I have never been a camper. I am more of a luxuriously soft pillows, breakfast in bed, and a five star hotel type of a girl. But then I married someone who was practically raised in a campervan. And there was no getting away from us having a family camping holiday.
For me camping pretty much equalled freezing cold nights, uncomfortable sleeping bags, and sore backs after several hours of interrupted sleep. And then my husband announced we were going on a camping holiday in Folkestone. With or without me.
You can imagine my enthusiasm.
We arrived to the campsite, and while it was not my type of a holiday (my type = hotel) the scenery was gorgeous, right by the seaside and I figured, well, it can't be all that bad. It could even be pleasant. Well...
The first night was a catastrophe. Our inflatable mattress failed, so we mostly slept as if in a hammock, slowly crushing each other awake. Not to mention that the summer blanket we brought from home was no match to the freezing breeze of English camping. I wore a jacket and two pairs of trousers and a onesie. I was still cold.
After several consequential upgrades to our equipment (camper beds, three extra sleeping bags, and warm socks) the last two nights were relatively comfortable...
That was thankfully just us adults though. My daughter had a new blow up mattress, a Pat Patrol branded camping bed, she wore her flimsy pajamas, and she has really never ever slept any better than what she did in the tent. She absolutely loved it. She was out the whole night, and very comfortable and warm. She repeatedly told me how she loves sleeping in a tent, and how she loves camping, awww.
What we really enjoyed about camping was the outdoors. We loved the sun, the sea and the sand. We swam several times in the freezing cold waves, and we walked along the sea front, enjoying the salty air. We ate freshly caught seafood at the harbour, and enjoyed fish and chips for dinner on a beach. We went to Dover Castle and we wandered around the Folkestone artisan shops. Mostly though, we were outside. In the sunshine, by the seaside, and loved it.
Our daughter loved riding her bike up and down the campsite road, and running around like a headless chicken. She loved swimming in the sea, bobbing along with mummy and daddy, pretending to be Zuma (from Paw Patrol) rescuing us from the water. She loved being at the beach and making sand castles. Most of all, she enjoyed spending time as a family, and with her extended family, chatting with nanny and gran dad, playing with her cousins, and spending time with her auntie and uncle.
Would I go camping again?
Well, maybe. I can certainly see the appeal. Despite some awful nights, it was wonderful to fall asleep to the waves splashing in the distance. It was wonderful to finally see all the stars, even the tiny ones the light pollution in London hides away. We came back incredibly tanned and feeling like we really relaxed. Away from all the civilisation (ha ha, we were totally out of reach by phone and 4g) we didn't really get to do much anything other than be. And that felt good.
So we shall see what we get up to next summer - it might be camping again!
For me camping pretty much equalled freezing cold nights, uncomfortable sleeping bags, and sore backs after several hours of interrupted sleep. And then my husband announced we were going on a camping holiday in Folkestone. With or without me.
You can imagine my enthusiasm.
We arrived to the campsite, and while it was not my type of a holiday (my type = hotel) the scenery was gorgeous, right by the seaside and I figured, well, it can't be all that bad. It could even be pleasant. Well...
The first night was a catastrophe. Our inflatable mattress failed, so we mostly slept as if in a hammock, slowly crushing each other awake. Not to mention that the summer blanket we brought from home was no match to the freezing breeze of English camping. I wore a jacket and two pairs of trousers and a onesie. I was still cold.
After several consequential upgrades to our equipment (camper beds, three extra sleeping bags, and warm socks) the last two nights were relatively comfortable...
That was thankfully just us adults though. My daughter had a new blow up mattress, a Pat Patrol branded camping bed, she wore her flimsy pajamas, and she has really never ever slept any better than what she did in the tent. She absolutely loved it. She was out the whole night, and very comfortable and warm. She repeatedly told me how she loves sleeping in a tent, and how she loves camping, awww.
What we really enjoyed about camping was the outdoors. We loved the sun, the sea and the sand. We swam several times in the freezing cold waves, and we walked along the sea front, enjoying the salty air. We ate freshly caught seafood at the harbour, and enjoyed fish and chips for dinner on a beach. We went to Dover Castle and we wandered around the Folkestone artisan shops. Mostly though, we were outside. In the sunshine, by the seaside, and loved it.
Our daughter loved riding her bike up and down the campsite road, and running around like a headless chicken. She loved swimming in the sea, bobbing along with mummy and daddy, pretending to be Zuma (from Paw Patrol) rescuing us from the water. She loved being at the beach and making sand castles. Most of all, she enjoyed spending time as a family, and with her extended family, chatting with nanny and gran dad, playing with her cousins, and spending time with her auntie and uncle.
Would I go camping again?
Well, maybe. I can certainly see the appeal. Despite some awful nights, it was wonderful to fall asleep to the waves splashing in the distance. It was wonderful to finally see all the stars, even the tiny ones the light pollution in London hides away. We came back incredibly tanned and feeling like we really relaxed. Away from all the civilisation (ha ha, we were totally out of reach by phone and 4g) we didn't really get to do much anything other than be. And that felt good.
So we shall see what we get up to next summer - it might be camping again!
