And there was coffee.
Well, dehydrated coffee particles and hot water, but that still counts.
And they were considerate enough to leave out some spagetti noodles for us to use as stirrers. That’s got to count for something.
As we were making our coffee/cup’o’noodles, another guest leaned over to me and said, “Man, this place is a shit hole.” He must have talked with my dad. “But I couldn’t find anything for less than $300, and there’s no way that I could get my wife to stay in a hostel.” Well, I guess he didn’t talk with my dad. Aimee and I consoled the guy, and certainly weren’t going to mention that our next stop was one of the nicest hotels in the city.
As we sat down to open our miniature boxes of Raisin Bran, Aimee leaned over to me and said, “This is the most expensive campsite ever.” That’s why I married her.
But alas, it was time to leave. We were going to miss the Patricia Hotel, Pub, and Brewhouse. At least until we got to the next place.
So we checked out of the hotel, and even though we knew better, we decided to walk to our next stop. But the neighborhood didn’t seem quite so rough in the morning. At least nobody got peed on.
Our destination was the Vancouver Marriott, compliments of my dad’s frequent flyer miles, and our walk took us through Chinatown. I can't imagine that actual China is much more authentic.
As we walked, I planned how I was going to talk our way into the hotel. Since my dad used points to book the room, it was under his name. I figured that they wouldn’t turn us away, but I might need to have a story to tell them as to why my passport says Myles, but my real name is Bill.
Aimee watched the bags as I went up to the registration counter. I couldn’t imagine that many guests in a $350/night hotel check in wearing a hiking backpack and a duffel bag, and I needed this to go smoothly. I gave the desk clerk my dad’s name, and he immediately shot to attention. I wasn’t expecting that, but maybe I should have. My dad travels a lot for work, and he has spent enough nights in Marriott hotels to qualify for their Super Mega Premium status. That means that they’re supposed to look like they’ve been expecting you all day, and they never, ever would offend you by checking an ID. Isn’t that convenient.
“Welcome, Mr. Stone. It’s a pleasure to have you stay with us tonight.”
“Thank you, uh, Andrew.”
“I upgraded you to a harbor side view, sir.”
“Uh, of course. That's to be expected.”
“We host a private breakfast for our elite club members on the 19th floor.”
“Yes. Keep going.”
And this is the part that I just couldn’t make up. Completely unprovoked, my new friend, Andrew, took out a map. He marked where the hotel was, and he drew the best way to get down to the water. Then he scribbled over a small section of the map and looked up at me. “Mr. Stone, every city has its areas that aren’t so great. I would strongly suggest avoiding this part of town.” I looked down at the map, and guess what was smack in the middle of this no-man’s land? The Patricia Hotel, Pub, and Brewhouse.
“Pfft. Please, Andrew. I’d never.”
So Andrew gave me the room keys, and I made a beeline for Aimee before he could change his mind. We grabbed our bags and made our way over to an elevator that was bigger than our entire room at the last place.
And then came the room. Oh, the room.
Yeah, I think we’re going to be alright. And the view really sealed the deal.
Thanks, Dad.
