We camped overnight in Whitstable, which is located on the east coast, for Chan’s last weekend in the UK. He flies home on Sunday the 25th of July. Here’s what we find so amusing about British camping. It is almost always an open field (picture a soccer pitch) and rows and rows of campers with an eclectic array of tents, trailers, wind barriers, and shade shelters. I am assuming that British campers like being crammed up together, since these types of campgrounds, we have found, are almost always packed. It is so different from Canadian outdoor holidays, like in Algonquin Park with miles of bush, lakes and peaceful surroundings. Here, the guy at the next plot brought his full sized gas barbecue, another fired up his generator, and then a radio with lousy reception played 80’s music, kids bolted around on their bikes, and a mother chased her wandering toddler. Hey, it is just like being in a subdivision. Not exactly our idea of a relaxing getaway. Well, I could hear the seagulls, the only challenge was the sea view from Seaview Holiday Village was hidden. Why are the descriptions on the internet so deceiving?
So to try and cheer ourselves up, we headed out to Whitstable for the reason we came here in the first place, the amazing seafood. About a 5 minute drive from the camp grounds, we returned to the town we had stumbled upon about 2 months ago. We enjoyed our day so much back then that we decided we just had to come back. Not to mention that Whitstable has an interesting main drag with a great collection of shops, pubs and cafes. While the boys scoped out the best deals on fresh oysters, I shopped at the charity shops scoring a couple of M & S (that’s Marks and Spencer’s for my Canadian friends not something kinky like some of you would be thinking it meant) polka dot cotton skirt for 2 pound 35 and a lovely lacey cream coloured blouse (original price tag of 35 pounds still attached) for slightly more at 5 pounds. Still I think they were deals given their condition and brand.
With my bags in hand, I met up with the boys and we wandered down to the wharf to check out the food stalls. Rick ordered 10 oysters at 50 p a piece and the boys covered them in hot sauce and slurped them down while I sipped on a Sprite. The last time we visited, I did try and eat raw oysters with them, but I just couldn’t handle the fishy smell and the slimy feel inside of my mouth. It was all I could do not to gag as it slid down my throat. Thank goodness I had English ale to chase it down. I could handle them steamed as we have had them in Florida but eating them raw just wasn’t working for me.
Back at the camp ground, we sat and had a couple of drinks and then prepared our dinner amongst the masses. I felt like we were on display. Our accents also tend to draw attention to us, and I cannot tell you the number of times we get called American here. I did manage to pack my Canadian Roots shirt, so as it cooled down in the evening, I put it on and hoped that our neighbours would notice. “Canada” see people, read it,”Canada” not “Canadia” or “America” say “Canada”. It is nice, however, when someone does recognize the accent as Canadian and they comment on how polite we are. Why thank you, I say. But not this weekend.
So the thing about British camping that I don’t find so amusing is how after 11 pm, people don’t turn down their music, or lower the voices, or stop drinking, or do what most considerate people do and go to bed. Granted I can understand that when you are away from home, you like to relax and enjoy but in such a highly communal situation, you can disturb a lot of people in one go. I tried putting in ear plugs and I drifted in and out as I lay on the air mattress in our tent, but I became increasingly frustrated with the lack of courtesy that I could feel my blood pressure rising. It had to have been 2 am by the time I yelled out of our tent to please be quiet to our laughing, drinking, let’s talk about everything and nothing neighbours with the full sized barbeque, and that settled them down. But then another crew started up around 3 am and I just couldn’t take it anymore. So I stuck on my flip flops and trotted over to the offending campers and said in a polite but very curt tone to please be quiet as it is really late and we can’t sleep. The woman inside said oops sorry, but the guy mocked my accent and I thought I would jump on his tent and throttle him. Then I walked away and said I am NOT American and I don’t appreciate the attitude. And she said, well you could have asked nicely. What? Is she serious? They are keeping us up and I said please and thank you and that wasn’t nice? As I headed back into the tent I yelled, I did ask you nicely and you gave me a smart ass answer, now who is rude?
Honestly, when the morning came, we couldn’t get out of there quick enough. I had made up my mind that when we went to the office to check out, I was going to ask for a refund. The funny thing about customer service is that not all businesses get the concept of good customer service. And the folks behind the counter at the Seaview Holiday Village, didn’t disappoint in the it’s not in company policy to give you a refund even though your stay with us sucked and you would never come back response. But I did tell them that I was looking forward to putting a review on Travel Advisor (don’t expect a glowing recommendation) and that I am a writer. The power of words and the internet are my weapons, dear friends. So do me a favour and post a message on your Facebook page that the Seaview Holiday Village in Kent County UK sucks big time and you‘d rather eat a pack of Marmite covered ants then stay at this god forsaken excuse for a British camp ground.
I may be polite, people, but I am NOT a Canadian push over.
