It hasn’t always been this way. When I used to picture camping in my head, I’d think of wearing a backpack and well-worn boots and hiking to a gorgeous, remote vista in the mountains and sleeping under the stars. In that sense, camping sounded adventuresome and romantic. Primitive, back to basics. Who wouldn’t want to disconnect from the world and surround themselves with nature? When I was in college, more open to trying new things, and completely broke, I found that the reality of camping was a little different, at least the way Floridians do it.
- Step 1: Load approximately half of your house into your Ford Explorer. Bring giant coolers, tents, air mattresses, blankets, sheets, kerosene lamps. Don’t forget the out-of-tune acoustic guitar so someone can stumble through shoddy renditions of Third Eye Blind songs around the campfire.
- Step 2: Go to Wal-Mart and buy econo-size cases of hot dogs, Miller High Life, and bags of lunch meat, trail mix, and beef jerky. Don’t use reusable shopping bags.
- Step 3: Drive three hours with zero elevation changes to a freshwater spring surrounded by alligator-filled swamps. Swat gnats and mosquitoes away from your eyes and ears as you unload half your house onto the concrete slab that will serve as your campsite.
- Step 4: Lament the absence of air conditioning.
- Step 5: Go canoeing with your friends. Get appointed a canoe partner who is somehow more neurotic and uncoordinated than you. Tip the canoe over, lose your favorite sunglasses and most of your possessions. Remember that the river is filled with alligators and scramble back into the canoe while your friends look on shouting unhelpful instructions, but mostly laughing wildly.
- Step 6: Trudge back to the campsite and take a shower in the staph-filled communal bathroom.
- Step 7: Dig through the sea of grocery bags until you find the Great Value turkey lunch meat, cheese, and bread. Dine on a sandwich and trail mix for dinner. Wipe the sweat from your face and spray yourself with another layer of bug spray. Drink enough beer so that “Jumper” doesn’t sound half bad.
- Step 8: Stay awake all night listening for the black bears that will inevitably dig through all your belongings and feast on your trash.
For many, this experience is an integral part of the American dream. Why sleep in a comfortable bed in a climate-controlled room when you can keep vigil lying on a partially deflated air mattress next to a loose acquaintance who is snoring like a lumber mill? Why eat a flavorful, warm, nutrient-dense meal on a real plate with a chilled glass of wine when you can suck down light beer and shove nitrate logs into your maw? While this fine for some, you’ll find me checked in at the HoJo down the street with the A/C cranked down to 62, lying under a pile of comforters and discarded pizza boxes watching the serendipitous mishaps of Lacey Chabert on the Hallmark channel. This is my American dream: exploring the boundless wonder of the great indoors.
What Sarah Said 