Moving on (Pt. 8)

SANTA CLARA, Calif. I am here—just over the border from my residence for the next ten months in San José. The drive was long and uneventful. It also taught me that the next time I have to go any distance in a car I need satellite radio.

This relocation has involved several hotel stays. I’m four days into it and already I’m sick of them.

I spent Monday at a Holiday Inn Express on N. Aurora Ave. First of all, I think I’d have done better at the Comfort Inn; I know it’s a no-frills place, but they really take that to heart. There was one single ice machine for the entire hotel, although there were vending machines on each of the four floors. The folks at reception wouldn’t give me change for $20—oh, no small bills at all. And I thought their complimentary breakfast was pretty dire until I saw what the Best Western in Medford put out.

Tuesday was the Radisson at Sea-Tac. Not impressed with the housekeeping service (OTC meds wrappers still on the floor from a previous guest), but they had a Sleep Number bed. (Can’t say I noticed anything special about it except that it makes a hell of a racket when you’re puffing it up or deflating it.)

Naturally, they weren’t giving anything away, not even a free cup of coffee.

I really don’t seem to learn my lesson about Best Western hotels in the US: they’re consistently rubbish. I’ve stayed at a number of BWs in France, Italy, Germany and Belgium; they may be at the low end of the three-star category, but they’re always decent and sometimes charming. The ones here give you the sense that you’re staying in a truckstop motel. (And I’ve stayed in those, so I know.)

(I was going to do a symbolic “shake the Seattle dust from my heels” dance at the Washington-Oregon border, but it turns out that you leave Washington and cross into Oregon in the middle of a steel bridge spanning the Columbia River, so I didn’t.)

I hate a hotel that has exterior access, because it means you can’t have your drapes open: people are walking by and can see into your room. I felt like I was spending the night in a cave.

And their “complimentary continental-style breakfast”? A bowl of bananas, coffee, some cold cereal, slices of bread, bagels and dreadful little muffins. Not even any napkins. Also—six whole tables scrunched into a room about 5’ x 10’. Mobbed by the bikers and AARP crowd who seem to be the primary clientele.

Tonight through Monday (thanks to my movers delivering on the last possible day of the spread) I’m at an Embassy Suites in Santa Clara. Interesting business model: the breakfast and evening cocktail reception are free; the Internet access is not.

Tomorrow I sign the lease and install the cat in the new place. If I have time I’m getting a California driver’s license and plates for the car. I’m so ready to be past Washington.