How Yosemite glamping, with heated luxury tents, a swimming pool, Wi-fi and more, convinced a Singaporean family to give great outdoors another go
- Raised in an Asian metropolis, writer Jeanne Tai hadn’t had great experiences in the outdoors, but glamping in Yosemite offered a new way to connect with nature
- Sleeping in a heated luxury tent after days hiking enabled her and her family to see camping in a more positive light, and not as a masochistic endurance test
People never seem to sit on the fence when it comes to glamping.
There are those who scorn five-star wilderness resorts for scrubbing nature of its rough edges. And there’s the other camp, unapologetic about splurging on 1,500-thread-count sheets and handwoven nest chairs.
For someone raised in such a dense Southeast Asian metropolis as Singapore, camping of any kind is culturally alien, glimpsed vicariously through the American books I devoured as a child.
In my 20s, forays into the outdoors often ended in broken itineraries, tears and frustration. Sucking in portable oxygen in a smoky tent in Tibet.
Once I had a child, in my 30s, I figured I would put attempts at outdoor adventures on hold for a while, but I’ve since discovered a better way to connect with nature.
During a three-night experience with California, United States-based glamping company Autocamp, we convene in the day for activities and retreat into our luxury tent at night.
Other campers have an Airstream (sleek, bullet-like caravans) or pine cabin.
The campsite is located in the Sierra Nevada foothills, in the nondescript town of Midpines, a 40-minute drive from the Arch Rock Entrance to Yosemite National Park.
After a day hiking Yosemite Valley’s Mirror Lake Trail, a moderately strenuous 4.4 mile (7km) loop around a peaceful body of water that reflects Mount Watkins and the Half Dome granite peak, stepping from the seasonal chill into a heated tent the size of a small hotel room feels like slipping into a soothing bath.
Our tent, which remains permanently erected, comes with air conditioning, a queen-sized bed, electric lights, bath robes, fluffy pillows and a sofa that doubles as a spare bed.
Within the hour, my husband is rejuvenated and preparing dinner bought from the camp store over our private campfire – in a small pit just outside our tent. The smell of fried rice in bacon fat: campfire fusion at its best.
I can’t tell if he’s happier about living out his Francis Mallmann fantasy, cooking outdoors, or because he hasn’t had to do much besides light a match.
The camp management takes care of the mundanities, providing eco-friendly (cleaner burning) logs, mini fridges and cookware including cast iron skillets. Better yet, the staff handle the washing up (there’s no running water in the tent).
Emboldened, we purchase a s’mores kit consisting of marshmallows, graham crackers (sweet crackers made with graham flour) and chocolate slabs from the camp store, which also makes space on its shelves for, among other goodies, “cocktails in a box” (slick mason jars filled with ingredients to make your favourite tipples) and “campfire candles” that release a bouquet of cedarwood, amber and spices.
Other comforts abound. One evening, fresh from a swim in the clubhouse lap pool, my four-year-old daughter is running around a sprawling lawn with other junior campers while I’m relaxing on a lounger, nursing a crisp cider.
The clubhouse is the property’s hub, where guests lounge in mid-century modern interiors, all sleek lines, smooth natural woods, communal tables and crackling fires. The Airstreams and cabins come with en suite toilets, but other campers can use the clubhouse’s spa-inspired restrooms and showers.
There’s a two-man band playing in the clubhouse. The vocalist leans into the microphone, drawling, “They say campers who come here on weekdays are smart. Fewer crowds.”
Lulled by the banjo’s bright, twangy sounds, I do the unthinkable: I Google options for our next camping trip (yep, there’s Wi-fi).
Autocamp is one of several glamping operators that have sprung up in the US’ most stunning beauty spots.
Others include Under Canvas, which operates in the national parks of Yellowstone, Bryce Canyon, Mount Rushmore and elsewhere; Huttopia, which was founded by a French couple and has glamping locations in the states of Maine and New Hampshire, as well as Canada; and Los Angeles-based Camp’d Out, which specialises in bespoke luxury in off-grid locations, campsite butlers supplied on request.
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Glamping used to evoke images of luxury but the new spin is on inclusivity. Modern comforts make the outdoors more accessible to families, the elderly, people with disabilities and those who just don’t vibe with the traditional image of a rugged tented getaway for “the boys”.
Sure, it’s marketing. But glamping deserves credit for having lowered the psychological barriers to entry.
Even before rolling up to the campsite I was able to text questions to Autocamp’s concierge – no need for calls or emails that felt a bit much for questions such as, “Do you provide hairdryers?” They do.
Room (or tent) service, including the delivery of clean utensils or firelighter, can also be ordered at the campsite by text.
There are extras for those who want a posher experience. Curated activities include forest bathing, yoga classes and a foraging expedition with a chef.
A 20-minute drive from the campsite is Mariposa, a Gold Rush-era town settled in 1849 that retains the aura of a bygone pioneer outpost and is a great spot for a meal, if you tire of campfire food.
Charles Street Dinner House transports customers back to the Old West with its wooden booths, warm service and generous steaks, burgers and ribs.
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With average prices starting at more than US$200 a night, Autocamp may not be for those on a tight budget. But that seems a reasonable price for the privilege of exploring one of America’s most celebrated national parks without having to worry about camping permits or buying tents and sleeping bags.
Furthermore, my daughter has eased into her first camping experience, my husband has had his hiking fix, and I have discovered that the outdoors doesn’t have to be a masochistic test of endurance.
Note: This trip was fully paid for by writer, and not sponsored by Autocamp
