The Long Road to Camping — Part 2: What Woke Up Kept Stirring

Ever since returning from Hakuba, a small light somewhere in my mind refused to go out.

Hakuba is far. Between the transportation costs, hotel fees, and round-trip travel time, it wasn't somewhere I could easily go again. So I decided to start close to home instead. Fortunately, I already had a car—a TOYOTA NOAH.

Before that, I'd owned a used HONDA FIT. Soon after buying it, I drove to Tateyama, Chiba, and my daughters, who had never once gotten carsick before, both got sick that day. I suspect it was because the car sat so low to the ground, transmitting every vibration directly to the cabin.

I'd only owned it for two years, but I started thinking about trading it in. Right around that time, a combination of COVID-related supply shortages and a massive TOYOTA recall meant a full year's wait for new car deliveries. The only thing available right away was a SIENTA. My older daughter liked its design and color, but it wasn't much bigger than the FIT. Remembering my younger days when I was obsessed with windsurfing and regularly slept in my car, I realized that if I was going to use a vehicle that way again eventually, the SIENTA felt too small for me.

Right after my older daughter was born, I’d driven a NOAH—back when TOYOTA had just released the first generation. Built on the TOWNACE platform, the limited launch edition featured a blue interior. If I was going to trade in my car, I wanted that same NOAH again: spacious, plenty of room for cargo, and a high driving position. There was a time in the past when I’d been forced to give up having a car altogether. I wanted to overwrite that old bitterness, this time on my own terms. A touch of stubborn pride was probably mixed in there, too.

I test-drove a NOAH through a rental car service. I also tried an eight-seat VOXY, but in the end, it had to be the NOAH. My mind was made up.

Things moved quickly after that. What should have been a year's wait turned into a call from the sales rep saying a single unit had just opened up. It wasn't quite what I expected, but I took it as fate and decided to buy.

That's how I ended up with the car I drive today. With it, sleeping in the car for camping trips started to feel realistic. Partly to save money, I began looking into it. I learned that RV parks were popping up all across the country. I gathered information on both RV parks and traditional campgrounds through websites and books. Since the RV park guides also covered auto-campsites, before I knew it, I was researching both in parallel. Learning that other women were doing this solo gave me a bit of courage. Still, sleeping alone at a highway service area felt like a step too far, so I ruled that out.

I considered testing the waters in Tateyama, Chiba, a place I'd visited before. But picturing myself alone at night, walking to the bathroom or taking a shower by myself, made me hesitate.

As for campgrounds, I gradually developed my own criteria: free-for-all sites versus marked pitches, power hookups, bathroom and shower cleanliness, general maintenance, what time staff left for the night, and whether reviews mentioned noisy guests who ignored quiet hours. Photos of a few nearby options revealed underwhelming scenery.

To start, I bought window covers, a sleeping mat, and a sleeping bag for car camping, then started considering a table and a tarp. I began to think: if I could carve out a comfortable space beside the car, I wanted to make that spot as cozy as possible.

But wait—wouldn’t an actual campsite feel much more open? So what was the price range for tents? Digging further, it seemed a two-person tent would ultimately be more practical than a one-person one.

Conveniently, right around then, Snow Peak had a set—the Amenity Dome M and a fire tarp—at half price. There was no reason not to buy it. I ordered it immediately and did a trial pitch on the banks of the Sakawa River in Kanagawa.

—It was fun. Genuinely fun. I wanted to build a campfire, too. Eventually, I'll drag my daughters into this, I thought. And with that, I found myself wanting a Large fire pit as well.

I bought the Large size, along with firewood, charcoal, and fire starters, and headed off alone to Snow Peak KANUMA Campfield & Spa—in mid-March, a two-night, three-day solo trip.

It had been a while since I'd spent real time outdoors. The weather was cloudy, turning to light rain. The first day was consumed entirely by setting up the tent, the tarp, and the fire pit—it felt like an endless job. From evening on, I fed the fire and then the coals while preparing dinner. The whole day passed in constant motion. I was so grateful the campground had an on-site spa.

The second morning was overcast. For some reason, my head hurt so badly I couldn't move. I spent the entire day just lying around resting. The elevation wasn't high—maybe 200 meters at most. So what was this headache? It was a rare kind of pain for me.

Outside, children's laughter, a dog's adorable bark, a pleasant breeze. It turned out to be the perfect space to rest both body and mind. It felt as if toxins were draining out of me—the detox effect was remarkable.

The third morning broke clear and bright. It felt wonderful. I savored the morning air fully for the first time in ages.

Unscheduled time with nothing to do. My heart grew lighter, bit by bit. Where should I go next? I caught myself already wondering.

I only gave my daughters a brief update. If I pushed too hard, they'd dig their heels in.

A new campground in Mt. Akagi, Gunma, was about to open. Being at a higher elevation, it apparently stays cool even in summer. Looking at their website, it looked beautiful and stylish.

I decided that would be my next stop.

Japanese Version↓