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It has now been two and half years that I have been married, gained access to the reserved club of fatherhood, and been nailed by an executive nighttime job and slowly been drifting from the things I like most - camping.

If I do get an offer to go roam the wild with some pals then it would definitely be for the 'roughing'.

I will let all the pores of my body breath freedom, every muscle that have survived the slowdown in my metabolism come to life, and bring back the slightest childish trait that have had to hide for years on end.

I will get Tarzan's address and hire him as our guide throughout the most thrilling adventure nature can possibly offer, go for the rudiments of survival and forget that my fingers had been domesticated to keyboard and pens for so long.

Camping for me would be braving the jagged, lush and perilous terrains.

Going back to fire and wood cooking, spear and bow hunting (gun never was a sport) and the finishing touch with fly fishing.

After some roasted marshmallows, the only joy of civilization worth bringing along, a few beers, and make way for a few atomic burps before collapsing in your sleeping bag under the star map sky philosophing on the mysteries of life and space.

You wake up to the smell pureness and plenitude, pull yourself with renewed vigor, and somersault in the cool crystal waters of the nearby river and breaststroke for a refreshing cascade shower.

Climbing trees for fruits and going cave hunting and consequently exploring.

A return home must have the feeling of coming back from an absolutely enchanting adventure.

Now, there is also a moment when you would choose going camping only to make good use of the camping tent, this I leave to your wild imagination.

Learn more about this author, Veeryavan Ramkhelawon.
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