By KATE HUNTER
If you are reading this now, it means I am camping.
Yes, it’s a long weekend here in Queensland, so naturally we’re leaving our comfortable house (hot water, refrigeration, two toilets … BEDS) and heading into the freezing bush to spend three nights huddled around a campfire.
That’s the best case scenario.
If the forecast of ‘chance of showers’ runs true to form, we’ll be huddled under dripping canvas reading my friend Robin’s collection of ‘Hello,’ magazines, nicked from her workplace. Good times.
Do you see the weirdness of this situation? Four families, all with solid homes in peaceful suburbs, CHOOSING to spend their leisure time boiling drinking water and queuing for composting toilets.
From my place in the queue I often ponder what people not so fortunate would think of us and what we do in the name of fun.
In many parts of the world, living under temporary canvas shelters is normal. People don’t do it for fun. They dream of clean beds and hot showers. They’d love to bath their children in warm, soapy water, while we leave home with the intention of seeing our kids get filthy.
I wouldn’t say we’re seasoned campers, but once or twice a year for the last 10 years we’ve spent a full day packing and a full day washing for the dubious pleasures of camping. In that time I’ve learned the following truths: