We had every intention of staying the night.
After a long day on the road, we’d reached the sort of campsite that usually suits us. Nothing fancy. A few trees. A handful of campervans. Decent reviews. Somewhere to make a cup of tea and stop thinking about driving.
Twenty minutes later we were back in the van and heading for the exit.
The strange thing is that nothing was technically wrong.
The pitches were fine. The facilities looked clean enough. The receptionist was pleasant. If someone asked us today whether it was a good campsite, we’d probably say yes.
It just wasn’t for us.
Sometimes travelling in a campervan comes down to instinct.
You pull in somewhere and immediately relax.
Other times you spend the first few minutes looking around and thinking, “I don’t think we’re staying here.”
This was one of those places.
Mary noticed it first.
“I can’t explain it,” she said while we were still parked near reception. “It just feels odd.”
I knew exactly what she meant.
The campsite wasn’t busy, but it wasn’t quiet either. There seemed to be people everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Doors opening. Engines starting. Conversations carrying across the site.
Nobody was doing anything wrong.
The atmosphere simply felt unsettled.
Perhaps we’d become spoiled.
Over the previous week we’d stayed in smaller places where evenings arrived gently. A few people walking dogs. Someone reading outside their campervan. The distant sound of cutlery and conversation.
This place felt different.
We walked around once.
Then twice.
By the time we returned to the van we’d both already made the decision.
The funny thing about travelling together for long enough is that entire conversations become unnecessary.
“Fancy moving on?” I asked.
Mary nodded.
That was that.
Twenty minutes after arriving, we left.
The rest of the evening was spent driving without much of a plan.
Normally that’s the sort of thing we’d avoid. We like knowing where we’re sleeping.
But every now and then abandoning the plan turns out to be the better plan.
An hour later we found a small overnight stop overlooking a river. No facilities. No reception desk. No swimming pool. Just a handful of campervans and a view that changed colour as the sun disappeared.
We ended up sitting outside until dark.
Not talking very much.
Just watching the light fade.
Looking back, the campsite we’d left probably wasn’t a bad campsite at all.
On another day we might have stayed and enjoyed it.
Travelling has taught us that places aren’t only about facilities, prices or reviews. Sometimes a place simply doesn’t feel right at that particular moment.
And occasionally the best decision you make all day is the one that sends you back out through the entrance gate.
If you’re new to Camp España, you might also enjoy Between Stops: The Long Drive That Didn’t Deserve A Post (But Got One Anyway) and The One Night We Didn’t Sleep In The Van, two other moments where the plan changed somewhere along the road.
