Call me a diva, but I'm done camping

Call me a diva, but I'm done camping

We all have a certain image of ourselves: a sense of who we are, what we like and don't like, our strengths and our weaknesses. If I asked you to name three good and three bad things about yourself, you could probably do it with ease.

My positive qualities are that I am determined, resourceful and loyal. On the other hand, I find negative that I am stubborn, ambitious and impatient. Between these six big characteristics lie hundreds of smaller ones: how I can't stand being late, how I don't like sharing my food, how I don't watch a movie until I've read the book.

Having a self-image is neither unique nor interesting. What's interesting is when you learn that you're wrong about yourself. For example, if you ask me if I'm anything like Meredith from The Parent Trap...

I'd say, 'Of course not. I'm out! I have the pictures to prove it!'

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My self-image tells me that I'm adventurous and nature-loving, and that I enjoy lounging by the open fire after a refreshing swim in that stream at the end of the trail. However, after our last round of camping (in San Agustin, Colombia), I realized the truth, which is that I don't like being outside and I don't feel comfortable lounging around with pond scum in my hair.

The truth is, I hate camping. I tried to like it, I really did. After a shaky start, Peter and I camped a few more times, but it left me miserable. Camping is like a thousand paper cuts: I want to sit outside but find caterpillars on my leg, I want to cook some food and find a crab in the pan, I want to take a shower but find two monolithic beetles in it, I want to go to the toilet but it looks like Silence of the Lambs (moths, not cannibals).

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Luckily, I'm no longer afraid of spiders (more on that next week), but I'm still deathly afraid of bugs. I also like showering at night, feeling clean and sleeping in a real bed. To get straight to the point: This is how I look and feel when I stay somewhere nice (January 2015).

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This is how I look and feel while camping (February 2015).

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And so I refuse to do it anymore – I’m done camping. I know it's cheap, and I know Peter loves it, and I know he's been carrying a 2kg tent on his back for six months, but I hate it. I wouldn't let him watch Sleepless in Seattle three days in a row, so he can't let me do that.

Call me a diva, if you will, tell me that I'm not a "real" backpacker, or that I'm failing to meet some arbitrary standard of outdoor cultism. I'm over it.

Mission statement: Atlas & Boots

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