It must be said at the outset that I am not a camper. In fact my father-in-law will tell you how incredulous he is at the notion of me camping. Years ago my wife and I did, however, surrender to the mutually inclusive need to camp and delight in the pleasures of deep-sea diving in Sodwana and Mozambique, where pampered hotel living was simply not an option. We were care- and wrinkle-free, burdened only with the euphoria of our youth and the prospect of children at some point in the future.
By 2008 we are not only, fashionably, slightly more wrinkled, but we are characterised in large part by our two children. The elder is in grade one, in an ISASA (private) school with term times that differ in dates from the government school vacations, hence the ‘mid-terms’ and longer holidays.
A mid-term break is imminent and my wife, being an avid camper since her youth, sets her mind on camping with the children. She has an arsenal of compelling reasons, beginning with: ‘The children will really relish it,’ and I concede that it would be a fantastic experience for her and the children. With determination we resurrect our camping equipment from the garage graveyard and go camping. True to expectation it goes really well.
After the success of that camping trip I know, in some deep, dark part of myself, if not consciously in that very moment, that we will camp again. The children are sun-kissed with a serene happiness that comes from having played in nature to their hearts’ content. This ushers in a commitment to camping regularly and naturally necessitates the investment in a Jurgens Penta ... with an air-conditioner!
Our camping holidays are always short, taking advantage of the odd weekend away and mid-terms. My conviction that longer vacations require the benefit of a home-away-fromhome environment, and that the two-by-two of a caravan cannot qualify as such to any reasonable person, will not be silenced. I am by nature a practical man, and the notion of towing a cage on wheels for 1400 km to much-loved destinations seems at best masochistic and at worst, well, simply crazy.
I have vivid dreams of Europe, exploration with my family of all that is old and refined, architecture that is cultured and a living ode to the brilliance of man. My obsession with Europe results in many an argument. As luck would have it, I get to relinquish my obsession, my preconceived notion of what a long holiday is meant to be, to see with clarity how the world can look with the benefit of an open mind and a willingness to observe from a different perspective. This is my story of how I became a convert for life...
To read the full article, order a copy of the February 2011 issue of Caravan & Outdoor Life.
