Camping Chronicles Part One: From Buffalo Mayhem to Soft-Core Survival

For 2 days....REALLY??

For those of you who didn’t read my previous blog… rude. But because I’m generous, here’s a quick recap:

"Wild" camping: Cancelled Because weather decided to ruin my life.

"Rustic camping: Cancelled. Because actual buffalo at Buffalo Gorge decided to ruin my life.

Cue last-minute panic, frantic campsite hunting, and a miraculous rescue plan by the uber efficient members of our group (me excluded).

Before I get to the camping, let me share the chaos that was my Friday morning. Who knew the wilderness would actually start inside my house?

After weeks of excitedly planning to live off the grid and embrace the great outdoors… our Wi-Fi went down at home.

The same person (me) who had been preaching about escaping the madness of life was one router failure away from a full-on breakdown. I was ready to go feral right there in my living room.

I mean, sure, I wanted to unplug, but apparently, that only applied on my terms. And yes, while I fully acknowledge the irony of the situation, how was I supposed to return on Sunday, have no Wi-Fi, no mindless scrolling, no obsessively curating my adventure aesthetic, and worst of all—no immediate validation from the internet that yes, I do, in fact, know how to take an artsy sunset photo. AND, if that was not bad enough, not be able to select the perfect 30 photos out of the 6745 taken?

I mean, this isn’t just a task; it’s a life-altering decision. Without Wi-Fi, how was I supposed to connect with my online audience? Who would hear my profound thoughts on nature, filtered through the lens of a carefully constructed blog post?

And what? Return to work on Monday morning with an unfinished blog still haunting my mind. Who could possibly focus on actual work when there’s a perfectly good article begging for its final paragraph to be written in the most authentic way?

But fine. Crisis “managed.” Onward to camping.

Sage and I, first-time campers, had originally purchased our equipment for a backpacking adventure where you carry everything up a mountain and sleep on a rock like some sort of wilderness warrior.

But when our plans changed to a drive-in campsite, we understood the assignment perfectly: Bring EVERYTHING you own.

The car? Packed to absolute capacity, leaving just enough space for Sage and me to squeeze in.

A minimalist camping trip? Not on our watch.

The final stretch of road to the campsite was a long, muddy, pothole-ridden sand road.

But then—just as we were mentally preparing for my car to fall apart—hundreds of butterflies appeared, flitting around like nature itself was mocking our suffering with beauty.

We found ourselves at Berg en Rivier Country Retreat—no more wild or rustic camping. This was the world of "soft" camping. Anyway, hard camping is overrated when you can bathe in actual water and not just wipe down with wet wipes.

Our amazing host, Johan, led us to our site, where we were greeted by a grassy oasis, complete with the use of two toilets (because one is so last season), a shower and a bath and electricity—you know, for the essential things like charging our phones so we could continue obsessing over our Wi-Fi-less lives.

But don’t you dare think we had it too easy. We were still "camping" in the truest sense of the word. Our tents, positioned right by the meticulously groomed garden, were still technically in the wild. Civilization was just 60 meters away, but in my mind, we were practically in the Amazon.

Tent set up? It took me a full 30 minutes just to realize that the tent poles needed to cross rather than stay parallel. (Minor detail.) As I figured it out, Sage had just finished putting up her tent and had to come rescue me from myself.

To everyone who advised me to practice setting up my tent before going camping—I heard you. I ignored you. And for one brief moment, I regretted it.

But in the end—tent up. Mission accomplished.

Once settled, we took a look around… and quickly realized we were camping peasants.

Our seasoned camping neighbours? Their setups were borderline luxury suites.

Meanwhile, Sage and I? Our setup looked like the house you buy when you want to live in a fancy neighborhood but can only afford the worst property on the block.

Did we run away in shame? Absolutely not.

Our little setup screamed “first timers who bought the cheapest possible gear just in case they never do this again.”

If we needed anything, we knew EXACTLY where to find it… sort of.

Option 1: Our impressive, ultra-light backpacking bags—which, in hindsight, were completely unnecessary because a suitcase would have made way more sense. But no, no—we were campers, and campers use backpacks.

Option 2: The car boot, where 80% of our over packing panic items were crammed.

Option 3: The back seat, which had become a black hole of miscellaneous survival gear.

Option 4: Our daily backpacks, which held only the most vital items—like snacks, extra snacks, and emotional support snacks.

After a long day of tense travel, tent struggles, over packing, and campsite envy, we finally sat around a braai to cook dinner.

But then… bedtime. Cue the dramatic music. I know, I know—I didn’t want to leave you hanging. But life just keeps delivering, doesn’t it? Who knew camping could generate this much content?

It’s like I’m cursed to keep finding material. You think I’m trying to be a Hollywood cliffhanger artist? Puh-lease, I’m just trying to survive my own chaos.

Some people see ghosts, some people see the future—I just see content. And that, my friends, is my gift (or curse).