the 21st century couch surf
The weekend that I got back from my road trip, Jason and Alexis invited me over to their place, and over bottles of wine and slices of pizza, we traded tales of traveling into new cities and the sense of anticipation that comes when you have no idea where you're going to sleep that night. Jason's example was his first night in Prague, being turned away from the youth hostel, and striking up a deal with another wanderer to split a bed and a hotel room. Total stranger, foreign city, don't speak the language, why split a bed? It's only one superficially sudden exchange of trust that's remarkably common amongst rough travellers -- slightly related, and perhaps driven by that urge to live a little beyond your personal comfort zone and catalyse that human gift for adaptation.
My version was my first day in DC, after visiting Jim and Emily, who were originally up for letting me crash at their place. This was, of course, before Emily's pregnancy1 started showing signs of prematurity, and before she was forced onto bedrest. I don't know which of us apologized more: her for not being able to give me a place to crash, or me for presuming that I could stay with friends that were obviously expecting a child. Regardless, the afternoon was nice and mellow and full of the sort of catching up conversation that, along with later encounters with postmodernideal and Gina, made this trip so worthwhile. Still, I faced an evening without a bed, and didn't even have the foggiest notion about where to stay. So I drove around for a bit, and found Adams-Morgan, a slightly yuppie, slightly gentrified neighborhood with a few funky restaurants, a couple of nice coffeehouses and a Metro stop -- in other words, a perfect spot for a home base. I holed myself up in a cafe and pulled out my laptop.
Before I left, I installed some mapping software on my computer, and it's turned this roadtrip into the sort of thing that Microsoft ads2 are made of. "Computer, I'm at 1773 Columbia Rd., Washington, District of Columbia. Zoom in to a five mile radius and show me all hotels, output the list of phone numbers in order of proximity." So, whereas, five years ago, Jason had to walk from one hotel to another, inquiring about rooms, I could pretty much do the same thing on a cafe bench with a computer and a cell phone.
I love the future.
The one weird thing about Streets and Trips is that they file embassies in the Lodgings category, so my first set of hits included:
In the end, I found a nice bed and breakfast3 run by polite Russian women whose first question to me was if I wanted to do my laundry, because there were machines downstairs to use, just not late at night because they slept above them. I wasn't sure if that was endearing or insulting, though I guess nine days on the road can take its toll on clothing.
The room wasn't much to look at, but it was cheap and it had a bed and working plumbing. Granted the sink wasn't actually in the bathroom and instead occupied the space that would've normally been reserved for, say, a chest of drawers, but I was already so used to living out of my duffel bag that this arrangement was quirky and charming instead of cheap and sketchy. The window on the far side opened out to an alley and there was another apartment building just beyond arm's reach. I could look through the window into someone else's flat, and see their swanky kitchen with the maple wood paneling, chrome kitchen appliances and sub-zero freezer. I wondered what they may have seen in past odd hours of the night, accidentally framed within the windows of a cheap hotel room in a once dubious section of the city.
I've travelled a lot, as most of you know, and slept in everything from dodgy, drafty youth hostels in London to jawdroppingly opulent Hong Kong landmarks that are destinations unto themselves, and I've realized that while I appreciate the sheets with high thread counts, the feeling of marble on bare feet and the indulgent luxury of room service with coffee that tastes better than anything you'd get in a five block radius, a hotel is still, at the end, just a place to sleep. It's a spot you can run back to when your feet are tired, your bags are heavy and you just need to lie down a while before dinner and the inevitable plans for a night out. So, really, give me a bed, a good shower and a working thermostat and I'll be happy. Everything else is just superfluous. Maybe even the thermostat.
1 -- and, once again, huge amounts of congratulations to Jim and Emily for the happy, healthy delivery of young Reave!
2 -- yeah, I know insert Microsoft = Evil Empire quip here. but, hey, it was free, which is always fine by me.
3 -- and, yes, the local hostels were already filled up, in case you were curious.
4 -- sometimes, I don't even need the bed, during this trip I slept in two beds, one sofa bed, two couches, one futon and one air mattress, and I have to do this road trip again with those accomodations, I would without hesitation.
My version was my first day in DC, after visiting Jim and Emily, who were originally up for letting me crash at their place. This was, of course, before Emily's pregnancy1 started showing signs of prematurity, and before she was forced onto bedrest. I don't know which of us apologized more: her for not being able to give me a place to crash, or me for presuming that I could stay with friends that were obviously expecting a child. Regardless, the afternoon was nice and mellow and full of the sort of catching up conversation that, along with later encounters with postmodernideal and Gina, made this trip so worthwhile. Still, I faced an evening without a bed, and didn't even have the foggiest notion about where to stay. So I drove around for a bit, and found Adams-Morgan, a slightly yuppie, slightly gentrified neighborhood with a few funky restaurants, a couple of nice coffeehouses and a Metro stop -- in other words, a perfect spot for a home base. I holed myself up in a cafe and pulled out my laptop.
Before I left, I installed some mapping software on my computer, and it's turned this roadtrip into the sort of thing that Microsoft ads2 are made of. "Computer, I'm at 1773 Columbia Rd., Washington, District of Columbia. Zoom in to a five mile radius and show me all hotels, output the list of phone numbers in order of proximity." So, whereas, five years ago, Jason had to walk from one hotel to another, inquiring about rooms, I could pretty much do the same thing on a cafe bench with a computer and a cell phone.
I love the future.
The one weird thing about Streets and Trips is that they file embassies in the Lodgings category, so my first set of hits included:
- a Holiday Inn
- a Marriott
- the Embassy of Sierra Leone
In the end, I found a nice bed and breakfast3 run by polite Russian women whose first question to me was if I wanted to do my laundry, because there were machines downstairs to use, just not late at night because they slept above them. I wasn't sure if that was endearing or insulting, though I guess nine days on the road can take its toll on clothing.
The room wasn't much to look at, but it was cheap and it had a bed and working plumbing. Granted the sink wasn't actually in the bathroom and instead occupied the space that would've normally been reserved for, say, a chest of drawers, but I was already so used to living out of my duffel bag that this arrangement was quirky and charming instead of cheap and sketchy. The window on the far side opened out to an alley and there was another apartment building just beyond arm's reach. I could look through the window into someone else's flat, and see their swanky kitchen with the maple wood paneling, chrome kitchen appliances and sub-zero freezer. I wondered what they may have seen in past odd hours of the night, accidentally framed within the windows of a cheap hotel room in a once dubious section of the city.
I've travelled a lot, as most of you know, and slept in everything from dodgy, drafty youth hostels in London to jawdroppingly opulent Hong Kong landmarks that are destinations unto themselves, and I've realized that while I appreciate the sheets with high thread counts, the feeling of marble on bare feet and the indulgent luxury of room service with coffee that tastes better than anything you'd get in a five block radius, a hotel is still, at the end, just a place to sleep. It's a spot you can run back to when your feet are tired, your bags are heavy and you just need to lie down a while before dinner and the inevitable plans for a night out. So, really, give me a bed, a good shower and a working thermostat and I'll be happy. Everything else is just superfluous. Maybe even the thermostat.
1 -- and, once again, huge amounts of congratulations to Jim and Emily for the happy, healthy delivery of young Reave!
2 -- yeah, I know insert Microsoft = Evil Empire quip here. but, hey, it was free, which is always fine by me.
3 -- and, yes, the local hostels were already filled up, in case you were curious.
4 -- sometimes, I don't even need the bed, during this trip I slept in two beds, one sofa bed, two couches, one futon and one air mattress, and I have to do this road trip again with those accomodations, I would without hesitation.