I went for the extreme so that I could say: I don’t want to camp

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Camping? I have always said no.

Yet, last year I was the one who drove a trip to Macchu Picchu. Like any true traveler, I believed that I had to see it the right way—by doing the 4 day trek along the Inca Trail. My former roommate had described the trek as amazing, mind-blowing, incredible. So despite always hating the idea of camping, I was committed.

Granted, I knew what I was getting into. The discomfort. The potential of slowness. Anything was possible.

And it was exactly that. Although I would not admit it for weeks after the trip, I eventually did conclude after the entire trip that I simply did not like camping. Or maybe the outdoors.

I disliked:

  • The idea of even hiking
  • The idea of carrying anything during hiking
  • The idea of having to drink water during hiking
  • Bug bites. Many bug bites.
  • No possibility of clean toilets and showers
  • My constant habit of being the slowest one in the group
  • The payoff of seeing nature doesn’t do anything to me
  • The payoff of being with nature doesn’t do anything to me
  • Lack of great food (although this obviously doesn’t happen on the Inca Trail—the group had incredible chefs)
  • And probably more…

    • Nonetheless, I abhor the idea of car camping. To me, it’s not even camping. Why not just rent a cabin then? If I had to do camping, I would do it all the way. And yet, I would not do it. Period.

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