Growing up in Australia, camping was a natural part of holidaying life. My parents would pack our family tent, inflatable mattresses, sleeping bags and my sister and me into our four-wheel-drive land cruiser, and together with my uncle's family, we'd head very early morning towards a beautiful part of the country.

The trip itself was always an adventure because it was usually in summer and our car didn't have air conditioning. The temperature was generally somewhere between thirty and forty degrees centigrade outside and about a hundred in the car, or at least it felt like it. My mother brought wet face towels for us to cool by hanging out the window. And, when I got carsick, my father let me sit on his lap and steer, which my mother didn't like, but which was great fun for me and Dad! Dad always gave the cool, one-finger acknowledgment to other land cruisers we passed. It was an unspoken pact I was proud we were part of.

A short trip was about two hours and a long one was twelve or fourteen -- Australia's a big country! After our long journey, my sister and I would play for a little with our cousin. There was always so much to explore. One place we often went to was next to a river, so we quickly changed into our 'togs' (an Aussie term for swimwear) and jumped in. We weren't afraid of the water ever, even when I saw my sister dive unwittingly over a water snake zigzagging down the river. And our parents didn't worry about us. They were glad to get us off their hands so they could sit back in the shade and drink and chat with my dad's brother and wife.

One trip, my dad got on my sister's inflatable mattress and I got on mine, and we floated for a couple of kilometres down the river, past weeping willows and reeds and other swimmers. It was so much fun! I felt like Huckleberry Finn. We passed many campers, wryly warning us about large waterfalls just around the next corner and dangerous rapids. Dad just laughed, and we continued on enjoying the sun sparkling on the muddy-smelling water. We did come across some rapids, but they were very small and we easily managed them. And of course there were no waterfalls; the campers were just pulling our legs, or trying to "have a lend of us," as my dad said.

The adventure was wonderful, but when we got to the end of our journey, we faced the long walk back beside the river, crunching through minty eucalyptus leaves all the way back to the campsite, where we showered in the local toilet block, got changed, and had a rest in a 'banana lounge' -- a vinyl sunlounge with an aluminium frame and an adjustable backrest -- just the thing for an exhausted Huckleberry Finn! Dad had a beer, and I had some fruit juice.

At night we had wonderful barbeques, with steak and sausages and chicken skewers, the mouth-watering aromas of which would attract all kinds of hungry insects and neighbouring campers' dogs. My mother and auntie prepared coleslaw salad, made with shredded carrot, apple, cabbage and sultanas drizzled with Mum's homemade mayonnaise, and we had crusty bread bought from a local bakery in the nearest town. For dessert we indulged in drippy, messy and deliciously sweet watermelon, cut in chunky slices. My sister, cousin and I had competitions to see who could spit the pips the furthest, until the sun went down.