When it came time to plan a special celebration for my son, Max’s sixth birthday, I asked him to think big—anything he wanted, as long as it was reasonable. I was fully expecting a request for a movie outing or a beach day. Just a couple of weeks prior, he excitedly mentioned bowling with his cousin, which I wouldn’t have minded either.
Instead, Max declared, “I want to stay in a big tent in the countryside.” No matter how many times I suggested other options, he remained steadfast in his choice.
After some research, I stumbled upon a yurt listed on Airbnb. My wife, Sarah, thought it could be a fun adventure. The reviews hailed it as a serene getaway, though I was skeptical about how relaxing a night away with two kids could be. Romance? That was for the childless couples; our version of a getaway often involved a lot of chaos.
After forking over £120 for our countryside escape, I tried to convince myself it would be worth it. Camping has never been my cup of tea—if it were California or the south of France, maybe I’d feel differently. But in England? It’s usually either raining or freezing. Why not just book a hotel? That question loomed large in my mind.
But the kids would love it, I reasoned. The Airbnb photos promised a cozy bed, and perhaps we’d even catch a glimpse of stars. Who knows? Maybe the change of scenery would even encourage our youngest to sleep soundly through the night.
The first sign of trouble came from a message sent by the yurt’s owner. She warned us that it had been raining for weeks and the grounds were incredibly muddy. Cars often got stuck, she mentioned, suggesting we park at a nearby hotel instead of risking a muddy fate. I kept this information from Sarah, thinking I was doing her a favor.
On the day of our getaway, we piled the car high with bags—if you saw the amount we packed, you’d think we were heading off for a month-long European tour instead of just a night away. Our destination was Lewes, a quaint town known for its historical castle. We thought a bit of sightseeing would be a nice distraction before fully committing to the yurt.
After enjoying the castle and a delightful meal, I indulged in a couple of glasses of wine. The pouring rain couldn’t dampen my spirits just yet. “The weather forecast said it would be dry all weekend,” Sarah remarked, gazing outside as the downpour intensified.
The yurt was located on a farm that also had a hotel, which offered some comfort in case things went awry. I hastily dashed from the car to collect the key. As I did, I nearly slipped on the wet grass—an amusing sight for my family, no doubt.
Finding no one at reception, I rang the doorbell. A young woman emerged, mistaking me for a children’s entertainer. After a brief misunderstanding, she handed me the key with a warning: “Don’t park near the yurts. If you get stuck in the mud, you’re really stuck.”
Naturally, we got stuck in the mud. I had told Sarah not to park in the mud, but I hadn’t specified not to drive through it. I was outside scouting the area when it happened. We had driven down a long, muddy lane and arrived at a designated parking spot. I could see our yurt in the distance, its lights twinkling as other families settled in.
As I approached the car, I found it spinning its wheels in a pool of mud. “What are you doing?” I asked, trying to stay calm. “I was turning around!” Sarah replied, clearly flustered. After switching places, I attempted to help, but only succeeded in driving us deeper into the mud.
With night closing in and our youngest, Ben, screaming, we decided to abandon the car for the moment and trudge through the mud towards the yurt. The handle of the yurt door came off in my hand, which set the tone for the evening. Inside, it was actually quite cozy, adorned with rugs and a strong 4G signal—thank goodness!
We struggled to get a fire going, but eventually managed to light it. It didn’t warm the chilly tent instantly, but it provided a flicker of hope. The kids quickly commandeered our phones to watch cartoons while I rummaged for snacks.
As the evening wore on, the chill set in; I feigned sleep each time Sarah rolled out of bed to poke at the dying fire. The isolation that once seemed appealing was overshadowed by the distant roar of the highway.
The next morning, Sarah discovered the shower was broken, and breakfast turned into a battle of overcooked bacon and undercooked eggs, made worse by the drizzle outside. D and Ben settled for cold pastries while we mentally prepared for the muddy car situation ahead.
After a brief walk through the fields, where D humorously predicted we’d just find another field, Ben took a tumble and ended up covered in mud. As we strategized about the car, Sarah had to venture off to seek help. Thankfully, she returned with a pickup truck driver to rescue us.
I made two trips back to the car, collecting our muddy possessions, and we finally escaped the yurt’s clutches. “Got much planned for today?” the hotel receptionist asked as I returned the key. “My wife’s filthy,” I blurted, regrettably killing the conversation.
In the end, we learned that yurt adventures might not be our best choice, but they certainly make for memorable stories. If you’re considering a home insemination journey, check out this excellent resource for insights on pregnancy and more. You can also explore our post on artificial insemination kits for additional information. For more family-oriented tips and stories, visit Modern Family Blog.
Summary
A family’s adventurous night in a yurt quickly turns into a muddy misadventure. From getting the car stuck to battling cold temperatures and broken showers, their experience was far from the idyllic getaway they envisioned. Despite the chaos, they learned valuable lessons about family trips and the unpredictability of nature.