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We arrive late. After we have decided to stay at a place
for at least 2 nights in order for Steve to get some work done,
it seems they only have space for one. Steve takes it anyway, I
don’t know why…
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I can’t believe the campground. It’s basically a lot full
of RVs, one right next to the other – in hindsight it’s actually
not that bad, but I am new at this – with minimal grassy spots
in between. If you decide to have breakfast at one of their
picnic tables you absolutely agree to sit within about 3 feet of
your neighbor’s doodee pipe, what fun…in the morning after I
decide to make pankpanks (pancakes a’la Jonah) we actually do
eat outside, the side between the two RVs is bordering a field
with some straggling berry bushes on the edge…if you only look
in that direction it almost feels like you are having a
picnic in the country…
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By the time we are ready to go to the pool we have about
20 minutes before we have to check out, but I have to take the
chickies anyway, I promised…and so we go. It’s actually quiet
nice, warm and clean and with enough steps to give Jonah room to
play on them. I can’t believe I manage to make them leave the
pool after such a short time, but they do, a little peeved, but
they come out. I let them play at the little playground adjacent
to the pool and go to the little store close by to pick up some
toilet paper for the “house”, and a little s/th for them to make
up for their mother’s ignorance…a lollipop does the trick…
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Steve is at his wits end. He needs to get work done,
which means we have to stay somewhere for a longer period, so he
doesn’t end up spending the whole day driving from one place to
another. It’s Friday and we are not scheduled to be back in
Seattle until Monday. I scope out a place right at the ocean
called Westport. It looks like it would have to be beautiful and
it says in the ad that they have WiFi…they also have a pool…what
could be better…?
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It takes us a few hours to get there, which means Steve
has wasted another whole day on driving instead of working. It
is around dinner time when we get in. This I notice b/c the big,
burly guy who comes storming out of his trailer after we hit it,
is pointing with his fork to the scratch we put into his chassis
…it appears as if Steve and I have to spend some time working on
our spotting techniques…hm…the dude is really fuming in his
shorts, T-shirt, and socks he is gesticulating with his fork
“what the hell is going on” he yells as he is finishing a bite.
“Just get out of here” he shouts, shooing us away with his
hands…
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As I get back into the bus – “house”, motor home, truck,
RV, trailer…take your pick – I notice s/th sticking to the soles
of my shoes. As I am trying to take off whatever it is I get
seriously pricked. Later I find out they are sandspurs, an
indigenous sand loving plant. Of course I had to go near
the ocean. What is near the ocean? Sand! Hm. So now I have to
tell the chickies that they can neither walk around barefoot
around here nor walk around the “house” with their shoes on…why
can’t it ever be easy…? Arrrg…
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This campground is not much of an improvement. I don’t
know why people would want to stay at a totally crowded parking
lot within 3 yards of the next RV. The pool is lousy, very small
and filled with teenagers. The playground is on its last legs
but on a plot with trees and grass…I am sending everybody out to
play – no you can’t go barefoot – so I can make dinner.
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