RHODE ISLAND - Camp Aldersgate

Look, dear, a little frog!

So, you're coming out of the bathhouse (American phrase for a building with no baths). And it's pitch black in every direction. You know you're heading uphill, so that's fine. You start walking, gradually your eyes adjust to the relative gloom. You see a tiny light up ahead, and another to the left. Knowing the area as well as you do (a three minute tour several hours ago) you juxtapose where your cabin might be and inch towards it. Frogs are croaking. Crickets are doing their, uh, cricket type thing. Oh, and it's pouring with rain. Furiously. And it's all great.

I really, really and with no sarcasm whatsoever love American summer camps. It's pretty incredible to be able to go to a place where they don't tarmac the roads, flatten out the hills and build concrete things all over them. Communication is difficult, sure, but one of the principles is that camps are a space apart from the rest of the world. Camp Aldersgate adheres to this principle more than other camps I've seen. Today's blog update is provided by the fine Gloucester local library (no, not that one) and phones are few and far between the 200 odd acres of forest, lake, swamp and ropes courses. But that's great; there should be more places like it. So let's talk hogans.


Disassembled hogan


Hogan during assembly


Finished hogan

A hogan is, from what I can understand, a big wagon which has had the wheels chopped off and is sitting under a big marquee. I've assembled the odd unwieldy tent in my life but hogans are pretty exciting for their sheer inability to follow the laws of easy assembly. If it breaks, it's broken. If it can have a tear in it, there's a hole somewhere. But somehow it all works. This is when you're very glad that there are a lot of experienced American types helping out with this stuff. It is a bit bizarre being the only British person in a several mile radius, and one of only three non American staff (Meghan from South Africa and Anya representing Russia hold up the rest of the trans-Atlantic end) but it's quite fun to be unique.

People will be talked about in due course (I need to dig up some dirt) but currently I'm in a cabin with the funky Mark (tracking conniseur from Florida whose knowledge of the American wilderness is immensly handy and reminisent of a certain Tim Sparks who will remain named) and Nick (New York state. More water bottles than any human can possibly use. And every Eddie Izzard routine on his computer. Therefore, incomprehensible injokes aplenty) They, along with all the other people, make me excited about the summer. Even though soon it will mean being joined by a whole bunch of kids who in the past have enjoyed locking each other in cupboards and setting hordes of mice loose on each other. But the place is so gorgeous, I think we'll all cope. If anyone wants me, I'll be hanging out with the turtles.