Martin Visvang's Guide to Camping

 

Martin Visvang (alias) has a special app on his phone that counts down one camping trip to the next. He likes to check on it every so often when he pretends that his constipation has got the better of him but he actually needs some time out from the kids...and the wife. 

His last trip to Satara was a huge success and his local mountain biking okes don't seem to be tired of his repeated story of the honey badger that stole his kid's Safari Fruit Flakes. He's even christened the animal Scedadle Skunk. He still chuckles about his witty name idea circa 1987. Martin has a limited repertoire when it comes to humor but his mates stick around because what he lacks for in laughter (to his face) he makes up for in rigorous preparation and gadget purchases when it comes to his biannual camping trips with mates. 

And Martin keeps these mates around even though they don't get his insanely kiff sense of humor because he can't make small talk with his wife around a camp fire for more than an hour.

Martin's approach to camping is more a philosophy, a way of life if you will.

His first rule is simple. Setting up for camping and packing up after camping can take no more than an hour. No matter what time his bedraggled family squash their megalithic camping trailer, Land Cruiser, mountain bikes and Tule roof top box between the unsuspecting family of four from Belgium and the honeymooning couple from Edenvale it is go time and the entire camp MUST be set up immediately. Even if the kids are hungry and a simple tent and Oatsoeasy will suffice until the morning. 

It is key during his unpacking time that his wife be kept strictly away from everything. She may own the scatter cushion domain but in the wild Martin is king. Years ago he realised that if he handed her a cleaning cloth and asked her to sanitize all the surfaces he would then have ample time to arrange his ground sheets and camping chairs to his exact specifications. 

Martin's wife then spends the next hour wiping down everything despite the fact that he deep cleaned the entire camping trailer and accessories three days before they left. Again he chuckles at himself. 

During this crucial nesting time Martin is also happy to let his kids go rogue. Last time he found them two campsites down watching some hippies slacklining. This made his feel slightly uncomfortable but the humidifier isn't going to switch itself on.

On that note Martin's second all time important rule is that when camping one must generate enough solar power to electrify a small hamlet. In order to do this he sets up his farm of solar panels on a stretch of lawn that may, by some, be considered to belong to the campsite belonging to the honeymooners but he recons they have barely left their tent so won't be pissed if their view is somewhat obscured by several solar panels. He wouldn't dare park them in front of the family from Belgium. He must do his bit for South African tourism. 

Martin also thinks he is doing everyone a favor by illuminating the campsite like Nelson Madela Square at Christmas but it does make the sneaky midnight grass wee a bit tricky for his neighbours. 

Now Martin knows that most people are not going to realize that his camping trailer has a Nespresso machine and a Nutri Bullet but, like the proud male lion he is a certain amount of flexing is key. He does this by making sure that he updates his tents regularly. If okes haven't passed by and commented on his new Mallamoo teepee tent at least five times a day then he starts googling for a new one.  

Few things make Martin happier than sitting around a campfire with his mates gazing across at their subpar camping paraphernalia while he plies their bored, tired wives with gin from his custom made gin bar. 

Despite not actually growing up on a farm Martin applies the childrearing techniques that he learnt when he spent a week on his uncle's smallholding in Camperdown where he and his cousins fended for themselves off the land because his uncle was celebrating the 1995 Rugby World Cup victory a little too vigorously. Apparently psychologists call this kind of child care benign neglect. He just likes to call it neglect. If his wife wants to feed them three meals a day and shower them in the kak ablution facilities every evening then that is on her. Oom Llewellyn just chucked a packet of Nik Naks at him and said, 'Don't forget to feed the dogs' before passing out. Best six days of his life. 

Martin is no English guru but even he remembers Shakespeare and his love for a tragic flaw. And even his beloved camping can have a Macbeth bite. Maybe it is old age but flip for the life of him Martin can never get a decent night of sleep. He has spent an inappropriate amount of money on every kind of mattress on the market. Blow up, memory foam, blow up memory foam, the works. He has come to the conclusion that unless he brings his Sealy with him this is just going to be that one niggle that will potentially ruin camping for him. 

That is why he only camps biannually. It gives him enough time, like childbirth, to forget how kak it is to stoop out of a tent with a half dislocated neck. 

It is also why he packs up as quickly as he unpacks. When the min dae dyfie says poer poer he says 'stuff it ek will huis toe gaan.' Packing up is definitely less romantic than setting up but the carrot dangle for Martin is that as soon as he hits cell phone signal he has his chiro on speed dial.