The highs & lows of camping

Camping. An activity for some and a cheap form of accommodation to others. During my life I've had more than my fair share of nights 'under canvas'.  In fact, if I was to add them up, I'd say that I've easily spent a year or two living out of a tent. By definition, this amount of camping has resulted in some real memorable and defining moments that highlight the attraction and appeal of camping. On the flip side, it's also produced the odd lousy, uncomfortable and damp nights sleep. On the whole, I'd say that on average my camps have been a pleasurable experience - and like most things, the most horrendous times can be looked back and laughed at.

Like when a tree once fell down on the tent in the night; or the times when my therm-a-rest exploded or developed a melon sized blister; or the time when a small river engulfed the tent; or in the Lake District when my brother and I spent the entire night holding onto the poles to stop the whole thing blowing away; or when a nest of ants chewed through the ground sheet and karrimat. I could go on with such disasters...

More often than not, it's just been a cheap way of seeing the world. Sometimes, having the flexibility to camp allows you to visit places that are simply not accessible to the non camper. And in terms of financing my prolonged periods of travel, camping has made my itinaries affordable.

For example, I'm currently sat in an idyllic grassy meadow in Italy's Orco Valley. Surrounded by granite cliffs and snow capped mountains. Camping bliss. But it's a far cry from last night... 

Picture the scene if you will: having spent a tranquil day snorkelling at various beauty spots around the west coast of Corsica, we boarded the ferry back to Savona on mainland Italy. Salty and very sweaty we spend the next six hours crossing the Med, before getting herded back into our cars which by now are stiflingly hot. More sweating ensues as we disembark. By now it's gone 10pm, dark and about 31degrees. There are a few campsites close to the Port, but the town is busy and eventually we are granted a spot (approx 2m x 3m) at the end of some in-situ caravans.

It feels like we've just entered another world. There is no room for cars, and our spot - for which we are about to be charged the going rate of €27 - is located by the sea, at the end of a maze of caravans, shacks and sheds. People, dogs, children and tattooed skin are everywhere. It's like an market scene from deepest, darkest Peru. 

Somewhere between fetching the tent and returning to the spot, a group of back packers arrive, followed shortly by a family of about 13 Phillapinos. We are relocated about 30cm from them. Too tired to do anything else, we put up the inner and crawl into our canvas sanctury. It's as light as day and although it's nearly midnight now, the family decide to get a cooking session on the go and enjoy some high volume topical discussions. At 1.30am, they begin to go to bed, seemingly blissfully unaware of their surroundings and those around them. We are sweaty, salty and beyond tired. At 6am they are up and awake - and therefore so are we! (Not that we'd really gone to sleep). I don't think we've ever exited a 'campsite' faster in our lives, or left a town in such a hurry - a night of pure torture! 

Of course, now, in the quiet meadow, it seems like another world away. What's most blizzare with camping is that up here in the mountains, at a campsite that we would describe as million times nicer, it's a fraction of the cost! Camping - it's a mad world and people sure are strange...