Last month, my wife and I bought a new car. There's a boom in vehicles that can be slept in, particularly in a camping or wild camping setting. Our car, a Daihatsu Atrai (a-to-lay), is one such vehicle.
Both to save money and because the optics of traveling to typical sightseeing locations and theme parks remain poor, we'd decided to make traveling by and lodging in the Atrai a new something we can do together. We've been out camping in it together once since getting it. The first time around we rented a space meant for a proper RV. We figured we should be in a place we knew was safe and friendly to car-campers so we could focus on learning the dos-and-don'ts of the activity.
Since then, I've constantly been thinking about where I'd like to go next. We'd seen a really convenient looking spot between a rest station-bath house combination and a convenience store on a drive a little while back. It was there that I decided to have my
first solo auto-camp. Details of how that went will be in an upcoming video on the Natural Fukui YouTube channel. For now, I'll say that my wife and I are going to the same spot together next week.
I often hear (and repeat) that you never meet bad people when hiking. I always feel like the conversations had when you run into somebody at random on the trails is kind and genuine. I was made to think that the same is true of auto-campers during this last experience. (Of course, I know nothing of who these people are when they aren't hauling a backpack or sleeping in their backseats.)
After getting set up in a space next to the aforementioned convenience store, I noticed an older gentleman in a loose striped shirt and baggy, sand colored jeans gazing out over the Sea of Japan that expanded out before the parking area. I watched him from inside the Atrai, which I've nicknamed Indy. He left his lookout and went back to a large, older model white van. He opened the sliding door. I got a brief peek inside. Folded down passenger seats? A mattress? A small, black portable generator? I've found a friend, I thought.
Later, I noticed the man following my drone back and forth as it flew north to south and back again over the tetrapods acting to break the waves. After landing the drone, I felt the man's gaze and took the chance.
"Err, excuse me. Sorry to bother you." I stammered. These days I usually do.
"Yes?"
"Are you by chance camping out in your car?"
Wrinkles arched from the corners of his eyes, giving hope of a smile beneath his mask.
"Yes."
I can't tell you why, but I felt starstruck. Words fell out of my mouth at such speed that the guy could only answer in words like, "Yes" and "Huh" and "Really?" In about 3 minutes, he knew I was new to this camping in a car thing, loved Fukui's coastline, and was thrilled to find a like-minded soul. When he was allowed to talk, he shared that he came from Fukushima Prefecture, a whopping 500 kilometer-plus drive northeast from Fukui. He wished me luck, puncuating the conversation.
I was so thrilled with stumbling across the cross-country trailblazer that I had to share. Someone must be informed immediately! My wife picked up after one ring. A confused or concerned sort of laugh was followed by, "Oh, that's nice." She tried, and I felt better for having shared my enthusiasm.
The night passed with episodes of Ms. Marvel; listening to rain and wind have a go at swallowing Indy; eating stupidly expensive salami stuffed with gorgonzola. The morning began with a heated toilet seat; brushing my teeth as strangers washed their hands in the sink next to me; with the comforting trickle of hot, instant coffee.
Sometime before the coffee, the man from Fukushima came calling. He'd seen the makeshift table in the back of my car and came to investigate.
"I thought you said you were a beginner? You've already made a table." He wore the same clothes as yesterday, but his hair was brushed.
"We've been watching a lot of YouTube videos, and it seemed like a good idea. Did you do something similar?"
"In there?" He gestured back to the car. A woman who I learned to be his wife descended from behind the sliding side door. She held a howling orange cat like a baby. "We just use the tops of boxes."
"Really? That's cool."
"Yeah, but I want to do more. Thing is I bought my van 20 years ago. I don't want to put extra money into it right now. "
"How does the cat do?" I asked as much to keep the conversation going as because I had dreams of carting my own future beast around the country with us.
"Hates it, but we don't have a choice. We have four back home, but this one needs to take medicine every day for a while, so we brought him." The cat might have known he was being discussed, howling again with precision timing.
The conversation meandered friendlily. We greeted a woman walking her dog who explained the parking lot was basically her backyard. I learned how cooking or sitting outside of your car in the parking lot was considered an infraction and would land you with a fine.
I was warned of the downsides of rest stops and told how to tell if a spot was too crowded to be enjoyable.
My stomach rumbled. I don't know if the man heard, but he politely wished me well and headed back to wife. They both waved before disappearing inside the van. Halfway through my second cup of coffee, they drove away. Waves and smiles sent them off. I hoped...hope to see them again.
Not too long after, I sat in my own driver's seat. I had seen a gorgeous sunset where rain clouds seemed to be trying to capture the star inside of themselves. I watched a local man walking nearby the fishing port, explaining the names of fish to the dog accompanying him as they struggled at the end of long fishing lines. It was a beautiful, relaxing chunk of time. I'm looking forward to moreof these things, but I am equally hoping we come across another person willing to share their story and add us to it for even a few minutes.
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