Tent City

Every time the Contiki group reaches a new destination, we lug our tent parts into an open field and find a soft patch to hunker down.  We hammer the pegs into the firm ground and assemble the A-frames.  A rain-proof tarp serves as a roof.  Temporary homes are constructed in less than ten minutes.  I find the warmth of my tent comforting, but its lack of a closet is inconvenient.  Or perhaps the feeling that my possessions are necessary is the true burden.

I was initially skeptical about spending so much time outdoors inside a stuffy, nylon pyramid.  I couldn’t watch my favorite TV shows, and it contained no pantry to store my snacks.  My blow-up mattress did little to cushion by back against the cold hard ground, so I eagerly awaited the day I could sleep in my soft bed once more.  After reading Henry David Thoreau’s Walden, I changed my mind. 

Thoreau built a cabin in the woods and lived deliberately for two years to escape the trivialities of society.  Even in the 1800s, people were tied down by expensive mortgages that take years to pay off.  We were——and still are——imprisoned by our houses.  We work so much to pay off our houses and our cars.  The bigger the house gets, we spend more time at work, more time driving to and from work, and less time at home.  What’s the point of paying so much for a house you barely inhabit?

During this vacation, I had the opportunity to live simply without the stigma of poverty.  If you live in a small hut, some may judge you in a negative fashion because your abode is not luxurious.  I grew up in a double-wide trailer and thought I was poor when I watched celebrities give tours of their mansions on MTV’s Cribs.  I was hypnotized by this drivel. 

I wanted a ten-bedroom house with an indoor basketball court and a thirty car garage, but I never stopped to think how I would fill up that space.  Why did I need nine extra bedrooms?  Star athletes and rappers always seemed to be having pool parties with their massive posse of mooching friends.  They must be the ones sleeping in the guest bedrooms, I assumed, but who did the dusting around the house?

Thoreau retreated to the woods to reclaim principles lost amidst the narcissism and stratification of our society.  Many of us have forgotten the original purpose of shelter, which is to provide warmth and protection from the elements.  My tent was not equipped with hardwood floors or marble countertops, but the rain cover lived up to its name.  My humble fortress also kept out the mosquitos and the wind, and sweeping the floor took up no time at all. 

I will admit that sometimes it was a pain to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.  I’d have to put on my glasses, my jacket, and my shoes and walk the unfamiliar path in the dark.  Every city we visited had toilets and showers in different places.  If your mind was foggy from drink or lack of sleep, you may forget where you were on the map and end up lost and peeing behind the nearest tree. 

Nonetheless, a nomadic lifestyle is refreshing.  At home, my shower and electrical outlets never move.  The voltage and the water pressure are constant.  Every morning I can find my cereal in my pantry, and my coconut milk stays cool in my fridge.  Some days I never leave the house.  There is no need to adjust, but this is not the life for which humans were designed.  We were born to run from predators and scavenge our prey, but now that lifestyle is optional and considered bizarre. 

I cherish my days in the tent, where putting on pants is an elaborate process because I cannot stand up inside.  I scrunched up my neck pillow and that is where I rested my head at night.  Before turning in, I read a few pages illuminated by my tiny flashlight.  I hand-washed my socks and spread them out on my backpack overnight to dry inside this mesh humidifier.  When I’m at home, I can press buttons to make life easier.  Although I love the convenience of light bulbs and dryers, I savored my semi-primitive home.