My father in his youth was a bush walker (walking and wild camping) trekking for days in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. He camped wild carrying his kit in an old Boy Scout style rucksack with a blanket, ground sheet and small billy can used for cooking over an open fire. As a 10 year old Dad, my best friend Paul with his Father went camping for a week end in the New Forest. We had tents, canvas single skinned and the cooker was a tetchy and potentially explosive Primus stove fuelled by methylated spirit that required much coaxing to light. We pitched in a spot of our own choosing with no near neighbours and could roam wherever we pleases. With a rubberised ground sheet we slept directly on the ground with sheets and blankets. We were free to roam the glades and streams of the forest. Food comes out of tins.
50+ years on and I’m writing this sat beside Betsy, our tent on wheels (camper van) constructing a list, which has become more and more extensive, of all the additional pieces of kit that are essential to our survival. We are mere novices compared to those we camp hugger mugger beside. Our pitch is designated and numbered, 273 with a boundary marked by young bay trees. It is a generous size but our in experience means the positions of Betsy is limited to 10m away from the all important electricity connection. 10m is the length of our electrical cable – I had ignored Carol’s warning that we needed more cable – it is added to the list. Without electricity there will be no chilled wine and all the fresh vegetables will wilt in the heat.
The consequence of only a 10m cable is we are very close to the pitch boundary and the configuration of our neighbours’ plot means they keep taking a short cut through our space bouncing past us as we eat and relax under the patch of shade we have rigged up. It took us a long time to work out the optimum position for Betsy on our pitch. There is much discussion, pointing, peering at the sky and referring to the compass on an iPhone. Some discussion is heated fuelled by the sun boring down onto a pitch that is devoid of shade and the anxiety of slowly being roasted every time we want to sit beside our tent on wheels. The positioning is constrained by the slope of the pitch which could be overcome if it weren’t for that 10m cable – not for the first time in 36 years of marriage how I wished I had listened to Carol.
We are on a campsite in Istria, Croatia with over 500 pitches, as many people as a small town. We are serviced by a bakery, fruit stall, supermarket, 2 restaurants and beach bar. Pursuit of a beach holiday has brought us here. Our pitch is within spitting distance of the beach along with thousands of others. This is where we become holiday makers as opposed to tourists or travellers. We quickly work out what we prefer and with Betsy we are able to move on and morph back to travellers to go in search of the shady glades and the simplicity camping.
Rolling Into Retirement With Betsy 