Wild Camping on Rhodes: Courage, Doubts, and Life at Its Most Honest
Today, I want to share a very special moment of my life. A memory that reminds me how closely adventure and doubt are often intertwined. I write this blog like a diary – honest, imperfect, and close to life.
I had always dreamed of wild camping. Not just for the romantic notion, but also to save money while traveling. But what sounds so simple actually took a lot of courage – more than I wanted to admit. To be honest, I’m a bit of a drama queen. Growing up in an environment where sleeping in a tent was seen as something for outcasts rather than a symbol of freedom, it was a big step for me. Status and wealth had shaped my thinking, not a thirst for adventure. People who lived with almost nothing and appeared happy doing so always fascinated me – but they seemed unreachable. I was different. Cautious. Hesitant. And yet I knew: often, doing something once is enough for the fear to lose its grip.
Over time, I optimized my gear: a small tent, a comfortable sleeping bag, and a sleeping mat found space in my backpack. It had to be lightweight – and still comfortable enough not to overwhelm me completely. At some point, the idea came up to hike the Lycian Way in Turkey. A dream. Turkey remains one of the most beautiful countries I have ever visited. But back then, I was too overweight, my backpack too heavy, my stamina too low. The trail was simply too much for me. My gear was hanging everywhere: tent, sleeping mat, cup, bags – nothing stayed where it was supposed to. I carried a large backpack on my back and a small one on my chest. Sometimes I even needed help just to hoist the big backpack onto my shoulders. Hiking the Lycian Way remained just a dream.
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Instead, I ended up on the island of Rhodes. And there, I wanted to start my first attempt: one night of wild camping.
A secluded beach, the hotels still closed, the world silent and calm – the place could hardly have been more perfect. I pitched my tent – not perfectly, but with a naive lightness. I brewed myself some coffee and cooked noodles on my little hobo stove while gazing out at the sea, soaking in the infinite peace.
In that moment, everything felt right. But as the sun slowly set, doubts crept in. I asked myself if I was crazy. Alone, in a tent, on a foreign island. And yet: why, actually? Why is it normal to camp for a weekend, but strange to see camping as a way of life? Why do we celebrate influencers living in vans but judge people who choose a tent as their home?
While these thoughts raced through my mind, a shy gray cat crept up to my tent. She didn’t want to be petted but stayed near me all night. It was “just a cat” – and yet, she felt like a silent guardian angel to me that night.
With the setting sun, I fell asleep, and with the first light, I woke up again. The sunset and sunrise were magical – true gifts of life. No screens, no noise. Just the sea, the nature, the cat, and me.
During the night, a strong wind came up. My tent shook and groaned but it held. And surprisingly, I slept very well despite everything.
That was my first night of wild camping. And it taught me: Courage does not mean having no fear. Courage means doing it anyway.
