Ain’t No Party Like a Bus Party!

Birthdays are that magical annual excuse to do whatever feels right. Gather your crew, let your unique flag fly, and celebrate another glorious lap around the sun. Somewhere between the ocean air, dusty road trips, and chaos of shared living, a tradition was born aboard the Yellow Submarine With Wheels—a tradition so beloved it brought travellers back across countries just to relive it. What follows is a collection of these wild, joy-filled celebrations. May they inspire your next birthday to be just as free-spirited and unforgettable.

Before Buslife, There Was the Birthday Routine

Back when life was still rooted in routine, a birthday might involve taking the day off, sinking into a beach towel, and spoiling oneself with a massage or facial. The real celebration, though, was a weekend house party. One standout was a 24th birthday spent zipping between friends’ homes in a bride-themed, all-girls fridge-to-fridge bicycle event. Each stop came with drinks, laughter, and the realisation mid-pedal that floor-length gowns weren’t designed for cycling. Out came the scissors. Off came the hems.

But life on the road called for a different kind of birthday bash. Gone were the comforts of lifelong friends, replaced by dorm mates and hostel introductions. And yet, there was something beautiful in it. Bus birthdays transformed travel companions into family, with games and traditions that made strangers feel like siblings.

So, What’s a Bus Party Anyway?

Think of it as a birthday festival packed into a single, glorious day—a blend of childhood games and adult beverages, fused with international flair and competitive chaos. The number of games? Always equal to the age of the birthday legend.

A brainstorming session would kick things off. We’d huddle around, recalling the best games from our youth and spicing them up with a global twist of drinking games. Everyone contributed. Rules were bent. Games were renamed. The final list was scribbled onto small slips of paper and folded into a hat. Only the birthday person could draw the next challenge, one by one, never knowing what surprise lay ahead.

But before the madness began, there was breakfast. Always a big deal. Barney, our culinary genius, pulled out all the stops. Forget the usual instant oats and Nescafé—this was pancakes stacked high, crispy French toast, fresh fruit platters bursting with colour, and proper coffee. Fuel for champions. Once the feast had settled and the caffeine kicked in, the tournament began.

Chris 28th - Where the Games Ended and the Party Began

Our very first bus birthday. The one that set the tone. In the days leading up to the event, we hit the local markets to gather supplies: streamers, paint, costume bits, and anything absurd we could get our hands on. We made a homemade birthday sign and adorned colourful party hats and bright attire.

Twenty-eight games were chosen, from the iconic beer pong to wild card creations like mini golf with a broom and plastic cups taped to the floor. Flanky ball required hurling a bottle across a circle of players while dodging beer cans and shouts. Spirits were high.

It started strong. Then the games got sillier. Someone lost a shoe. Someone else tried to invent a new game mid-tournament. Music blasted through a portable speaker duct-taped to the bus ceiling. Laughter echoed out into the Chilean night.

We never made it past game twelve. Half the crew was sidetracked with dancing. A few ended up swimming in their clothes. The scoreboard was abandoned, and the competition gave way to pure celebration. Chris was crowned The Crab King for reasons none of us can recall clearly—only that it felt absolutely right at the time.

By morning, we found sand in every crevice of the bus, costumes tangled around the roof rails, and a paper trail of played games leading from the door to the beach. A glorious mess.

Lesson learned: recovery games were added for future events. Drink water. Eat snacks. Pace yourself. Bus parties are marathons, not sprints.

Jyri 30th – Mussels and Mayhem

Jyri, the mechanical genius behind the bus build, requested one thing for his 30th: an endless flow of gin and tonic. His wish was fulfilled with a five-litre glass jug and a tap. Cold, crisp, and ready for sipping throughout the day.

We were parked on Chile’s rugged northern coast, surrounded by tide pools and rock formations that looked like a fantasy film set. When the game Grab a Mussel was drawn, chaos ensued. No instructions were needed. Every single one of us exploded out of the bus like a pack of wild animals. Shoes were ditched. The race was on.

People tripped over driftwood, slipped on seaweed, pushed and shoved through shallow pools in a mad scramble to return with a massive mussel in hand. I remember holding one up to the sky, dripping wet and shining like a trophy. I was laughing too hard to breathe.

Later came face painting. It started innocently—partners paired up by popping balloons with instructions inside and were given wax crayons to create masterpieces. Clowns, Batman, and butterflies we became. Then Barney, sneaky and strategic, turned my face into a perfect red-and-black bull’s-eye. When I saw my reflection, I laughed but knew what was coming.

Lunch: completos. Chile’s iconic mayo-smeared, avocado-loaded hot dogs we often ate as late-night snacks or launched in food fights. Five of them, lined up like missiles. The countdown began. One, two, three. I stood there, arms down, eyes closed, bracing for impact. The first one hit my cheek. The next splattered on my chest. Sauce flew in every direction. My face was dripping in mayo and tomato. Triumph or defeat? Didn’t matter. It was ridiculous and perfect.

Sophie 23rd – The Montañita Circus

Montañita, Ecuador. This coastal town had a magnetic pull. We stayed parked there for nearly three months, settling into a rhythm of sunrises by the beach and sunset strolls. During this time, the bus family grew to eight or ten, spreading out between the vehicle and two tents pitched nearby.

It was the ideal setting for a circus-style celebration.

Barney carved out a trench in the sand to act as our dining arena. In the middle of it, we placed a large plastic table we’d found earlier that week and dubbed it our Lazy Susan (an ’80s-style spinning table). Drinks and snacks spun wildly as games were played and stories were shared. It felt like something out of a dream.

There was one sign we’d carried with us for months. A strange wooden post Leve had found and refused to part with despite it being mostly useless. Until this day. He finally painted it, in crooked black-and-white letters: “How good is this.” It was more than a sign. It was a philosophy. The kind of thing you look at mid-party, slightly tipsy, surrounded by laughter and music, and think—yeah. How good is this!

Then came the skinny-dipping card. Within seconds, a pile of clothes formed at the bus door. Every item came off. No hesitation. No shame. We sprinted toward the waves like feral children set free. White bums glowing under the midday sun, water crashing over our heads as we screamed with joy. Nothing beats the freedom of being naked in nature. That moment of pure silliness, unfiltered fun, reminded us that joy doesn’t need permission. Just an open sky and a body willing to feel it.

Barney 20th – A Sweet Celebration With Mum

This one was special. Barney’s mum had flown in from Australia to join her son’s travels. She bunked in one of the bus beds and embraced life on wheels with curiosity and courage.

We were parked in the surf town Huanchaco, Peru, with the ocean on one side and a line of other travelling vans nearby.

The lolly hunt game was drawn, and we stepped inside so the wind didn’t blow hair into our eyes. Inside the bus, bowls of popcorn were lined up on the table. Each had one hidden soft lolly. Hands tied behind backs. Eyes on the prize.

At the shout of “Go,” we all plunged face-first into the popcorn, noses buried in crunch and sugar. Everyone wriggled and shoved, trying to find the elusive gummy texture with only their tongues. The moment someone found one, popcorn exploded into the air as they threw their head back to declare victory.

Popcorn rained over the beds, the floor, the curtains. It stuck to our faces, in our hair, and down our shirts. We looked like sweet-crusted lunatics, laughing with red faces and crinkled eyes.

The Heart Behind the Chaos

These birthday tournaments weren’t just parties. They were permission slips to be silly again. To laugh loudly, eat messily, and strip down in the name of joy.

Bus life had a way of reminding everyone that the best kind of celebration doesn’t need much—just connection, creativity, and a willingness to let go. These moments lifted spirits and raised vibrations and reminded us that joy lives in nature, happiness, and the simple act of being together.

Would I relive it? In a heartbeat. Maybe with fewer shots this time. But fun—real—fun-real-the kind that leaves you covered in face paint and hot dog sauce—is worth chasing. Always.