Travel: The New Forest...in a tent

If you’d asked 15 year-old me, “what’s your idea of hell on earth?”, one of the answers very near the top of my list (I was an angsty teenager) would have been “camping”. When I was younger, and we camped in the south of France almost every summer, I loved it - but camping and female adolescence do not mix, in my opinion, and my enjoyment had plummeted. School trips in the midst of my earliest menstruation, Guide camps in ancient, leaking canvas tents, and the prospect of festivals meaning no indoor plumbing for four days sort of killed my buzz about it. 

Fast forward to 2016, and I’m in a long-term relationship with a boy who possibly loves the outdoors more than yours truly. Eeeeeeeek. So, last weekend, I finally bit the bullet and agreed to go for a one-night camping excursion in the New Forest - conveniently, only about an hour from my own bed. I approached the “adventure” (the boyf’s words, not mine) with increasing trepidation, and imagined long, painful walks in the pouring rain, damp, sleepless nights breathing in mouldy air, and an abysmal diet of custard and Mars bar pieces (okay, so that one was definitely a hangover from my Guide camp days).

So, imagine my absolute shock when…I actually had a good time! If I ever needed the reminder that getting out of your comfort zone is a pretty invaluable thing, it was now. Sure, we weren't wild explorers sleeping under the stars and trekking from campsite to campsite, but I was still pretty proud that I not only survived but also enjoyed myself. Of course, a lot of that was to do with Siegfried, who was more than aware of my reservations and went above and beyond to ensure I was comfortable and happy.

We took the car, which gave us the means to have all of the essentials with us, as well as a space to secure them in. We booked in at Ocknell campsite, which was just over £20 for the night, and had toilet blocks (although no showers; I’d decided that as we were only away for one night, I could forgo that luxury!). We headed there first to scope the place out and nab a good pitch. Despite a small issue with my booking, they were very helpful and accommodated us whilst that was being sorted. Heading away from the hard-pitches that resembled caravan car parks, we found a nice spot where we could park the car as near to the tent as we liked, and which was surrounded on three sides by bushes. Siegfried had supplied the tent - a simple 2-man REI set-up that blew all of my recollections of struggling with poles and pegs out of the water - and within minutes we were headed out again, off to a walk that I’d found online. 

Forever petting random dogs that cross my path

That didn’t take us as long as we thought it might, but truth be told we were about ready for a drink and some food by the time we came full circle. My parents had told us a hilarious story about their trips to the New Forest, which consisted of getting “completely rat-arsed” (my mother’s actual words!) at local pub The Sir Walter Tyrrell and walking the mile back to their campsite pretending to be aeroplanes… So we thought it only fitting that we stop by for a drink in their honour. It didn’t seem to have changed much, and was a nice pitstop before we got ourselves back to the tent and set up our extremely sophisticated camping stove, inherited from my parents. Instead of finding a local restaurant or pub, we had decided it would be much more authentic to cook for ourselves - and we managed a pretty decent feast: steak, onions and mushrooms, corn on the cob, half a baguette, and a good bit of cheap white wine to wash it down with. 

Upon finishing dinner, I was surprised to realise just how exhausted I had been by the day’s activities. Proving that I am definitely not yet ready to graduate Camping 101, we drove to the toilet blocks for a last wee and teeth-brush, and clambered into the tent and our sleeping bags. Inside, with the minimal 3G that had haunted me all day, and with nothing to do but actually talk to each other, I was pleased to discover just how nice that is: just talking to Siegfried, with no distractions or alternative activities. It sounds extremely sad, but I’d forgotten just how much fun we can have when chatting complete shit to each other! 

Camping: always a great time to
catch up on some reading

With the help of a sleeping pill, and Siegfried’s ever-willingness to get up and cook breakfast whilst I sleep longer, I slept somewhat soundly through the night, and woke up feeling refreshed, happy, and more at peace than I had in a long time. As a compromise for me going hiking and camping, we spent that day in nearby Lymington - a cute little seaside town with a picturesque harbour and plenty of pubs and coffee shops to keep me ticking over. Because is it really a trip away if you don’t have cake?! 

In that vein, Siegfried wrote in more depth on his blog, about his tips to get your reluctant girlfriend (aka me) to go camping with you. We may be chalk and cheese sometimes, but this trip confirmed that that really works sometimes, and there’s no one I’d rather leave my comfort zone with (or, as my mother put it, Siegfried is my comfort zone).