stove top coffeepot rather than an electric kettle (they don’t have these in the
US), and washing up water was quicker to heat in there rather than using the
boiler.
Finally, the cupboard doors were booby-trapped. One type had handles
that bruised your knuckles when you opened them, the other type had a
locking mechanism that required a 'Fonzy tap' to open if anything was left
hanging over the door to dry.
All these quirks did not really bother us, they - and the ways that we worked
around them - just bonded us to the vehicle and are some of our strongest
memories of travelling. In fact we were so close to Harvey that we did not
want to leave him when we reached the end of the road, even though we had
the prospect of a real bathroom to look forward to. He had been like a friend
during our adventures, smiling when we returned to him (well, turning on his
courtesy light when we pressed the key fob...). Tears were certainly shed as
we dropped him back with the rental agent.
Then we had the shock of our lives, driving the hire car we had booked
to get to the airport. It was a small vehicle anyway, but after driving the van
‘small’ was not an adequate word to describe how tiny it seemed – ‘Matchbox’
was more fitting. We felt like we were travelling a metre below the road
surface, and sitting far too close together, after the size and elevation of the
van's cockpit. In fact, Emma kept hitting me and telling me to ‘move over’.
If we had had room left in our suitcase I think we would have tried to
sneak Harvey home, foibles and all.