A thousand nights on wheels (and one more)

A thousand nights.

A thousand times I’ve closed my eyes in our little house on wheels, listening to the rain drumming on the roof or to the silence breathing through the woods.
A thousand times I’ve felt the engine hum beneath my paws, the wheels turning toward the unknown, and Daddy Edu’s heartbeat pulsing in the cabin—always chasing the next horizon.

And then there’s Daddy Edu’s extra night.
The one he spent without me, while I snoozed at Uncle Fabi’s house in Edinburgh. But that single night makes the story sound almost mythical. A thousand and one nights. Like those old tales—full of journeys, wonders, and the occasional unexpected bark.

It all began back in 2021, when the camper still smelled of promise and freshly cut wood. Since then, we’ve roamed through thirty-eight countries—thirty-eight pawprints on this map of scents, flavours, and landscapes.
But if I had to tell it my way, I wouldn’t count it in countries. I’d count it in nights. Each night has its own story, its own colour, its own sound. Some smell of damp forest, others of diesel, snow, or freshly baked bread. Some sound like silence, others like wind—or crickets singing their lullaby.

We’ve slept under stars and on warm sand. We’ve felt the polar air of the North, beyond the Arctic Circle, and the southern sun that warms even your thoughts.
Sometimes the heat made the tyres sigh. Other times, the snow surrounded us like a white army refusing to retreat.
I remember one night in Croatia when we had to dig the car out of the snow—what an epic! Edu was swearing in several languages, and I, wisely, was supervising from a slightly drier hill.

In these thousand nights, there’s been everything: fairy-tale castles and ruins that whisper stories, roads of dust, mud, and stone. Mountains that made us feel small, lakes that mirrored the sky, cities where everyone wanted to pet me, and villages where time itself seemed to be napping.

But the best part hasn’t been the landscapes.
The best part has been the people.
Those who crossed our path with a smile. Those who offered us coffee. Those who always asked about me first (naturally). Those who shared their stories. And those who simply waved from their doorsteps—as if they’d been waiting for us all along.

We haven’t always travelled alone, either. Many times Uncle Joan joined us—he’s in charge of the music and the maps. Sometimes Uncle Javi came too; he always finds the best spots. And once, even Uncle Antonio (the one from Málaga, who isn’t Daddy’s brother) came along. Each of them shared a few of those nights, and each left their mark on our rolling little home.

Not every night has been easy. Some were cold, others noisy. A few even a bit eerie. But they all count. Because every night spent in the camper is a promise kept—to keep moving, to live without clocks or walls, to keep dreaming on wheels.

Sometimes I think a thousand nights sounds like a lot. But then I remember that each one has its own heartbeat. It’s not just a number—it’s a journey told in dreams. And now that we’ve added one more, I know it’s not an ending. It’s an open door to a thousand more to come.

A thousand nights (and one more). A number that doesn’t mean rest—it means road. Because as long as the lights fade out above our roof, and the mornings wake us with the scent of a new world, Daddy Edu and I will keep rolling.
He at the wheel, me as co-pilot, and the camper—our tiny universe in motion.