So, I have a warped and romanticized view of camping. I picture hot dogs on a stick and a glowing camp fire and a relaxing time soaking in fresh air and stars. I have been camping in a tent exactly once, and it was so long ago, and in a time in my life that I have amnesia (selective?) about. My other camping experiences are weird, to say the least.
Let me start by saying that my constant nagging at my husband that I want to go camping -be away from the internet, tv, and other electronic distratctions – led him to make our spring break vacay into a camping trip. We don’t vacation every year, in fact, it is probably considered rare in our lives. Money, time, and motivation or responsibilities have become obstacles. So this year, some very generous friends have offered up their time share in New Orleans for spring break, and I jumped on it. Scott, who is from NO, has not been back since before we were married, and I know he misses it, and since he brought me back to my beloved Carmel after a several year (decade?) absence, I felt it fitting.
Then he got all frugal and such, and decided to combine my desire for a camping trip – which is ill advised, and not in my nature even though I dream about it, come on, I have fake nails, and am sort of high maintenance!! It reminds me of…..
Fontana Village. Time: Somewhere in the 1970’s. Who: me, my two teen sisters (I was like 10 or so) my mom, and dad. So my mom finds this resort (?) in the Smoky Mountains somewhere and decides that based on the glossy brochures of happy families in the glistening aqua pool, green green mini golf course, and the lovely mountain hiking and horse back trails, not to mention the gorgeous lake created by Fontana Dam we should go and have a family vacation.
Up until then, we had quasi vacations: Seeing historical or nature site while in transit during a move required by the Navy; European tours which were held while I was still in diapers and have no memory.
So, the Buick was loaded and we left. Upon our arrival, several nauseous hours later ( I get car sick) we arrive to our “resort” Up on a hillside a duplex, screened cabin awaited. We spent little time there. It was awful.
Day One: Dad discovers that this place resides in a county that is a “dry” county. DT’s anyone?
Day Two: Mini Golf, in a temper tantrum, my attempt at a long drive involves hitting my fragile sister in the head with a golf club. It was an accident, but to this day at any holiday gathering it is mentioned, and I am not forgiven, and not believed about it being an accident. Sorry.
Day Three: Horse back riding in a group on a trail. Having been used to horses via our previous adventure owning a pony (a disastrous experience to be chronicled later) we were unenthusiastic. I got a rogue horse who had to be right behind the trail leader. Only one rearing up and bucking sent me into spasms. Nightmares about that day are still frequent.
Day Four: Dad takes us out in a motor boat on a lake. In which he reminds us of the drive in and how we saw the super tall dam and we were on the other side, and there were these big spinning pools of water in which we could get sucked in and all drown. And, then he would pretend we were getting sucked in there and ha ha ha ha isn’t that funny kids??
Day Five: My sisters either got a night to themselves or there was a “teen” event, I don’t know, but my parents took me to a movie:
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http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0066181/
Day Six: A really long drive, straight through, in near silence, back home.
The end of our “family vacation” attempts. Lesson learned.
Except: 2010, I attempt to do it again. Camp (in cabins) on the way to and from New Orleans. My goal: to convince my husband to spend the extra money on airfare, rental cars, and hotels…..at least while he is married into this family.