Blathr Wayne Lorentz

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Showing blathrs with the tag “Hotels.”

Discrete drinking

Sunday, December 10th, 2023 Alive 19,220 days

An anonymous coffee in the lobby of the Four Seasons

Todayʼs coffee is Peppermint Mocha Latte from Bayou and Bean in downtown Houston.

Bayou and Bean is the Brigadoon of coffee shops. It appears out of the mists of the Four Seasons Hotel lobby in the morning, and evaporates into the ether by tea time. The atmosphere is mid-2000ʼs conventioneer-on-an-expense-account with shadowy nooks, plump leather, and highly-curated shelves of books that no one will ever read, but everyone will claim to have read.

The coffee, fortunately, doesnʼt match the pastiche of the décor. Itʼs authentically good stuff. Flavorful, but not overpowering. The peppermint is pronounced, but restrained. And the texture is entirely correct. This isnʼt watery Dunkinʼ Dishwater. And itʼs not the gelatinous sludge that passes for coffee-inspired drinks at Starbucks these days. The texture is smooth, but still useful to clear oneʼs throat on a froggy morning. Itʼs the Platonic ideal that Dunkinʼ and ʼBucks swing for, but miss.

The peppermint, itself, is worthy of a paragraph here. Itʼs unlike peppermint coffee flavoring Iʼve had anywhere else. Minty, but not sharp. Itʼs a well-rounded mellow kind of mint. Iʼve read that 90% of the “peppermint” flavoring on the market is actually not peppermint, but lesser ingredients tarted up with chemicals and alcohol to simulate peppermint. If thatʼs true, then this Bayou and Bean coffee must be the real thing.

At least, I hope it is, since this coffee is priced even above Starbucksʼ tariff. But thatʼs to be expected. After all, you do get to sip it on the button-plush leather of a Four Seasons hotel lobby.

Like most good hotels, discretion is prized at the Four Seasons, and the coffee follows. It is presented in an anonymous white cup with an anonymous white sleeve topped with an anonymous black lid. Itʼs not a red-on-brown-and-beige gas station coffee presentation pretending to be an artisanal western Oregon roasting co-op. This is a paper cup for people who are bigger than the brands on the cup. But for those who know — they know.

The aspirational bookshelves at Bayou and Bean
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He can keep the remote

Thursday, March 9th, 2023 Alive 18,944 days

A towel in the shape of a sea monster

I think the daily towel-in-the-shape-of-an-animal is a cute gimmick. But Iʼm not sure that “sea monster” is the best choice on a cruise ship.

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Frame up job

Wednesday, May 25th, 2022 Alive 18,656 days

Paintings in the lobby of the Hotel Monteleone

These guys ran a 136-year-old hotel that inspired, entertained, and hosted scriveners like William Faulkner, John Grisham, Ernest Hemingway, Anne Rice, Tennessee Williams, and got their giant oil-painted pictures hanging on the walls of the crystal chandeliered lobby.

What have you done today?

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Would the worldʼs last smoker, please empty the ashtray

Tuesday, May 24th, 2022 Alive 18,655 days

A small slice of the courtyard at the Hotel Saint Marie

Such a nice, elegant French Quarter courtyard. Or, at least it would be if the Hotel Saint Marie didnʼt use it as a smoking lounge. I had to wait five minutes for the drifting smoke to clear to get a nice picture of the fountain.

Honestly, though, this is among the least of the Hotel Saint Marieʼs sins. Never again.

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Time to mow the roof, too

Monday, May 23rd, 2022 Alive 18,654 days

Plants growing out of hotelʼs downspouts, and sprouting from its facade

If you have plants growing out of your hotelʼs downspouts, it might be time to hire a different maintenance crew.

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Lobby lizard

Saturday, September 25th, 2021 Alive 18,414 days

The Hotel Galvez and also Spa

For generations, hotels have been more than places of rest. They have served as public spaces, places of respite, and cultural institutions.

I have met people who donʼt understand why good hotels have elaborate lobbies, full-service bars, and fine restaurants. They think of hotels as nothing more than a place to sleep. But just as you can use a computer for more than sending messages, hotels are far more than places to be unconscious.

The Hotel Galvez is one of those places. On this day, it serves my and my wife well as a refuge from the heat. A place to recharge with afternoon tea. And an opportunity to reflect on what we did today.

There is no shortage of shorted and flip-flopped tourists to-ing and fro-ing through the space, intent on maximizing their experiences. But experience is about more than checking items off of a list. Itʼs about savoring what life offers you. They can have their precisely-computed schedules of water parks and trinket hunting. A comfy chair, an ocean breeze, and an attentive waitress are what makes a vacation memorable to me.

The Hotel Galvez
The Hotel Galvez
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Open all the windows

Thursday, August 5th, 2021 Alive 18,363 days

People repairing a water line outside my hotel

I didnʼt necessarily expect to wake up to chirping birds and the softness of wind through sagebrush this morning. But I also didnʼt expect to wake up to a diesel-powered emergency sump pump.

The water line feeding the Best Western Plus Hotel in Fort Stockton broke overnight. Which means that after driving 400 miles last night, I have to drive another 350 miles without a shower. In August. In Texas.

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That looks comfy

Thursday, August 5th, 2021 Alive 18,363 days

Annie asleep on the heater

Annie relaxing at the Aloft Hotel in San Antonio.

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Roaminʼ cat lick

Wednesday, August 4th, 2021 Alive 18,362 days

Annie on the prowl

Annie surveys our room at the Best Western Plus Hotel in Fort Stockton, Texas before settling down to sleep on top of the refrigerator.

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Customer service is king

Sunday, July 11th, 2021 Alive 18,338 days

I have a road trip coming up this week, so Iʼm calling the hotelsʼ front desks to confirm my reservations.

  • Holiday Inn: Answered immediately
  • Best Western: Answered immediately
  • Marriott: Transferred me three times, and left me on hold for 11 minutes so far

I think itʼs time to make a new reservation elsewhere.

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Your time is up

Saturday, June 26th, 2021 Alive 18,323 days

A threat from the Marriott web site

“Before Time Runs Out?” Thatʼs pretty scary.

What does Marriott know about my health that I donʼt? Or maybe itʼs some kind of a threat? Why is Marriott threatening me?

I guess Iʼll stay somewhere else thatʼs less threatening.

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Sunday, January 13th, 2019 Alive 17,428 days

Inside the Armargosa Hotel

What do you do if youʼre a New York ballerina who reopens an abandoned opera house in the middle of the desert all by yourself? You paint your own audience members and support dancers.

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Saturday, January 12th, 2019 Alive 17,427 days

The parking lot entrance to the Death Valley Inn

Joe: How do we make our scary underground hotel entrance look less like a portal to hell?

Sam: I got it! Geraniums!

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Saturday, January 12th, 2019 Alive 17,427 days

The thermal spring pool at the Death Valley Inn

30° air. 105° pool. And thereʼs more minerals in the spring-fed pool than in the rocks they built the hotel with.

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Saturday, January 12th, 2019 Alive 17,427 days

The parking lot entrance to the Death Valley Inn

Worst. Hotel. Entrance. Ever. This is why I valet.

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Friday, January 11th, 2019 Alive 17,426 days

A nook in the Death Valley Inn

I shall drink rum and read a Los Angeles Times here.

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Friday, January 11th, 2019 Alive 17,426 days

Sunset over Death Valley

Evening cocktails overlooking Badwater Basin.

Elevation: -281 feet.

Weather: Overcast, with scattered fighter jets.

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Friday, January 11th, 2019 Alive 17,426 days

Darcie being civilized

Darcie spends a quiet evening writing postcards in the hotel library.

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Friday, January 11th, 2019 Alive 17,426 days

The Death Valley Inn

Sam: Now that the borax mine is tapped out, nobody needs our railroad anymore. What should we do?

Joe: Letʼs build a four-diamond hotel at the end of the line to lure rich people from Los Angeles into the middle of nowhere, then start a big media campaign to convince Congress to make the land around it a national park so people wonʼt be scared to come to a place named Death Valley.

Sam: Sounds good to me!

And thatʼs pretty much what happened.

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Coward

Wednesday, October 10th, 2018 Alive 17,333 days

A sign in a hotel bathroom reading “Excellent water; safe to drink”

I wasnʼt worried until I read the sign.

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Tuesday, October 9th, 2018 Alive 17,332 days

A chess match in progress

Meanwhile, in the lobby of the La Posada Hotel…

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UL shudders

Tuesday, October 9th, 2018 Alive 17,332 days

A craptastic wiring job at the Hotel Monte Vista in Flagstaff, Arizona

Good thing this TV has a remote. Because of you walk too close, the plug falls out of the wall.

This isnʼt the worst hotel TV we came across during this trip, but at least now Darcie appreciates the way that I dress the cables at home.

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Tuesday, October 9th, 2018 Alive 17,332 days

The Hotel Monte Vista in Flagstaff, Arizona

I shall lay my head here tonight. And then, never again.

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Tuesday, October 9th, 2018 Alive 17,332 days

The Michael Stype room at the Hotel Monte Vista

You might be in a college town if…

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Monday, October 8th, 2018 Alive 17,331 days

The Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, Arizona, with its sign “Sleep in a wigwam”

Thatʼs a teepee, not a wigwam. A surprisingly roomy and warm teepee.

Still, you donʼt have to ask me twice! I shall lay my head here tonight. Again.

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Monday, October 8th, 2018 Alive 17,331 days

The Desert Truckster at the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, Arizona

Tonight, Darcie and I shall sleep in a concrete teepee. Somehow, the Desert Truckster looks even more out of place than usual.

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Saturday, October 6th, 2018 Alive 17,329 days

A bathroom sign

I guess thereʼs no icon for “Indian in a wheelchair.”

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Smoking signal

Saturday, October 6th, 2018 Alive 17,329 days

A sign reading “Doo nídaʼ atʼ oh da”

Now you know how to say “No smoking” in Navajo.

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Saturday, October 6th, 2018 Alive 17,329 days

The Grand Canyon Hotel in Williams, Arizona

Darcie and I have been assured this hotel is not haunted. Which is a shame, because Minnie Pearlʼs ghost would feel right at home.

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Saturday, August 25th, 2018 Alive 17,287 days

A photo of a cockroach as a featured image in a hotel listing

My first thought was to blame the webdev for using unvetted user-uploaded photos when no other pictures of the property were available. Then I realized I should blame the people who run the motel for the condition it is in.

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Saturday, June 16th, 2018 Alive 17,217 days

The El Rancho Boulder motel

The wifi is a lie. It’s only in the office, not the rooms.

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Saturday, June 16th, 2018 Alive 17,217 days

An improvised spelling of “wifi” on a sign

It looks like the Sands Motel is fresh outta Wʼs. Jam a couple of Vʼs together, and nobody will notice.

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Saturday, June 16th, 2018 Alive 17,217 days

A sign at the Nevada Inn

Did this motel just compliment me on my butt?

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Saturday, June 16th, 2018 Alive 17,217 days

Reflections upon a motel pool
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Saturday, June 16th, 2018 Alive 17,217 days

The Best Western in Boulder City, Nevada

I should get an award for finding the one photographic angle that hides each drunken frat boy and their lifted 4x4 behind its own cactus.

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Sunday, June 3rd, 2018 Alive 17,204 days

The Mizpah Hotel

The bar/lounge area of the Mizpah Hotel. Straight outta 1907. Only the slot machines have been updated.

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Saturday, September 6th, 1997 Alive 9,629 days

Good news: The toiletries I bought at Harrodʼs work. Bad news: I didnʼt get up early enough to be first into the shared bathroom. Maybe I shouldnʼt have left my headboard tuned to classical music all night.

The soap is unremarkable, but the shampoo is great. Instead of coming in a cheap plastic tube like Iʼm used to, it comes in a tall, slender ceramic bottle with a metal screw-on cap. Very classy. The bottle is the same off-yellow/mustard color as my hotelʼs carpeting, but the label is a bit more orangish. It proclaims “Geo F. Trumper” which has apparently been around for over a hundred years.

In another surprise, the shampoo isnʼt a thick, viscous goo like American shampoo. It comes out freely, like water. But a tiny capful still lathers up as vigorously as a handful of American stuff. Iʼm starting to think that Iʼm paying for a bunch of filler when I buy Suave at home.

Todayʼs task: See London without being seen. Dianaʼs funeral is today, and Iʼm not sure what to expect from a nation in mourning. I expect lots of things will be closed, so itʼs probably a good day to go to parks and squares and other outdoor places.

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Thursday, September 4th, 1997 Alive 9,627 days

My hotel is… not quite what I expected it to be. But at the same time, it is familiar because I have been known to watch British shows on PBS.

Itʼs less of a “hotel” and more like a “rooming house.”

It looks like a converted brownstone, like the ones I know from Brooklyn. The main entrance brings you immediately into what can only be described as a shabby living room about the size of a small bedroom. Thereʼs a decrepit television teetering on a spindly-legged television cart. The cart is firmly embedded in what was once yellow shag carpeting, but is now a mustard-colored fluff with goat paths revealing the backing. The perimeter of the living room (I guess “sitting room” is the correct term) is lined with the kind of overstuffed armchairs you often see next to trash cans on the side of the road.

At the (not very) far end of the living room, a hole has been cut into the wall and thereʼs a counter with a small magazine and a lady with a better-formed mustache than I will ever produce. Whatever the British equivalent of an unlit Lucky Strike hangs from the corner of her mouth. Sheʼs not interested in my credit card, she wants British pounds, but we settle on American Express travelerʼs checks because thatʼs what I have, and I donʼt think sheʼs in a position to turn down someone staying as long as I am. I think I overpaid, but like with Grumpy Grammarian at the train station, I just have to take her word for it.

The room is fine. Itʼs not up to American standards, but I didnʼt expect it to be. However, itʼs not up to Austrian standards, either. I guess the same way a hotel in Mingo County, West Virginia isnʼt going to be of the same standard as one in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. Still, this is London, so I expected it to look a little less like a 2am black-and-white movie.

Itʼs arranged galley-style, meaning deep and narrow. At the far end is a window. It doesnʼt open, and isnʼt clean enough for me to see through. For all I know, it may have a direct view into the private doings at Buckingham Palace. But more likely, itʼs a well-lit brick wall.

The bed is oddly narrow, like a college dorm bed. And thereʼs a radio conveniently built into the headboard. It has two knobs. One for power/volume. The other turns to positions labeled 1, 2, 3, and 4. Station 1 seems to be all about the weather in places Iʼve never heard of; which makes sense since Iʼve learned from PBS that the Brits are obsessed with the weather. Station 2 plays Duran Duran. Station 3 is classical music. Station 4 doesnʼt seem to work.

There is no television in the room. I guess Iʼm supposed to watch TV in the sitting room downstairs. Iʼll try to remember to bring a newspaper with me, because it appears the correct way to watch TV in a British boarding house is to lay back as far as you can and put a newspaper over your face while you snore.

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