There is no place like home. Well, that’s true. Thank you, ruby slippers.
But honestly, there is no place like a hotel.
At the moment I am sitting in a coffee bar of a hotel. It’s 6:30 am and I’m the only one here. It’s like having my own personal Starbucks.
I drink strong black tea in a recyclable cup. The sound system plays a mix of artists I don’t recognize because I’m old, but the music is soothing. I have a comfortable chair, a power outlet nearby to charge my laptop and a wonderful feeling of freedom.
I first travel in, well, years – visiting my daughter, who currently lives in a faraway country called California. And while I might complain about the misery of travel—the overcrowded planes, the ridiculously expensive airport food, the confusion of traveling across three time zones—I won’t.
Because I am currently enjoying Hotel Life. That is, the best possible lifestyle. In my next life, if there is a next life and I’m given a choice, I’d be a modern day Eloise, the personality plus darling of children’s literature who lives with her nanny and pug and tortoise at the Plaza Hotel in New York.
And yes, I had a job. (Those are the bumps and bumps of the freelance life. If you’re lucky enough to have a job, you make it happen. And the thought of making some money on vacation isn’t a bad thing.)
Anyway, Hotel life. Of course there are the amenities – the workout room, the pool, the reliable wifi. But the real jewel in the crown? Complete freedom from tedious daily responsibilities.
There is no need to take out the garbage. You don’t even have to remember when garbage day is. Everyday is a garbage day in a hotel – but it’s not your responsibility! Who cares!
Food? Not your problem. Every meal is a meal out.
Cleaning up after dinner? What is that?
Washing is no problem. Just bundle your dirty clothes back in the suitcase and hope they sort themselves out when you get back to the real world, whatever that is.
There are no shopping lists. No wonder you’ve already scooped up the kitty litter or not. No cleaning of any kind.
In a weird sense, hotel living is a throwback to the carefree days of childhood, when (even if you had the occasional chores that came into your fun-and-game life) you couldn’t handle the cumbersome, boring tasks of the maturity that makes everyone gloomy and worried, or at the very least tired.
And yes, people say it gets old. Life on the road is no fun, as every rock star of the 80s from Bob Seger to Bon Jovi was praised. (And that was decades before they could see in 2022 and see the state of aviation in the 21st century.)
I get it. Perhaps Hotel Life would lose its charm after a while. But I’d like to live it long enough to find out.
Charlotte is a columnist for The Times. You can reach her at charlottelatvala@gmail.com.
