From Tin Can to Camper in Four Weeks – Ambition is a Lifestyle Choice.
During the entire theory phase — when we were still drawing plans, binning ideas, and having heated debates about conversion options in every spare minute — one topic was moved right to the front, just in case: welding and rust removal.
And that was… wise.
Because what came next was a lot.
If I’m being honest: it was a lot a lot. Rust on these boxes isn’t a “small issue”, it’s basically a core feature. Why the manufacturer never truly sorted it out? No idea. Well… I do have an idea. But with every exposed rust patch, with every new unplanned hole in the metal, the anger, frustration, and a very unpleasant sinking feeling in my stomach grew nicely — like a hobby I never asked for.
On one hand you’ve got this brown plague you breathe in while sanding and blasting, which clings to everything and still sits in your nose at night like an unwanted souvenir.
And on the other hand there’s that quiet, gnawing uncertainty:
Does this ever end?
Or are we slowly dismantling the entire bus — one “small patch” at a time?
At some point it genuinely felt like that: like a solid tin can gradually turning into a sieve.
The lower edge of the sliding door, in the end, was beyond saving. No sugar-coating it, no clever patching — it had to come out completely and be welded in anew. The rest of the rust could “only” be repaired in parts. And yes, “only” is doing some heavy lifting there. One small sheet of metal, then another, two or three original repair panels, what felt like 100 metres of welding wire, and several hours later the bus was finally… whole again.
And then that moment: no new hole.
No fresh brown spot appearing.
Just… done.
Relief.
From there on, it could finally begin. Not in theory — properly. And it had to be quick, because the first test trip was already fixed in the calendar. And not just any calendar: my better half’s calendar.
One week on Rügen. One week at a campsite. One week to find out whether this project would actually become a camper — or just another “brilliant idea” that lives mainly in my head.
What We Could Realistically Do at Short Notice
First priority: paint.
A white van was never an option. White is neutral, interchangeable, invisible. It smells of work and tools, not holidays and adventure. And this thing was not meant to become a “weekend construction van”.
Green was decided quickly. But green isn’t just green. Not even for a man. When it actually matters, we can suddenly think in colour nuances too. Matte or glossy? Metallic or solid? Military or friendly? Each version tells a different story. And that was the point: character. Manly character. A few cushions later won’t exactly “soften” the exterior, will they? 😉
In the end the choice was Lindgrün from Brantho Korrux.
Not because it’s trendy, but because it felt right. Calm, tough, a bit odd — more “proper tool for rough work” than show car. A colour that forgives, that can be used, that gains character over time instead of demanding constant worship.
And then there were the practical bits that actually matter: high scratch resistance, great coverage, built-in rust protection. And most importantly: later on I can touch up or repaint with the exact same paint without having to sand everything down again first. Not perfectionism — pragmatism.
Second: the seats.
Driver and passenger seats had to go. After all those hours of work, you at least want to sit like a human being — not be constantly reminded how ancient this vehicle really is.
Third: the bulkhead wall.
It didn’t just separate the cab from the cargo area — it also separated theory from practice. So out it went. In came a new floor, continuous from the rear doors all the way to the front into the cab. From this point on, the transporter slowly started becoming a living space.
Fourth: the actual conversion.
A kitchen unit, a bed, somewhere to sit, and storage — stripped back to the essentials, but with clear purpose.
Fifth: the tech.
A fridge, an inverter, and a power bank. No high-end build, no overkill — just a working base for the first trip.
We also added an external power inlet with a fuse box, so the bus could be connected safely to campsite electricity. No improvising with extension leads, no cable spaghetti inside or outside the van, no tripping hazards. No “temporary solutions” — something you plug in and then use safely and simply.
Sixth: paperwork.
TÜV inspection, re-registration — and then off on holiday.
Or more accurately: off into the test week.
There was, however, one small but not entirely irrelevant catch: for TÜV and re-registration I had to drive the bus to Germany. And suddenly it was clear — this wasn’t just a conversion project anymore. It was also a race against time.
From Here On: Speed.
Ages spent thinking. Forever planning. So we welded fast, painted fast, and built even faster.
How fast?
Three-weeks fast.
Thankfully the weather played along — because everything happened outside. Yes, outside.
“Excuse me?” some people will think. Outside… painting?
Yes. Why not.
It’s not a problem if you follow a few basic rules. First and most important: don’t spray too close to the neighbour’s property. Then you won’t have neighbour problems. Second: only paint when there’s no wind. Third: work with as little pressure as possible so you don’t stir up dust and dirt for no reason.
And with the paint I used, it worked perfectly. It’s basically made for this kind of job.
Low air pressure automatically means more material goes on and less dust goes everywhere — but you don’t get a mirror-smooth finish. You get a light texture. That texture means a bit less shine, but it has one decisive advantage: you don’t have to prep every surface to 100% perfection. Ninety percent is plenty for a result you can be genuinely happy with.
And that was the whole point: not perfection — progress.
After three intense days of painting, the bus was colour-finished. Roof, rear, bonnet and the sides below the cladding were painted matte black. The rest of the body in Lindgrün — or, as my wife would call it: pea green.
From that moment on, it stopped being about bodywork or paint.
It was time to turn a bus into a living space.
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