Looks bliss, doesn’t it? Well, I’ll be honest, it is. This particular camping tradition has become a yearly event ( before the schools break-up) and is shared with extended family. There really is no-where on earth more beautiful than Cornwall in the sunshine and for four years in a row, we’ve had sunshine.
If you’re thinking I’m being all smug about our brilliant camping experience, then rest assured we have had many camping disasters. Here are just 3 rubbish camping trips we’ve had to show that we have in fact earned our camping stripes:
- A weekend years ago when we decided to ‘wild camp’ in the New Forest. Turns out I have a very over-active imagination, but at the time I really did think there was an axe murderer on the loose. In hind-sight it was probably a pony rustling around in the dark, but I was so terrified I made us abandon the tent in the middle of the night and sleep in the back of the car instead.
- This one was so dreadful I’ve even blocked out where exactly it was from my memory. The kids were aged 2 and 3 and they weren’t exactly a barrel of laughs to take camping. It rained the whole time, and we were so desperate for things to do with the kids that we played football in the tent. It was a pretty small tent too.
- Hmmm not sure which one to go with here, the festival where I had a serious stomach upset & we were camped a long way from the toilets, OR the one where it rained so much the tent leaked and we had to pack up in the middle of the night OR the one where I had to get around on crutches with a badly damaged knee……………..
Our yearly camping trip to Cornwall is the glittering jewel in a very rusty crown. There’s a lot of family history here as my maternal grandparents and great-grandparents lived in Cornwall. Many summer holidays, sometimes the entire summer holiday were spent there. I was even named after a fishing boat in the harbor, thank goodness it was Sarah Louise and not one of these totally stupid but real boat names: Tip Sea; Shipfaced or my personal favourite, Breakin Wind.
There are so many memories attached to Cornish summers for me, that I wanted my own children to have some of the same experiences. Mum found this absolute gem of a campsite and from our little patch (pitch) of heaven we indulge in the following pleasures:
Cycling to the seaside town for lunchtime pasties; kayaking on the estuary; bodyboarding at Treyarnon; sandwiches at Constantine; taking the ferry to Rock (even swimming over to Rock once as part of the Padstow to Rock swim); supporting the National Lobster Hatchery; hair wrapping on the harbor wall; clotted-cream icecreams; evening drinks on the campsite whilst the kids play with friends they meet every year; time with extended family (1 of my sister’s also camps every year, 1 visits for the day from Devon and the other needs a little nudge…..it will happen!); drinks at a harbor view pub/hotel to mimic the times we spent there as kids ourselves playing in the games room; rock climbing; dodging low flying seagulls; post beach drinks at The Cornish Arms………and a new one to add after this year, dancing in the harbor square to The Floral Dance with the kids and their cousins (after a few drinks). Note the drink theme, maybe that’s the secret to good camping?
Suffice to say, this part of Cornwall steals a little more of my heart each year. I hope the kids will grow up with equally fond memories of their summer trips.
On the journey home, T piped out from the back seat ‘Are we back in England yet?’ Part of my brain thought ‘Blimey I need to get a map of the UK out and teach some basic geography’ and the other part thought ‘yeah, I know exactly what he means. Cornwall does kind of feel like some wonderful foreign land’.