A blog by a camper for campers and those who want to become one.🚐

Hello everyone,

I think when you introduce yourself, everything becomes more personal. Or😂

So: I'm Carsten. (Casi). Born in the summer of 1969 in Göttingen, Lower Saxony.

My parents were very happy and I soon became their little sweetheart🙉.

Back then we still lived in the city, in my grandparents' big house on the top floor.

It was clearly my father who, after a camping trip in Italy with a tent that was abruptly ended by a storm, suggested getting a caravan.

All of this was before I was born.

The caravan was supposed to be our permanent residence in Dransfeld for weekends and vacations.

My arrival was a welcome distraction from the camping routine for everyone on the site, and they loved to spoil me as much as they could.

From 1969 to the end of 1972, it was a very nice time for me. Freedom, nature, my parents, and dear neighbors made everything even more beautiful. However, since living with my grandparents under one roof became more and more of a catastrophe, my parents bought a plot of land in the countryside and built a very nice house, where my mother and I still live. We moved in in 1973, and unfortunately had to sell the caravan due to financial reasons. My brother was also born in 1973. So, there was a lot of work and we were a great family.

Vacation was not possible in the first few years, so we preferred to invest in the house, the property, and a lot of money. It was only a few years later that we took a vacation together at a guesthouse in Fehmarn. We were in good hands with Mrs. Broderson. After breakfast, we would load the kids and everything we needed into the car and head to the beach. My father always remained calm. Until the point came when I was 9 years old and my brother was 5, and the longing for freedom and 'oh, there was something back then' came back. My brother and I sat down with our parents after dinner, and they cautiously asked if we could imagine going on vacation with a caravan. After some explanations about what it actually is and that you have to sit in the car for a long time until you get there, they looked around in Kassel and the surrounding dealers for a used caravan for the four of us. They found a Fendt. At that time, a 75 horsepower Opel Manta in colorado beige with a black Venil roof served as the towing vehicle. And in the summer of 1978, we immediately went to Croatia. It was still Yugoslavia back then.

The trip to the foot of the Loibl Pass went quickly. My brother and I mostly slept. But in the late afternoon, we had dinner in a restaurant before the pass, and soon after, we went to bed.

Little did my parents know that the pass was right in front of us. And anyone who has ever driven up there surely gained respect. Note: 75 horsepower without fuel injection, a heavy caravan, 4 people, and well, absolutely no experience with carrying clothes, food, toys, etc. We started the climb with a cold engine. Of course, an Italian truck loaded with wood got in front of us. At first, it was still moving. But when the truck crawled up the next hairpin curve at an extremely slow speed, which felt almost vertical, our clutch began to smoke. A small emergency bay in a left turn was our salvation. Everyone got out, turned up the heating, set the blower to infinite, and waited. After what felt like an hour of cursing and thanking God that the emergency bay was there, several cars with glowing brakes passed us on the downhill journey. An RV stopped squeaking and told us, 'Go ahead. The road is clear. The wooden truck is slowly burning up ahead.' My father sounded the alarm, we got everything back in the car, and on we went. Climbing the summit: when we reached the top, the truck was fully engulfed in flames. The border crossing was open, and we were in Yugoslavia.

It took a long time and many potholes later to reach Porec in Istria. We must have found the campsite quite well back then. AUTOCAMP ULICA. A nudist campsite. Wild, rugged, cozy, and a truly unique experience for children back then and even now. So, we spent three weeks on vacation under the former Yugoslavian sun and met many friends whom we came to love and appreciate.

In addition to trips in Germany to the North Sea, Baltic Sea, and Lüneburg Heath/Soltau, as well as weekend trips with the CFSN (Camping Friends South Lower Saxony) and several other caravans, and with almost a new car every year, there came a time of mourning for us. By then, I was ready to travel with my own caravan, and Yugoslavia was no longer an option. So, where to? France: a real disappointment for Balkan lovers. Too bad. Then Hungary, Lake Balaton. Pretty good, good prices at the time and great weather too. However, freshwater attracts mosquitoes, and they were either mutated or mosquitoes that wanted to become even fatter and to make us thinner. Terrible. At that time, I was a career soldier and had already become a sergeant. In 1996, I was ordered to go on a mission to Croatia/Zadar Zimunik. From March to August. In Germany, during the frost, I drove through the Alps with the Trans All, with the loading hatch open and a rifle between my legs, heading to Zadar. 30 degrees when I arrived, and my comrades cursed, which I don't want to repeat here, but for me, it was a time that made me realize that all the vacations and times spent with my parents in former Yugoslavia could only benefit me. And it did. None of my superiors could familiarize themselves with the customs and practices. However, I was looking forward to every free second to interact with the country, the city, and the people. It turned out to be an advantage for me, as I later discovered. I fell in love with the country. After the mission, I returned home, got divorced, and had no contact with my son. But then came a camper drought. But not for long. Later, a new girlfriend, then a fiancée, many destinations and trips to Slovenia, the North Sea, and FKK (nudist) camping on Ukica, followed by a separation and another pause. Together with a good friend, I drove to the Côte d'Azur in France. In 2013, something happened that I wouldn't wish on anyone. My endurance disappeared from one day to the next. I had a dream job as an employee of the caretaker service at the University of Göttingen. Diagnosis: pulmonary fibrosis, with hypertension and heart failure. The rehabilitation was rejected, and I quickly became an EU pensioner, to the point where I hit rock bottom. I had to sell the caravan. Better now than never. One piece of bad news followed another, and my life was shattered. Now, in July 2017, after what felt like an eternity of multiple hospital stays, I am at a point with my health and medication where I can confidently say that I am ready to start camping again. There is too much that I still want to see. Places I want to visit and people I want to meet. Besides, my brother's children are at an age where they can and want to join me. So, I thought, calculated, sold the property, cashed out the life insurance, and still have enough reserves to travel worry-free and offer my nephew a nice time every now and then. Everything is in order. But what kind of motorhome should I get? Definitely used. With a lot of extras. I don't want to tinker again. In October 2017, I received an offer. A Carado t135. Under 6 meters and 3.5 tons total weight. With a triple bicycle rack, awning, double solar system, TV with automatic satellite antenna, 67,679 km, built in 2012, radio, rearview camera, suction, and in great condition on a Fiat Ducato base. Negotiated, got two gas bottles with filling, wheel chocks, and toilet chemicals for a good price. I will receive it in January 2018, and since I have a seasonal license plate from April to October due to my health, I can start my journey in April 2018.

Until then, I will keep you updated on insurance, taxes, and other things that still need to be taken care of. Until the next post.