#Vanlife 2.0: Bay Area residents who live in vans not to travel, but to contend with housing costs

Jason Ravanell, 51, plans to move into this van later in the year. Jason Ravanell, 51, plans to move into this van later in the year. Photo: Jason Ravanell Photo: Jason Ravanell Image 1 of / 39 Caption Close #Vanlife 2.0: Bay Area residents who live in vans not to travel, but to contend with housing costs 1 / 39 Back to Gallery

First there were mobile homes. Then there were tiny homes. Now there are mobile tiny homes. Like the innovations that came before, it's all in the name of living cheaply, or – for some residents of the San Francisco-Bay Area – surviving.

These mobile tiny homes blend into the traffic of the Bay Area. They can be Sprinter vans or school buses, para-transit shuttles or 16-footers. There is no standard definition. All one needs is a set of wheels and a desire to eat and sleep atop them.

"I've got internet, TV, a phone, fans, ventilation," said 37-year-old Pauly Ollie of his cargo van setup. "It's just like a tiny home."

Ollie's mobile home is discrete: He drives a cargo van, with a hand-built trailer attachment, that meshes with the patchwork of San Francisco's streets. At night, he parks in dense urban areas, where a foreign van won't raise eyebrows, but he's not about to publicly reveal the prime locations.

This sort of mobile home is hard to distinguish from standard-use vehicles, unless you know what to look for, and to know this, one must typically be a part of the community. It's a group that goes by many names: van dwellers, RV lifers, nomads.

Twenty-eight-year-old Andreas joined the mobile home community three years ago, after living in a standard Bay Area home with a sibling for some time.

"I wanted to get out of there, but I couldn't afford to stay close to San Francisco," said Andreas, who asked to conceal his last name. "So I bought a van."

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The high cost of living in the Bay Area means people do things differently here. That applies to #vanlife.

Around 2017, the #vanlife hashtag became a social media movement after stories of bohemian types, who live and travel in highly outfitted vans, began flooding news feeds and capturing the imaginations of affluent, burned-out worker-bee types.

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The social media version of #vanlife is romantic, often featuring an attractive, young, white couple who throw off the shackles of mainstream society to live on-the-go and off-the-grid indefinitely. A passage from Rachel Monroe's viral 2017 New Yorker story on #vanlife summarizes this demographic:

"Huntington had given up his apartment in New York and his job as a designer at Ralph Lauren, and moved into a 1987 Volkswagen Syncro. He spent his days surfing, exploring, and taking pictures of his van parked in picturesque locations along the California coast."

In the Bay Area, #vanlife is grittier – often born from necessity, rather than an overwhelming desire to travel the open road. Its attractions entice folks in every income bracket. There are people like Brandon, a Google engineer who lived in a truck parked on his employer's lot. There are also the previously-homeless, who move off the streets and into motor vehicles.

Large groupings of RVs whose residents fall into this latter category pool on certain streets around the Bay Area, like El Camino Real in Palo Alto and Shoreline Boulevard and Latham Street in Mountain View.

"The whole idea of people living in vehicles ... we've never seen that to the degree we see now. It's a relatively new phenomenon for us and for the community," Tom Myers, executive director of the Community Services Agency of Mountain View, Los Altos and Los Altos Hills, told the Mercury News in August. At last count, 89 of 391 CSA clients lived in vehicles, Myers said.

San Francisco Municipal Code does not prohibit people from residing in vehicles, though it puts limits on where and when people can do it. The "use of vehicles for human habitation" is forbidden in San Francisco parks, beaches, alleys and streets between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m., the code says, though it's "not often enforced," a San Francisco police officer told the Washington Post.

Many Bay Area cities have a similar attitude toward vehicle dwelling – it's generally frowned upon but rarely acted against. Palo Alto recently enacted a citywide policy that forbids parking un-permitted vehicles in the same place for 72 hours (San Francisco already has a similar law), but that's easily skirted by moving down the block.

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The tune does seem to be changing as the cost of Bay Area living keeps growing and city officials soften to alternative modes of housing. In 2014, a California judge struck down a law banning vehicle habitation in Los Angeles as unconstitutional. A Seattle judge did the same recently. If you live in your car, the ruling said, it's your home, and you don't have to abide by 72-hour parking limits and other vehicle restrictions. The Seattle City Attorney's Office issued a brief statement indicating it could still appeal the decision.

Once the Seattle ruling is finalized, it could impact the way the city handles such vehicles, though city officials wouldn't speculate on how.

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Between those extremes are regular folks, who aren't experiencing homelessness nor pulling a six-figure tech salary. They live in vehicles to skirt the expensive cost of housing in the Bay Area – the average rent in San Francisco hovers around $3,400, according to Zumper – and because they can.

Barbara Wahli, 46, considers herself a part-time RV lifer. She purchased an RV last year and quickly found herself enmeshed in a diverse community of part-timers, like her, and full-timers, like Ollie and Andreas. The group is a diverse one; incomes range far-and-wide, as do ages. But they're united by a common desire to skirt the high cost of Bay Area life.

Many of Wahli's friends make "pretty decent money," she said. "They're not doing it because they're broke or homeless, but because they don't understand why they should be paying so much rent."

Jason Ravanelli, 51, falls under such a designation. He's lived in the Bay Area his entire life and currently rents an Alameda studio for $1,500 a month. When his son graduates from high school this year, he's moving out and into a van.

"I have to live and work here because I have no resources to go elsewhere," said Ravanelli, a logistics manager for a truck company in San Francisco. He hopes living in a van, rent-free, changes that.

"Some people like the idea of traveling by van," he said. "Me, I have a goal in mind."

That goal entails saving enough cash to eventually get out of the Bay Area for good. He hopes to purchase a parcel of land on the Olympic Peninsula.

"I'm going to work until I die," he said, "but if I do this, I can work until I die and still have my little spot of land."

Ravenelli said he's been thinking about doing this for a decade, and he's prepared accordingly. He purchased a 2013 refurbished U-115 cargo van for $1,600 down, with monthly payments of $385 that include servicing. Inside is an Ikea futon – free on Craigslist – some stackable Rubbermaid totes (they contain the kitchen and his clothing), a camp stove, a 12-volt cooler, and not much else.

There's an element of anarchy involved in all this. One need not be anchored to a mortgage and a house filled with things when you have a mobile home and the ability to come and go as you please.

The going part can get tedious, though, especially if you park in or around San Francisco. As all city drivers know, parking can be an urban wild west. Ticketing and towing opportunities abound with frequent street sweeping, timed limits on spaces and persnickety neighbors who'll tow you if an inch of your vehicle protrudes into their driveway.

The threat of a "knock on the door" looms constantly for those who live in their vehicles, and it can inspire paranoia. A recent discussion in a Facebook group devoted to local RV lifers quickly became split between those excited to share their stories and those hesitant to do so for fear of police crackdowns. One person claimed an alt-right group keeps a wiki of vans known to house full-time residents.

Van dwellers, said one commenter, don't have political representation, and until there's an #RVLifer in office, the nomads won't feel welcome anywhere. Ollie hopes politicians seize on van life as a means of easing the housing crisis. He suggested a registry of mobile dwellings and designated lots for car campers.

Until political bureaucracy catches up with the latest housing trends, those who live in motor vehicles will have to keep moving. Many people rotate between 10 spots where they know they can park undisturbed, Wahli said. Some stay in one place for the night, and leave early in the morning. It's essential not to draw attention to yourself, and that's easier if you hit the road frequently.

Then again, moving is more feasible for some folks than others – namely those with spiffy vehicles and ample gas budgets. The socioeconomic divide among mobile van dwellers echoes the divisions among traditional home dwellers.

"There's families who live in RVs now that just don't leave," Wahli said, citing Shoreline Avenue, which has a large population of formerly homeless people living in RVs.

"You can't just park somewhere and stay," she continued. "They're ruining it for everyone."

Even in her "upper class" Campbell neighborhood Wahli routinely sees a cohort of mobile homes. They move around every few days, she says, but "they are always there, and that's a problem."

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Andreas, who teaches circus arts and gymnastics in San Francisco, finds himself in a "caravan" situation these days. He parks his van beside two other full-time van dwellers – one's an engineer, the other a mechanic – and says the dynamic is similar to that of a "traveling circus caravan."

The trio trade keys in case a vehicle requires moving or a cop comes knocking. They'll cook each other dinner, lend tools and store perishables if someone's generator runs out of juice. The latter occurrence is a common one, and it can be devastating.

According to Andreas, if your battery dies and you don't have a solar power setup, "you're up the creek without a paddle." Installing solar panels is expensive – Andreas estimates it costs upwards of $1,000 for the panels and special batteries – but it pays for itself in the long run by circumventing the cost of constantly eating out. Before going solar, Andreas kept his food in a cooler "probably made for keeping beers chilled at a barbecue."

Food storage, he says, is not only difficult but limited – "You can't go to Costco and buy bulk." One must be purchasing food constantly. Cooking it is another matter. Most van dwellers use a propane burner, Andreas says, and keep a few "versatile, easy-to-clean" pots and pans on hand.

Cleaning the dishes – and yourself – proves another challenge. Water can be found in public spigots or friends' homes, or purchased by the five-gallon jug from a grocery store. Showering is more difficult, but easy to come by with a cheap gym membership, which many van dwellers deem a necessity.

Then there's the toilet situation – often one of the first things those who live in mobiles homes are asked about when they divulge their lifestyle. Some hold their bowels until they find a reliable public restroom, others make a trip to the gym. Andreas takes a page out of the backpacker's guidebook. He uses a tiny, self-contained composting unit that "doesn't smell much at all."

Perfecting your setup is key to thriving, though it can be an expensive endeavor to get your vehicle built out just right.

Andreas recommends a few thousand dollars minimum for startup costs and a couple hundred dollars a month in case of a breakdown or towing. Once you're set up, month to month costs are minimal – "It's not much more than living in an apartment," though minus the cost of rent.

From there, it's just a matter of knowing which spots are welcoming to overnight guests, and which are less hospitable. Every day brings a new address and a fresh view from your bedroom window – and that's part of the charm.

Said Ravanelli, "I'm not homeless, I'm houseless by choice."

"That works on your mind a bit."

Kevin Fagan, a San Francisco Chronicle staff writer, contributed to this report.

Michelle Robertson is an SFGATE staff writer. Email her at mrobertson@sfchronicle.com or find her on Twitter at @mrobertsonsf.