When we got the VW bus this past spring, our main goal was to drive around and see lots of cool things, but I also had one other goal – not to break down in the van. I really wanted to give my kids some cool memories, but there are some memories that I’d like to avoid. Like the ‘breaking down in the middle of the night on a dark scary road,’ kind of memory. Trust me. I am living proof that those memories do not leave you.
In any case, I had high hopes for our van and our big summer trip and although we had a rough idea of where we wanted to go (Germany, Austria, Switzerland?, Liechtenstein?), we never came up with a detailed plan. We planned to make a detailed plan, but that really never happened and since we had taken the van on a weekend camping trip at the start of the summer, we had some idea of how camp sites worked in Europe. We booked places to stay for only the first two nights and then we just decided to wing it, since, as far as we could tell, there were campsites all over the place.
Our ‘fly by the seat of our pants’ plan seemed to be going well for the first part of the first week. Not only did we hit upon some outstanding campsites, but we got some amazing spots within those campsites. This was the point in the trip when we started to get cocky. Our luck had been so good, we started to feel like we were invincible. {cue the suspenseful music}
Then one day, we took a particularly long time sightseeing and ended up getting a late start on our way to our next campsite. When we finally arrived at that campsite, there was a huge sign notifying us that all the spots were taken. At that point I could hear fear start to creep into Owen’s voice when he questioned me about where we would stay that night. I reminded him of my ‘one star camping area crisis plan’ which meant staying in the parking lot of the closest McDonalds. For some reason my camping crisis plan did nothing to easy his mind.
So we drove on and about 10 minutes down the road, the same thing happened again. The campsite was full. As I was trying to come up with a plan (or at least find the nearest McDonald’s), the oil light came on in the van and a loud beeping sound started. If you didn’t know this already, there is nothing like the beeping sound of an engine failure to create chaos in the mind of a nine-year-old boy who is prone to melodrama. As Tim pulled the van over, Owen screamed, “WHAT IS GOING ON WITH THE VAN? AND WHERE ARE WE GOING TO STAY TONIGHT? YOU GUYS ARE THE ADULTS! AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO HAVE ALL OF THIS STUFF FIGURED OUT?”
If I were telling you this in person, I would stop at this point in the story for a long pause…………………………..and with a straight face I would say, “Poor little dude. He still hasn’t figured out that he has parents who have absolutely no idea what they’re doing.”
While Tim was dealing with the beeping noise in the van, I started frantically calling campsites in the local area to try to find a spot. After about 10 minutes, we had solved both crises. The oil light was off and we had a reservation at a small campsite about 15 minutes away.
We finally pulled into the small campsite up in the mountains and it was one of the nicest we had seen to date. Green grass under the camping cars (not rocks) and a relaxed atmosphere. With a sense of smug satisfaction, I said to Owen, “See your parents CAN figure things out, after all.”
The woman at the desk told us to pull the camping car in, get set up and then come to check in at the desk. After set up, I was on my way back to the desk when I happened to notice a man walking by to wash his dishes in a very skimpy towel, but I didn’t think too much of it. Once I arrived at the desk, the woman started telling me about the campsite and where everything was located. That’s when she said, “So since we’re a naturist camp, the first half hour of swim is the pool is with no clothing and the second half is with clothing.”
And my response was, “This camp is a whaaaa………………….t?”
In case you happen to be as slow to recognize reality as I am, the term ‘naturist’ is the modern-day term for ‘nudie’. I had booked my family at a nudie camp. It turns out that there was a large nudie section and a smaller non-nudie section. Luckily for us (read: me), our camping car was parked in the non-nudie section, but directly facing the nudie section.
When I got back to the camping car, the boys were hurriedly putting on their bathing suits for a dip in the pool. Trying to sound cheerful, I started the following conversation:
Me: Guess what, guys? We’re actually staying in a nudie camp, so if you want to go swimming right now, you won’t need those bathing suits!
Owen: Did you say, nudie? Like ‘no clothes,’ nudie?
Me: Yes, a nudie camp means wearing no clothes.
Owen: Wow! Cool! Can we stay another night? Can you even do things like play badminton naked?
Me: Yes, in a nudie camp you can play badminton naked.
Owen: I want to play badminton naked!
Me: Do you really want to play badminton naked?
Owen: Well………….ok, maybe not totally naked. I know where I want to go – I want to go to an ‘undie camp’ where we can do everything in our undies.
Me: Owen, you already live in an undie camp – it’s call our house.
While the boys went swimming (at the non-nudie time), I poured myself a tall beer and sat facing the gate of the nudie section, marveling at how uniformly tan everyone looked walking in and out. Then my mind wandered to the wide range of activities that you do while camping and the health and safely implications of doing those same things while naked. Then I poured myself another beer.
Just the thought of playing badminton naked makes me shudder.
Francophile Update 