© Eva Zu Beck

Eva Zu Beck, the renowned traveler and storyteller, continues to make waves with her latest adventures. Her dedication to exploring less-trodden paths and sharing authentic experiences has earned her a global following. We recently caught up with Eva to discuss her latest journeys and the significant achievements accomplished along the way, offering a glimpse into the life of a true modern explorer.​

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What makes your National Geographic show “Superskilled” different from others? ​

At its core, Superskilled is about reconnecting with the powerful potential hardwired into the human DNA. It is about recognizing that we, too, are capable of incredible things and using that potential to live healthier, happier, and slightly wilder lives.​

To demonstrate this, we wanted to learn some of the incredible skills that various communities around the world still practice and nurture today. This way, we knew we would be able to pay homage to their traditional skillsets and lifestyles. More than anything, I hope Superskilled inspires people to live healthier, happier, and wilder.​

Another goal of mine was to direct and host an adventure show as a woman in a media niche dominated by male hosts. I believe that there should be more opportunities for female role models in this space, and I'm excited to be a part of this change.​

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Your grandfather loved to travel. Is this where your love for adventure comes from? ​

In many ways, yes. My grandfather explored the world at a time when that kind of freedom was rare. He left communist Poland with a suitcase full of things to barter just to see what life looked like beyond the Iron Curtain. He documented every journey in these beautiful travel chronicles, handwritten or typed, filled with details, reflections, and little moments that made each trip unforgettable.​

​I grew up reading those pages like treasure maps. After he passed away, they became my way of staying close to him. A few years ago, I found a note he scribbled while traveling through Tanzania. He wrote about no longer being impressed by distances or bothered by discomforts, about traveling slowly and simply, and about learning to love the road for everything it brings. That line stayed with me, so yes, maybe the seed came from him. But my love for adventure really took root when I realized I couldn’t follow the path laid out for me. I needed to find my own, and travel became the way I did that.​

You’re a successful content creator, yet you travel in a very old Defender. Why? ​

For hopeless romantics who follow our hearts and end up with old cars, ancient houses, or choices that make no practical sense, there’s something about the imperfect—the well-worn. The tried and tested.Sure, a brand-new car would have been easier. Smoother. More comfortable. But easy doesn’t always cut it.​

Odyssey, my Defender, is uncomfortable, loud, and a pain in the butt to drive. I remember getting into a new car after months in Odyssey and thinking something was broken because the gears felt too smooth. Turns out, that’s how modern vehicles work.​

But every time I climb in, I smile. She’s rugged. Simple. Resilient. A reminder that life doesn’t have to be perfect to be meaningful. There’s beauty in that, not in the polish, but in how she keeps going, no matter what.​

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Has the diesel heater changed the way you explore in winter? ​

One hundred percent yes. Before I had one, winter nights were brutal. I’ve woken up to frozen water bottles, condensation dripping from the roof, and that kind of deep cold that settles into your bones and doesn’t let go.​

Now? I can sleep through the night. I can wake up warm, make coffee without shivering, and even enjoy the beauty of winter instead of just surviving it. It doesn’t turn your truck into a luxury hotel. But it makes winter overlanding not just doable but honestly magical.​

You called Wyoming the loneliest state in the USA because it’s the least populated. Do you enjoy being in places with no people? ​

I do. I think I always have. There’s something about the vastness, the silence, the way the world stretches out when no one else is around. During the Alaska leg of Expedition Wild, I drove over 5,000 miles through some of the most remote wilderness I’ve ever seen. No signal. No people. Just an endless road and a quiet that sinks into your bones.​

That kind of solitude is where I feel most free. But solitude isn’t loneliness. I felt it in the Arctic, pulling my sled across 300 miles of frozen landscape. The exhaustion. The cold. The weight dragged me back. And yet, there was nowhere else I wanted to be. When everything is stripped away, and nothing is left to distract you, you stop thinking and start feeling. That’s when you remember what it means to be truly alive.​

To me, places like Alaska, Mongolia, and the Arctic aren’t empty. They are full of life. Wild, untamed, honest life. And I don’t feel separate from it when I am out there. I feel like I belong.

What has been the most demanding physical challenge you’ve ever undertaken? ​

Without a doubt, the Lapland Arctic Ultra. Three hundred miles. Five hundred kilometers. Ten days of pulling a heavy sled through snow and ice, carrying everything I needed to survive. It was brutal. The cold seeped into my bones. Sleep deprivation left me weak and slow. The shin splints sent bolts of pain through my legs with every step. There were moments I screamed into the silent boreal forest, hoping that somehow the pain would go away.​

​But the most challenging part wasn’t physical. It was the battle with my mind. The endless questioning. The voice that whispered,You don’t belong here. The exhaustion was so profound I could no longer remember why I had signed up for this in the first place. And yet, I kept going. Because, at some point, reasons don’t matter anymore. All that’s left is the next step. And then the next. And then the next.​

Finishing that race was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. A series about this experience is now live on my YouTube channel.​

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Do you stick to a fitness program when on the road? ​

I won’t lie. It’s tough. It's easy to let training slide when you’re constantly on the move, dealing with unpredictable weather, long driving days, or just the exhaustion of expedition life.But I’ve learned that consistency doesn’t have to mean perfection. I don’t always have access to a gym or perfect running trails, so I make do with what I have: running on dirt roads and strength training in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes, that means squeezing in a quick session before packing up camp or going for a long hike instead of a structured workout.​

The key is making training part of the lifestyle, not something separate from it. If I prepare for a big race, I build my days around movement. I prioritize it like I would food or sleep. And when things don’t go to plan, I remind myself that showing up, even in small ways, is always better than doing nothing.​

What advice do you have for others who buy a standard vehicle and want to turn it into a home? ​

The best advice I can give is to keep it simple. When I first moved into Odyssey, I thought I needed all the fancy gear—extra storage, gadgets, clever little modifications. But over time, I realized that the best setup is the one that makes life easier, not more complicated.​

The key things are a comfortable bed setup, a reliable power source, and a way to stay warm if you’re traveling in cold climates. Beyond that, choose gear that matches how you like to travel. Some people love big kitchens, and others prioritize storage. I kept my setup minimalist because I wanted more space to move and breathe.​

And don’t overbuild. Leave room for spontaneity!

In your Wonderland Trail video, you try to run 95 mountainous miles over three days but realize that you might run out of food and your energy levels are not where they should be. How hard was it to tap out? ​

For a long time, I thought quitting meant failing. What if I just pushed harder? I could get through anything. But the more challenges I take on, the more I realize that knowing when to stop is just as important as knowing when to keep going.​

The Wonderland Trail was tough but manageable—until it wasn’t. I was moving too slowly, running low on food, and feeling weaker than I should have. Looking ahead at the next two days, I had a choice: push on for the sake of finishing or listen to my body and turn back before things got worse.​

A few years ago, my ego wouldn’t have let me quit. I would have forced myself forward to prove something. But strength is not just about pushing through. It is also about knowing when to step back and reassess. The Wonderland Trail taught me that sometimes, the hardest decision is correct. Sometimes, the lesson is in knowing when to walk away.​

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Has one trip defined who you are, or is each a stepping stone in life? ​

When I set off to travel the world, I thought that at some point, after enough miles and experiences, I would arrive at a final version of myself. There would be a moment when everything clicked, and I would finally know who I was. But whether it was living full-time in Odyssey for years, running 100 or 500 kilometers, or climbing some of the highest mountains in the world, that moment never came. I used to believe that one trip would be the one to shape me. But looking back, I see it was never about a single experience. It has always been about the collection of them.​

Eustace Conway once said he did not hike the Appalachian Trail to find himself but to find more of himself. That has been my experience, too. Instead of chasing a final version of who I am, I have started collecting pieces. Some come from challenges, some from people I have met, and some from quiet moments I did not expect to matter, but they did.​

This has made the journey feel endless in the best possible way. It is not a straight line with a beginning and an end, but an open space I can move through in any direction.