a glamping roadtrip

When we were kids Dad would grab the youngest, blindfold them, spin them once and get them to stab at a map of New South Wales pinned to the wall. Wherever my little brother or sister pointed determined our summer holiday fun. “Rippa! Kids, we’re off camping in….Dubbo!”.

paper bark hut 2 copy
This is the tent we stayed in. That’s a meteorite shot by Joanne Paquette the week before.

Oh, the places we visited. Up to eight of us in a four-man tent (my brothers slept in the trailer once it was unpacked).  One year it was drought-stricken goat paddock in Jindabyne. Another we wound up in Bendigo (we eventually branched out to the holiday non-spots of greater Victoria). We sat on milk crates. Mum always cooked Hungarian goulash in the big cast-iron pot. It invariably stormed. Flooded. Or there was a dust storm.

And you thought your jaunt to the Lake Macquarie Big 4 with the kidney pool was as good as it got.

I camped all my life. In snow. On the banks of crocodile-infested waters. In the middle of cities. In fact, I was 21 before I stayed in a hotel. I packed a towel and soap and made the bed in the morning, which made my new boyfriend at the time roll around laughing. So, it could be said I’ve earned my camping stripes.

And so, recently I allowed myself the comfort and joy of “glamping”. Glamorous camping. Last weekend I headed south of Sydney with my mate Zoe to try out the glamping deal at Paperbark Camp. I’d heard about this place almost ten years ago, when it first opened. I loved the idea. Turns out it’s now a MrandMrsSmith property.

Please note: I’m an ambassador with MrandMrsSmith and I am invited to try out their properties from time to time for review purposes. The opinions in this post are my own.

Paperbark is about 2-3 hours out of town, in Woolamia near Jervis Bay. It’s a bunch of elevated, luxury tents scattered throughout dense bushland close to the sea. You can hear the roar at night. Along with crackles of the night life going

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