On our way back from a family visit in Florida, my husband and I spent one night at Amelia Island Plantation to celebrate our eleventh wedding anniversary.
Now we are back home and I’m plotting when and how I can check back into a hotel.
I’m not thinking about marriage or why alone time with your spouse is important or how magical poolside margaritas can be for one’s spirit. Today I am thinking about hotels. And how much I love them.
Last year during our relocation, we spent a lot of time in hotels. Living in them for sometimes a week at a time. That’s a little different than being on a vacation, because we were still trying to carry on regular life. But even then, I loved living in a hotel.
During one of these relocation hotel stays, we were out to eat and our waiter asked me if I would like him to wrap up the rest of my dinner. He had poured me two very generous portions of Pinot Noir over the course of the evening. And instead of just saying,”No thank you,” I felt compelled to say “No thanks. We live in a hotel.”
My husband uncomfortably guffawed because living in a hotel could very easily be interpreted as if we didn’t have a home. And something about that made him very uncomfortable.
But I thought (especially after two glasses of Pinot) that it was very Eloise at the Plaza. Or maybe Dorothy Parker at the Alogonquin. In other words chic and cool and desirable. Not tragic homeless, but a somewhat more romantic version.
When I first read the book Eloise, I was about 10 and I was ready to buy a one way ticket to NYC. Talk about romanticizing the absentee parent. I didn’t notice that Eloise was more or less parentless. I only saw the lifestyle. And I wanted it. I wanted to be spunky and tolerated and original. But I also wanted to live somewhere that was spontaneous and full of adventure.
Now I want to live in a place where you never run out of clean towels.
A place where someone else changes the sheets.
A place with an endless supply of the things I always forget to buy – shampoo, toilet paper, soap.
A place with a doorman. And blackout curtains.
A place where it doesn’t feel weird crawling into bed at any hour of the day – it’s just right there, waiting for you to get in it.
I love hotels because they remind me of how easy it is to live comfortably with not much stuff at all.
Of course the bathroom lighting is always terrible. Although my chin and I do appreciate a good magnifying mirror. And the TV doesn’t have a Guide which just about drives me insane. And you can be rolling the dice with neighbors. We’ve had our fair share of nights on the same floor as the cheerleading competition.
But none of that matters. It’s not enough to break the hotel spell.
Our night in Amelia Island was kid-free, and we took full advantage of the adult only pool and tried to steer every hostess away from the sections of restaurants with families trying to keep toddlers in seats. We only had 24 hours without our children – I wasn’t about to subject myself to other people’s.
Remember the question “Smoking or Non?” I would totally be open to a “Kids or no kids?” option. I think they could get away with that in hotel restaurants for sure.
I love how hotel living pares everything down to the essentials. All that stuff we think we need, I don’t really miss when I’m in a hotel.
It’s the perfect reminder of how simple life can be.
I’m sure I’ll never tire of saying, “Put it on the room.”
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