Title : "Why does no one say that glamping isn’t real? It does not exist outside the lifestyle pages. It’s a magazine fantasy for middle-class people."
link : "Why does no one say that glamping isn’t real? It does not exist outside the lifestyle pages. It’s a magazine fantasy for middle-class people."
"Why does no one say that glamping isn’t real? It does not exist outside the lifestyle pages. It’s a magazine fantasy for middle-class people."
"Lovely photographs of professionally styled and accessorised spaces — a four-poster bed with artfully dishevelled linen sitting on a beautiful faded rug inside an authentic Mongolian yurt — are taken at the golden hour to convey an idea of bucolic bliss.... The women are wearing expensive kaftans and beaded jewellery; the men have pastel sweaters knotted around their shoulders, like Italians. Everyone is tanned. Then there’s the reality. There is no plump, inviting bedding. There is no rug. The bed is hard. The inauthentic, not-Mongolian yurt is really gloomy and dark, what with the lack of windows or light, and it smells musty. You weren’t expecting the other glampers to be quite so close.... The men don’t look Italian: they are in bad shorts with blindingly white skin.... There is nothing wrong with normal camping. There are little family-owned campsites all over the country that really do have ocean views and wildflower meadows, fresh eggs for breakfast and locally grown vegetables for supper. If that’s not your thing, there are lovely and affordable bed-and-breakfasts in wildly scenic spots. I feel sad for B&Bs and small family hotels, nudged out of the running by so-called glamping and Airbnbs, which should really be called Airbs, as you can’t count on a fry-up."
From "Glamping fantasies fold faster than a damp yurt/A madness has gripped the middle classes. It’s still a tent in a muddy field, folks" by India Knight (London Times).
A fry-up. I learned a new term, but I think I know what it is. Ah, yes:
Somerset Maugham said that to eat well in Britain you should eat breakfast thrice daily, and perhaps he was right. We're damn good at it – bacon and eggs, the sausage sandwich, boiled egg and soldiers, kedgeree, bloody marys, eggs benedict, marmalade and toast, gegs, Marmite, all make me leave the breakfast table with a great spring in my step. But we should find the man who decided that the majority of these beautiful things were best enjoyed all on one plate and slap his pudgy wrist.
Anyway, about that glamping. It could exist. And all presentations of travel should be met with skepticism.
"Lovely photographs of professionally styled and accessorised spaces — a four-poster bed with artfully dishevelled linen sitting on a beautiful faded rug inside an authentic Mongolian yurt — are taken at the golden hour to convey an idea of bucolic bliss.... The women are wearing expensive kaftans and beaded jewellery; the men have pastel sweaters knotted around their shoulders, like Italians. Everyone is tanned. Then there’s the reality. There is no plump, inviting bedding. There is no rug. The bed is hard. The inauthentic, not-Mongolian yurt is really gloomy and dark, what with the lack of windows or light, and it smells musty. You weren’t expecting the other glampers to be quite so close.... The men don’t look Italian: they are in bad shorts with blindingly white skin.... There is nothing wrong with normal camping. There are little family-owned campsites all over the country that really do have ocean views and wildflower meadows, fresh eggs for breakfast and locally grown vegetables for supper. If that’s not your thing, there are lovely and affordable bed-and-breakfasts in wildly scenic spots. I feel sad for B&Bs and small family hotels, nudged out of the running by so-called glamping and Airbnbs, which should really be called Airbs, as you can’t count on a fry-up."
From "Glamping fantasies fold faster than a damp yurt/A madness has gripped the middle classes. It’s still a tent in a muddy field, folks" by India Knight (London Times).
A fry-up. I learned a new term, but I think I know what it is. Ah, yes:
Somerset Maugham said that to eat well in Britain you should eat breakfast thrice daily, and perhaps he was right. We're damn good at it – bacon and eggs, the sausage sandwich, boiled egg and soldiers, kedgeree, bloody marys, eggs benedict, marmalade and toast, gegs, Marmite, all make me leave the breakfast table with a great spring in my step. But we should find the man who decided that the majority of these beautiful things were best enjoyed all on one plate and slap his pudgy wrist.
Anyway, about that glamping. It could exist. And all presentations of travel should be met with skepticism.
Thus articles "Why does no one say that glamping isn’t real? It does not exist outside the lifestyle pages. It’s a magazine fantasy for middle-class people."
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