Seduced by the revival in camping in recent times and firmly repressing the rainswept camping holidays of my childhood we set off on a recent family short break to East Sussex to experience luxury camping in a yurt (or glamping ie ‘glamorous camping’ as it has come to be called in a neat sound-bite way – there is even a glamping society with a website being set up).
True enough you can stand up, there was a real bed and a mini stove which we needed to counter the unseasonal chill. But it is still a tent – draughty and with no protection from the karaoke party in the nearby village still in full swing at 2am – and there is still a 100m walk to the loos. Glamorous and luxurious it certainly wasn’t, but at least I can now talk from experience.
Seems like there is a fundamental segmentation which separates natural campers and non-campers. Well at least among adults – all kids seem to be natural campers.