The quest for our dream van
From plumber's van to adventure-mobile
How it all started
It started, as most wild ideas do, with an innocent daydream—a vague itch for something different, something adventurous, something...van-shaped. Alizée and I had been talking about ways to get out of the daily grind, to chase sunsets instead of deadlines, and to build memories that wouldn’t fit neatly into an Instagram grid. The more we thought about it, the more the van life dream crystallized. “What if we just did it?” I asked one evening, fully expecting her to tell me to simmer down. Instead, she smiled and said, “Yalla, bye! Let’s go.”
With our Lebanese spirit of “when you’re going, go big,” we didn’t just want any van. We wanted our van. Something that could be a blank canvas for all the adventures we’d paint onto it. There were some non-negotiables: it had to be brand new—a big ask when demand for camper vans was still running high even in mid-2024. It had to be reliable (a shout-out to family wisdom: “Ma teshteri shi 7artouka”—don’t buy something that’ll need fixing every week). And, of course, it needed to have just the right dimensions—small enough to navigate tight city streets, fit our home garage, but spacious enough to carry all the dreams we could pack into it.
The search began. I spent hours scouring listings, reading forums, and joining Facebook groups. We were determined to find a Mercedes-Benz Metris cargo van, mainly for its Goldilocks size. It wasn’t as towering as a Sprinter, but it could still swallow up a road trip’s worth of gear without breaking a sweat.
Finding the rig for us
But oh, the hurdles! The Metris was the darling of the Pacific North West—and for good reason. With America's best Metris upfitters like Peace Vans in Washington and Keystone Coach Works in Oregon, it was the go-to choice for anyone dreaming of the perfect, small but mighty, adventure-mobile. But therein lay the rub. These upfitters were so popular that their lead times stretched on for months. By the time they could have delivered a converted van, summer would have been a distant memory, and “patience” isn’t usually my problem, but when I make a decision, I need to act on it ASAP. Plus, demand was sky-high, and prices were climbing faster than a Seattle house listing. It felt like the universe was dangling a carrot on a stick, just out of reach. This wasn’t just any van we were chasing; it was the van, and we weren’t about to settle for anything less.
Then, one fateful morning, a breakthrough. A Mercedes-Benz dealership in Virginia had exactly what we were looking for: a brand-new, pristine white, fully converted Metris. The price? Fair. The specs? Perfect. The catch? It was 2,700 miles away. But if I’ve learned one thing from my parents, it’s that if you get a good feel for things and the prize is good enough, you make it happen. “Yislamo ya Rab—we’ll make it work,” I said, as we started sketching out a cross-country retrieval plan.
Booking the flight to Virginia felt surreal. The whole thing had a mix of excitement and absurdity, like the first moments of a road trip when you realize you might have overpacked snacks but underestimated the quirks of last-minute planning. When we finally arrived at the dealership, the van was waiting for us, gleaming in all its unmodified cargo-van glory—almost like your neighborhood plumber or electrician’s van 😀. Seeing it felt like meeting a pen pal you’d written to for years.
There it was, gleaming and waiting for us ✨
The salesperson, Larry Stepp—a memorable 77-year-old who's thriving and full of energy—handed us the keys, smiling, and I could tell he thought we were a little crazy. Maybe we were. But there’s a special kind of joy in those moments when the what-ifs and the might-bes give way to the here-and-now. Standing in that lot in Virginia, I glanced at Alizée. “Ready to take it home?” I asked. She grinned. “Not so fast—we’ve got to detour through Montreal.”
And just like that, the van—our van—wasn’t just a vehicle anymore. It was a vessel for everything to come: the open roads, the quiet campsites, the laughter shared over burnt campfire meals, and the miles that would stretch out between us and whatever lay ahead.
But before I end this story, let’s talk about the van itself. The interior was fully converted—a cozy space for adventures to come—but the exterior? Well, it looked like your friendly neighborhood plumber’s van. That had to change. Over time, we gave the van a personality upgrade. First, we added new wheels (Black Rhino Sandstorm), fender flares (by Terrawagen out in Oregon), and an aero hood spoiler (also by Terrawagen) to give it a bit of edge and character. Next, we swapped out the bouncy OEM suspension—which made it feel like riding in a NYC yellow cab—for upgraded suspensions that provided extra clearance and a more controlled, performance-oriented ride (tailored made for the Metris by a German company: Twin-Monotube-Projekt). We also removed the black vinyl wrap on the pop-top, the part that opens into a bed or provides extended headroom. To future-proof it, we upgraded the struts so we could add gear or a cargo box on the roof if needed. Finally, we installed a solar panel charger to give us an extra source of battery power, complementing the alternator and shore power outlet, ensuring we’d always have the energy to keep our adventures going.
The interior upgrades and personal touches deserve a story of their own, so I’ll save that for a future tale. For now, with the GPS set and Alizée by my side, we pulled out of the lot, ready to turn dreams into adventures. As we drove off, I glanced at her and said, 'Inshallah kheir!' (translation: 'God willing, it’ll turn out well!') because sometimes, all you need to start a new adventure is a little hope and a lot of faith. Yalla, bye!