It might be cheating but camping with a fridge is the path to enlightenment


The seasoned camping fridge doesn't mind a bit of rough and tumble.

John Bisset

The seasoned camping fridge doesn’t mind a bit of rough and tumble.

Matt Rilkoff is the Taranaki Regional Editor for Stuff and regular opinion writer.

OPINION: In a few days, when I pack the car and the trailer to go camping for a week, a refrigerator will be top priority.

This is not without controversy. Going camping with a fridge is akin to cycling on an electric bike. You’re doing it, but you’re not really doing it. You’re participating in an ersatz version of the real thing. You’re cheating.

Fortunately, there is a lot to be said for the benefits of cheating.

The surreptitious pilfering of a few $500 notes is often the difference between victory and ignominy in a game of Monopoly.

READ MORE:
* Five ways you can reorganise your home and life in lockdown
* Campgrounds predict a ‘boom’ this summer, but has the pandemic put the classic Kiwi camping experience at risk?
* Lockdown hobbies: Working with wood the perfect way to unwind for commerce boss
* Hidden valley offers an easy-going alternative

Fudging three or four shots at mini-putt is the easiest way to beat your children, and going through an orange light confirms you’re a carefree spirit who can’t be tamed, even though you’ve put yourself forward for the home and school committee.

Putting up a tent in a field with one thousand other people and sharing inadequate toilet facilities is the quintessential Kiwi camping experience.

Putting up a tent in a field with one thousand other people and sharing inadequate toilet facilities is the quintessential Kiwi camping experience.

There is no debate, taking a fridge camping is absolutely cheating.

You are cheating yourself out of warm beer, probable food poisoning, curdled milk, and having to clean a highly viscous goop from the bottom of your chilly bin that quite possibly qualifies as a biological weapon.

You are also cheating yourself out of the unholy crap shoot that is using a communal fridge. From experience I know the definition of communal is ridiculously flexible.

Which is why Hans – the stereotypical European backpacker – can react with genuine astonishment when you baulk at him drinking your milk straight from the bottle.

And this is also why Colin – the stereotypical Kiwi camper – leaves you in fear for your life when you deposit your named butter on “his” shelf.

Having a fridge makes for an entirely safer camping experience.

Except the thing with having a fridge is you need a powered site. Following the laws of escalation, once you have power it immediately goes to your head.

A fridge is just the start. It is followed by mood lighting, an electric jug, a toaster, the portable air conditioner, your record player, your TV, a panini press, and that weird toaster oven you never thought you’d use.

By the time you have unpacked and have the chance to take in your surroundings, you quickly realise the only difference between your camping set up and your home are the canvas walls.

Having a fridge means that camping is not so much getting away from it all, as taking it all with you.

I’m comfortable with that. Despite cultivating a reputation as an easy-going character, as I have aged I have lost much of the physical and mental flexibility to cope with things any other way except the way I want them.

This is an unavoidable physiological effect previously thought to be the more avoidable condition of grumpiness.

It is not and is in fact much more closely linked to truly knowing who you really are at your very core. Some people call this enlightenment. I may be one of those people.

Camping with everything but the kitchen sink is a sure sign you are reaching enlightenment.

Brya Ingram/Stuff

Camping with everything but the kitchen sink is a sure sign you are reaching enlightenment.

Enlightenment is an unexpected condition to arrive at via a refrigerator but a welcome one nonetheless.

It is probably what accounts for the large number of people who experience camping as one long lounge session on a cheap collapsible seat in front of their tent or caravan.

The smug look on their face, and the obvious joy they are attaining from doing nothing, is because they have arrived at the one place where all their physical and spiritual needs have been met.

And the cold beer is just metres away.

– Matt Rilkoff is the Taranaki Regional Editor for Stuff.



Source link

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *