Hello, I Hate You

Hello Yuma, you beautiful thing.

Pretty much every time I arrive at a new destination, I go through the same cycle: I look around, think “Ugh, why am I here? I should just go.”

Then I stay for a week and end up wanting to stay just a little longer.

I have had this happen in diverse places including San Francisco (the traffic, the noise, the sad homeless people). Most lately, it happened in Yuma, Arizona.

All of my RV groups raved about Yuma. I was kind of excited to go to a place that I had only ever heard of in the title of the old movie “3:10 to Yuma.” Then I got there and realized that the people who were raving about Yuma were uniformly from places covered in 4 feet of snow this time of year.

And to be honest, Yuma is no garden paradise, especially upon first approach. It’s a sprawling, dusty town full of long, straight streets with fast-food restaurants and strip malls looking somewhat the worse for wear.

It is, however, home to approximately one million RV parks. Well, probably 40 or more, anyway. It is the place voted Least Likely to Snow.

I spent my first night in Yuma at the Paradise Casino on the Quechan native American lands. An evening walk led me to stumble into the fascinating history of Yuma. The area was first visited by Europeans in 1540, 80 years before the Plymouth landing.

This is not the mission. It is just down the hill.

The St. Thomas Indian Mission overlooks the casino and was the site of a 1781 Quechan rebellion. The Quechans, sick of their treatment by the Spaniards, attacked, burned the mission, and took over 100 Spaniards prisoner. After that, the Spaniards didn’t try to control Yuma anymore.

The mission was rebuilt in 1922 and now sits just a few feet across the Colorado River from California. I walked across the river bridge just for the non-experience of having one foot in each of two states. “Hm…feels like…nothing.”

The mighty Colorado separates Arizona and California.

I spent the rest of the week tucked into a cozy RV park full of friendly snowbirds. All I ask for is clean showers and a nice swimming pool, and that I got from the Blue Sky RV park. I’m working all day, so it’s not like I’m going to be playing golf, anyway.

Yuma is also notable for dentistry. Not in Yuma – across the Mexican border in Algodones, 7 miles away, 350 dentists ply their trade, fixing teeth for people who could in no way afford dental work in the US, or for bargain hunters eager to save a few thousand dollars.

One more note about Yuma: that winter lettuce you’re eating? It comes from Yuma.

I got your lettuce. ALL OF IT.

I left on Friday evening, not hating Yuma anymore, but feeling a little wistful that I didn’t get to spend more time in this scrappy, dusty little desert town.