night. Neat.

There was even room for our suitcases in the fixed lower half of the huge boot space, so I didn't have to trip over them to get out of the van in the middle of the night for a trip to the toilet. The interior lights did come on, though, which everyone else was delighted about. I’m pretty sure there's a way to solve that, but that's a challenge for tomorrow…

There is a way to solve that, and it's really obvious in the menus on that same overhead screen, where there's a "camping mode" so that the interior lights don't come on when you open the doors. Volkswagen has been doing campers for a while now, and it really seems to have thought of everything. It even thought of chairs, two of which are hidden away in the vast tailgate. I needn't have packed our camping chairs, after all… Oh well. Now we’re equipped for guests, too.

After our two nights my husband had to head home for work commitments, but Flo – our six-year old – and I carried on to a campsite near St Michael's Mount. Predictably, Flo absolutely loved the van. She loved being in it when we were driving around, and she loved being in it when we were camping, although I use the word "camping" lightly, as we spent much of our time touring around and seeing places and meeting family who live in Cornwall, and not much time actually at the campsite.

This meant that, when we arrived, it was virtually dinner time and then bed time. My husband is the sort of person who has a roof tent for his 4x4, cast iron camping pans, always has oil, salt and pepper to hand in tiny camping containers that are within their own waterproof camping travel boxes, not to mention windproof lighters, a small axe, kindling, seasoned wood and probably a book by Ray Mears.

He's a camper. I, dear reader, am not. I am okay with this, and he wasn't with us anyway. Which is why I bought fish and chips on the way to the campsite, and Flo and I pulled up, sat and watched the sun set, snuggled up on the seats under a blanket with the heating on low and watched a film on my laptop before going to bed. It was heaven. Different scenery, a sense of wildness and adventure, with all the comforts of home. You can keep your wilderness survival techniques; this is my kind of "camping".

Flo and I slept up top for our few nights on our own, which was great. At the beginning of the holiday she’d been a bit scared of falling out, and it took a couple of confidence-boosting trial runs of clambering over the front seats to get up and down before she agreed to sleep up there. I can't blame her, as it is a bit of a challenge of manoeuvrability, but it wasn't long before we’d all got used to it.

As a final aside, despite the upper bed having a sprung mattress, as a side-sleeper I found it really firm and it hurt my hips after a while. For the second night, I stuck an exercise mat underneath my sleeping bag and it was usefully better. Oddly, the downstairs, fold-out bed that I’d slept on at the start of the holiday actually felt more comfortable, but either was better than any tent-based airbed that I’d ever slept on.

By this point, I’d also plugged in the van. The auxiliary battery had lasted some three days and nights even with the heating and fridge used intermittently, which I was really impressed with – until now, I had no idea you could rely on these campers for that long without external power. I’d booked a pitch with an electrical hook-up, and I’d accidentally found the cable a few days earlier, so this went without issue.

Packing up the van had been easy on previous occasions but on our last morning I had an issue with the roof not going down properly. It locked shut on the driver's side, but remained slightly popped up on the left. After some investigation, it turned out that even leaving the sheet on the upstairs mattress can cause the roof-closing mechanism to struggle. So, with sheet removed, it folded in on itself properly and I scrolled the plastic covering across the overhead opening, which takes some prodding and a bit of patience to do properly so that it doesn't rattle.

Speaking of rattles, our journey home was as delightful as the journey down other than an annoying rattle from the back. It turns out that it wasn't something in the cupboards, as I’d thought, but actually one of the rear side windows, which open manually and click shut. When shut properly, anyway… If not, they look shut but rattle incessantly. One to remember if you’re like me and can't stand noises like that when you’re driving.

Overall, our trip had proved that campervanning really is brilliant fun and perfect for spontaneous family trips. The California 6.1 had not only been comfortable and convenient to live with, but it had been just as comfortable and convenient as transport all around Cornwall – easy cups of tea and changes of clothes in the car park after a trip to the beach meaning that I quickly came to value the daytrip convenience as mich as the overnight stuff. We’d even managed some 37mpg over the entire trip (which I rate as pretty good for such a heavy vehicle) and never struggled to make confident progress, even on the narrow country roads around Hayle, Penzance and beyond.

So yes, campervanning can absolutely be done, even if you’re a novice, and even if it's on something of a whim. There will always be a period of getting to know your van and all of its tricks and traits. That will always be the case with what is, basically, the Swiss army knife of vehicles. But don't be daunted, because the modern campervan is a thing of true wonder. It makes family travel so easy and fun, with no small dash of luxury and convenience, too.

Allow an hour or so to familiarise yourself, and being a novice is no barrier at all.

It's not cheap, mind... Our California test car came in at £76,880 after a few options. But, in the context of a vehicle that can serve as family memory-maker, daily driver, weekend workhorse and more, it's not hard to see why these are still such desirable vehicles that also tend to hold their value extremely well.

Let's face it: it's all of your wildest wanderlust imaginings come to life, right there in two-tone paint and with Apple CarPlay as standard.

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