George put it quite well, particularly that one can generally distinguish between a camposino and a chopo. My Isabel came from el campo and I have been to el campo all over the country many times. I generally characterize it as a shack home with a kitchen separate and apart from the living area of the home. That kitchen only has a food preparation area and an earthen stove/oven which cooks/bakes from a wood fed fire. The actual eating/dining area is adjacent to the kitchen. If there is no fire in the stove and no matches, you might go to a neighbor's home with a shovel to put some hot embers into so you can carry those embers home to start a fire in your stove.
Most if not all windows are open and only closed with shutters. There is no running water. Water is collected in drums or huge igloo coolers when it rains. There is no electricity. Some might run a bit of electricity from 12 volt car batteries if their campo or pueblo has a state owned generator where they can continue to charge up those batteries. Outhouses are the rule, not the exception. After it rains there's the mud, the mud, the mud and bugs and bugs and bugs. A hard wired telephone might be in the next village over. Cellulars don't work en el campo. News from the cities is often carried by word of mouth and it could take days for it to get from one place to another.
To get to these places you might have to cross a small river or two on something with rocks sticking out or holes to go into called a road. You can't travel comfortably at more than 10-15 mph and you make frequent stops for Presidentes or sodas for the kids. There's dust, mud, holes, rocks and occasionally bottoming out. We drive the highway an hour and a half to the road to Isabel's parents' home and then another hour and a half on something resembling the Ho Chi Min trail. Sometimes the river is so swollen and the roads so full of mud that you just can't get there from anywhere, nor can you get anywhere from there.
En el campo the food is always terrific and the Presidentes somehow always fresh and cold. Kids follow the gringo around and want to know about American beisbol or want to show you their farm animals or meet their families. Yucca is freshly chopped and whatever meat or poultry you eat may have been walking around yesterday or even earlier today.
There's a crucifix hanging in every room of the home but rather than a religious icon perhaps a photo of Pedro Martinez or Sammy Sosa somewhere else in the house. In the yard, animals are penned and the pigs are big and fat. A chicken might jump through the back kitchen window to steal part of a meal under preparation and the donkey tied outside the front door is heeing and hawing. Gotta watch out coming and going at the front. I wouldn't want to get kicked by him. The house isn't much but its immaculate. Dishes are always washed immediately after meals, beds are always made in the morning and floors are swept and mopped at least daily.
You get up with the sun and turn out the oil burning lamps before settling into bed. Nighttime creature comforts I am accustomed to aren't available. I can't lay in bed watching/listening to Letterman while reading a book. Books are few and far between but every home has a Bible.
You leave sometime the next day or two to go home, happy and feeling freer while thanking God for what you have while knowing those people you left behind in el campo wouldn't have our life for all of the things and money we have. Those are the Camposinos and they wouldn't have it any other way. Son dos mundos muy muy diferente y en realidad, no se que mundo es mejor.