Get A Room
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re wrapping up in Yerevan, getting ready to depart on Monday. I’m feeling thoroughly well-rested and ready to get back on the road.
Get A Room
Idly chatting on a long, chaotic Cairo taxi ride back in the spring, I asked Lee what his favorite hotel is, of all the many we’ve stayed in. He looked like I’d asked him which was his favorite toe. (Spoiler: I think he’s fond of all his toes.)
The question stuck in his head, though, and since then he keeps bringing up the broader questions of what different people look for in a hotel, as well as which hotel memories have stuck with us over the years.
There’s one giant semantic exception that I have to go ahead and stipulate: the hotels we remember most vividly are not necessarily the ones we remember most fondly. I will never, ever forget the shit-on-the-sheets hotel, but you couldn’t pay me good money to stay there again (you can read about that memorable experience here). There was also a hotel that was highly recommended (for its prime downtown location, NOT its ambience) by the New York Times. We stayed in that hotel for two weeks; it’s a touchstone memory for us—of a truly Fawlty Towers experience.
Generally speaking, it’s not the chains that we remember with pinprick clarity. I love a chain—the predictability, the brand standards, the consistent cleanliness. But unless it’s a really high-end treat, most chains are practical, but forgettable. A Holiday Inn Express is anonymous and predictable and usually reliable, but special? It is not.
A non-chain hotel is often a gamble—we can’t always predict what it’s going to be like. Will breakfast be both recognizable and ‘normal,’ or will we have to wait an hour while the manager finds a guy with a blowtorch to remove the lock from the kitchen door, because the cook has gone AWOL with the key? (See above: Fawlty Towers experience.)
Sometimes you feel like taking a risk, but sometimes you just want to know that there will be a comfy bed, functional AC, plenty of hot water, and a peaceful space where you can escape from whatever excitement is out there on the street.
We made a random list while we were walking to lunch the other day, of all the ‘unusual’ hotels we’ve stayed in. It was easy, even while we were darting around slow-moving pedestrians and navigating through crazy Yerevan traffic, to rattle off memories of the non-standard places.
Here’s the list, off the tops of our heads:
Bubble tents—There was one in the desert in Jordan that was beautiful and comfortable and being able to stargaze from bed was pretty special. Then there was one in the mountains of Kerala that was convivial and fun, but a little damp, and then the water heater died, and—well, it was definitely memorable.
A cave hotel—We stayed in a fancy-pants place in Cappadocia, a branch of one of those small luxury chains that most travelers think are so desirable. Our room was hewn into an ancient cave. It was beautifully furnished, quite luxurious, and in a cave. Perhaps that’s the point of Cappadocia, and it was definitely memorable, but I’m not really a cave gal. I like natural light.
A hotel made out of salt—This was on the salt flat in Bolivia, and it was exactly what it sounds like—a hotel made out of salt. Yes, I went around touching everything. No, I didn’t lick the walls, but it was totally tempting. And of course, memorable.
An over-water villa—This was in the Maldives, and yes, it was as obnoxiously luxe as the glam shots you see on social media. Could you do it somewhere other than the Maldives, and skip the long flight? Probably. Will I remember how well I slept to the sound of the waves washing under our room? Definitely.
A tented safari camp—We’ve done this twice, once at a big-cat preserve in Namibia and once in Kenya’s Masai Mara. Both were high-end; both were peak life experiences.
We chartered a yacht for a week. It was crewed by a couple with two little kids. It was gorgeous and relaxing and stressful and I nearly had a nervous breakdown from the heat (and in hindsight, perimenopause). Needless to say, no one involved will ever forget that week, except possibly the two small children, which is for the best.
We spent two nights on a river houseboat in the backwaters of Kerala. There were three crew members, plus the two of us. It was awkward and fascinating and unforgettable.
Riads in Morocco—We stayed in a historic riad in Marrakech, and it was beautiful and romantic and had no natural light. Then we stayed in another in Fez, and it was cold and uncomfortable and the breakfast was weird and the manager was sleazy. Both were memorable.
There was a restored Chettiar palace in the south of India, which was beautiful and soothing and felt weirdly out of place in a poverty-stricken rural village.
We stayed in a stilted, thatched hut over a marsh in Namibia, where we could see a big herd of camels and the Atlantic Ocean, all just meters from our room.
All of these rooms, these experiences, give texture and punctuation to my memories of our travel life. I couldn’t list all the Holiday Inn Expresses we’ve checked into if my life depended on it. But the Holiday Inns are actually necessary—sometimes we just need reliable wifi and a comfortable space where we can get things done. Some days are peak life experiences, but some days are just life.
Now, you’ll have to excuse me: I’m off to find us a room in a castle. I really, really want to stay in a castle. I have my eye on one in the Hebrides, for next summer. I look at pictures of the facade and see atmosphere and romance. Lee looks at pictures of the rooms and sees a bed, a chair, a shower—or lack thereof.
That’s okay—there’s probably a Holiday Inn nearby.
Take care,
Lisa
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