A case for occasional camping

 

The nearest campsite was 10 minutes away, on the other side of our town; but seeing how we were being adventurous, we decided to go to the next closest, a daring forty minutes away.

 

As anyone who has ever had the misfortune to be gifted a quote of the day calender knows, it's not the destination that matters, it's the journey. As anyone with children knows, the journey is probably going to be awful - especially when your child suffers from a car confinement allergy to journeys of more than 10 minutes.

 

We travelled, enduring 30 minutes of windows being wound down too far, complaints about too-tight seatbelts, a couple of emergency stops for urgent toilet breaks, moans about starvation, spilled drinks, and lost toys.

 

 

 

 

It meant that we would arrive at our destination frazzled, irritable, stressed - but only mildly homicidal.

 

The campsite turned out to be lovely; acres of pristine lawn, multiple pretty beaches and stunning views of a bright blue bay and mountains beyond. Families dotted the campsite with tents the size of bungalows; kayaks and bikes strapped to the roofs of their cars.

 

We held a family argument about the best location to set up camp, and then turned anti-social and picked a spot furthest away from everyone else.

 

After a pleasant afternoon of paddling and walking up and down to the very far away bathroom, we ate pizza from a nearby shop in a very un-Bear Grylls way. The evening deepened; I pictured getting the child to sleep and enjoying a glass of wine with the sunset and the grown up.

 

 

 

 

The child could not sleep in the tent.

 

A billion midges descended upon us.

 

We went to bed early, all of us, bitten and uncomfortable.

 

We recently decided to become a family who goes camping. Occasionally.