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Years ago an RV salesman gave me a piece of advice I thought was pretty sound: list your top 10 requirements for the motorhome of your dreams, and if you find something that meets at least seven of those ten, buy it. Seems sensible.

I’ve done a fair amount of online research into such areas as floor plans, manufacturer reputation, solo-traveller choices, and features and options. From there I crafted the list you see here, asked a friend if she wanted to come shopping, then headed off to my first dealership.

Almost immediately I got veered off track at the dealership. I knew I wanted what was known as a Class C, but the minute I saw those cute, perfectly fitted-out, compact, obscenely expensive Class B vans, I wanted one. Oh dear. I don’t know why they are so much more expensive than the larger truck-style RVs, but they are. And I love them. And then we saw something callled a Class B+ which was equally cool. And even more expensive, dammit.

The salesman reminded me of why I was there, and re-directed me to the Class Cs (what a spoilsport). But somehow, even tho we ended up with the Make and Model I was investigating, we weren’t looking at the right size. I was definite in wanting a small motorhome. But he happened to have a used 27′ Sunseeker for an excellent price – too big, but very tempting. Dammit again. Then we saw a 24′ Redhawk that my friend really liked, but I wasnt crazy about the layout. But the price was good. Double dammit. See, this is why I hate shopping. Decisions, too many damned decisions.

So, being my mother’s daughter, I did the only thing I could do: I went home. I took his business card and went home to (a) sleep on it; and (b) have a glass of wine. (Sorry, (b) was supposed to say: keep shopping elsewhere. Oops.)

Rank	Wants
1	<$150k
2	< 25’
3	Twin beds
4	U-Dinette/Sofa
5	Slide
6	N. Amer chassis
7	Solar panels
8	U-Dinette/Sofa
9	Over cab storage
10	Solid bathroom door

I went online and listed all the RV sales centres within a 90 minute radius of my house.  I then opened Google Maps and grouped the stores into three road trips: Niagara Peninsula, Wellington County, and Orillia.  I then mapped these out and saved them to One Note.  Because I’m nuts.

This is how I structure most of my shopping trips, whether it’s groceries at a few different stores, or errands around town, or Christmas presents: I need a map. 

The reason I’m going into this level of detail is really just to show you what a fussbudget I am (my Grandma’s name for me 60+ years ago, and still applies today).

So next week is road trips. Niagara Peninsula first, so if I get too depressed, I can always go to a winery to make myself feel better.

I am such a bad procrastinator (is that a tautology?  Is all procrastination bad?) – I have been talking about buying an RV since last spring. But that involved work.  And effort.  And worst of all, decision making.  (Have I mentioned before how much I hate shopping?  All shopping.  You see, I like having things; I just don’t like getting things.)  So the hunt for a motorhome kept getting pushed back (or, more accurately, pushed aside).

A couple of weeks ago I was reviewing my investments with my financial advisor (who BTW, is all over this idea of RVing across Canada and keeps encouraging me), and after dithering and wavering, I decided to pull a bunch o’ money (the technical term in the investment industry) and set it aside.  Now I have to do something, as I have money just sitting there waiting.

As soon as I hung up from Patrick, I typed Top Class C RVs under 23’ 2025 into my browser. 

Let the shopping begin.

Before I start talking about this new adventure, I should mention something that happened this past Christmas, a sort of ‘wrap-up’ to my Orkney adventure.

Sister #2 gave me the most remarkable birthday present: she had my entire Scotland blog, all 150+ entries, bound into a bee-yoo-tee-full coffee table book.  Unlike my online blog, where I have to scroll backwards from most recent to oldest to re-read my memories, this is my entire adventure, with accompanying pics, laid out in chronological order.

Thank you!

Back in the spring of 2015 LL and I were sitting in my backyard talking about retirement and I mentioned RVing.  Next thing we knew, we were visiting RV Shows, checking out RV sales centres, and even renting RVs for test-run holidays.  Ultimately, the pandemic, retirement dates, my disinclination to visit the United States, and my move to Scotland rearranged who was buying RVs with whom.  Once I started thinking about moving overseas, I advised LL that she shouldn’t put her plans on hold for me, so she and BN bought a beautiful 30’ Class A Entegra, and for two years travelled back and forth across Canada and the US. 

But now it’s my turn.  I was lucky enough to have a job where I was flown all over Canada for the better part of four years.  And as a child, I travelled coast to coast with family and friends.  But I don’t think I’ve ever been more than 30km away from the Trans Canada Highway (or TCH as it’s known on The Rock).  So I’m buying an RV and travelling all across Canada, visiting parts of the country I’ve never seen before.

And this blog is where I will record it.

Well, I need a new car. It was so generous of LL to lend me her car for the time being, but she’s gonna move home at some point. I’ve done my research, and I’ve narrowedit down to a Mini (fingers crossed), a Mazda CX-30, or a Subaru Crosstrek. All three dealerships are within 90 seconds of one another here in London, so off I went. I did invite my nephew to join me, but he had other plans. Fortunately (foreshadowing).

Hit MINI London first. No one was there. Not in the lot, not in the showroom, no one. Finally a guy with his his face firmly in his cellphone drifted up and when he looked at me (no questions, just looked), I said, “I want to buy a car.” ‘Buy’. Not trade-in, not look at, but buy. The sales manager (that’s who this guy was, I found out later), didn’t introduce himself, ask my name, or ask me a single question. He just pointed to each car in the showroom and identified them by name. My favourite moments were when he (a) told me that ‘a three-door car has two doors on the side and one at the back’ (because I had assumed that third door was in the floorboards?), and (b) said, “and there’s a yellow one outside.” I said “I see,” drifted towards the door, and he went back to his cell phone. He was the sales manager! I stood alone in the middle of the parking lot, absolutely baffled and incensed. BTW, never shop MINI London.

Off to Mazda, where the greeting was better (still no exchange of names), but the salesman spent the entire time telling me that every car I was looking at was expensive (what do I look like out in public? a recent escapee from an asylum? a broke gambling addict? I was wearing a nice coat and scarf and drove in in LL’s perfectly lovely Toyota Venza.) And when I asked for a test drive, he looked shocked and said I’d have to book an appointment. ?!? The showroom was full of sales people, but devoid of customers, and yet I needed to make an appointment? By now I was starting to steam.

My experience at Subaru was better, at least he told me his name and gave me a brochure. But by this time I was fit to be tied. Remember, my career was in sales training, coaching, and sales management. Maybe if my background was in nursing, or academia, or road maintenance, I wouldn’t have taken this so badly, but because sales was my livelihood, I was absolutely OTT with anger.

I got in my car (LL’s car) and sat there fuming. Then I remembered that the LandRover dealership, which had always treated me so very very well, was just 2 minutes down the road. Now, to be perfectly clear, I was not going to buy another luxury car, but at least this would end my afternoon on an up note.

Reader, I purchased one.

The day after I landed a very dear friend, her mother, and I got together for lunch at the local Kelseys. It was absolutely wonderful to see them both; I hadn’t seen MB since September 2021, and I hadn’t seen her mum since the day before lockdown started in March, 2020.

I don’t know if others do this, but when I’m looking at a menu I will check the prices, not so much to curtail my choices financially, but rather to give me a bit of an idea of the size of the meal. A $10 soup & sandwich is likely going to be less food than a $15 burger with a side. Imagine my shock when all the meals on the lunch menu at Kelseys were $19.99. $20 for lunch in a roadhouse-style restaurant — things have changed a lot in Canada since I last dined out in spring 2020.

Gas prices were higher than I remembered, although they were on par with what I’d been paying in the UK. Then I hit the grocery stores — OMG. I cannot get over the price of a head of lettuce, or a box of pasta, or lemons. Dear God, the lemons.

Well, clearly I was going to have to re-learn the cost of living in Canada, and the only way to do that was to assume the same course of action I had undertaken just before retiring: track every penny I spend for the next six months, to get a handle on what my life is going to cost from now on.

I have downloaded an expense-tracking app, Money Manager, and am now entering every single, solitary purchase. It’s actually easier to do nine years later, as so much of shopping is cashless now. But, every single penny.

*Edit (January 4, 2024): I am four days back in my house, and I have spent $700+ re-stocking the fridge & pantry (starting from zero here, folks), $300+ on household items (cleaning supplies, lightbulbs, paint,etc..), and over $1,000 on ear surgery for Scout (she’s fine). Ay-yi-yi.

Three weeks ago I wrote that my story was over, or at least the Move-To-Scotland, Live-In-Scotland, Return-From-Scotland portion was over.  But I did say that I might jot down some of my observations regarding re-entry, and my thoughts regarding what’s next adventure-wise. 

So, I’m back.

Well, the adventure is over — granted, still waiting on suitcase (due later today); not yet in my house (January 1); have to buy a car (eeh); must sort out banking (here & in UK) — but it’s fair to say that after four years of planning, moving, living, and travelling, the big adventure is wrapping up.

The question I’m being asked the most is: are you glad you did it? And the answer is a resounding yes. Not everything was perfect; I won’t miss winding narrow roads, or refrigerators that sweat inside, or opening a window every time I shower; but I am so glad that on December 17, 2019, I said to my sisters, ‘I think I might move to Shetland or Orkney for a year or two.’ And they both said, ‘Yes! Do it!’ I have learned a lot — yeah, yeah, all that ‘growing as a person, finding myself, yadda, yadda, yadda’ — but if I had to distill it down to one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I’m not as averse to change as I thought I was. That was quite a revelation for a girl who, after moving every two years as a child (my dad was in sales, not on the lam), had grown to absolutely dread the idea of upping sticks, of moving houses, of living elsewhere.

But my question is different. My question to myself is: so, now what? I have been thinking about the future and what I might do next. The choices are much broader for me, now that I have had my little ‘change-doesn’t-suck’ discovery. I could renovate my house. I could move to London, Ontario. I could ‘green’ my house. I could move to a remote Canadian town on the sea. I could resume my volunteering here in Milton. Or . . . . I haven’t really shared this idea on the blog up until now, but . . . . . I could buy a motorhome and travel across Canada for a year. That last idea has been bouncing around in my brain for over five years now. And it’s looking more and more attractive. Something to think about.

A friend suggested that I needed to ‘wrap up my story’ on the blog, and she’s right. I think I’ll take a pause from blogging, at least for a while. I know I have to update my Gallery (and I will do that in the near future). And I may have one or two settling-back-in-in-Canada hiccups that I want to capture over the next month or so; so there might be the odd blog post now and then. I do think that once I start narrowing down my options, and if I do decide RV’ing is my next adventure, I will most definitely resume this blog.

But for now, I want to say thank you to anyone who has followed me on my journey – I am absolutely flattered at the number of people who have come up to me over the last couple of weeks to tell me they were diligent readers. As glad as I am that I went to Scotland, I am equally glad I decided to record it as I did.

That’s all folks! (Or, as we say in Scotland, ‘See yu, Jimmy. That’s us then, hen.’)

It seems that my oversized bag was not tagged to go through past Dublin to Toronto, which is how it was originally mislaid. I hadn’t heard from Aer Lingus in a few days so I called them this morning. Things were not sounding positive, until the rep Jason asked, ‘Were you travelling alone or with someone?’ ‘Alone,’ I said. ‘Oh, that is too bad,’ he mused under his breath, ‘because I have one here for Reid/Wxxxxxr.’ ‘That’s me! That’s me!’ I started shouting into the phone – ‘that’s the name of the family I am staying with!’

On my luggage label, I had written out my name followed by c/o my sister’s name, street address & town, and my email address. I thought that was what one did when one was staying at someone else’s home and wanted to direct mail & deliveries? But I guess they had seen the double-barreled name and had thought it wasn’t me. If the rep said once, he said four or five times, ‘Oh, look, the contents match your description. The email matches your email. The contents are an exact match.’ Sheesh.

Anyhoo, my case is confirmed to be with United Air in Dublin, and is now flagged to be shipped to YYZ (Pearson) and delivered here to my sister’s house.

I am SO SO SO SO happy.