What goes around … comes around!

I was chatting to some friends this morning about camping – and the merits of enjoyment, rather than survival, in this regard. I am all for enjoyment! I want a nice big tent with a veranda/afdak in the front in case of rain or too much sun, fold out chairs and table, a blow-up mattress and a great big lantern. Don’t put me in a two-man tent (see … it tells you – no room for a woman in there!) with a spork and varkpan, and a spiky log to sit on.

During the conversation I recalled a ‘camping incident’ from my late teens. A friend and I went camping one holiday, and the tent that we had belonged to my parents (the one they bought for the Bazaruto trip – see my blog: http://simmelman.wordpress.com/2011/03/07/paradise-island-…-not-for-me/ ). It was HUGE, extremely heavy and difficult to erect. The tent bag took up more than half the boot, and then there was a great big bag of poles to go with that.

We arrived at the campsite in Hermanus in the middle of a stinking hot summer’s day, and immediately set about putting up our shelter … much to the amusement of four young men sitting next to their Golf on the campsite next to us – boot open and music blaring.

Between the two of us we managed to heft the bulky tent bag out of the car – and that already had us breaking a sweat.

The chaps grinned and cracked another beer each.

I volunteered for the dreadful job of burrowing under the canvas whilst my fair-skinned friend braved the burning sun and fed the framework of poles through tiny holes in the top corners of the quadrilateral tent to me.

After enduring the sauna created by being sandwiched closely between heaps of solar-heated canvas and the plasticky built-in floor, I was very grateful when the centre pole was finally introduced and the structure lifted to let in some air. Only to discover the poles were not correctly assembled, and we would have to break down the frame and start again. I dragged my sweat-soaked, soggy self out of there and swapped roles with my friend – who by now closely resembled a boiled crayfish.

The guys smirked, nudged each other and stretched out with another icy one.

I scowled, lit a cigarette and got back to work.

What a relief it was when we finally got the tent up, moved in our table, chairs, lantern, sleeping bags and refreshments … lots of ice-cold liquid refreshments. We needed them to replace the litres we’d lost in getting our shelter up! In no time our campfire was ablaze and we settled in to enjoy ourselves.

As it turned out, it was just as well we started our fire at sundown and didn’t wait … because by 9pm the heavens had opened and the campsite was soaked. We were comfortably ensconced in our wonderful, weather-proof tent – lantern shedding a warm glow, whilst we quaffed red wine.

Our peace was interrupted by a hesitant knock at the tent door, followed by a pitifully damp request for shelter. Apparently our lazy, unhelpful neighbours had no tent … and nowhere to sleep …

My friend and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows. With one unified roar we told them exactly where they could go … and it wasn’t anywhere near our tent.

The next morning we emerged, blinking sleepily in the early morning sun and stretching our well-rested limbs in the fresh, rain-washed air. Alongside our site was the Golf with two of the men sleeping uncomfortably in the front seats, one six-foot-somethinger curled on the back seat, and the fourth was shivering under the car.

We smirked, nudged each other and sipped our steaming mugs of condensed milk coffee…

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