I should start with a confession. As a general rule, I do not camp. It would be fair to say that I would rather have a toenail pulled off with a pair of pliers than find myself sleeping (or rather not sleeping) under canvas. I have had some experience of this. My last time was in the hills of Scotland with four young children (screaming), an enthusiastic husband and a swarm of midges. I put my back out in my haste to get back to civilisation.
However here I was in Tanzania on a 14 day overland camping trip from Nairobi to Zanzibar. I think I imagined the tents of old colonial days with beds, mosquito nets, ablution tents and long trestle tables with gleaming white table cloths, on which dinner would be served, with the backdrop of the sun setting over the Serengeti.
I should have read the small print.
What we have is 2 person dome tents which we erect and dismantle on a daily basis. (Obviously by “we” I mean Stuart) The “mattresses” are slightly better than camping mats but still very thin. This means that you spend the night turning like a rotisserie chicken on a spit, in order to avoid aching joints and possibly bed sores. It is roomy enough providing you only take a backpack of essentials for the night and the next day – otherwise it’s you or the suitcase. Oh… and I forgot to mention it’s the rainy season!
On the first night, I reckon I managed between 2 and 3 hours sleep between the noise of traffic, animals and a snoring husband. I also had an incident of every camper’s nightmare – the middle of the night toilet trip. Having made it out of the tent, I finally found the toilet block after a couple of false starts. I was quite disorientated from darkness and disbelief that I had thought camping was a grand plan. However, I eventually made it back to our little corral of 5 tents. I hauled up the outer zip and then heard the fateful words, “wrong tent.”
I should explain that these tents have zips and doors all over the place and they all look the same. I felt as though I had been spun around 20 times with a blindfold on. I had no idea where I should try next. I considered the choices. Stay outside all night, getting eaten alive by beasties, and possibly bigger animals, or risk alienating the whole team by waking everyone up – one by one. I choose the latter option. I whispered at another tent, “Stuart, are you in there?” Silence! I try it anyway. This time I get the two zips up before, “We’re full in here!” And so it goes on. Finally, tent number 4 contains Stuart, who is silently laughing his head off – having heard the whole fiasco but finding it too entertaining to put me out of my misery. Some days it’s hard to remember why I married him.
It’s now 5 days on. I have made my peace with camping. I now have two mattresses, which has made a huge difference and I am getting a steady 7-8 hours sleep each night. I also have a wee washing and storing things routine and a more efficient packing approach. I would be lying if I said I loved it but at least I’m no longer threatening to check into a hotel on a nightly basis. (It was actually a bit of an empty threat on the two nights spent in the middle of the Serengeti.) It is also worth mentioning that the food is great, the company entertaining and the setting spectacular. Who knows? Maybe, I’ll become a camping convert yet!
0 Comments