RV Driving and Living – Second Impressions & Tips

Days later, and my mind is a jumble of roads, landscapes, canyons, waterfalls, bad coffee, mosquito bites, 16-wheelers, casinos, huge bison, and blue lupine galore.

After three days in Yellowstone Park, and a leisurely drive through Grand Teton, we're comfortably parked in a small, well-tended RV park called Montpelier Creek KOA. Three terrific advantages to this place: Full hookup, level ground, and WiFi. I'll elaborate below, in my second installment of impressions & tips.

1. Full hookup. This means that your spot has three small but all-important things to connect to, right alongside your vehicle: electricity, water, and sewage. So you can leave the lights on just as you do at home... And charge your appliances -- camera, cellphone (even though there may not be any coverage), PDA, laptop, etc. You can take long showers, wash the dishes (if you want to eat and drink from real, rather than disposable, dishes;) and you can "dump" -- get rid of your waste water.
When Michael made the reservations for the RV parks, we didn't realize how important full hookup was. Now we know, and so do you. Sure, you can put on a brave face and say you don't mind getting up in the middle of the night and going to the public toilet at the other end of the park when it's dark and freezing out. But you don't have to.

2. Level ground. If you don't want to sleep, eat and use the toilet/shower feeling that you're aboard a sinking ship, look for a level parking spot.
I don't know whether you can ensure such a spot when booking far enough in advance. For all I know, maybe these coveted spots are reserved for regulars, like our neighbor Hans, who comes to the same park with his family several times a year. This is Hans:

And if you look carefully at the image below, you may see that our RV slants both backwards and sideways. Weird feeling:

Many campsites are on hilly ground. That makes for a pretty view but awkward life aboard the RV.

3. WiFi. No need to elaborate. No, I don't want to read work-related emails. Yes, I do want to blog, and say Hi to my kids. And Michael is much happier if he can follow the World Cup, of course.

4. Signaling. Inevitably, sooner or later, you will have to reverse. If you weren't a member of the Boy/Girl Scouts or some other youth movement where they teach you useful things like tying knots and arm signaling, this is the time to develop such a system with your travel partner. Absolutely vital when he/she is reversing into a tight spot (and with an RV, every spot is a tight spot), and you're hollering at the top of your voice "Right, right, no, stop, enough, straighten up, now a bit forward, enough, try to keep parallel to the pavement, turn the wheel a bit -- I said A BIT -- mind the side mirror -- STOP -- you're about to scrape the exhaust pipe on this rock --"

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More stories and tips another day, WiFi permitting.
Now it is time to help Hubby with dinner, and hope that the new anti-mosquito ointment we just bought is more effective than the previous one.

RV Driving and Living – First Impressions & Tips

You wouldn't believe how much experience can be gained in a mere week or so in an RV. It's nothing like any vacation or trip I've ever been on and obviously takes some getting used to.

Below are my first impressions and tips, in no particular order. Trying to prioritize is more effort than it's worth at this point. More will follow as I become more experienced and,  hopefully, wiser.

At the moment of writing, I am sitting in spot # 21 
of Forks Campground at Bass Lake, California, 
not far from the southern entrance (or exit, as the case may be)
to Yosemite National Park, and my main concern as I sit in a rented folding chair under the tall pine trees is my sincere, ardent hope not to see a black bear emerging from the woods. My husband's sincere, ardent hope is the exact opposite, I'm afraid.

By the time I upload these pebbles of wisdom I will probably be comfortably seated at a real live computer with real live Internet connection at friends in Sparks, near Reno, NV. Here I'm as WiFi-less as a lost geek in the woods.

But enough prattle. I promised you a list of tips and impressions:

1. Make sure your legs are long enough. A typical RV driver's cabin is not designed with petite, short-legged ladies in mind. During my first day of driving, I wore my chunkiest, thick-soled Timberland shoes, sat as far forward as I could and still my thighs were too short for the depth of the seat and my toes just about reached the gas pedal. Which meant I had to strain my right thigh and buttock muscles in order to get the van going. Once we got to Las Vegas, where we stayed with dear friends Sandy & Sheila Epstein, Sheila gave me a cushion she could dispense with. Placing that behind my back gave me the few extra inches required to drive more comfortably.

My short legs and the slipperiness of the step from the cabin to Earth also meant that the easiest way for me to get down was to hang on to the safety belt with both hands and rappel down until my feet touched solid ground.

2. Watch out for those side mirrors. They stick out about an arm's length from the body of the vehicle on either side. It's very easy to scrape them against anything on the right-hand side of the vehicle. If you're lucky, it's only soft, flexible branches of overhanging bushes or trees. If you're less lucky it could be a rock wall, another car, a lamppost or sign post, or a host of other obstacles.

Also, each side has two mirrors: a large one, and a smaller, convex one underneath it. When you're in the passenger seat, you watch the lower mirror to see traffic behind you as well as how close you are to the white line, while the upper one is useless. When you're in the driver's seat, remember to watch the upper mirror for a true picture of the traffic behind you. Both mirrors will show you how close you are to the dividing line. If you stay close to the dividing line, chances are you'll be a safe -- though often tiny -- distance from the right-hand line, beyond which may be an abyss, a steep cliff, or just very rough terrain.

3. Watch your head! During the first week you are guaranteed a few bumps and bruises. You may remember to duck when moving from the living space to the cabin, but you might very well straighten up too soon, too abruptly. So you'll either bang the front or the back of your head.

4. Cabinet attack! Similar to the above. There are so many cabinets, that you will inevitably bump into them and accumulate a few bruises. A cabinet door or drawer may also swing open suddenly, if it wasn't properly secured and the RV is not on level ground. This is all part of an RV novice's life.

5. Rattle, rattle, bang, crash. As you drive, your ears will tell you that the RV is falling apart behind you. Not so. It's probably just the pots, pans, cups, plates, cutlery, and dish detergent that are swaying hither and thither. Also the tube of toothpaste that you left, out of habit, next to the "bathroom" sink; the bottle of shampoo that came crashing down from the tiny shelf in the shower; and possibly the alarm clock you left on the dinette table. You get the idea. Lesson: Secure everything before setting out. Like on a boat, said my cousin Ellen, whose parents had a house-boat. But most of us did not grow up on boats, so this is a new lesson: Don't leave anything kicking around or resting freely on a surface. Yes, it's a bit of a nuisance to put everything away each time anew before starting to drive. But it's better than all that clanking and clanging. The RV will continue to make some clanging noises anyway, depending, I guess, on the age and quality of the vehicle. So you don't need to add to it.

6. If you suffer from motion/car/sea sickness, an RV is not for you. While it may be ideal for rocking a cranky baby to sleep, it tends to make a normal adult dizzy. When stationary, the vehicle sways and rocks gently with every move and step. If you're lying in bed and your mate takes a few steps in the "room", you feel like someone rocked your waterbed. When you're in the shower or toilet, you feel like you're in an airplane toilet in turbulent weather at 36,000 ft.

7. Assign cabinet space logically yet creatively, and be consistent about putting things back where they belong. Sounds like Mommy telling off her teenage kids? Well, if Mommy did her job properly when you were young, it will serve you in good stead. There are so many cabinets and drawers, but some are more easily accessible and sensible than others. I have placed my brand-new purple yoga mat in the cabinet right over my pillow. So before getting out of bed I reach up and pull it down, so I can drag it onto the floor for my sun salutations. I've put the spare bed linen and towels in the other cabinet over the bed, because that made sense to me. If your inner logic says these items belong in the cabinet over the "front door" – so be it; so long as it makes sense to you and you won't go looking for a fresh towel under the sink.

You know how cabin crew on board a plane always tell you to open the overhead bins carefully, because items may have shifted and might fall on your head? Well, same here. You may think you put that bottle of ketchup or tin of sardines on the right hand side of the cabinet over the kitchen sink, but…

Our washbasin has a neat-looking medicine cabinet cum mirror above it, just like in a real home. Only the bottles and tubes I placed there refuse to stay upright, and come tumbling down every time I open the cabinet door. Manufacturers – take note: I think you should have placed a thin rail or mesh thingy across the shelves, to help keep items in place.

Another obvious-sounding tip: To the extent possible, put heavy things in lower storage compartments and light, soft things in the upper compartments. You'd rather have your sweatshirt falling on your head than your hiking boots.

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You'll notice that I haven't really said anything about driving the 25-footer, except the bit about the side mirrors. I have done a few hours of driving so far, including two u-turns I'm very proud of. But I haven't done any tricky driving – just plain, straightforward, 55 mph driving. Some uphill with the engine groaning, some downhill with foot on brakes, but nothing fancy. Except  for contending with strong side winds. Throughout our trip so far, most days have been very windy. In Williams, Arizona, walking to the center of town, I thought I'd be blown away, literally.  Driving in open terrain with forceful winds buffeting the long rectangle that is the RV, you feel it very vividly as you hang on to the steering wheel and carefully correct your heading, trying to keep the vehicle from veering into the other lane.

The interior of the RV. Remember -- you can't leave anything on any surface while driving. Gotta put it all away

Bass Lake:

How to miss Frank Lloyd Wright and end up at the Mayo Clinic

Warning: Not for the squeamish

Knowing we wouldn't have much time in Phoenix after the wedding and before carrying on with our trip, I hadn't bothered to even look at the list of tourist attractions in the area. But when cousin Bonnie mentioned the Frank Lloyd Wright museum, I said Yes yes yes, that's exactly what I'd like to see. The cousins and Michael put their heads together, and came up with a plan to catch the noon guided tour, after which they'd drive us to Mesa to pick up our RV.
All this was to happen after we attended the morning's farewell coffee and cake at the hospitality suite, courtesy of parents of the bride.

So there was I eating chocolate chip cookies, drinking and schmoozing, when I felt something moist around my nose and grabbed a tissue just in time to catch a huge blob of blood. Darn, I said to myself, and retreated to a seat in the corner, applying more tissues and waiting for the onslaught to stop. Except it didn't. Bonnie, bless her, noticed that something was up and came to help, supplying me with fresh tissues and making the bloody ones disappear. I'm warning you again -- this is getting gory. You can stop reading right here, or skip to the Happy End at the bottom of the page.

Nosebleeds are common in the hot, dry Arizona weather, it had been explained to me. Cousin Bob gets them whenever he visits the region. So I sat there, mildly annoyed but resigned, expecting the flow to become a dribble and stop. Except it didn't. Luckily, there was a doctor in the house: our host, Neil Shernoff MD. He took a quick look and said Yes, that's quite a nosebleed you got there. And hearing what meds I was on, he added that it would take my blood three times as long to clot. (Low-dosage Aspirin and other stuff which may be fine for preventing heart attacks are not so dandy when you're bleeding.) He said if the bleeding did not stop of its own accord within 45 minutes, I should go to the hospital E.R., where they would locate the ruptured blood vessel and cauterize it. Bonnie asked which hospital, and it was decided that the Mayo Clinic was probably the fastest to get to.

There's nothing like having compassionate, efficient cousins around you in times of crisis.
Before I knew it, Bob was driving us -- me, Michael and Bonnie -- to the hospital. Michael and Bonnie and the whispering GPS system, plus Neil's instructions drawn on the back of a paper plate, were Bob's navigational aids, and Bon was all the time replacing bloody tissues with fresh ones. I was chocking on my own blood, swallowing a lot and coughing and spitting some, feeling rather low.

The Arizona Mayo Clinic pops up from the middle of nowhere. There's desert all around, fast roads, and suddenly there's a large building. Looked new, modern, clean, neat, with a barely-used sort of look-and-to it. Not the kind of inner-city hospital ERs that you see on melodramatic TV series.

I was dimly aware that there were a few other people waiting around, but the place looked more deserted than crowded. My details were taken. Questions were answered. Forms were filled. My blood pressure and temperature were taken. Then someone actually apologized for our having to wait, because it was a Monday morning and it was busy...

We didn't wait long.

As opposed to the ERs I'm accustomed to -- in Ichilov (Tel Aviv), Assaf HaRofeh, and others -- where only a thin curtain separates one groaning patient from another, and more patients are placed in beds along corridor walls -- this was luxury: a small but neat room of my own, with chairs for Michael and Bonnie to my left. And they never left my side.

Dr. Joseph M. Wood and an assisting nurse were extremely pleasant. Reassuringly relaxed and competent. Dr. Wood suctioned as much blood as he could from my mouth and nose, including one rather large, disgusting blob, then explained that he would dab an anesthetizing liquid inside the nostril then identify the offending vessel and cauterize it.

The entire procedure was rather unpleasant but not unbearably so. I concentrated on a point on the wall and did a relaxation exercise, and both the nurse (so sorry I didn't write down her name at the time) and Dr. Wood kept murmuring encouraging words, about how well I was doing. As if I had much of a choice.

To wrap things up, the doctor took something that looked like a very long ribbon, and stuffed it into my left nostril... and more of it... and more... until the left side of my nose looked and felt like a well-pumped up football; then closed it up with a thick piece of gauze and taped the entire creation across my face (luckily for you, dear viewers, the photo doesn't show the left side of my face):

At this point I complained that I could still feel a blob of blood in my throat that I could neither cough up nor swallow and that was really bothering me. Doc said if I opened wide and said Ahhh and didn't move, he might be able to get hold of it and pull it out. I did, and he did. Holy Mackerel! What he pulled out of my mouth looked like a 20 cm fish-shaped dark red bloody blob. UGH and YUCK are an understatement. But what a relief!

Okay. The main event was over. Instructions, antibiotics, leave bandaged until Friday or so, take care, goodbye. Oh, and pay. We paid a down-payment of $300 by credit cared; the full bill will be sent by mail to our home address. I have no idea how much it will be, and am very curious. This is America, don't forget. We did, of course, issue insurance before our trip. And we did make sure to take the receipt and the doctor's report / release papers. So we'll be reimbursed for most of the sum, whatever it is.
We said our goodbyes.

Outside the hospital, Bob and JoAnn were already waiting for us.
We were all hungry, and stopped for lunch somewhere. (Though I could not really taste the food or enjoy it, nor properly swallow, even, with my nose all taped up.) From there, Bob drove us all to Mesa, to CruiseAmerica, where we were to pick up the RV. My beloved cousins made sure everything was in order, and only then continued on their way.

So began the RV chapter of our holiday...

We watched an instructional video about the ins and outs of the vehicle, then were given a quick tour of the actual, er, car? As hard as I tried to concentrate, I wasn't absorbing much, and hoped that M was taking it all in. When we finally boarded it and began driving, it made such rattling noises that we turned around, returned it, and were given a different one -- very similar, but a bit older, I suspect.

Michael carefully drove us back to the Tapatio Cliffs Resort, for our last night there, before embarking on the next leg of our journey. It was a very hot day. My nose hurt. The roof of my mouth hurt. My head ached. I couldn't breathe. The last thing I wanted was to explore the desert, by RV or any other way.

But here I am, a week later, comfortably sitting at the dinette table, after a light supper and a nice cup of tea plus chocolates left over from the wedding as dessert... I can breathe, and I can drive the RV. Wherever I am, I'm also at home.

The RV, at our first RV park, in Williams,AZ:

Cousins to the rescue (pic taken at the Sedona Energy Votex):

Right to left: Bob & JoAnn Kirkland, Bonnie Kirkland, Steve Klein. Love you, guys!

Stay tuned for the next episodes:

• Canyon Gateway RV Park, Williams
• The Haunted Hamburger, Jerome
• The Vortex
• Sedona
• Mather Campground, Grand Canyon National Park
• Route 89 North
• Wahweap Campground near Page (still in AZ)
• Glen Canyon Dam
• Lake Powell and Rainbow Bridge
• Las Vegas

Ta-ta for now!

The Tapatio Took Me by Surprise

How come I didn't google it? How unlike me! I saw the name "Pointe Hilton", ignored the smaller print "Tapatio Cliffs Resort", and just assumed it would be your typical city Hilton -- large white building, large, well-appointed, comfortable rooms, good quality shampoo, conditioner and body lotion...

So as the taxi drove up the mountain and through the stone gates, around the water fountain, and deposited us at the entrance to the lobby, I was taken by surprise.

The place is huge. A maze of buildings, pathways, staircases. We're in building 12. By now I think I can find my way from "my" building to the lobby and back. And I've been to two of the 8 pools.

I don't know how to characterize the architectural style. Mexican inspired? Desert inspired? The colors are earthen, red, mustard yellow, brick orange. The palm trees are so tall they don't fit into the frame of my camera...


The heat, 40 deg C and above, is enervating. I slather on sunscreen, wear a hat, drink lots of water, try to stay in the shade, but still feel knocked out. The nasty sore throat doesn't help. But oh well. I shall overcome.

Today, in a couple of hours, is the wedding we came to attend. Mazal Tov, Michael and Amanda! So I'll stop here, go shower, and change my mind another couple of times as to the black-and-gold outfit or the shiny striped dress.

In the pool, with cousin Bonnie:

Cousin Sandy lounging by the pool:

Aboard BA flight 207 to Miami

It's amazing how the cabin crew have managed to persuade a Boeing 747-full of passengers that it's time for their afternoon nap. But there it is: An early lunch was served, diners were offered white or red wine, and on a full tummy, soothed by tasty chicken tikka masala, a glass or two of wine, and strawberry mousse for dessert, everyone seemed willing to call it a day. The passengers, I mean. I trust the crew are always on their proverbial toes. Cabin lights were turned off, window shades pulled shut, et voila -- a plane full of people is snoozing for over an hour now.

It's also amazing -- to me at least -- how I've come to regard being suspended between heaven and earth, or more precisely up in the air, 36 thousand feet / 10 km above the Atlantic ocean, as soothing and relaxing. I used to be nervous about flying. One of those people who doesn't understand how such a heavy object can stay up in the air. The physical aspect has been, of course, explained to me more than once, and I'll take the mavens' word for it that the principles are sound and that it's not a fluke that these funny-looking caravans stay up in the air and actually get from airport to airport without flapping their wings and without any magic -- which is lucky, because I'd be more prone to believe in wing-flapping than in magic. I used to take a small pill shortly before boarding, to help me relax during takeoff and until I could convince my psyche that it's just like being on a train or bus or in a moving movie-house. But now, it's quite the spa: Just lounging, listening to Miles Davis or watching a recent release that people are talking about, eating and drinking without doing the washing-up.

I used to view my time on buses and trains as god-given (or at least ministry-of-transport given) time away from it all. A time where I no longer belonged to the place and the people I left, and not yet belonged to whatever duties lay at the other end of the line. Private escape time. Cellphones changed all that, of course. Everyone is always accessible. Work chases you and catches up with you wherever you are.

Buses and trains are no longer a safe haven. Looks like air travel has taken up the slack. In principle, it is possible to make a phone call right from my seat here on the plane. In principle, I can still be connected to the outside world. But I'm not really expected to. I'm truly on vacation.

Bumpety-bump. I expect the Buckle Your Seatbelts sign will go on any minute. The aircraft is dipping south of St. John's island, Newfoundland, on its way to Miami.

Later that Day

My first time in Miami. Not a very happy experience. The airport was somewhat confusing. Lots of Spanish all around me. No, the Spanish in itself was not confusing, but the insufficient signs and directions.

Though it was sweltering out when we just landed, the sky suddenly became a uniform gray, and sheets of rain splashed down, halting activity on the runways. So our flight was delayed.

Flight # AA 1007 wasn't a fun flight. The narrow-bodied American Airlines aircraft was crammed full. The housewifey flight attendants did their best, serving juice and awful coffee/tea. Blankets and pillows cost $8. A sandwich cost $10. Luckily we had our own earphones. Not that the inflight entertainment was very entertaining. And, in addition, through no fault of the airline, weather conditions made for a very bumpy, choppy ride.

Oh well. So long as it got us here safe and sound.

Next post: Pointe Hilton Tapatio Cliffs Resort, Phoenix.

Sequel to "Goodbye, Sparrows Lane"

"...when the big van comes and a few strong (I hope!) men will remove every last stick of furniture from the house."

The van turned out to be just a medium sized one, since the big van had been nicked. And the several strong men I was expecting turned out to be slim, wiry Dave and stocky, stolid Jason, bless them both. As for removing every last stick etc., well... read on.

It was a cold and dreary day; around 13 deg C and drizzling. With both front and back doors of the house open, to let Jason carry junk from the garage in the back yard through the house to the van parked out front, a cold wind was blowing. I sat on a chair in the corner of the empty lounge, laptop on my lap, chatting on Google Talk with Nurit and Patricia in Israel, and -- as soon as she got out of bed -- with Shira in Canada, simultaneously. I chatted and tried to ignore the unpleasant sound of hammering and wood splintering, as Jason broke apart the beautiful old wardrobes upstairs.

Not all went smoothly. The screws holding the washing machine pipes put up a fight, as did the nuts and bolts of the chair lift. I thought some WD-40 would help, but Dave got the job done somehow. The kettle was left to the very end of the proceedings, naturally, in order to supply all involved with reviving tea.

By 4:30 in the afternoon, the van was completely full, but the house was not yet empty. Dave's big van had been nicked, and he had to make do with a temporary vehicle. We said goodbye and agreed to meet gain the following morning.

Michael had made a reservation for us at a nearby B&B called the Toronto Hotel in Sidcup, just a few minutes' drive from New Eltham:

Pleasant looking place. Very basic accommodations. Very lumpy mattress, at least in Room 5. Keep that in mind and avoid Room 5 unless the owners assure you that they've invested in a proper new Ikea mattress.

In the evening, we walked up Sidcup High Street, considered the choice (Pizza Hut, some other pizza place, a trattoria, a Chinese, an Indian, and a Caffe Nero) and walked into The Portrait. Why on earth would a typical English pub be called The Portrait and sport a portrait of Van Gogh as its emblem I don't know, but who cares. It was lovely. Make a note of it. Roomy yet intimate, warm low lights, mouth-watering menu, very reasonable prices. One mixed grill, one chicken salad and two pints of Foster's later, and only 21 pounds poorer, we walked back to the Toronto.

Met up with Dave and Jason again on Wednesday morning, which turned out sunny and blue-skyed. They did a very thorough job, in case you're interested. They're based in Bromley and are aptly called Complete House Clearance. One of these days (soon, I hope!) I'll download the pics from my camera, so you'll actually be able to see them.

Update: "One of these days" has come. See Dave and Jason, and the van: