Camping

 Camping: The Luxury I Don’t Need

With the great weather in the UAE now, anybody and everybody is out camping. Cars loaded, convoys taking off—like cheerful desert expeditions marching proudly into the sand. It’s the winter holiday highlight. Lovely for them. Truly. But I’ll admire it from a distance… preferably from indoors.

Think back to your last camping trip… alright, maybe this hits harder if you’re under 40. As for me, I’ve earned the right to prefer comfort over chaos. A neck with dramatic tendencies, a back with strong opinions, and a digestive system that demands diplomacy do not pair well with “let’s sleep on rocks.” Camping and I follow entirely different life philosophies.

Sleeping on the ground? My back wheezes with laughter. Cold nights in a tent? My neck drafts a legal complaint. Food with a hint of grit? My digestion stages a walkout. Toilets? If the sales pitch begins with “just find a spot,” I’m already gone.

Big crowds? Hard pass. I’m a few-close-friends type of guy. And tents? Unless they’re tall enough to host a wedding, my claustrophobia will start rehearsing for a full dramatic performance. Please, don’t fence me in.

I sleep by 10 p.m., wake up rested, and avoid dirt, mosquitoes, and surprise back spasms. So enjoy your campfires and midnight owl concerts—I’ll be perfectly cozy at home, whispering with conviction: “Amen.

 No tents for me.