Checking In?

Dear Readers,

Today’s essay has about double the word count as it normally does. Hope you don’t mind reading some extra. I like to think of it as making up for the absence of any writing for the last two weeks while we were on vacation. Kind of like a BOGO.  

 

Home from vacation. Back to reality. Not that our reality is anything to complain about; far from it. We have a very nice life. But after a holiday, we usually need a brief adjustment period. That’s because we travel with alter-egos. And by this I mean we really, really like luxury hotels and swanky country inns. It’s our version of Fantasy Camp.

Now, I know some of you will consider this appalling. This could mean that you are in the “Budget Conscious” category of travelers for whom sights and attractions are of greater importance than where you lay your head at night. For you the words, “What does it matter where we stay? We’re only sleeping there,” ring true as you check into the Econolodge or Motel 6 or some other place with one-ply TP. That’s ok, because you no doubt spend every available hour out there maximizing your itinerary. Sure, we go for scenic, interesting places as well. But by 3:00 or 4:00, when the dogs are barking and we’ve thoroughly saturated our interest in the world’s largest decorated Easter egg (which, incidentally, is located in Vegreville, Alberta) then there is nothing so sweet as putting on the fluffy robe and slippers provided in a gorgeously-decorated room, sinking into a well-upholstered arm chair, propping the barking tootsies up onto a plush ottoman, sipping tea from a china cup and nibbling a scone with blackberry preserves brought smartly to our door by a uniformed server carrying a silver tray. A nap between crisp, cool, 4,000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets surely follows. “Oh, and run my bath, will you, my sweet? I’ll have my champagne in the tub and see if you can rustle up some foie gras from room service. There’s a dear.”

Or perhaps you are an “Intrepid Adventurer.” If so, you are someone who pursues a "life list" of places to visit around the world. For you, no discomfort is too high a price to pay for visiting exotic wonders, sleeping in yurts and eating grilled scorpion kebobs. This is as far from a description of me as saying I’m a tall, blonde super model. I long ago reconciled that I will never possess the moxie it takes to trek into uncharted territory or a KOA campground. I experience gastric upsets drinking water on Sunday drives one county away, let alone in a country that hasn't updated its sanitation system since the Bubonic Plague. No, I much prefer a marble bathroom the size of the Waldorf’s banquet ballroom and a mini fridge containing a jar of Planters peanuts that requires a bank loan. “And let’s put that room service card out on the door before 3 am and get some eggs benny for breakfast, shall we?”

I guess you’d have to say that I fall into the, “Spoiled Rotten by a Chocolate Mint on the Pillow,” category of traveler. Give me turn-down service and a towel warmer and I am a happy camper. In fact this is as close to camping as I am ever going to get, having never slept under the stars due to the universal existence of insects.

We haven’t always sought luxury. We did our share of econo-travel in our early married life. I remember stopping in South Bend, Indiana once upon a time when we simply couldn’t drive one more mile between Toronto and Winnipeg on US I-80. We checked into a motel with only one vacancy left. When we got to our room we discovered that the entry door was missing a door handle. Too tired to complain or look for another motel, we shoved a dresser up against the door like they do in horror movies and hoped for the best.

The tipping point came a year or two later on an excursion with some RVing enthusiasts whose camper slept only two. We said, “That’s ok! We’ll get a motel room!” (See note about camping above.) We thoroughly enjoyed exploring the natural wonders of Jasper National Park in the Canadian Rockies, one of the most beautiful wilderness areas on earth. In our youth, we deemed where we stayed as being of lesser consequence to the scenery. And so when our companions, driving the RV, pulled into a “resort” that included a campground where they could park their rig, and a motel, we thought the situation ideal. From the outside, it looked to be an ordinary motel, except for the soldier-course of upside down trees – I hesitate to say – “planted” along the building’s length.  Seriously, upside down. Uprooted roots pointing skyward like gnarly, arthritic antlers. Inside, the worst motel room on earth. The floor wore a grey film of stringy, dried tracks left behind by a filthy mop. That same grey apparition ghosted the walls where the mop had slapped up to meet the concrete blocks. The sheets and blanket, who even knows when they had been laundered last, had holes in them. A hole also punctuated the plastic shade on the goose neck desk lamp, but someone had plugged it with a wad of mangled chewing gum. Rusty streaks (one hopes it was rust) stained the sink, tub and toilet. It smelled bad. I couldn’t bring myself to brush my teeth in that germ encrusted sink. We did not remove our shoes, even in bed. I instructed that we shouldn’t let the bed sheet touch our faces. We might have checked out as soon as we checked in, but we were stuck as the RVers were our only way out. We slept, I guess, but awoke at 4 am when all the other motel guests arose to load up fishing gear and hitch up boats for their day’s adventures. At daylight I gave up, got dressed and went to sit in a folding lawn chair in the campground next to the RV. The chance I’d get eaten by a bear seemed a better fate than that motel room’s bacterial smorgasbord.

If I swore that day to a lifetime of seeking more pleasant accommodations, who would have blamed me? In reality, our conversion was a gradual process of staying in one ritzy place, one night per vacation. Over the years, we found that trips took on more relaxed and romantic tones when we looked forward to enchanting surroundings. So now, when we pull up to valet parking, we glibly greet the doorman, “Why, thank you, my good man. Yes, certainly you may take our bags. We’re on vacation!”