Sunday Show and Tell

So, today's show and tell is less about the photo, than about the stories to which it relates, directly or indirectly, and which share the common theme of a spoiled American's lodging woes in Europe.

As I've mentioned in passing before, last summer DH and I went to Europe for two weeks, where we traveled through Spain and Italy. We ended our trip in Rome, and the photo above is of our hotel room in Rome (the Hotel Diocleziano, for anyone interested).

Brats that we were, after spending the prior 10 days at much nicer (and not significantly cheaper) hotels, this room was kind of a letdown. And it wasn't a bad room at all - it was just very small, very plain, with very few amenities, and in an only average area, from what we could tell. So what did we do? We spent our entire first night in Rome looking for somewhere nicer to stay!

First we went walking around the more popular areas - we stumbled upon a few ritzy hotels and walked in to inquire about rooms. One was the St. Regis - I'm surprised they didn't just laugh us right out the door. Instead, a very snooty man very crisply told me that they had no vacancies. Next we stopped at some upscale Italian chain - maybe Boscolo or something like that? There were 2 across the street from each other. The first looked too fancy (particularly after the St. Regis incident) so we didn't make an attempt. The second had a room for 2 of the 3 nights, at about twice the price of our room. We unreastically considered this, then realized how absurd it would be to move rooms mid-trip, and how astronomical the price was once you converted from the Euros.

Not ready to give up, we made our way to a "gelato" stand (where all they served was good humor type ice cream on a stick) while I tried to connect to the internet via my blackberry to see if we could call some other hotels or look up rooms on Expedia. Yes, we're sick. Finally, around 11pm, we gave up and returned to our hotel. It ended up being a very nice hotel, but I still think back to how funny it is that we spent our first 4-5 hours in Rome trying to find a fancier hotel to patronize for the remaining 72. Especially since now every time we look at pictures from our trip, the first thing we say when arriving at the Rome pics is "Remember how we kept trying to find a nicer hotel?"

I wish I could say this was my first time trying to "trade up" while travelling the continent, but alas, I am a repeat offender. After college, my best friend, her fiance and I went to Europe for 3 weeks. We started in London, then Paris, Madrid, then Barcelona (with other stops to follow). Things took an ugly turn between Madrid and Barcelona. We were on an overnight train without assigned seats, and had spent the evening cramped, sitting straight up, in a tiny train car with 4 strangers, 2 of which were children who incessantly gossiped about us in Spanish, assuming we didn't understand them. Needless to say, we were not well rested. Upon our arrival in Barcelona, we renewed our spirits by taking some absurd pictures in a photo booth - until my friend's purse was stolen, with her credit cards, passport, airline tickets (this was before e-tickets), you name it. Somehow, the train station lost-and-found recovered her purse, and all that was missing was her cash, sunblock, and chanel perfume...odd...so odd.

So, one crisis averted, off we were to our hostel. We boarded the subway and within 5 minutes were called hookers (yes, because prostitutes wear terry cloth loungewear and carry suitcases around with them all the time). Did I forget to mention that while we were still at the train station, a woman came up to us and chastised my friend's fiance for being with her, a blonde woman? (I believe her exact words were "No...no, rubia!", accompanied by a stern tongue click). As you can imagine, we were less than enamored with Barcelona at this point.

After a good 25 minutes walking around looking for our hostel, we realized we'd been given bad directions, boarded again, and finally arrived - several hours after our arrival in town. We got to our room, scary boarding school-like rules and restrictions still ringing in our heads, and I kid you not the room looked like something out of Midnight Express. I'm talking concrete walls, bunkbeds with threadbare cots for mattresses...downright institutional. After about 5 minutes, I was down in the phone booth making reservations at the luxury hotel above the train station. None of us had any money, but it didn't matter at that point.

We spent about 75% of our time in Barcelona in that hotel room and the adjoining train station, enjoying the room's cable TV and large bathroom, and the station below's McDonald's. At least the second time around DH and I were able to truly enjoy Barcelona, but I'll always remember the train station more than anything else in that city. And from now on, I'll always approach any trip overseas with a hotel guide, just in case.

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Sorry for not posting Saturday. I just had no more words.