Camping

This summer we hosted a batch of extended family from Norway for their first ever trip to America.  We decided a short trip around our beautiful state in our motorhome was just the ticket. 

I knew they were coming months before they arrived. We’d met with them several times in Norway to talk about their big adventure.  I formulated the perfect itinerary, according to their desires and wishes, but when I went on-line to make reservations in campgrounds around the state, I ended up in tears.  I sat at my computer for at least four hours, checking and rechecking and there were no camping spots available.  Apparently, reservations are best made nine months in advance.  After much prayer and a fresh start, I was able to find campsites for each night of our journey that appeared to be the only ones available, probably from someone canceling.  Whew.

When the Norwegians arrived and we were on our road trip, I apologized for some of the campsites we got, explaining how difficult it was to find a spot on “such short notice” – just two months in advance, not nine.  They were completely baffled.  In Norway, RVs are allowed to park anywhere – even on someone’s private property.  No reservations required.  It’s all part of the “right to roam” laws that dominate Norway and filter into other European countries as well.  If there is a grassy patch and someone has a tent, they are welcome to plop it down and sleep for the night.  If there is a wide spot in the road, RVs are free to pull over and sleep away.  The stinginess of American property is a very foreign concept to Norwegians and Europeans alike.

A friend of ours was at Bay View State Park a few weeks ago and overheard a French couple, with limited English skills, trying to comprehend the park ranger as he explained the park was full.  They didn’t understand him because there was a big grassy spot in the middle of the park that looked like a tent site to them.

My friend called every other park in the area only to discover they too, were full.  She shrugged her shoulders and tried to explain there was no place for them to camp.  They somehow conveyed they just needed one night and the next morning they’d be flying home out of Vancouver.

Being the big-hearted person she is, she offered them her field for the night.  She used big gestures to tell them to follow her home where they could pitch their tent. They were elated.  The spot by her pond was better than any state park could have mustered and it didn’t cost them a thing.

I asked her was she did about a toilet and she told me her farmer husband had a port-a-potty he delivered to them.

I so wish I could hear the stories these tourists tell back home about us Americans who have no place to camp, but apparently tote around portable toilets.