Camping in Cyprus – it was Number One on Goobie’s bucket list this year. So we headed to the Platania campsite in the Troodos mountains for our first camping trip on the island.

Goobie had a vision for our camping adventure – it would be in the wild, just us, cooking baked beans in the middle of the forest. He was to be sorely disappointed by two factors:

– All our camping equipment was in the UK, ready for the next Glastonbury Festival.

– We didn’t have the guts for wild camping.

Matt solved the tent shortage issue on a recent trip back to the UK. He found a cheap tent in Argos that was light enough for his luggage allowance. It’s so cheap that it doesn’t even have an inner chamber thing. And I spotted little holes in it near the stitching. Basically, we’re stuffed if it rains. Goobie was delighted with it.

So armed with our flimsy tent, a disposable BBQ, three beach chairs and a poo bucket, we set off for the Platania campsite in the Troodos mountains.

Platania is a large recreational site that straddles the B9 mountain road that leads to Kakopetria. On the left are picnic sites, a restaurant, a forest station and some sort of military camp. But not a tent in sight.

It turned out the camping ground was further down the hill, on the opposite side of the road. It’s a large site but as it’s on different levels and nestled into the forest, it felt quite secluded.

We were baffled by the many semi-permanent old caravans covered in tarp and surrounded by makeshift fences, sheds and verandas. Parts of the site looked a bit like an activist squatters’ camp – with knobs on. These sites had actual sinks, toilet tents, even solar panels!

Being British, we got stressed about which plot we could pitch the tent in. Did the owners of these semi-permanent caravans own the plots of land around their caravan too? Where did their plot end and another begin? Was this empty plot their caravan’s garden or could we pitch our tent there? We drove round and round, ready to lose the plot.

The office next to the campsite entrance was closed so we went to the forest station up the hill and found someone to ask.

‘You can pitch anywhere you like. €3 a night,’ we were told.

And that’s one of the many reasons why I love Cyprus. Not over-complicating things that are very simple.

We handed over our €3 and went back to pitch our tent wherever we damn well wanted to. We chose a space next to a battered up camper van that was daubed with graffiti and half-covered in tarp. I spent the rest of our stay wondering whether there was a decomposing body in it.

Goobie proudly helped put up the tent while Herc watched on, baffled by what we were going to do with this over-sized, boobie-shaped bin liner.

We left Herc to ponder while we set up the tent ready for the night. Finally done, we headed off for dinner in Kakopetria. Realising this wasn’t as wild a trip as he’d hoped, Goobie threw a wobbly the whole way.

‘But I don’t want to eat in a restaurant! I want to eat in the tennnnttttt!!!’

We ended up in River Park restaurant that had a really funny parrot inside called Nicholas. Nicholas sat on top of his cage, climbing onto the shoulders of whoever stopped to talk to him. I had a battle getting him off me! Goobie thought he was the funniest thing ever. All camping woes forgotten.

The food at River Park restaurant was really good, which explained why it was so packed. I had the trout which had been cooked in a very yummy sauce. As we ate, we listened to the live entertainment. The restaurant was in the heart of Kakopetria, near the waterfall. The atmosphere was warm, friendly and buzzing.

We’d tried beforehand to eat at the well-known Mill restaurant but it was fully booked – as it had been a couple of years ago when we’d visited the area to see the painted churches. Crucial tip: book in advance!

After dinner, I fancied exploring Palia Kakopetria, the old part of the village. You walk under a sign that says ‘The Old Kakopetria’ and the lane disappears around a sharp bend uphill. We turned round last time we were here, but tonight we walked on. You have to walk quite far before you reach the old houses, but once you do, oh my!

Soft orange lights illuminated a maze of narrow alleys, tall ancient houses crowding in overhead, their balconies so close you could run a washing line between them. Long shadows gave Palia Kakopetria a magical vibe. I was walking down a Cypriot Diagon Alley.

We looked down every nook and cranny, saw pubs nestled into weirdly-shaped corners, steps leading into darkness. It would be a great place for trick-or-treating. A lady made a fuss of Herc, telling us her home was always open to welcome us. I loved it.

Buzzing from the magic of Palia Kakopetria, we returned to Platania and our dark bin liner tent. But I’d strung up fairy lights inside it and soon our tent felt a little bit magical too.

After a bedtime feed, Herc fell asleep in Goobie’s old inflatable Gruffalo bed. Goobie burrowed into his sleeping bag and was soon asleep himself, worn out with excitement. Silence descended and I closed my eyes . . .

‘I’VE GOT IT!!’ Herc roared. ‘THIS IS A TENT! I’M IN A TENT!!

Well, that’s what I assume he was saying. What it actually sounded like to us and the rest of the sleeping campsite was:

‘RAAAHHH, RAAAHHHH, RAAAAAHHHHH, RAAAAAHHH, EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!’

It was 6am.

Nearby, dogs started barking.

I fed him, cuddled him. Anything to restore the peace. But Herc was AWAKE and having none of it.

‘RAAAHHH, RAAAHHHH, RAAAAAHHHHH, RAAAAAHHH, EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!’ he insisted.

He continued like that for the next three hours. Excited, I think, that he’d worked out that we were camping.

Or perhaps he was just being an arse.

Either way, soon we began to hear the campers around us stirring, giving up on going back to sleep. I’d had a rubbish sleep and tiredness numbed my embarrassment. Matt was utterly mortified.

As an excuse to escape, I legged it up the hill to check out the shower facilities. Platania has two blocks with a couple of loos and showers. I’m used to Glastonbury Festival standards, so these facilities were fine, if a little scruffy.

On my way back to the tent, the people in the caravan next to us said, ‘We have milk here if you need some for the baby.’ Such kindness – and forgiveness!

What I hadn’t found was somewhere to buy a morning cup of tea. I don’t fully function without that first cup of tea. Perhaps keen to escape our booming baby, Matt leapt up and volunteered to go find some tea.

Approximately one year later, he returned, a cup of tea in his hand, the smile of a conquering hero on his face.

‘I had to walk all the way up the hill to the restaurant by the forest station,’ he puffed.

The tea still had a trace of warmth.

Soon, we noticed the smell of cooking bacon coming from all four corners of the campsite. We’d already finished our packet of plastic chocolate croissants. I looked down at our pathetic disposable BBQ.

‘Anyone fancy roasting marshmallows?’

Goobie snapped into action. This was the part he was most looking forward too. He helped Matt light the BBQ, then patiently waited 5 years for the flames to die down to a smoulder, ready for cooking. Then he skewered a dozen marshmallows, toasted them and used two Pringles to make a marshmallow sandwich. After my fifth, I was ready to vom.

Breakfast was a nutritious affair.

Herc had finally stopped shouting and returned to a task he’d spent a couple of weeks working on – the art of standing up.

We spent a happy morning at Platania doing nothing in particular. We don’t often do Nothing, so it was a novel experience.

‘Time to open the wine?’ I suggested.

‘Definitely!’ came Matt’s muffled voice. He was being used as the main apparatus for the Let’s-Climb-on-Daddy game.

We chilled out with our glasses of wine while Herc inspected pine cones and Goobie polished off all the remaining food. Later that day, we packed up the tent and headed back down the mountains towards the blue strip of sea in the distance and home.

Camping in Platania had been fun. Next time we’ll go better equipped on the cooking front. But we had access to basic facilities and we were near to some interesting sites. I’d recommend it.

Just don’t pitch your tent next to us.

Not if you value your peace.