By the end of week two of our Florida camping road trip, we thought we'd seen everything. Alligators, campfire marshmallows, SeaWorld. Fibreglass dinosaurs, Naples Pier, sand in every conceivable location. But Florida had one more week of surprises up its sleeve, starting with the single most unlikely thing we encountered on the entire trip: kangaroos.
Yes. Kangaroos. In Florida.
The animal sanctuary — April 30: Kangaroos, tarantulas, and a 1-year-old on a swing
Somewhere in south Florida (we'd long since lost track of exactly where we were), we discovered a small animal sanctuary. The kind of place that doesn't show up in guidebooks but that a camping neighbour tells you about over morning coffee. "You should take the kids to that animal place down the road," they said. "They've got kangaroos." We assumed they were joking. They were not.
The sanctuary turned out to be a small, family-run rescue operation with an absolutely insane collection of animals. The first thing we encountered was a wolf. An actual wolf. Just hanging out in an enclosure while a guide introduced us to it. Noah was fascinated. Vitus was hanging on to Jesper for dear life.
And then: the kangaroos. You could walk right into their enclosure and feed them by hand. Actual kangaroos. In Florida. It still sounds made up, but the photographic evidence is indisputable. Jesper crouched down with both boys and they all took turns feeding a kangaroo that seemed completely unbothered by the attention of two small Danish children.
Noah was in absolute heaven. Vitus was in a hat. Both were appropriate responses.
But the sanctuary had more in store. The guide asked if anyone wanted to hold a tarantula. Before Line could say "absolutely not," Jesper had already volunteered and was sitting there with a giant spider on his hand while Vitus sat in his lap looking at it with the expression of someone who has just been profoundly betrayed by a parent they trusted.
Noah, watching from the side, was equal parts terrified and impressed. "Can I hold it?" he asked, which was immediately followed by "actually no" when the spider moved. Smart kid.
After the tarantula there was a hedgehog, which was considerably more popular with everyone. The boys were allowed to touch it gently, and Vitus leaned in with the cautious curiosity of a scientist examining a new specimen. Noah went straight for a full pet and was rewarded with a tiny hedgehog sniff.
Then there was a pig. A rather large, very friendly pig that Line and Noah fed together. The pig was enthusiastic about the food. Noah was enthusiastic about the pig. Line was trying to keep both Noah and the pig under control, which is harder than it sounds when one is almost 4 and the other weighs 80 kilos.
The sanctuary also had a little swing that Vitus claimed as his personal property. He sat there in his hat and his sandals, gently swinging with the expression of a tiny king surveying his kingdom. After three weeks of being hauled in and out of car seats, strollers, and tents, the kid deserved a moment of peace.
May 1 — Pool day and BBQ: The fine art of doing nothing
After three weeks of constant activity, we declared May 1st an official rest day. The campground had a pool and playground, and that was the extent of our itinerary. Line and Noah posed for a selfie at the water park that captures the mood perfectly — sunglasses, big smiles, and the happy exhaustion of people who have been camping for almost three weeks.
Both boys ended up in the lazy river, floating around on an inflatable ring with the carefree attitude of tiny holidaymakers who have no idea that packing up three weeks of camping gear is going to happen tomorrow.
The campground playground got its share of attention too — both boys needed somewhere to run off the lazy river energy. Vitus in particular had strong opinions about the slides and demonstrated this at length until the light faded.
That evening, Jesper fired up the campground BBQ for one last grill session. There's a photo of him standing at the grill with palm trees in the background, looking like a man who has genuinely enjoyed three weeks of outdoor cooking and is already slightly sad that this is the last one.
May 2 — Everglades airboat: Loud, fast, and absolutely brilliant
On the way back east towards Miami, we made one final stop: an Everglades airboat tour. If you've never been on an airboat, imagine a flat-bottomed boat with a giant fan on the back that propels you across shallow swamp water at a speed that feels inappropriate when you have children aboard. It is loud. It is fast. It is absolutely brilliant.
The kids were given ear protection (essential — these things are LOUD) and we took off into the Everglades. Marshland stretched to the horizon in every direction. The guide pointed out alligators. Noah tried to spot as many as possible. Vitus dealt with the sensory overload by looking slightly stunned and holding on to Line.
Jesper sat at the front looking like a man who had found his calling in life. The combination of speed, nature, and being very close to alligators was apparently his ideal afternoon activity. Line, visible in the back, was smiling but also clearly keeping mental track of exactly how many alligators were between us and the shore.
The drive to Miami — and Vitus's final road trip nap
After the airboat, we packed up the car for the last time and headed for Miami. Three weeks of camping equipment, souvenirs, sand (so much sand), and two exhausted children crammed into one SUV making its final journey.
Vitus, who had spent three weeks being remarkably patient about being strapped into various seats, had finally had enough. He passed out in his car seat with the dedication of someone who intends to sleep for the next 12 hours. His pink car seat, his rumpled clothes, and his tiny sleeping face are basically the visual definition of "we did a lot."
The Miami skyline appeared on the horizon and it felt both exciting and bittersweet. We were going back to civilisation. We were going to sleep in actual beds. But we were also saying goodbye to the campfires, the beaches, the boardwalks, and that incredible feeling of waking up in a tent and not knowing exactly what the day would bring (except that it would definitely involve sand).
May 3–4 — Last night in Miami and goodbye Florida
We spent our last night at a place in Miami with white leather couches, which after three weeks of camping felt like the most luxurious thing in the world. The boys sat on the couch looking clean (for the first time in weeks) and happy and completely clueless about the fact that tomorrow they'd be on a plane back to Denmark.
This photo is everything. Two tiny boys who had just spent three weeks camping across Florida, seeing alligators and kangaroos and dolphins and dinosaurs, sleeping in tents and eating marshmallows and swimming in turquoise water, sitting on a couch looking perfectly content. Noah was almost 4 and had already been on three international trips. Vitus was 1½ and had experienced more in his short life than most toddlers ever do. And they looked like they were ready to do it all again tomorrow.
The verdict
Three weeks of camping in Florida with two kids under 4 was exactly as chaotic, exhausting, and wonderful as it sounds. We learned that air mattresses are enemies, that Florida has kangaroos, that Naples Pier is the most beautiful place in America, and that 1-year-olds will eat sand no matter how many times you say "no."
We went home with sunburn, 1,089 photos, and the absolute certainty that camping road trips with small children are the best kind of travel. Not because they're easy. Because they're not. They're messy and tiring and occasionally involve holding tarantulas. But they give you moments — real, unfiltered, ridiculous moments — that you could never get from a resort with a kids' club.
And Vitus? He slept the entire flight home. He'd earned it.
Read the full Florida 2014 series:
- Part 1: Camping in Florida with an Almost-4-Year-Old and a Toddler
- Part 2: Dinosaur World, Gulf Coast Beaches, and Naples Pier
- Part 3: Kangaroos, Everglades Airboat, and Saying Goodbye (you are here)
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