I’ve just come back from a week spent in a yurt with my family in Cornwall. For those (like us) used to camping in a tent, yurts come under the handy blend word “Glamping.” Those used to holidaying where there is a hot running water and a flushable loo, may not find a single whiff of glamour about it.
Speaking of whiffs, despite weeing onto straw and using wood shavings to cover the other, I loved every minute of it. The yurts were in an Eco farm (more on that next time) and I hardly dare publish the details in case it gets too popular, thereby losing its charm.
I had my doubts before we went. Who wouldn’t about spending a week with husband and two teenagers and a 11 year old in what is essentially a single room? Not to mention the six hour drive. However, having pitched tents in the Highlands of Scotland in the pouring rain and the pitch black in Somerset, we felt up to the challenge, especially as we knew that the most effort we’d have to make when we got there was to pump up one bed and open a beer.
A series of circumstances beyond our control meant we arrived at 2.00am. The first thing we noticed was the sound of crickets, almost eerily deafening. Having found our way to the yurt using torches, the next thing we noticed was the stars. City dwellers need hardly be reminded of what we miss in the sky every night. Lying on a bench at three am on the first night, I saw two shooting stars in two minutes. Despite a stressful week and a very long journey, I immediately felt relaxed. In the daylight, we could fully appreciate our surroundings. In good weather, the outdoors becomes another, enormous room.
Fans of camping will understand the satisfaction one gets from its simplicity. Simple menial chores that I would put off at home are essential to keep the family fed and the yurt clean, but somehow they were not stressful there. Blessed with mostly good weather,we had lazy days at the beach, an afternoon crabbing and browsing at charming Mevagissey and one scary but exhilarating afternoon at the clifftop, (possibly) Arthurian castle of Tintagel. Even the last day, filled with torrential rain, became a chance to chill in the yurt, reading two books and venturing out only to pick up a takeaway and have a last half of delicious Cornish ale.
There is no doubt that a holiday in a yurt is not for everyone, but my family and that of my sister – the only other people staying in the neighbouring yurt across a small stream, had a wonderful, peaceful time away from the stresses of everyday living. So riffing of the run of yurt-related puns we came up with, title included, I can only suggest that Everybody yurts!