Tin Can Travels —
What It’s Like To Live, Work, And Play On The Road
(Year-Round, In Less-Than-200-Square Feet)

Home / Tin Can Travels —
What It’s Like To Live, Work, And Play On The Road
(Year-Round, In Less-Than-200-Square Feet)
/ Living In A Tin Can --
A Blog About Traveling Year-Round In Less-Than-200-Square Feet
/ The Road To RVing --
Why What I Do Ain't Even Close To 'Camping'

The Road To RVing —
Why What I Do Ain’t Even Close To ‘Camping’

Why What I Do Is Not 'Camping' -- understanding the difference between short-term camping trips and full-time RVing (#blogpost #RVlifestyle #RVer #fulltimer #fulltimeRVing #Airstream #glamping #travel #lifeofadventure #homeiswhereyouparkit) at http://ramonacreel.com/2018/01/12/living-in-a-tin-can/not-camping/Travel looks very different for a full-time RVer (like me) than a weekend warrior. Sure, I enjoy the same vacationy-type activities as my sunburnt-tourist compadres — biking, swimming, canoeing, torching hot dogs, throwing up on roller coasters. But at the same time, I’m still managing the daily grind that those escape-artists are trying so desperately to flee.

I pay taxes and bring home bacon. Vacuum cat hair and cook pancakes. Do laundry and fix the toilet. Balance my checkbook and holler at credit card companies when they screw up a transaction. Even on travel days, I might be writing a novel or coaching a client or photoshopping pictures in the car. (God bless internet you can use at 65-plus-miles-per-hour!)

Globetrotting doesn’t remove me from my daily routine, it is my daily routine. What I do in my rig ain’t camping — it’s life. The only difference between you and me is that I live mine in different locations.

After this long in transit, I expect to have a diverging-wildly-off-in-the-opposite-direction-from-brick-and-mortar-ways perspective on the world. But here’s what I find really interesting — apparently, I also treat my nomadic living environment quite differently than many counterpart-timers. (See what I did there?)

The most recent visit with vacationing RVers was a real eye-opener. I got the sense that because they were “just camping,” they gave not crap-one about their surroundings. Literally (LITERALLY) every horizontal surface was covered in stuff — piles of clothes, stacks of paper, heaps of playthings, you name it.

Overflowing plastic tubs spilled their not-yet-and-probably-never-would-be-unpacked contents onto the floor. Cabinets dribbled cargo like an unconscious wino leaking vomit from the corners of his mouth. The bed was camouflaged as a Labyrinth-ian junk lady taking a nap, the sink was filled-beyond-the-brim with dishes, counters buried under mountains of microwavable detritus and fast-food containers.

For a downsized minimalist who earns her keep helping folks turn chaos into order, the thought of living in less-than-200-square-feet-worth of that mess was legitimately horrifying.

All that I could see (and probably quite a lot that I couldn’t) screamed “temporary.” The anal-retentive-homebody-who-needs-a-perfectly-tidy-house-to-truly-relax in me responded by metaphorically shrieking, “No thank you!” and bolting out the door. My actual corporeal self smiled and tried not to touch anything.

When I asked (ever-polite-and-diplomatic as you know I’ve got to be with this flaming red hair and Irish temperament) how they managed amid all that mess, the response was, “It’s only a week. You can tolerate anything for a week.” Nuh-uh! There’s no “tolerating” going on in Stella The Excella — not on my watch!

All sorts of folks (both RVers and civilians) are always pleasantly surprised when they see how comfy-cozy, how nicely decorated, how place-for-everything-everything-in-its-place-and-utterly-devoid-of-clutter a rolling domicile I inhabit. The usual comment’s somewhere along the lines of, “It’s like a little apartment!”

Well of course — this is mah home.

Besides, “camping” means “roughing it” — and “roughing it” (at least in my world) means “living-off-of-dried-foods-and-smelling-stinky-to-the-point-where-you’d-kill-for-a-shower-and-a-fresh-vegetable.” I truly believe you can’t call it “camping” if you have access to home-cooked almond crusted salmon with leek and lemon cream, a nice Napa Valley pinot noir, full seasons of The Walking Dead, and a queen-sized tempurpedic mattress. When I want to camp, I’ll grab my backpack and tromp out into the woods.

The punchline to this story? I gave these fine new friends a tour of my tiny tin can — and they ended up hiring me to organize their RV for them. I do love part-timers. They’re a whole new client base!


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