Camping

I like camping. I have really happy memories of camping weekends with friends as a teenager. In the rain, in the main, but still.

I like the pared down existence, campfires, woodsmoke, dew, even, amazingly for my everyday workaday persona, early mornings.  Snug sleeping bags, gratitude for home comforts on return. Here in Kenya I love the dawn and dusk views, orange-tinged, indigo colours, the wildlife spotted inadvertently. On this last trip, the monkeys in the tree overhead pooing in the early morning, catcalling in disgust when awoken by the rowdy group. At Lake Baringo the hundreds of crocodiles ten feet away at the lake's edge, the hippos emerging to eat. Unaccustomed noises, of the forest, the dawn chorus, the bushbabies crying, monkeys burping; at our last campsite a beautiful, lone voice in the nearby mosque, calling to evening and pre-dawn prayers.  A different, more contemplative, more conscious reality.

Sadly my attempts to persuade our family that camping is a fun and profitable activity have been less garlanded with success.  They share excitement at bits of it, - toasted marshmallows and the wildlife centrally.  But many of our trips together over the last 18 months have had major dealbreakers.  Baringo, on the banks of a beautiful lake, amazing views, world-rated birdlife, swimming pool in the next door hotel. But invasion into our tents by biting ants, leading to a total of 237 bites in one night to four family members.  Collapse of stout family and rapid decamp to hotel next door. 

Last weekend we had planned to camp on the slopes of Mount Kenya. But after our two nights in a beautiful lodge further up-country we decided that two further nights of drizzly camping might not add to the experience and returned home early. Fortunately as it turned out, because, despite a car jam packed with camping mats, duvets, plastic plates and so on, it transpired on our return that the tent poles were still neatly stacked intact in the hall.

So this weekend we decided to remount our steeds, undaunted by our previous falls. Back to Timau on the slopes of Mount Kenya. Stunning views of the peak from our tent, beautiful solitary pitch on green, green grass on the banks of a small river. Peacocks, geese, ducks and ducklings gambolling happily free range. Magical waterfalls. And smugly we patted ourselves on the back at this beautiful, beautiful bargain spot.  But April is the rainy season, and while Nairobi has been dry as dry, we were in Mount Kenya the area of peak rainfall.  We wandered off for a Sunday outing elsewhere and returned three hours later to find our tent awash with water. Bailing helped, but the bedding was sodden.  Water squelched in as you trod on the groundsheet. Don't pitch the tent by the stream on the lush green grass in the rainy season.  Make sure you line the awning up 100%. And make sure you read the small print instructions of the luxury tent in detail before the first major rainfall, - in particular the bit which recommends you play the sprinkler over the canvas three times before you first set off to 'expand the cotton cells', to check the luxury seams for leaks, and to wax, rewax and wax again.  Sodden decamp to another hotel and return this morning to pack up the now, somewhat dryer, tent.

So much of life in Kenya is about coping with contingencies. Improvisation. Lateral thinking with limited or inappropriate resources.  Those graduate assessment games - which team can build the tallest tower with uncooked spaghetti and marshmallows, which team can build the biggest freestanding bridge with just newspaper and sellotape - they don't particularly reflect life in UK, but they are just perfect induction for life in Kenya.  On our way home today the car radiator kept overheating, despite the extra coolant added yesterday. As we lurched from small town garage to the garage in the next small town we tried a range of different tacks to remove the heavier water which was preventing the coolant from getting where it was needed.  What was needed was a small tube, - but neither we, nor our new mechanic friends, had any tubes.  We tried sopping up the water with a flannel. With wider tubes. And then, gingerly, coasted home, trusting to luck.  Decamping to a hotel isn't a very imaginative response to our different problems camping. But what, in retrospect, I think we're all learning, is about sizing up situations, assessing, looking for solutions, working out the risk, being willing to leave the straight and narrow preplanned option for the unexpected byway.  And that, I think, though not pared-back camping, is new simple learning of the same kind, to be proud of.