RV Winter Rambling 2006-07

South of the Border, Down Mexico Way….

The lure of fish tacos was not the major reason
we returned to Algodones, Mexico which is just a short walk across the border seven miles west of Yuma. Everyone loves a bargain and that’s what draws the hordes to this little border village. It’s teeming with pharmacies offering drugs at amazingly low prices. Signs on the sidewalks advertised outrageously “Prozac - $2.95” amidst a list of all the other popular prescription pharmaceuticals. Swarms of dentists’ offices offered crowns, dentures and implants for amazingly cut-rate prices – you can look through the street side windows and see folks stretched out in the dental chairs getting their work done. After checking what water was used in their machines (purified), I braved it and went in for a teeth cleaning for $30. Much better than the $130 at home but the dentist didn’t do a meticulous job – I think I’ll stick to my dentist at home. But the major enticement for me was to get prescription glasses. Last year, I was a bit suspicious and just bought prescription reading glasses – surprise, they were wonderful. So this time, I went for progressive, transitional lenses and got a second pair for half price – two pairs for $250 – I would have paid $450 for one pair at home. We had 2 ½ hours to wait to pickup my glasses so off we went to have our fish tacos and beer with our friends who accompanied us. They were just as yummy as I remembered but they had doubled the price to $1 each. We still had an hour to kill after lunch and I did want another of those Mexican pouch purses that I bought last year so I did a bit of bargaining.
“$38” the shopkeeper answered when I pointed to one and he pulled it down to show me “Lovely soft lambskin” he continued and when I hesitated “what will you give me?”
“I don’t want lambskin – I want the sturdier leather” I said. He grimaced with disapproval as he pulled down another, which looked exactly the same. “Not as good” he said and asked me to feel how hard it was.
“How much?”
“$28” and he noticed my disgruntled expression “how much will you give me?”
“I wouldn’t pay more than $10.”
“Would you like it for 25 cents?” he asked
“Sure thing”
“Get outta here!” He yelled at me.
I guess I didn’t do well there but last year I bought a lambskin one for $12 so I knew what I was talking about. I haggled with three more merchants and ended up with the one I wanted for $15 so I was happy enough.
Finally, it was 2:30pm and I picked up my glasses and we headed for the border. YIKES! The line to walk back through the US border went right down the street, around the corner and down that street, around another corner and another ¼ mile along a dusty lane to get to the back of the line. The wind was blowing and sand was coating our lips and teeth and settling in to the roots of our hair but we kept our good humour while we waited and waited and waited, inching forward every so often. We made friends with the people in front of us and behind us and we chatted to the motorists also lined up for miles. Mexican Indian street vendors displayed their wares – gaudy ceramics, jewellery, blankets (these became a hot item later on as it started to get cold). But the wait was interminable and I wished I’d bought some of the Prozac for $2.95 – would have kept me calm. 5:40pm we finally got up to the customs office where just two officers (two desks were vacant) were slowly looking through every bag uncaring about the elderly people (I don’t mean us) standing for over three hours.

posted by O'Leary @ 9:20 AM 0 Comments

Treasure Hunting
Life is simple in our roaming home. Housework is completed in no time and the sunny days beckon us outdoors to our favourite pastime. ‘Geocaching’ is rather like going on a scavenger hunt. Thousands maybe millions of geocachers have hidden caches all over the world and listed their coordinates (longitude and latitude) online at http://www.geocaching.com. With the assistance of a handheld GPS, we search for the containers, which may be a camouflaged Altoids tin, a Tupperware container, a bucket or a huge cabinet. The cache will usually contain miscellaneous little items such as key chains, tiny toys or a myriad of other bits and pieces. The expectation is that if you take something out, you replace it with something else and that you log in to the little book they’ve left. Then when you get home, you log your find or your inability to find on the Geocaching website. Some days, we only have time to look for one or two but there’s nothing better than when we devote the whole day to the pursuit. There are many times that we get strange looks as we scrabble around in drains and road barriers and bushes and sometimes right beside a busy highway. One such cache took us into a patio garden of a lovely restaurant and the coordinates were at a large metal sculpture of a mariachi band. We had our hands up the legs, into the instruments, through the holes in their necks, around their feet and all this with an audience of patio diners and a row of colourful and raucous parrots. A young Latino man in a service uniform sauntered by and commented, “It’s very nice, isn’t it? – My cousin made it you know”. He didn’t ask why we were frisking the metal musicians and didn’t seem to think it strange. So we asked him if he’d seen any others there searching. “No, amigos – is there money here?”. He answered excitedly. I don’t’ know if it was because we were uncomfortably aware of the spectators, but we didn’t find the cache – I think we’ll go back for lunch there and look again – it had a great menu. Another cache location gave us a huge laugh when we found a set of grinning dentures on top of a post – not part of the cache. We giggled over the thought of the gummy person wondering where he’d (can’t imagine they belonged to a woman) lost his teeth. But the most amazing cache we’ve found so far in Yuma is a huge steel cabinet at the side of a busy gas station. It had a combination lock on it but we had the numbers and after a few tries, we got into the treasure chest. It was loaded with items – and also contained about seven ‘Travel Bugs’. They are usually small numbered metal rectangles which have a written proposed destination and if you can further its purpose, you take it and leave it at another cache while logging its movement online.

posted by O'Leary @ 9:13 AM 0 Comments

Splish, Splash, Maggie’s taking a Bath…..

I have a life partner who’s a fuss-budget about having a clean motorhome. It means I have to remove my shoes at the door and when we arrive south, Maggie must be washed as soon as possible. It’s absolutely painful for him to see the black sooty lines of dirt descending from the roof. Last year, we took her through one of those big static RV washes at a price of (I get weak and dizzy just thinking about it) - $75 YIKES! I pointed out some of those do-it-yourself by inserting coins facilities but he was forewarned that fussy people (and that he is) could easily spend $75 there. But there’s one more way - - - in the White Pages (a free weekly advertising rag) there are several individuals listing “Mobile RV Wash – We Carry Soft Water”. Young men (generally Mexicans - - - who are very hard-working; don’t believe the ‘lazy’ Mexican stereotype) equip their pickup trucks with large water tanks, hoses and compressors and wash and wax your RV wherever it is even way out in the desert. And the best part - $1 a foot for a wash, which equated to $30 for us “YEAH!” So Fernie chose Carlos indiscriminately and made arrangements for him or his partner to arrive at 9am on Friday morning. We readied Maggie – closed the slides and retracted the jacks and moved her to a spot where the spray wouldn’t affect our neighbours. It was now 9:15 and no Carlos. We phoned him
“It’s 9:15 – when will you be here?”
“We’re on the way.” he answered.
Fifteen minutes later “There he is.” I said as a black water-equipped pickup drove in. I waved him down and told him we’d moved our motorhome and sent him over.
“Are you number 48?” he asked
“No - #26.”
“Oh – I’m here for #48.”
“Aren’t you Carlos?”
“No, I’m Adrian – I don’t know Carlos.”
Fernie said, “If Carlos doesn’t show up, will you do ours after?”
“I’ll be 2 ½ hours” he answered, “#48 wants a wash and wax.”
“I’ll let you know” Fernie said.
So we waited for Carlos – 9:30 – 9:45 – 10:00 – 10:15 – and we phoned again.
“Oh, I’ll call my partner” said Carlos “and I’ll call you right back.”
10:30 – 10:45 – that was it – Fernie went down to #48 and asked Adrian to wash our motorhome when he finished and then called Carlos and said “Cancel it”.
“OK Amigo” Carlos responded not at all worried about losing a customer.
I don’t think they’d ever have arrived.
Twelve noon on the dot, Adrian was ready to start. He did a wonderfully thorough job and Maggie shone like a silver dollar. Fernie chatted to him as he worked and Adrian told how he had a ‘Green Card’ that was good for ten years.
“But my wife – she have a baby and he was born here – in the USA – so he’s an American” he said proudly.
“I have to apply to get my citizenship and so does my wife – it should help that our baby is an American” he said hopefully
Adrian’s wife is a schoolteacher. “She only makes $30,000 a year and she’s educated” he told Fernie “I’ve got no education and I make way more than that.”
“But my Dad – he lives in Somerton too – but he still works in the fields – picking - only $8 an hour – it’s really hard work when you get older” we could tell he was sad for his father “I want him to work for me, but he says he knows ‘picking’”.
“But my grandparents – they’re still in Mexico – I don’t see them very much. At Xmas, it took me more than two hours to cross the border”.
We made sure that we got Adrian’s business card before he left – I’m sure we’ll call him first – next year.

posted by O'Leary @ 9:10 AM 0 Comments

Christmastime in the Desert……..

The Players’ Club booth at the Cocopah Casino was staffed by three African American women of voluminous girth, their ample hips oozing over their comparatively tiny stools. The Xmas spirit was with them in spite of the fact they had to leave their families to work on Xmas Day. Every inch of their domain was covered with gaudy Xmas decorations. The walls were plastered with shiny Xmas wrapping paper and garish red and purple Xmas stockings bulging with gifts hung from nails hastily inserted into the woodwork. In the corner, there was just enough room to hold a tiny scrubby silver Xmas tree sloppily strung with blinking lights and covered with dangling, kitschy ornaments. Every time I passed, the women were in exactly the same positions and I wondered if they ever moved. Hearty chuckles emanated from their lair when no patrons awaited their service but they saved their friendly fun and chatter to share with each other. It was pure business when a customer approached except when I handed one of them my Players’ card to receive their special senior’s booklet brimming with discounts and freebies – she gave me the funniest double take look I’d ever seen and it took me a few moments to figure out why. She slid it back to me and pointed to it as she swung her head side to side and clicked her tongue in a disciplinary manner. Then I noticed why – I had given her a card from another casino. She uttered a throaty laugh as she noticed my discomfiture and loss of composure and I fumbled for the right one with muttered apologies.


A nighttime Xmas Eve drive through the residential areas of Yuma was a glittering sight. Huge water towers were turned into massive Xmas trees by stringing lights in a triangular pattern. Most homes are low-slung ranch style houses and many were almost hidden behind a multitude of lights and decorations. Blow-up characters were all the rage - Santa and his reindeer, The Grinch, Frosty the Snowman, a variety of Disney characters dressed as Santa and his elves, nutcrackers and nativity scenes - Santas on the roofs descended down and reappeared mechanically out of blow-up chimneys. Others made their characters out of wood, some of them extremely detailed. The funniest one was a nativity scene with only two people in it – baby Jesus with Santa Claus kneeling over him as if he were Joseph. We drove by two days later in the daytime and Mary had joined them – Jesus, Mary and Santa! On some streets, every house was decorated in a neighbourly but competitive spirit. What a spectacular sight. A huge sign wished “Happy Birthday Jesus. The neighbourhood folks had picnic tables and chairs in their driveways and large rolling fire pits. Some were dressed in Santa outfits but all dressed warmly, as the desert gets cool at night. They were roasting hot dogs and marshmallows and chugging down beer, whiskey and hot chocolate - it was a convivial gathering. We’d get out of the car and walk down the streets chatting to the homeowners. A chain link fence surrounding one corner property was hung profusely with candy canes and a sign proclaimed ‘Please take only one candy cane per person’. An elderly lady greeted everyone who arrived with a Merry Xmas and a welcome. The yard was full of colourful wooden cartoon characters and another sign advised ‘All yard art is for sale’. Her husband who limped around the other side of the garden had been disabled at work at 51 years of age and took up making this ‘yard art’ while his wife, now in her seventies still held down a full-time job. We were admiring a miniature town with a myriad of lit-up buildings and a model railroad running around it – luckily it was a fenced yard because a dog charged out barking madly at us. A rough looking young man came out to restrain his Fido and when we congratulated him on his Xmas display, he told us proudly while gesturing towards the open front doorway that his Dad had built the village from scratch. We looked into the open door and were shocked to see his father sitting in a wheel chair nude – with what looked to be a small towel on his lap – thank goodness. He had long white hair and beard and a huge tummy and he looked like a naked Santa Claus. If you zoom in close on the photo, you can catch a glimpse of him.


Yuma is a transient community; in winter, it’s full of snowbirds – retirees who drive south in their RV’s to escape the cold winters in the north but come April, they all disappear back home again. There were many restaurants open on Xmas Day and it appeared that most of the snowbirds weren’t cooking turkeys in their RV’s. Most of the restaurants are ‘family-style’ and very reasonable and not exotic high-priced establishments. Long line-ups could be seen outside many of them including the one our friends chose for us – the Golden Corral Buffet. For $9.75 you could have turkey dinner, ham, steak, fried chicken, etc, etc, etc. The patrons were an old bunch and from farming communities, I’d guess – lots of bib overalls and ball caps. I’m not good at buffets – I usually end up with a mish-mash of things on my plate that don’t go together. But Xmas Day, I put together a traditional turkey dinner with potatoes, veg, gravy and stuffing and didn’t put one bit of the things I usually take ‘just a bit of’. Surprisingly, it was absolutely delicious. There were no mince pies and no plum pudding but a little slice of pumpkin pie and whipped cream wasn’t so bad. Our friends, P&C put out little Xmas stockings with chocolate Santas and candy canes on our placemats so it seemed ‘Xmas-sy’ after all.

posted by O'Leary @ 8:50 AM 0 Comments

We’re Dreaming of a Sunny Christmas….
Christmas season is rife with so many emotions fuelled by nostalgia and unreasonable expectations. For myself, the wistfulness for days gone by waves over me when I hear a carol on the radio or smell turkey cooking in the oven.


I yearn for the childhood magic of being woken at 4am by an older brother who announced, “Father Christmas has been”. Our stockings were our own socks (holes usually darned) and we hung them on the bedpost at the foot (aptly named) of the bed. They bulged mostly with edible goodies. Always a plump tangerine and silver and gold wrapped chocolate coins. There was also a single unwrapped gift, which was always “exactly what I’d always wanted”. One year, I recall a beautiful blonde doll that I immediately named Dinah, with blue eyes that opened and closed depending on her position – things were simple in those days. The overwhelming excitement invariably meant I’d scurry into my parents’ bedroom, jump on their bed, gleefully shrieking, “Look what Father Christmas brought me. Bleary-eyed because they’d just got to bed, they’d try to feign surprise.

The enchantment of Christmas was rekindled when my young children made acquaintance with ‘Santa Claus’ (AKA Father Christmas). Now I was filling stockings – posh red felt ones – and there was always a mandarin orange in the toe. Canadian style meant stockings on the fireplace mantle and gifts under the tree and in the excessive fashion of the times, not just one but an abundance of presents. But the excitement early on Christmas morning echoed my young days. Now our children follow the traditions with our grandchildren – updated of course to 21st century morays.

My exhilaration would start on December 1st and each day I’d count down the interminable wait for the big event. Sometimes, I’d just bubble over with excitement unable to contain my frantic anticipation.

My mother was always at the stove when I got home from school. First, she’d make her Christmas puddings (plum pudding in Canada). I’d be relegated to assist her with the nut and fruit preparation. She’d wrap a couple of shiny coins and bury them deep in each pudding before putting them on to steam for hours and hours. On Christmas day, I was constantly amazed how I always got a piece of pudding with a coin deep inside it

Next would come the Christmas cakes, which when complete would be topped with marzipan and covered with a hard white icing. I was then allowed to decorate it with holly and other Christmas baubles. Lastly, she’d make my favourite – mince pies (known as tarts in Canada). They’d never last until Christmas day and Mum would always whip up a last minute batch on Christmas Eve before we headed out for midnight mass.

My social life as a child in South Wales was as one of a gang comprised of all the kids that lived on our street. They were mostly boys and my brother who was 4 ½ years older than I, kept an eye on me. Keynsham (pronounced ‘kane-sham’) Road was just one short block long and it terminated in T intersections at both ends and no other kids from around the corner dared to venture into our domain. On cold winter nights, we’d huddle around the lamppost and scheme. Sometimes when no special day loomed, we’d just go ‘knocking on doors and running away’. When Guy Fawkes Day approached, we’d discuss collecting old clothes and rags, door to door, to build our ‘Guy’ who’d be tossed on the huge bonfire on November 5th. But in December, we’d plot our Christmas carolling – to decide what carols to sing, whose houses to sing at and who’d knock the door at the end to gather the money. The carols never changed – we’d sing Silent Night, Away in a Manger, Good King Wenceslas and The First Noel. I was too shy to solicit money and generally hid in the back while one of my bolder friends would collect the loot, which we’d split up later – the only charity it went to was our greedy little hands. But we must have seemed cherubic with our squeaky little voices and angelic little faces peeping out under woollen hats, our cheeks ruddy from the frosty air.

These reveries don’t necessarily make me happy because they only live in my psyche and they can’t be repeated – but by sharing memories with this blog, I take pleasure in temporarily reliving them.


Enough maudlin reminiscences – it’s December, 2006 and Fernie and I are off once again searching for adventure in warmer climes than home. Our steed is Maggie, our trusty motorhome and our little canine chum, Caesar accompanies us.

A violent windstorm (one of many this autumn) followed by an overnight snowfall almost made us postpone our planned departure on December 16th, but the temperatures climbed, melted the snow and we were on our way by 1pm. We casino-hopped south with the intended initial destination, Yuma, Arizona.

We spent the first night at Tulalip Casino in Marysville, Washington where the temperature dipped well below freezing overnight. This impelled us to make haste for the south and not waste time. Next day we drove over 400 miles (for us, a long drive) to spend the night at Seven Feathers Casino in Canyonville, Oregon. The casino was ludicrously festooned with an overabundance of childlike Christmas decorations – in a venue not suitable for or catering to children. They gave us $5 of slot machine play and it turned into $15 so I cashed out - $15 richer. The Survivor finale on television took precedence that night and we snuggled cosily in our warm nomadic home and watched all three hours.

The Siskiyou Pass and the subsequent passes around Mount Shasta in California were all clear and we were able to drive right through to spend the third night at the Rolling Hills Casino in Corning, California. . Finally, it was warming up and we dewinterized our pipes – flushed out all that pink anti-freeze and filled up with fresh water. We hadn’t spent a penny in the casinos yet – Fernie not finding a poker room to suit him – but he squandered a bit on Texas Shoot Out and came back to Maggie saying that he prefers to play poker online.

No casino around so we spent the fourth night at a Walmart in Bakersfield – did some shopping and browsing but as we’d driven fairly long miles that day, we had an early night. It was a shorter and a pleasant drive the next morning to the Spotlight 29 Casino in Coachella, California and now the weather was glorious – t-shirt weather. Finally, we reached our target in Yuma, Arizona early on December 21. Our friends had saved a site for us next to theirs in the RV Park at the Cocopah Casino. We each had huge private areas assigned to us overlooking the desert at a cost of $5 for 3 days. I think we’ll stay a while. Fiscally, it was a very good run – almost no cost for campgrounds or meals out – really, the only cost was for gasoline.

After setting up Maggie, I put up my new colourfully lit fibre optic
Christmas tree in the front window and laid some flashing LED lights along the dash. A small deep red poinsettia that thrived through the cold nights all the way from Washington graced our dining table. If I hang a stocking on Christmas Eve, I wonder if it will be filled! Who says we can’t experience the wonder of Christmas in Arizona.

posted by O'Leary @ 2:14 PM 1 Comments