It was fabulous to see all the colourful tents along the coast over the Easter weekend, keeping the Caymanian traditions alive.
Several people asked me if I was going to be out there, sleeping under the stars and becoming at one with nature. I muttered something about having seven cats and a host of chickens at home to feed, and scuttled away. The fact is, I haven’t camped in years. I’m not averse to the idea – but I wonder if I’m prepared to leave the luxury of a flushing toilet behind. I think of loading up the car with a tent, folding chairs, sleeping bag, towels, mosquito spray, backup mosquito spray, cooler, towels,change of clothes, barbeque… and it seems overwhelming before I’ve even got up from the couch to put the Häagen-Dazs back in the freezer. But then I see everyone posting pictures on Facebook of the fun time they’re having, chatting with family and playing games, and I get the FOMO bug. Of course, that’s also how I feel when I see posts from friends finishing the annual Cayman marathon. If I had to choose between the two, you’d find me setting up camp on the beach long before I’d appear at the starting line of a 26.2-mile run in the wee hours of the morning.
When we were kids growing up here, we used to create a tent in the backyard by grabbing two of our parents’ nice dining chairs, setting them apart, and throwing a bedsheet over them. We’d have books and packs of cards and ‘rough it’ for about two hours, with licence to run into the house whenever we needed fresh supplies. It was hardly the army, but we felt very adventurous, and I’m sure my mother was quite happy to have break from us for a while. Naturally, when we got bored of being pioneers, we’d abandon our outpost, only to be told to bring everything inside that we’d set up on the lawn. My opinion on that element of camping hasn’t changed over the years; the packing up is the least enjoyable part.
Family summer vacations (so very National Lampoon, right down to the station wagon) took us through the national parks of the US, where we weren’t staying in tents, but the cabins were quite basic. No TV, no iPads, no iPhones – imagine it! There was wildlife everywhere, and trails to explore. I, apparently, could have been killed when I tried to feed a moose calf some grass with its mother nearby. I’ve always been pretty oblivious when it’s come to my own wellbeing.
About 25 years ago, my best friend Lynne and I got invited to join some friends at their Easter site in Bodden Town. That’s really the best case scenario: Let others do all of the work and turn up once everything’s in place, then leave before it’s time to break everything down. We showed up with the customary bottle of wine in hand, ready for some friends-with-camping-benefits perks, and were immediately handed a large bowl of conch.
“The guys are out fishing, so it would be great if you two could cut all of this up to be marinated,” someone said, as they handed us two dull knives.
Okay, we’d do our bit, and THEN we’d relax.
Half-an-hour later, we’d barely made a dent in the mound of meat, and three different people had come up at intervals to tell us the slices needed to be thinner. My bum was numb from sitting on the picnic table bench, and our fingers ached from trying to use implements as sharp as spoons to complete the task before us. I don’t think we saw much change out of two hours, and once the job was done, we had no interest in seeing conch again for at least a year. We said our goodbyes and lurched to the car, with gnarled and smelly fingers reaching for the door handles.
Despite our relatively patchy education when it came to going back to basics – which is what camping is all about – it’s amazing what a trial-by-fire the aftermath of Hurricane Ivan was. We had no running water, no electricity and leaky roofs. We made coffee in the same saucepan used for soup, canned spaghetti, and anything else that needed heating. Plastic bags in buckets and garbage bins weren’t just for rubbish, Dorothy. We definitely weren’t in Kansas anymore.
However, despite the sudden jolt to our systems, it was amazing the thrill that came with finding a new tip or trick that made life a little easier. Setting up a makeshift shower was a big one, as no deodorant could mask days of hot sun without fans or air-conditioning.
I’d love to say that, in a way, it would have been nice if it had stayed that way a bit longer, before the utilities came back on… but I’d be lying. When I turned that tap and water gushed out for the first time in months, it was right up there with hitting the jackpot in Vegas.
Maybe that’s why I’m not sure if I’m the camping type. It looks like the only way to live when you see it in films, or in Facebook posts from friends indulging in Cayman’s rich natural beauty over Easter. The sun is shining down on the water; people are cooking dinner over a fire under a night full of stars; and stories of the good old days are shared by moonlight. But then I hear the sound of a toilet that flushes, and I just can’t deny that it’s music to my ears.
Related Videos
