It’s that time of year again: we’re at our annual family camp. This time with more than 100 people from at least 15 different cultures. It’s a real pleasure. But it’s exhausting. I want to sleep a little longer tonight, so I’ve decided to be a little stricter about the agreed camp bedtimes.

After the evening program and after I have successfully sent the young teenagers to bed, at least I think so, I take another walk.

I walk past the campfire where the older teenagers are roasting bread on sticks and a Syrian woman is happily singing Arabic dance songs while staring at the others around the fire to join in.

A little further on, around the corner, I see a group of Kurds sitting by candlelight. They take turns smoking the hookah. Come and join us, they beckon. I sit down for a moment and nibble on some sunflower seeds. Then I walk to the kitchen to lock it up.

However, that is not the end of the story. In the large kitchen, I find my twenty Asian teenagers, whom I had successfully sent to bed earlier, accompanied by many other campers who were apparently still hungry. In one corner, I see noodles being prepared, on another burner the crabs they caught themselves are being cooked, and next to that, something is being fried vigorously. Crab, too. Meanwhile, an Iranian woman has a crab and onion omelet sizzling in a frying pan. Would you like a bite?