Adventures on a Campsite

As soon as we saw the owner of the campsite we knew it was going to be a strange place. He looked like a French peasant imitating Groucho marx. Or vice versa. Whe he discovered Layla was German he suddenly started shouting: "Oh Kapitalist ja! Kapitalist ! You give me more money ja? More money" We gave him 10 euros and he tramped off smiling.

There weren't many other people here. One old-fella in khaki shorts and a vest, lying in a hammock under a trellis, talking to himself. He had a very soft, upper-class English accent and looked deluded.

There was a Greek guy sitting on a chair outside his tent, watching a huge telly that sat opposite him, on another chair. He sat there, beer-in-hand, watching a football game - just as if he were at home, sitting in the front-room while the wife made dinner. His little dog was tied to an olive tree. As we past it sprang to life and started making an awful racket, yapping and trying to get at our ankles. Eyes on the box, smiling and gesticulating with his one free hand, the guy proclaimed, almost ecstatically: "There is no problem! There is no problem!"

After the dog there was one lonely tent then some fresh air and finally a conical bamboo hut which marked the end of the site and which we assumed was empty, redundant.

We erected the tent under an olive tree by the hut and then headed into town. The sun was beginning to set now and a quiet breeze came off the sea. The beach was mostly empty, and couples and families walked along the waterfront, enjoying the last of the light at the best time of day. We decided to get something to eat and drink.

At around 2 a.m. we came back to the campsite. There was neither sight nor sound of anyone else. Due to the beer and food and lateness of the day falling asleep was no problem. We drifted off effortlessly.

Not long after I started hearing a voice. It was weak and sounded in pain:

"Jochen.....jochen..."

I strained to hear it again:

"Jochen! ......jochen ! ......jochen!"

Layla opened her eyes:

"What the hell's that noise?" she asked.

"I don't know"

It seemed to be coming closer, was getting louder. It had a pathetic quality to it, ebbing and flowing tidally, rhythmic like a wind:

"Jochen! .......jochen ! ......jochen !"

"What the fuck is that sound?" Layla asked again.

"I don't know"

Suddenly the voice was right outside our tent:

"JOCHEN!!!!........JOCHEN!!!!!!.......JOCHEN!!!"

Layla grabbed my arm.

"Who's there?" I shouted. "What do you want?"

There was no reply. For a while it was silent. Then we heard it again, this time quiter, some distance away:

"..Jochen.....jochen....jochen..."

I felt ridiculous.

"Shall I go out and see what it is?"

"No, stay here"

"But I feel like an idiot just sitting in here"

"Please, stay here"

I was glad she told me to stay.

Then the voice was loud again:

"JOCHEN!!!!...JOCHEN!!!!....JOCHEN!!!"

The sides of the tent were moving. You could see a knee pushing against the thin fabric.

"JOCHEN!!!....JOCHEN!!!....JOCHEN!!!!.."

"What do you want?" I shouted "What are you doing?"

"JOCHEN!!! ...... JOCHEN!!!!....JOCHEN!!!"

I was waiting for the zip to start opening. I was terrified.

Then Layla started speaking in German:

"What d'you want?What are you looking for?"

For the first time the voice started saying something different:

"My tent. My husband. Jochen. I want Jochen"

"This isn't your tent. Your tent is somewhere else"

"I want Jochen. Jochen!!!"

"This isn't your tent!! Please, this isn't your tent!"

Then other noises. It sounded like a door being pushed open. Another voice, this time English and strong and reassuring. He had been sleeping in the bamboo hut.

"Now what's going on here? Whar are you doing here eh? This isn't your tent is it? Your tent is up there"

"Jochen..."

"Yes yes I'll take you to Jochen. Don't worry now. I'll take you back to your tent. Come on, that's it, follow me. Let's leave these people in peace"

The difference in his voice was incredible. He sounded self-assured and sane.

He walked her back to her tent. She must have been sleepwalking or drunk or probably both.

"There you go. That's it. That's your tent. Okay? Goodnight then"

We heard her voice, now inside her tent, saying:

"Jochen! Jochen!"

Then the grunts of someone waking from a deep sleep.

The footsteps and voice of the Englishman came back towards us. He was talking to himself in that weak, mumbled tone again, talking and laughing to himself and sounding as happy as he'd ever been. He went back into his bamboo hut, still giggling.

I needed a cigarette. Once outside I could hear more sounds coming from the other tent. It was the sound of someone hitting someone else. She would say "Jochen!" and then he'd growl something and then the sound of fist on flesh. She'd whimper and then start calling his name again.

"I can't stay here Layla. There's no way I'm gonna get to sleep again"

"Me neither. Shall we go into town?"

"I think it'd be better"

She dressed and we headed out of the campsite. It was around half past four now and it wouldn't be long before the sun came up. We sat on the edge of the pier and looked at the green sea becoming bluer.

"I don't want to stay another night there" Layla said. "Let's go somewhere else tomorrow"

"It's the only campsite in town"

"I know. Let's go to a different town"

The sun came up. We went to the bakery for a soft, warm loaf and then walked backed to the campsite. In the new daylight it no longer felt or looked frighteneing, just derelict. There were neither voices nor bodies. We had breakfast under the tree, slept for a couple of hours in the boiling tent, then packed up and left.

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