Living That Hotel Life
I used to love the hotel life. The plush, comfy beds. The 24 hour room service. The immaculate cleanliness. I could do little more than go about my day and then come back and revel in my laziness. It was what dreams were made of.
That was back in my Ritz Carlton days, when I used my American Bar Association discount like it was going out of style, had 0-2 children, and never stayed for more than a week.
Oh how the tides have turned because this shit sucks.
I realize that I’ve only been in a hotel this time around for a month, and I know some Wags (mostly in Asia and South America) are forced to live this life ALL SEASON LONG, and boy do I salute you gals, bc this just blows. Why? Let’s see:
(1) We have a dog. Dogs aren’t allowed.
Before we arrived we told the team to make sure they had an apartment ready for us since the hotel where the American players live will probably prohibits dogs. When we arrived at around 2am, after 3 flights and 2 car rides totaling 23 hours, it took us awhile to register that yes, they did in fact bring us to the hotel.
The team said they were looking for an apartment big enough for our brood, so we did our best to hide our little Bella. She rarely barks, is house trained, and we took her wherever we went so we knew she posed no problem.
Somehow I still ended up in an argument with the owner’s wife when she happened upon us coming back from a walk. The argument was entirely in Spanish and I don’t speak Spanish so you can imagine how that went.
Her (frantically pointing at our dog laying in the stroller’s basket): PERRO NO!!!
Me: We told la equipo we had un perro. We’ve already been here with Perro for Cinco dias.
Her: PERRO NO!!!
Me: No lo se what you want me to do. Llame the team. We told them to move us out of here AND you didn’t even know we had un perro until now, cinco dias later.
Her: PERRO NO!!!!! PERRO NO!!! (followed by more yelling that was too fast for me to understand)
Me: No entiende
I want to say that was Spanglish, but it wasn’t. It was just a mess. How could the team not have seen this coming?????
(2) We wake up around 10-11am (it’s summer vacation here), at which point breakfast is over. Lunch doesn’t start until 12:30pm so there’s a big gap, but even if we did wake up early enough, breakfast here consists of croissants dipped in sugar, bread, and some fruit soaked in sugar. Not exactly what we’re looking for in our morning fuel. We’re used to having some combination of fresh fruit, boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, oatmeal, and maybe some turkey bacon or sausage.
So we can just make it ourselves like normal people right? Well no, not without a stove we can’t. We have a sink, microwave, and a mini fridge.
But it gets worse. Dinner doesn’t start until 8:30 so the kids 9pm bedtime is long gone. After a month I’ve learned that South American time is like CP time. It seems like regardless of when we order our food (which we go upstairs to order and go upstairs to pick up) the kid’s aren’t asleep before 11pm most nights, sometimes later.
(3) It’s rare in Europe, let alone South America, for hotels to have rooms big enough to accommodate a family of 6. In this case they tried, but ultimately failed. They gave us two two-bedroom suites. Adjoining rooms? Of course not. They are next door to each other, but one of the suites is essentially useless. We’re not really ready to send half the kids to what amounts to their own apartment where they can do as they please with no supervision. So we end up with one suite as a huge walk-in closet, 3 kids sharing a room, and a big baby sleeping between us every night.
(4) I don’t know about my Asian Wags, but here they seem to not want to clean the room on a consistent basis. They also don’t clean thoroughly, so I end up frustrated to no end with the fact that I can’t just clean it myself.
They sweep occasionally, rarely mop, and don’t clean the toilets or showers; they pretty much just make the beds and give us towels and toilet paper. We bought bleach spray and some cleaning wipes just so we don’t descend into filth, but isn’t a perk of being in a hotel that someone would do the basics? I thought I was getting a domestic break! We’ve reached the point where we sneak into the supply closet and borrow the broom or vacuum cleaner just to stay sane.
(5) 4 children + 1 woman + 1 sweaty basketball playing man = loads and loads of laundry and NOWHERE to do it! There is a laundry service on the outside that the hotel coordinates so we gave them two loads of laundry and three days later it was returned with half of my precious lady garments nowhere to be found. The hubs gave them a few more loads before we discovered the heist and we waited more than a week days to get it back. Insane. If my daughter’s blankie (or my son’s) had been in there, all hell would’ve broken loose and remained loose until we got them back .
I’ve since bought detergent and fabric softener and have begun washing the necessaries one by one in the sink, but there are only so many items I can stand to wash this way. Every time I walk by that pile of clothes in the bathroom I die a little inside.
(6) I need a living room. I’m a grown woman with a husband, a gang of kids, and a dog. A living room is pretty much a necessity at this point. Instead, what I have are two separate suites with 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, 2 dining rooms, and nary a living room to be found.
So my husband’s dream of lying in bed all day has become my worst nightmare. I’m essentially bedridden for no good reason. I sit in bed and create lesson plans for the kids, correct their homework, surf the web, watch the same 3 English language programs, and sometimes even eat in this modern day torture device. I just want a couch with an end table or two, and a coffee table. Is that too much to ask?
So after 4 weeks of that hotel life I can safely say that I’ve never been more eager to cook and clean in my whole life. My dreams are filled with mops and frying pans. I yearn to boil an egg and to smell the sweet scent of floral scented pine cleaner. A girl can dream.