Unplugged

For the past few weeks I've been readjusting to life back home, transitioning from car honks and city streets to bird chirping and suburban space. But before I had even fully unpacked from England (and to be honest, I'm still not) I was packing up again for another trip--this one, thankfully, much closer to home.

Time has a funny way of at once flying by and forcing people to grow up: both characteristics negatively impacting several things in life, among them the family vacation. As we grow older our priorities change, more is expected of us, duties and responsibilities increase in number and magnitude. Pastimes that seem counterintuitive to those occurrences often fall to the wayside, as rewards for seeing said occurrences through to the fullest--or as things that can be put off until you do. Ironically, sometimes it takes a monumental effort to acknowledge you need a break.

And in the case of camping in Assateague Island, it means acknowledging you need a break a year in advance.

The location is so popular that camp spots, although available one year before the intended vacation date, are taken within days of their opening.

Why is it so popular, you may ask?

Assateague Island is located off the east coast of Maryland (its Virginia counterpart is Chincoteague, for you Misty fans), and is reachable only by a bridge spanning a sparkling bay. It offers a taste of two camping worlds: plenty of trees and shrubs that vaguely resemble a forest, and soft sands and rushing waves of a beach just steps away. The sunrises and sunsets are unreal--it's almost as if the sky over Assateague is painted in its own special set of watercolors. And I am yet to find another place where the stars shine as bright as they do there.

But what Assateague is perhaps best known for is its horses, one of the few places in the world where they still thrive as wild creatures. They roam freely around the campground, eating grass and generally uninterested in the human visitors. And if you were wondering, apparently the horses first arrived on the island when colonial farmers brought them there to avoid a hefty grazing tax across the bay.

*Takes off Park Ranger hat*

We've been going to Assateague ever since I was little. One thing that really put it all into perspective this year was when I could barely fit in the tent we've been using since I was in elementary school. For almost every summer, from around third grade to my junior year of high school, a week or so of the summer was squared away for the island. As you could imagine, a lot can happen in those eight years--plenty of sunburns, fireside S'mores, and even one fateful night when a horse ate through our food tent (It ate through all our food, even the hot dogs. I don't want to talk about it.) In all honesty, it's not the most "rugged" camping experience. It doesn't hurt that they have plumbing and running water. It also happens to be a nice twenty-minute ride to Ocean City.

Now, I'm not a huge fan of Ocean City. It's crowded, loud, and seems to exude a never-ending hot and sticky vibe for me. The shoreline always seems packed with families, which makes me all the more grateful for the quiet beaches in Assateague. The stores along the boardwalk are of a whole other species: ~cool~ surf shops, weirdly offensive t-shirt shops, and, supposedly added during my absence, incognito weed dispensaries (one store located off the boardwalk is literally called The Hi Life). Not to mention the boardwalk offers constant temptations of sugary candy, funnel cake, fried Oreos.

So really, nature and civilization were never that far apart. We never feel "disconnected" when we go camping, but you could say that this particular time we felt "unplugged." You see, my family and I were without virtually any data for the five days of our vacation. I know, I know, very much #21stcenturyproblems. Oh-so tragic. But this not only meant no social media: it also meant no Google Maps, no Weather App, none of the conveniences that we as a society have come to rely on so subconsciously.

The romantic in me would say that this deprivation produced a transformative, spiritual rejuvenation in me, until I altogether forgot what technology was and embraced the simpler things. In truth, the absence of the Internet and all its benefits was distinctly felt. I was always itching to check Facebook or Instagram, respond on Snapchat--this may also all be incredibly ironic to you, if you read my past post about my relationship with social media. Perhaps it was simply having the freedom to look or not look that I enjoyed, because when the option was taken away from me entirely I became restless, almost paranoid. What was I missing out there? What was that notification for? Why can't I just Google this? I had never been more aware of my dependence on technology.

Although it felt odd to not have my phone near me at all times, it also meant that I could dwell more fully in the present. When I found myself dormant at any point in the day, I sat in the stillness (bonus points if you remember where I last dropped that phrase). I went full Pocahontas-mode and listened to the wind and birds, felt the heat of the sun and smelled the salty ocean air. It was like returning to the early days of our camping trips, when my sister and I were young and energetic and didn't hesitate to explore the world around us. Moreover, we got to do all our usual activities and revisit all the old spots with an almost identical attentiveness of our younger selves.

And now we come to the part where I attempt to obtain sponsorships from various food establishments and begin my career as a food blogger:

During every trip to Assateague, we make it a point to go to three specific food places. One of them is The Fractured Prune, a donut shop that is basically Ocean City's version of Duck Donuts: warm cake donuts that can come in a variety of glazes, drizzles, and toppings. It's located about halfway down the boardwalk, which may not sound like much until you realize the entire pathway is almost 2.5 miles long. But to be fair, if the destination is donuts, the length of the journey need not matter. You'll work it all of just walking back to your car.

Another is Dumser's Dairlyand, an ice cream chain in and around Ocean City. My first word of advice: go to the one on Ocean Gateway Drive--not any of the locations on the boardwalk or in the city itself. I like to eat my ice cream in peace, mostly because I look like a struggling giraffe while eating it (cup or cone, doesn't matter). The intense, unavoidable summer heat on the boardwalk can also at least be partially evaded in this more spacious location. Big fan of the twist soft serve in a small cup--refer to the photo below to see why. It is essentially a big masquerading as a small.

Object is not much smaller than it appears (feat. my hand)

The third food place, in which I will happily partake in the boardwalk aesthetic, is Thrasher's Fries. Anyone who knows me knows that fries (sorry, not chips--back in the U.S. now) are my greatest weakness. So imagine an entire bucket full of them, hot, fresh, and crispy from the fryer. I'm seeing stars just thinking about it. At Thrasher's, ketchup doesn't exist as a condiment; it's all about the salt and apple cider vinegar, which customers can pile on to their heart's content. Granted, that makes for a pretty gross toppings area, with spilled and flattened fries littering the boardwalk and salt crystals scattered around like a failed science project. The seagulls are also no joke, especially at the main Thrasher's location at one end of the boardwalk; they lurk on the roofs of nearby shops, waiting for an unsuspecting victim to let their guard down. Legend has it that if you hold up your boardwalk food to take an aesthetic shot, a seagull will swoop in at the moment of capture to steal your hard-won prize from you.

Clearly, not much was lost in not having any service for five days. You could say, actually, much was gained--in good food, good company, and good memories. I would go so far as to recommend staying off social media/the Internet the next time you go on your next vacation, especially if it's one spent with your family. It may very well be a challenge for you, but it's one we should all endure once in a while to remind ourselves of the more important things (and people). Of course, I'm not gonna lie--it's nice to merely have the option to unplug.