Canada: The Not-So-Glamorous Side of Living in a Trailer

Our trailer is “self-contained” which just means we have a bathroom on board. That’s nice and all, but I had it in my head that we could get away with never needing it. Well… we haven’t even left the province yet, it’s only been a few days, but with COVID keeping most campground bathroom facilities closed… we’ve had no choice.

Chesney and I are used to being in each other’s back pockets. We have spent literally every day together for at least the last year, in hostel dorms, over night buses, at my parents house – you name it. We’ve lived in tiny apartments and actually, in some ways, this little A-frame trailer looks just like a slightly smaller version of our Auckland flat.

But are we used to having a toilet just two feet from our bed and a foot from the kitchen? No. It’s basically a side table in the living room. Will we ever be used to that? I don’t think so.

You know when you get to that point in a new relationship where you start to feel really comfortable. Maybe you throw caution to the wind and accidentally let out a cheeky burp, you’re embarrassed but you both laugh? Well times that to the power of 32.

It’s obviously much easier for Chesney to avoid the trailer loo than it is for me. He can just discretely step outside to some bushes nice and easily. That is simply not my reality. But we have now both on separate occasions found ourselves in a pinch in the middle of the night, after too much water, too much beer, and nowhere to go.

If that wasn’t bad and shameful enough on its own… we now have to deal with the “cassette” (which is just fancy trailer jargon for the pee bucket). Fortunately, we’ve come prepared with gloves.

We try to casually carry the plastic grey container by its handle like it’s a suitcase to the most central point of the campground – outside the reception office. That’s where the “dumping station” is. This just doesn’t get any cuter does it? Why would they put it here???????

What’s worse, is that we totally lied when we arrived and told the registration lady that we don’t have a bathroom. We’ve learned some bathrooms are still open to those tent camping (for obvious reasons) but there’s a code on the door. So we did what we had to do to get access to a shower if nothing else. We do technically have a shower too, but it’s on the outside of the trailer and we don’t have any kind of pop up shower curtain.

There’s a cement square randomly placed off to the side of the main pathway. It’s just a small drain in the centre of the ground and a power washer nozzle hanging above it. Chesney holds a drain open with his foot and I pour the contents into the hole. My hair is in the way, I’m holding it wrong, I’m not having fun, and have to readjust. There is SO much room for error. One small slip of the glove and Chesney’s entire foot could be in danger. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

We try to get it done as quickly as possible. Firstly, because it’s gross and we just want it to be over with. And secondly, because it would be awkward to run into the lady we lied to right about now.

We survive the ordeal and get away with our fib, but I’m haunted by the knowledge this won’t be the last time we have to do this.

One of the monster RV’s parked next to us had something that looked like a centipede hooked up which I assume connected directly to a sewer system. It sounds convenient at first but seems like way more work in the long run. Probably nice if you’re parked up in one spot for the whole summer I guess.

The harrowing experience hasn’t put me off RV life, but it will make me question how thirsty I actually am after 8pm and if I truly need a drink or not.

I hope you weren’t trying to enjoy your lunch while reading this eloquent tale.

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