Travel Confessions: Some RV Park Managers Are Crappy Landlords

We've all encountered them at least once.

Landlords often get a bad rep. Everyone seems to hate the persons who own the properties they call home. But love them or hate them, they provide a valuable service, especially for those who can’t own a home or don’t want to.

We RVers don’t want to own all the places we park our RVs. So, we can find cool places to camp for free—like BLM land—or rent camping lots.

Campgrounds and RV parks often have great amenities and the opportunity to be part of a community. But, you never quite know what you’re getting into with the landlord.

Here’s the story of my nightmare landlord in Baja.

I moved to Baja in October 2022 and parked in the beautiful mountains of Valle de Guadalupe, also known as Mexico’s wine country. I loved it there, but as the winter cold crept in, I realized it was time to ditch the altitude.

I then moved to the city of Ensenada. Before picking an RV park, I drove down with just the truck and visited a few parks to see the place and get their prices. I chose one by the beach and got permission to set up my portable hot tub.

There was another FJ.

When I arrived the following day, the co-owning California Brother had just arrived for the weekend. He had a nice, silver FJ. And, as FJ owners do, we started checking out each other’s rigs. I commended him on his, but little did I know, he was intimidated by me and mine.

He asked me my FJ’s year, and I told him 2011. He puffed his chest and said, “Well, mine is a 2014.”

“That’s awesome!” I commended him. “I needed mine for RVing, so I chose a model year with a higher towing capacity. The 2014 is 300 lbs lower.”

He didn’t know this. “But mine is a TRD, and it’s lifted! See these big tires on it?”

“Yeah, it looks awesome!” I saw where this was going, so I decided to mind my business from there on out and park my rig.

The owner’s ego was clearly bruised.

I exited the conversation with the excuse that I needed to get set up. But when I got to my lot, he had already walked over and was waiting to give me instructions. I pointed out that his back-in advice would put the lot on my passenger side (i.e., my blind side), so I planned on turning instead.

“That side of the concrete ramp is lifted,” he said. “You won’t get over it.”

I cocked my head to the side and said, “Sir, I have an FJ. He can get over anything.”

He rolled his eyes at me.

“Do you tow?” I asked him.

“No,” he admitted.

“Ok, well, I’ve been doing this for years, and I know my rig. But, if it doesn’t work my way, we’ll try your way next, okay?”

I drove to the end of the RV park and turned. Now, I could back the trailer in with the lot clearly visible on the driver’s side. When the RV tires got to the raised section of the concrete, I switched Samson into 4WD and rolled up with ease. Another pull forward and I was straight. It was one of the easiest trailer back-ins I had ever done.

I hopped out of my truck in less than a minute.

He huffed and left.

He wasn’t done b!tching.

After letting Shadow out, setting up the portable hot tub was the first priority. It takes a long time to heat up, so I knew the sooner I got started, the higher my chances of being able to use it by sunset. As a reminder, I requested permission to set this up before choosing the RV park.

When I put it outside, the California Brother showed up and started yelling at me, telling me I couldn’t have it. I watched him throw his tantrum and then told him that the Mexican Brother had confirmed I could. At this point, the Mexican Brother had already heard the fuss and was on his way out.

He confirmed I had permission to set it up and told his brother that it only needed to be filled once. After that, the water would be treated, and it would just remain outside.

“I’m happy to pay for the cost of filling it separately, if you’re so concerned,” I told the California Brother. “But either way, I’m keeping the hot tub.”

The matter was settled, and he left.

Money and payment problems.

At this point, the Mexican Brother now told me I had to pay cash for my camping spot. Unlike every other RV park I had visited in Mexico, they didn’t accept any electronic payment. I told him I didn’t travel with cash, but I would happily resolve the issue the next day. Mexican Brother said sure.

Around 9 PM, the Mexican Brother knocked at my door again, asking me when I would pay. I reminded him of our earlier conversation, and he said California Brother wouldn’t stop harassing him about the payment and that I needed to pay tonight. I had to find an ATM and pay high fees to get that money out.

After this rough start, all was mostly well. I had occasional run-ins regarding their dogs pooping in my yard, but I had no real issues. Then, it was time to pay the second month’s rent. I called and texted multiple times to pay, and no one responded.

Finally, in the middle of my workday, they texted and told me to take the money to the front office. I explained I was working and would have to drop by on my break. They texted me that they were not going to chase me for payment and I should bring them their damn money now.

I responded that they should go f**k themselves and I would take the money to them when I was available—as they were the a**holes who hadn’t responded to my messages for days. So, they were not going to rush me now.

They weren’t expecting me to fight fire with fire. The man responded politely and sheepishly and told me I was very rude.

“Thank you,” I responded. “It’s intentional.”

I walked into the office, paid for a week of stay, and told them I would be leaving. I packed everything the next day and moved to a nearby RV park. I stayed there for almost a year before returning to the United States.

They were terrific landlords.

How common are nightmare landlords on the road?

This RV park in Baja isn’t the only nightmare landlord I’ve had while traveling. I had another far worse and more dangerous one in New Mexico that I’m not even legally allowed to discuss on Substack. That tells you all you need to know. In Arizona, I stayed at another one that was extremely racist. I’m glad I did because it saved me from buying land in that area.

Sometimes, terrible landlords are less noticeable. Instead of being overtly rude, the managers will be passive aggressive, and the park will be in disrepair—often while they charge ridiculously high prices. You’ll notice the “nice” people on-site might not stay for long, and there’s always some new drama afoot. I’ve been to a few parks like this.

Still, I find that most campgrounds and RV parks have great people running them who really want you to enjoy your stay. There will always be bad apples, but if you set clear boundaries and keep a backup location handy, you’ll be just fine.

Next week, I’ll share a few tips with paid subscribers on red flags to look for with campgrounds. I’ll also share three parks I’ve visited across the United States and Mexico that you should avoid at all costs.

See you next time!