After two trips to Thailand — one where we backpacked with a 1-year-old and one where we spent Christmas with a 3-month-old — we apparently decided the next logical step was to camp across Florida for three weeks. In a tent. With Noah, who was almost 4 and had opinions about everything, and Vitus, who was 1½ and had opinions about nothing except that he wanted to be carried at all times.
The plan was ambitious: fly to Miami, rent a car, buy all our camping equipment at Walmart (because shipping a tent from Denmark is not a thing), and then drive from campsite to campsite for three weeks. What could possibly go wrong?
Day 1 — April 12: Arriving in Florida and immediately going swimming
We arrived in Miami, picked up a rental car that was thankfully bigger than what we'd booked (the Alamo free upgrade lottery worked in our favour once again), spent roughly two hours at Walmart filling a shopping cart with an entire household worth of camping gear, and then drove to our first stop — a motel somewhere near the coast. The boys didn't care about any of the logistics. They cared about the pool.
After approximately 20 hours of travel, Noah's first question upon seeing the room was "where is the pool?" Not "where are we?" or "can I sleep?" but "where is the pool?" The boy has priorities.
Day 2 — April 13: Setting up camp like professionals (we were not)
The next day we drove to our first state park campsite. Florida state parks are beautiful — huge old trees draped with Spanish moss, spacious campsites, and absolutely no guarantee that you'll manage to set up a brand new tent that you've never practised with before your 1-year-old starts crying because he's tired, hungry, and has been in a car seat for too long.
The campsite looked absolutely idyllic. Spanish moss hanging from every tree, our little tent nestled under the canopy, the car parked nearby looking like it belonged in a camping catalogue. What the photo doesn't show is the 45 minutes of mild panic that preceded it, as Jesper tried to figure out the tent poles while Line simultaneously breastfed and prevented Noah from running into the road.
But once the tent was up, the air mattresses were inflated, and Noah had claimed his corner of the tent, it actually felt great. There's something about camping that makes even a picnic table dinner feel like a feast. Noah was in full explorer mode, and Vitus was content to sit in his stroller and observe the world going by with that suspicious look that 1-year-olds specialise in.
Days 3–4 — April 14–15: Nature, boardwalks, and a casual alligator
The campground had a water park area with a splash pad, which turned out to be the best 0-dollar entertainment we found on the entire trip. Noah spent hours in there. Vitus watched from the shade and looked deeply unimpressed, which at 1½ is basically his review of everything.
But the real highlight was the nature walks. Florida has these incredible boardwalks through swamps and forests that feel like you're walking through Jurassic Park. Jesper pushed Vitus in the stroller while Noah walked alongside, occasionally stopping to point at things and ask "what's that?" approximately 400 times per kilometre.
And then we saw our first alligator. Just lying there in the grass. Casually. Like it was no big deal. Which in Florida, it apparently isn't. For the locals, an alligator in the grass is about as exciting as a pigeon on a park bench in Copenhagen. For us, it was the most terrifying and thrilling thing we'd seen since Noah was born.
Noah's reaction: "Cool! Can I touch it?" Our reaction: "Absolutely not. We are leaving now."
We also discovered that every campground has a playground, and every playground becomes Vitus's personal kingdom. For a kid who could barely see over the railing, he had remarkably strong opinions about slides. Specifically, he wanted to go down every single one, and he wanted to do it RIGHT NOW.
The evenings at camp were the best part. After a day of nature walks and alligator avoidance, we'd cook dinner at the picnic table and watch the boys wind down. Vitus would eat something unidentifiable from an orange bowl while looking slightly confused, and Noah would narrate the day's events to anyone within earshot.
One day we found a motel with a proper pool — the kind with tiki huts and palm trees and everything. It was supposed to be a quick swimming stop but ended up being half the day because Noah refused to get out and Vitus had fallen asleep in Line's arms in the water, which apparently is a thing babies do in warm pools.
Nature in Florida is something else. Even a random bird in a tree looks like it belongs in a David Attenborough documentary. We spent a surprising amount of time just stopping to look at birds, which is not something we ever thought we'd do as parents of two kids under 4, but Florida does that to you.
Campfire evenings and restaurant adventures
One evening we decided to venture out to an actual restaurant instead of eating at the campsite. This is always a gamble with small children, because "restaurant" and "two kids under 4" are not natural allies. Jesper ended up holding Vitus throughout the entire meal while trying to eat with one hand, which is a skill they don't teach you in parenting books but absolutely should.
The campfire evenings were much more our speed. Roasting marshmallows with a 3-year-old is one of those experiences that's equally magical and terrifying, because Noah's definition of "close enough to the fire" was about 30 centimetres too close for anyone's comfort. Line stood behind him providing gentle guidance, which roughly translates to "not that close, Noah. NOAH. NOT THAT CLOSE."
The SeaWorld day — April 16
OK. We need to talk about SeaWorld. In 2014, SeaWorld was still very much on the "fun family day out" list. The documentary Blackfish had come out the year before, but we'll be honest — we hadn't seen it yet. We thought we were taking our kids to see dolphins and have a fun day at a marine theme park. That's the context.
The dolphin show was objectively impressive. The stadium was massive, the dolphins did things that seemed impossible, and Noah sat there with his mouth open for the entire performance. Vitus slept through it in his stroller, which in hindsight might be the most ethical response any of us had.
Would we go to SeaWorld with 2026 eyes? Absolutely not. Just like the elephant riding in Thailand, this is one of those things where you look back and think "we should have known better." But we didn't. We were parents of two tiny kids in Florida, the sign said "SeaWorld," and in we went. It was 2014 and the world was a different place, or maybe we were just less informed. Either way, it happened, and pretending it didn't would be dishonest.
What we CAN say is that Noah had a blast at the theme park parts. There were rides, there were shows, and there was an almost-4-year-old who thought the whole place was designed specifically for him. The roller coasters visible in the background of one photo triggered a 20-minute negotiations about why 3-year-olds aren't allowed on grown-up rides, which ended in ice cream because that's how you end negotiations with toddlers.
The camping verdict (so far)
After the first week, we'd learned a few things about camping in Florida with two kids under 4:
- Air mattresses deflate at approximately 3am, always
- Everything in Florida either bites, stings, or is an alligator
- Campground splash pads are a gift from the travel gods
- You will spend 40% of your time setting up camp, 40% packing up camp, and 20% actually enjoying camp
- None of that matters because the boys loved every second of it
And honestly? So did we. There's something about waking up in a tent in a Florida state park, hearing the birds, making coffee on a propane burner while the kids play in the morning sun, that makes you forget about the 3am air mattress situation. It's imperfect and exhausting and wonderful, and we'd do it again in a heartbeat.
Well, maybe with a better air mattress.
Next: Dinosaur World, Gulf Coast Beaches, and Noah's Love Affair with Naples Pier →
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