I did quite a bit of camping back in my twenties. I drove cross country, camping most of the way. I hitchhiked through Europe, alternating camping with hosteling. I did a few smaller camping trips here and there, including winter camping in the Catoctin Mountains. We were in a cabin (unheated), sleeping in sleeping bags, and it was about 100 degrees below zero. Pee froze on the way out, before it hit the ground. I thought I was going to freeze to death. Let me tell you, I was never so happy to see a HoJo Motel. I do believe that was my last time camping.
The Catoctin escapade aside, camping has quite a bit to recommend it. It’s fun sleeping out under the stars. If you’re under a tent, it’s nice lying there listening to a light rain ping off the tent’s fly. Breathing in all that fresh air is truly bracing. And nothing tastes better than the grub you cook after a day stomping around the woods breathing in all that bracing fresh air.
On the other hand, the ground is hard, even with an egg crate foam “mattress.” There are insects. There are bugs. There are skunks. There are bears. No matter how hard you hammer those stakes in, two-person tents have a tendency to blow down when there are gale-force winds. There are scary sounds. There are scary people. And whether you’re having to make a go of it in the campground facilities, or answering your call of nature behind a bush, in full view of nature, it’s not pleasant. I much prefer having an actual bathroom. Sure, I did actually prefer taking a crap in a beach-side field while being watched by a donkey in a small, off the beaten path Greek island, to having to use the communal, hole-in-the-floor toilet in a 50 cent a night hotel in Turkey that turned the water off at 10 p.m. But mostly indoor plumbing is better than outdoor nothing.
Anyway, re-upping my camping bona fides is most decidedly not on my bucket list.
I suppose if I met Mr. Right, and he wanted to go camping, I’d consider it. But only if he looked and sang like George Strait. Or if he had an Airstream Trailer. In which case he wouldn’t have to look or sing like George Strait. (Are you out there, Mr. Airstream?)
But I must admit I’m a tad bit intrigued by the idea of glamping – the high-end camping options that have been popping up the last few years.
Sandy Pines in Kennebunkport, Maine – a charming little town where George HW Bush summers – has introduced a couple of new ways to go glamping.In addition to up to 16 luxury “Glamp Tents” (from $179 nightly), campers can choose from 12 “Camp Carriages” and another dozen “Hideaway Huts.”
The carriages, stylish cottages on wheels, are fully outfitted with king-size beds, coolers, exterior window shutters, fire pits, and seating areas. Pricing starts at $119 per night. The huts are modern-looking rustic wooden A-frames. The single-room structures also offer full-size beds and lighting, with outdoor seating areas and fire pits. Those rent from $75 per night. (Source: Boston Globe)
But if I really think about it, I don’t care how glampy those “Glamp Tents” are. For $179 I do not want to have to make my way to the bathhouse in the middle of the night. I know, I know, you can always take a discreet leak outside the tent. But if a campsite is in a crowded area, well, and there’s not ample room for run-off without running into someone else’s Glamp Tent, it’s just not done.
I’m sure I’d be lying there on my king-sized bed, holding my water, and wishing that I’d had the brains to come from Old New England Money so that I could have a beautiful summer place like the Bushes house on Walker Point. Or getting up and peeing in a Tupperware container.
Add a toilet to one of those “Camp Carriages” or “Hideaway Huts” and I might consider it. But wouldn’t that be more like staying in a hotel than camping? In which case, I’m back to casting an interested eye on Brownie’s Cabins on Route 6, just around the corner from my 
A-glamping we won’t got. But maybe there’s an opening at Brownie’s….
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