Volkswagen Grand California: Is It The Perfect Family Campervan? Our Lake District Road Trip Review

The marketing blurb of the Volkswagen Grand California promises freedom, flexibility and a ‘Teutonic’ level of competence – sounds lovely. But I think what it actually delivers over a four day trip from Hampshire to the Lakes and back was a family holiday with just enough chaos and adventure to be utterly memorable.

From the outset, there is something faintly miraculous about the idea that a confined space can accommodate four people, a small dog, various bags for life, errant walking boots, charging cables, damp clothing and snacks of deeply questionable nutritional value and still function as a civilised place to live.

That, really, is why we do these things. Family life, in all its cluttered and chaotic glory, can apparently be compressed into one very large Volkswagen and four days later, emerge richer in spirit and only very slightly frayed around the edges. I am pleased to report that this was more or less the case.

Our transport for this particular expedition was the Volkswagen Grand California, which is less a van with ideas above its station and more a small house with headlights. It is based on the Crafter, which means that in another life it might easily have been delivering refrigeration units to an industrial estate. Yet inside, it feels a world away from that commercial ancestry.

The cabin is all pale finishes, neat storage, clever lighting and a sort of calm, clinical intelligence that suggests somebody in Volkswagen has spent serious time considering where families are likely to dump their belongings at half past nine in the evening.

That sort of thoughtfulness matters, because this was not one of those carefully styled social media escapes involving two impossibly attractive adults, a folded linen blanket and an enamel mug placed artfully beside a lake. This was real family travel. Me, my children, a Norfolk Terrier called Sally and four days on the road with all the muddle, noise and mild disorder that entails.

The sleeping arrangements, to be frank, were snug. At times, very snug. But they worked. The van remained warm, comfortable and reassuringly cosy throughout and each evening brought with it the now familiar domestic ritual of asking who was charging what, where the correct cable had gone and why it had almost certainly been borrowed by somebody else without permission.

We left North Hampshire in unexpectedly fine weather, which immediately raised expectations to an unreasonable level from the off. The route north could have been done more efficiently but efficiency is not really the point of our trip. If one is driving a Grand California, one does not merely take the established routes.

Our first proper stop was Ombersley and it was one of those lovely English places that make you wonder whether modern building materials were in fact a terrible mistake. The timber-framed buildings are utterly magnificent in that deeply reassuring way only very old British architecture can be. 

We stretched our legs, took in the scene and enjoyed a quick refreshment at The Kings Arms, which felt entirely in keeping with the sort of trip this was aiming to be. That is one of the Grand California’s virtues, it changes your relationship with stopping. In an ordinary car, pauses are functional. In this, they just seem like part of the experience.

From there it was a short hop to on to Ludlow, which remains one of those towns that seems faintly unfair on the rest of the country. It is picturesque without trying too hard, historic without becoming self-conscious and full of buildings which appear to have been drawn by somebody with a fondness for black beams and good taste.

The Feathers Hotel is properly arresting, not because it is simply old but because it is so unbelievable if it wasn’t there in front of you. Lunch at The Church Inn only improved matters. At this stage, the trip had settled into a very agreeable rhythm, which was drive, wander, eat, admire things, repeat.

Then on to Black Beck Holiday Park near Newby Bridge and here I will admit to having had expectations in need of correction. The phrase “holiday park” can conjure various images, not all of them flattering. Black Beck was excellent. First impressions were superb, the setting lovely and the facilities totally on point.

Showers were taken, sleeping arrangements were negotiated and the Grand California began to reveal more characteristics, which is that it is particularly good at becoming home, alarmingly quickly.

That, for me, is another great appeal of the Grand California. It is not merely transport and not quite accommodation. It sits in the much nicer middle ground between the two. Wherever you stop, you have your own space. Your own bed, your own table, your own stash of things. There is real value in that.

Day two took us from Black Beck to Church Stile Farm Holiday Park in Nether Wasdale, via Windermere, Hill Top and Castlerigg Stone Circle, which is not a route you could ever reasonably describe as dull.

Windermere was busy in the usual way but still lovely. We had a walk around and stopped at the Magic Roundabout for coffee, Coke and cured bacon, which felt exactly the sort of place one should visit while travelling through the Lakes in a campervan. There was water, there were boats, there were people dressed as though they had either just climbed a fell or were about to.

I felt faintly smug when we arrived in Windermere with the Grand California, not because I had all my worldly goods with me yet none of the chaos of hotel check-ins or suitcase-dragging but because I was in a place that was all about exploring. And I had the perfect vehicle for it.

Hill Top House, Beatrix Potter’s former home, was rather different. The children, if I am honest, were not wildly gripped by the literary significance of the place. I, however, was. Having read those stories countless times when they were younger, there was something eerily satisfying about walking in the very footsteps of the woman who created them. I suspect the gift shop was their highlight.

That afternoon came Castlerigg Stone Circle and with somewhere like that, the point is not merely the stones themselves but the setting. In another location it might feel like a pretty standard archaeological site. Here it feels like a history and a geography lesson collaborated.

The surrounding fells do a great deal of the work. It has presence, gravity and atmosphere and even children who may not be especially invested in Neolithic ritual seem to understand the significance and beauty of the location.

After a wander around Keswick, that evening we arrived at Church Stile Farm Holiday Park and the whole place had exactly the sort of atmosphere you want after a day on the move. Friendly people, a proper welcome and that sense that you are now a little way from the everyday world. 

Nearby, The Strands Hotel & Screes Inn proved to be one of the highlights of the entire trip. Good places have ambiance. Great ones have character. The Strands had the latter in spades. Warmth, good food, proper beer and a décor that might generously be described as gloriously unfashionable in all the right ways.

Horse brasses, floral carpets and absolutely no sense that anybody had tried to improve it with Farrow and Ball. I liked it enormously.

By the third morning, the Grand California had become entirely normal, which is perhaps the highest compliment I can pay it. A big motorhome can feel slightly absurd. In practice, this campervan rapidly stopped doing so.

Yes, it is large. Yes, threading it along narrower roads requires a degree of attention but visibility is actually rather good and once you trust its dimensions, it becomes surprisingly easy to place. You are aware of the size, certainly but not oppressed by it. It feels capable rather than cumbersome.

That day took us from Nether Wasdale towards North Yorkshire via Buttermere Pass and Dollywaggon Pike, which sounds again, on paper, like an excellent way to spend time and in practice, absolutely is. Church Stile Farm had been lovely; relaxed and exactly the kind of stop that makes a trip like this feel less like tourism and more like temporary belonging.

Buttermere, meanwhile, was glorious. There are parts of the Lake District that feel so obviously dramatic you almost resent them for showing off. This is one of them. Even the weather, which in the Lakes can often act like a bad-tempered stage manager, seemed willing to cooperate just enough to make everything look glorious.

At one point we were fortunate enough to see three F15 Strike Eagles tearing through the landscape, which felt a little juxtaposed to the tone and the pace of the holiday and location I must say. I know that the Lakes has a habit of turning ordinary moments into cinematic ones, but I didn’t think I would be seeing these.

And then there was Dollywaggon Pike. I had been led to believe this was a beginner’s trail. I can only assume that the person responsible for that description was a liar that like to watch uninitiated idiot’s struggle.

It was hard, boggy, steeper than expected and possessed of that uniquely demoralising quality mountain walks sometimes have, whereby the destination appears not to get closer so much as to retreat in mockery.

The final section was especially punishing. But of course, that is the bargain you make with the fells. They ask a bit too much and then repay you with views that render your physical complaint pointless. Once we were up there, looking out over that immense sweep of landscape, all was forgiven. It was utterly staggering.

By this point, the Grand California had taken on another role. After a proper walk and with the family happily tired in that useful way that only fresh air and mild hardship can produce, the van becomes a refuge. Not luxurious in the manner of a five-star hotel, perhaps but deeply civilised. 

It’s dine-in area, beds, storage and general warmth give it an appeal that goes far beyond novelty. You may not use every function every day. We did not need the toilet, shower, cooker or sink on this trip because the places we stayed covered much of that. But the point is that you could. And that changes everything psychologically because you travel with options.

Our final evening stop at Falls Park brought more superb views and another excellent meal, this time at The Marton Arms. That ambiance lingered. Good trips are not always defined by the headline attractions. Sometimes what stays with you is the feeling of a place, the warmth of a dining room, the look of old furniture and the welcome of staff who appear genuinely pleased you have turned up. Those details matter. They were often the things that elevated our route into a story.

And that, really, is what the Grand California did best over these four days. It turned a family break into something more fluid, more humorous and somehow more alive. It did not make the children suddenly tidier, the dog less interested in where she ought not to be, or sleep arrangements miraculously generous. But it absorbed the reality of family travel without complaint. It gave structure to the chaos.

There is, inevitably, a price to all this. The Grand California is not a modest thing, either financially or physically. It occupies road space and campsite space with confidence and in town you remain aware that you are still piloting something substantial. But there is substance to match. It feels well engineered, thoughtfully designed and genuinely useful. More importantly, it never felt too gimmicky or plastic like a larger motorhome can.

 This was not adventure sold as lifestyle decoration. It was simply a very effective way to go somewhere properly.

The drive home from Falls Park was long, as long drives home often are. By then the van contained the usual signs of a trip well lived: abandoned shoes, fully depleted snack reserves and that slightly stale but comforting smell of family travel. And somewhere on the road back south, it became clear that this had not really been about testing a vehicle at all, not in the strict sense. It had been about seeing whether a machine like this can genuinely enhance family life for a few days.

The answer, rather annoyingly for anybody trying to be cynical, is yes it can.

The Volkswagen Grand California is pretty perfect. With four people aboard, sleeping is a compromise and space must be managed rather than assumed. But it is warm, clever, capable and unexpectedly calming. More than that, it encourages the sort of trip people claim they want more of: slower, richer, less rigid and open to the possibility that a random stop on the way may prove every bit as memorable.

And if, along the way, you find yourself parked beneath a vast Cumbrian sky, making mental notes about charging cables while a dog settles in for the night and the children negotiate who sleeps where, you may begin to suspect that this sort of mildly chaotic freedom is more than tolerable.