I stayed at a campground for the first time in a camper van during the off-season, and I didn't think it was worth the price

My friend and I slept in the Cracker Barrel parking lot to get the full van-life experience since most vanlifers sleep in the parking lots of big brands like Walmart.

During our one-night stay at the Cracker Barrel in Ridley Park, Pennsylvania, we parked in one of the designated RV spots but were woken up by a dumpster truck in the middle of the night.

The next morning, I was ready to leave the parking lot and head to a campground that promised better infrastructure for RVs.

I was immediately surprised to see the campground was located in the middle of a suburban neighborhood — even though I didn't check the location beforehand. While this one was well-located for my visit to Philadelphia, in my mind, campgrounds are located in the middle of nowhere and tucked away in dense woods. Pulling up to the campground, I instantly knew all my preconceived notions were about to be proved wrong.

Inside the welcome center I found a gift shop of sorts where RVers could buy products and firewood for their campsites. A woman working at the front desk, who unfortunately didn't have a mask on, gave me a map of the grounds and pointed to my parking spot at the far end of the grounds.

Andrea Gardea, the regional marketing manager for KOA, said all staff and guests must wear masks when inside the store and at other communal locations on the campground. She said I should have brought the maskless front desk person to the manager's attention immediately.

"During future stays please don't hesitate to share any concerns with us so we can address them in a timely manner," Gardea said. "We always want to ensure our guests are comfortable at all points of their stay with us."

When booking the campsite, I had to do a bit of research to understand the different types of parking models. I learned that a back-in required the driver to back into the spot and started at $68 per night. A pull-through was easier to manage for beginners, so ultimately, I opted for the simpler option, which cost $60 per night.

At first, the price surprised me. I always thought that campsites were an inexpensive way to travel on the road, but in my opinion, $60 was a bit steep. If I planned on staying at the campsite for a month — like some vanlifers do — it would have cost me around $1,800, which is more than my New York City rent.

On average, a typical campsite near national parks could cost anywhere from $25 to $60 per night, but the price varies greatly across the US. Gardea said the campsite I stayed at was appropriately priced.

"In our research of the local market, we have found our pricing to be well-aligned and competitive with campgrounds that have similar offerings in terms of site types, amenities, and services in our area," Gardea said. "One of the beautiful things about camping is that there are lots of ways and places to camp to fit all kinds of travelers."

There was a 30 and 50 amp setup, which is what most vanlifers use for electricity.

When I first rented the van, the owner quickly walked me through the process of plugging the van into a campsite's amp, but in practice, I couldn't figure it out. I ignorantly figured that the amp setup was just an optional choice since the van already had solar panels, so I decided to forgo plugging in the vehicle.

Later, I learned just how wrong I was.

The parking spots next to, in front of, and behind the camper van were vacant for my entire stay. There were a few RVs toward the back corner, but there didn't seem to be much activity.

Although RVing boomed last year during the pandemic, I had to remind myself that the campground was most likely empty because it was deep into the off-season.

Some RVs were skirted, which is when owners wrap the bottom of their motorhomes in insulation during the winter to keep the warm air in and the cold air out.

Since most of the RVs in the back of the campground were skirted, I figured a lot of them were parked there for longer-term stays.

The bathroom was pretty barebones, but it was also clean. I tried to avoid it at all costs because most people who went in and out of it weren't wearing masks or practicing social distancing —despite the signage that was all over the campground.

"All signs ask campers to adhere to social distancing guidelines along with wearing mask coverings," Gardea said.

According to the campground's website, these tiny houses cost between $80 to $130 per night, which is about the same price for a hotel room in the area.

There were a few geese at the pond, too. I couldn't help but imagine how beautiful this lake would be in the summertime, especially without all the mud that surrounded it in January.

The playground had a large inflatable jumping pillow. When I was there, however, it was deflated because people could not practice social distancing when using it, according to Gardea.

The seating areas had Adirondack chairs and tables, but they weren't being used.

The campground also has a kiddie pool — both of which are open from Memorial Day to Labor Day.

When I returned, I found that the camper van had no electricity. I instantly cursed myself for not having plugged the van into the amp earlier in the day. At that point, it was too dark in the van to find the cord and too dark outside to find the amp switch.

Instead, I walked around the camper van in complete darkness. Unfortunately, the heater in the van had broken the night before, so I also had to endure freezing cold temperatures.

This night at the campground was one of the worst night's sleep I've ever had. I shivered through the night, and I had to dress in multiple layers (including my winter jacket) to keep somewhat warm. I also couldn't check the time on my phone because it died, and I couldn't charge it without electricity.

I barely slept and instead stayed up all night long in the dark, waiting for the sun to rise.

Despite a horrific night's sleep, the morning was very serene. I opened the backdoors of the van, looked out onto the woods, and listened to the quiet that surrounded the park all morning.

Although I wasn't looking out on a beautiful beach or an epic seaside cliff like I always see on the van life hashtag on social media, this wasn't so bad either — if just I tried to ignore the fact that I was also staring directly into someone's backyard through the trees.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, I realized that van life wasn't the lifestyle for me.

My lack of enjoyment of the overall experience was partly down to my own inexperience and not being better prepared — but it was also due to the fact that the campground during the winter months was a strange and empty place because no one was outside or gathering in the communal areas.

Campgrounds are a great option for RVers and van lifers but perhaps only during the peak season. During the off-season at this specific campground, I ended up paying a lot of money but didn't have any access to the amenities, like the pools.

I can easily imagine the Philadelphia South/ Clarksboro KOA coming to life in the summer, making it feel less like a ghost town, and maybe, then I would think the price was worth it.