I generally pride myself on being above-average when it comes to travel planning. I’m always the person in charge of planning group trips and vacations, and even when I travel aimlessly without plans it tends to work out well.
Occasionally, however, I defer to others’ wisdom and allow someone else to book travel plans. And that, my friends and blog readers, is how I ended up with one of the most uncomfortable travel weekends ever.
When I lived in the far, isolated reaches of Quebec’s Far North on a 1st Nations reservation, occasionally I needed to get OUT and head “South”. Long weekends generally meant a mass exodus from our community to the “blooming metropolises” of Val d’Or and Amos, 700-900 hours south. (Seriously, walking through the strip mall with a super market and a handful of discount stores, I had the experience of running into roughly three groups of people from the same community as me, 7 1/2 hours away). We’d stock up on groceries at “southern prices” and the luxuries not available at our 2 small grocery stores (luxuries such as sour cream, fresh vegetables, and spices).
So, I went on a couple of these trips to Amos. I stayed in this hotel, jam packed with Northern teachers, nurses, and doctors, a few times and it was all fun, a-OK, good times in the hot tub.
And then, a friend decided to splurge and rent us a suite, and I acquiesced.
Oh, what a bad idea in hindsight. (In all honesty: the images on the hotel’s website of patches of drywall in the walls should have been a warning sign).
So, we arrived (me, a quasi-friend, and an ex-fling), aaaaaaaaand: hey. The in-suite hot tub? Turned out to be a heart shaped (dirty) tub with some lop-sided sad-looking swans nestling above it. And… there are mirrors. I don’t mean bathroom or vanity mirrors. I mean mirrors that have likely been bought of eBay from some now-defunct adult film set. Two strikes (three, if you count the lack of symmetry on the swans).
Huuuuge master bed, cot (that attempted to eat me) and lumpy fold out bed. Yes, this can indeed sleep 6-8 people. If they are sleeping in that one huge bed together (which, incidentally, was hogged by the quasi-teacher and her mutt of a dog; blog post on How To Avoid Bad Friendships forthcoming?). So, I got nada sleep.
The massage chair was ripped, stained, and had large metal parts poking out. I tried it. I probably should have gone to see a physio after. Danger, danger!
So…. ready for the crown jewel of “oh god…” ? The shower. Now, the bathroom was awesome, don’t get me wrong. Heated tiles, spacious, well lit… made up for the shabby condition of the rest of our suite. So, I decided to check out the shower.
It turns out the shower, which jutted off the bathroom into the middle of the suite wasn’t just equipped with oddly-placed jets, BUT: it was see-through. As in: completely see through.
Sadly, it was only at this moment in time I realized: we are in the sex suite.
I was a little slow, I admit it. So, I hope that my misadventures will help guide your future bookings.