THE JOY OF RANDOM CAMPSITE MEETINGS

I met Jürgen whilst we were both emptying our respective toilet cassettes at a site in Spain.

When female fellow campers walk nearby during this ritual, I often feel uncomfortable but, when walking to the toilet block with our evening’s after-dinner washing up, I cheerfully meet a woman’s gaze and use a little of my German language, “Ich bin eine guten hausfrau.” Usually, this generates a smile. I sometimes flatter myself with my ability to strike up a conversation with a stranger.

Sylvia is well aware of this weakness – I once heard her tell her friend, “Oh, he loves the company of women, but I don’t worry, he is like an old barking dog chasing a car, even if he catches it, he won’t be able to drive it!”

Anyway, Jürgen was watching me carefully as I emptied my cassette, carefully rinsing it out with water from the supplied hose then measuring the blue sterilising fluid into it before sliding the trapdoor closed.

I turned and smiled at my examiner, whereupon he stood very straight and said, “Zat is not good hygiene, you should wear a plastic apron, as I am, you should wear plastic gloves, as I am. Bad germs are everywhere... my motorhome, she is spotless, I keep everyzink clean...” I started to turn away and, with a disarming smile, replied lamely, “I will remember what you say.”

The following morning, while still in my dressing gown enjoying my first cup of tea, I noticed Jürgen, whose ’van was in the next bay, sweeping the dirt from his vehicle. I rose and grabbed my new Dyson vacuum cleaner and started to use it near the door where my tormentor could see.

I nodded and smiled as he regarded my Dyson with some surprise. I pointed to his broom then indicating the dirt he had expelled, wearing a serious expression, I said, “dirt onto the road, not good hygiene,” and wagged an admonishing finger.

To his credit and my surprise he smiled with ‘mock’ shame and asked if I normally carry a mains electric cleaner on vacation. I explained that it was a new addition in our home and I was still fascinated with its efficiency and ease of use.

Another time when at a campsite near Quarteira, we were parked near a camper who unsettled Sylvia a little. He was about 50, a shaven head, numerous finger rings, wearing a great deal of gold including his teeth but it was his scowl and purposeful movements that were so unsettling.

I faced him and, in my best German, asked if he had slept well the previous night. The result was astounding. His face broke in a warm smile and we chatted and quickly became friends. I have since learned to never judge a sausage... well, you know the rest.

Watching new arrivals at a campsite is a well-known pastime and, if I am in a whimsical mood, I will step back from my vehicle, briefly raise a glass of red wine then move to the rear of our ’van repeating the procedure.

Invariably, a fellow camper will remark on my ‘toasting’ the newly parked campervan. I usually smile and point out that I do not have a spirit-level and am comparing the ’van level to the wine in my glass and when the ’van is at the correct level, I drink the wine. Keeping a straight face, I mention that sometimes, on uneven ground, I may need two or three attempts and can be quite tiddly by the time the ramps are in a correct position. This usually brings a smile and, at this point, my wife offers them a glass...

Making friends from most nations is very easy, especially at sunset on a warm evening when small groups form; as the sun goes down, so does the bottle’s contents.

Nowadays, using my smartphone’s speech interpreter makes this easier, but there sometimes can be errors. One Frenchman, pointing to a plaster on my knee, asked if I had fallen over.

Using my smartphone, I said that I had fallen off my bike trying to keep up with my wife as she had been pedalling too fast. There was laughter as the other Spanish guest explained to his wife that Sylvia had been piddling too fast!

Some of the happiest moments of my life have been while motorhoming. The nearest comparison I can make is the lifelong bond I have made with fellow airmen in the RAF in 1955.

Certainly, most motorhomers acknowledge each other when passing on the road, which is a tradition that I hope will continue.