Hotels, Motels, and Inns

I thought I'd Google the differences between hotels, motels, and inns. Click here to see my search results. Some interesting answers. I agree with some of them. I'm amused by others. And a couple of them made me scratch my head and wonder why anyone bothers to respond to a question with an "I don't know" answer. It's not a test. If you don't know the answer don't weigh in on the matter.

So it seems we all have our own ideas about hotels, motels, and inns. And Holiday Inn messes with all of them, because it's name indicates that it's an "inn", which seems to have more ambiguity associated with it,  but some of them are clearly hotels and others are motels.

Interesting (at least to me) but getting off track. I want to talk about Gaido's Seaside Inn. When I booked it, I was expecting a motel, and that was okay. Unlike some of the respondent's to the question, I don't believe motels are sleazy by definition. The reviews of Gaido's on Hotels.com were positive and this is the picture that was displayed.

Looked okay to me. We only wanted to stay one night and we didn't want to have to get everything out of the car. I didn't book it online because I was trying to use a free night (which couldn't be done for complex and somewhat ridiculous reasons) so when asked if I'd prefer a sea view or courtyard view, I chose the courtyard view. I assumed that the courtyard was what I was looking at in the picture. My mistake. Although many (if not most) motels put their pools in the courtyard, not so at Gaido's. I should have looked at the rest of the pictures. Then I would have seen that the pool is at the front and a bit to the side and NOT part of the courtyard.

If you have a sea view room, you'll also be able to see the pool. So where is the courtyard? Turns out that there are rooms on the back side of the building you see in the picture. These are the "courtyard" view rooms. On the opposite side of the "courtyard" there is another building similar to the one in the picture that also overlooks the "courtyard".  I thought the pool was in the courtyard. But it wasn't. Even so, I expected a courtyard without a pool to look something like this. (But it didn't.)

 I didn't expect the "courtyard" to be a parking lot. (But it was.) And while this isn't Gaido's courtyard (it was raining far too hard to be outside taking pictures) this is pretty much what it looked like - complete with chairs that you could sit in to enjoy the ambiance of the courtyard.

Actually, it would have all been fine if we hadn't been trying to check in while there was a torrential rain and thunderstorm in progress. As it was, we couldn't see anything past the sign that said Gaido's Seaside Inn. We had to park and get out and go look for the registration office - signage to find it was seriously lacking or totally obscured by the weather. (One good thing about hotels - they have lobbies that are easy to find.) I had my handicap sticker so we could park in the front to go look for the office. No handicap spots available. We were just going to get soaked. (At least I was. I can't run yet.) Once under the eaves, we found some other guests who were happy to point us in the right direction. We had to get back in the car and drive to the back of the building. But then the directions to our room weren't clear. We knew it was on the upper level but couldn't see the number from outside. Since we saw two even numbers side by side on the building in front of us we assumed (wrongly) that the odd numbers must be on the building opposite the parking lot. After going up the wrong set of stairs - and mind you I don't do stairs all that quickly yet (still not over the knee surgery) I was making my way down while trying to let Mark know that it wasn't the right staircase. Unfortunately, the staircase he went up wasn't right, either. All of this in a downpour. It was back to the office to find out where the room had disappeared to. Turns out we had the one room where the door faced the staircase instead of the parking lot and couldn't be seen without first going up the stairs. Did I mention that it was raining really hard?

The room was fine. But another problem with motels is that there is no room service and no restaurant. You have to go back outside. I knew that good food was waiting for us next door at Gaido's Seafood Restaurant and we needed to get over there in spite of the downpour. It's not an "open all night" establishment and our arrival had been delayed by the weather. And checking in took considerably longer than it should have - probably 20 minutes to find the office and then find the room and did I mention that it was really raining? When we arrived at the restaurant we were told that they wouldn't be seating any more guests. What? They seriously didn't think I was going to get back in a car and drive somewhere. As it turned out, there was a couple there ahead of us and they seemed to be waiting. If they could seat them, they could seat us. But it seems they were waiting to speak to a manager because they weren't happy about not being seated, either. The manager came out and he was fantastic! He apologized to us and to the other couple for the misunderstanding, explained that the storm had clogged things up a bit because people who would normally have left had lingered a little longer but that we would be seated as soon as possible. It only took a few minutes to get seated. Our waiter was extremely friendly and helpful and served us some of the best seafood we've ever had! Anywhere. Ever. And by the time we left to go back to our room, the rain had stopped.

The Driving Rain

Even though I'm an excellent driver, I'd rather be the passenger and let someone else drive. But I am perfectly willing to take my turn on a long journey because if you share the driving duties, no one gets too tired.

Then there's the matter of leaving on time. We typically set our departure time and feel that we've made it if we've got the wheels rolling within an hour of the set time. (Note that this only applies to road trips - not airport runs.) So the Friday we left for Galveston we were late leaving. Our departure time was supposed to be 1 PM, but by the time we did all the little things we had to do before leaving the house for a week, and then leaving and returning home to get our passports, it was 3 PM before we actually set off in earnest. We would arrive closer to 8:30 than 6:30.

Mark drove through the Dallas traffic. I'm a bit timid when it comes to lane changes. (I should be a bit timid - that cervical spine fusion I had a decade ago put a few limits on how far I can turn my head to see what's behind me and mirrors have blind spots.) But once we were out of the city and sailing down I-45, I took over the driving duties so Mark could finish his reports and get them sent off. The entire trip was supposed to take five and a half hours. Of course, one of those hours was spent getting through Dallas. (Another would be spent getting through Houston.)

But I drove and admired the wildflowers along the highway until we were about an hour away from Houston. At that point, the GPS showed that we were about an hour and a half away from our destination in Galveston. At that point I turned the driving over to Mark.

He'd probably only been at the wheel for 15 minutes when the rain started. It started out slowly so we were hopeful that it would only be a few big splotches and then it would disappear. But instead, it started to gain momentum. By the time we were on the south side of Houston it was torrential.

That last 30 minutes ended up being an hour. Water was running down the street like it was a river. It was so dark, I couldn't see anything out the passenger side window. But I could see on the GPS that we were very near the water. I didn't know if the water flowing on the road was from the rain or if the Gulf waters were washing up onto the road. I only know that I was, shall we say "a bit edgy". I'm glad I wasn't driving. But I wasn't happy being a passenger in that, either.

Years ago I was caught in a flash flood in Sherman, Texas. I saw what I thought were small cars driving through the underpass and thought that if those little things could go through, my big-butt Buick wouldn't have any trouble. What I later learned is that those little cars were floating. My Buick sank and stalled and I couldn't restart it. I started to panic when I saw that the water was halfway up the door. When the water started coming in on the floor and getting my feet wet, I was beyond panic. I was rescued by some guys with a pickup truck who pushed my car to safety. (No cell phones in those days.) I'm grateful to them. I'm not a strong swimmer anyway, and I think I would have drowned trying to swim in rushing water wearing a business suit (plus it was dark and I wouldn't have known which way to go.) But that's probably why I get a bit edgy in those weather conditions.

So while Mark was driving, and doing his best to avoid the people who drive like they are immortal, I sat quietly in the passenger seat praying to reach our destination safely. (It only takes one idiot...)

But we got there. Safe and sound.

Get Up and Cook

Mark decided he wanted to try out being a vegetarian. But we were not to have those bland, dull, uninteresting vegetarian meals. No. We were going to have vegetable curries. I love curry. I got out my 660 Curries cookbook, made a list and went off to the Asian market. It doesn't even bother me to be the only white person in the store. Just call me Badeep.

On day one, I made Bhuna Hua Simla Mirch Aur Masoor Ki Dal (slow roasted bell pepper with red lentils) and Bund Gobhi Aur Aloo Ki Subzi (cabbage and potatoes with fennel and chiles). I started cooking around 6:30 and around 8:30 I told Mark he'd have to finish it because I was just too worn out.

On day two, we still had a bit of the dal left over and I made Phool Gobhi Pyaaz (cauliflower in onion-chile sauce) and Kolhapuri Vanghi (stewed eggplant with coconut-chile spice blend). This time I started at 5:00. I needed to start sooner because we really wanted to eat before 9:00 PM and the eggplant recipe called for two teaspoons of Kolhapuri masala, which I would need to make.

The Kolhapuri masala consists of dried chiles, dried coconut, white sesame seeds, black peppercorns, mace, bay leaves, and white sesame, coriander, cumin, mustard, and fenugreek seeds coated in oil and roasted in a skillet. After it cools off you grind it and blend it with cayenne pepper and paprika.

Today is day three. I still have a bit of the dal, as well as the eggplant and cauliflower dishes. I also have a bit of basmati rice, although tonight I will heat up some garlic naan bread. Tonight I'm making Chinnay Vengayam Kari (pearl onions with spinach and tomatoes) and Mirch Ka Salan (spicy banana peppers with coconut sesame seed sauce).  But in order to make the pearl onion dish, I will need to whip up a batch of Sambhar masala and a batch of Punjabi garam masala. And unless I want dinner at 9:00 PM again, I should get started now. Just as soon as I finish clearing the devastation from last night's cooking adventure. (Not one clean cutting board left in the house and I have six of them!) To sustain this type of cooking, I will need a bigger dishwasher, although I have no idea where I'd put it.

These dishes are very flavorful and I haven't missed the meat. But they are "fussy" and require a significant amount of prep time. Even with Mark and I both cooking last night, it still took us two hours to get it all on the table. Those Indian women must start cooking the moment they get up.

I need to rethink this whole Badeep thing.

In Praise of Recliners

When Mark and I first got married he had a suggestion or two for updating the living room. I'm cool with that. I think the new window treatments are a big improvement over the simple valance and blinds that were there before. And I was quite happy to spend an entire week doing a faux finish paint job. But when he suggested replacing the recliner with a different type of chair I nearly turned into Martin Crane. Remember Martin Crane's recliner on Frasier? Here it is, complete with dog and duct tape.

I didn't always feel this way. In fact, I was reluctant (reluctant is probably an understatement) to get a recliner in the first place but now that I have it, I'll probably always have one. Even though we don't typically use it on a daily basis, it is perfect if you have congestion. It keeps you upright enough so that you can breathe. It's also perfect if you have a nosebleed. It keeps you tipped back just enough to keep the blood in your nose. And if you have vertigo, you can get up without tilting your head to one side or the other - which can make the room start spinning. It's better than one of those adjustable beds when you have the flu or if you're recovering from some type of surgery or hospitalization. You have choices - you can watch TV or you can sleep. In other words, it's the perfect "sick room" in a compact size.

Given that in the past month, I've had a head cold, vertigo, two massive nosebleeds, the flu and knee surgery, I can't imagine how I would have managed without that recliner. The only thing that chair couldn't do was elevate my knee above my heart. (That took three pillows.) But if it starts to look like Martin Crane's chair, I'll be looking for a replacement.

Better Every Day

I saw the doctor yesterday. I'd had a full day - a meeting with my CPA, lunch out with Mark, and then the post-op appointment. After waiting in the doctor's reception area for nearly 40 minutes (fairly unusual) I was becoming a bit grumpy and irritable. I told the receptionist that I didn't mind if they took another hour as long as I could wait in a horizontal position. I just couldn't remain upright any longer.

And that seems to be how it goes right now. I tire so easily. After being busy for a couple of hours, I find I need to go prop my feet up for a couple of hours - maybe even have a snooze. It's fairly annoying because I can't seem to get much done. It's also boring. I love to read, but there's just a limit to how much I want to read on any given day. As for TV - there's really not much I'm interested in watching and there's no reason to get sucked into some program now.

But the doc says that getting tired is to be expected. General anesthesia has that effect on people. The pain pills extend the effect. (I haven't taken any of those since Sunday, so hoping it eases up soon.) He also showed me the pictures of the inside of my knee. (Not as gory as I expected.) I'm told there's very little arthritis in my knee - so to those clowns and quacks I saw back before the pain in my knee got serious, and who told me I had "garden variety arthritis" and I should learn to live with it, I say "poo-poo to you". They clearly had no clue and no interest in getting one.

I'm told that once the swelling goes completely down and I've been through the physical rehab therapy that I will have the knee of a 25-year old. It looks like I'll be doing rehab three times a week for four weeks -and since I was expecting six weeks - this is a bonus! I'm meeting with the physical therapist later today for an evaluation and so she can tell me what I should do at home to improve progress.

All I can say is that I thought I'd be ready to start training for a marathon by now and while it's a bit disappointing that I'm not ready for that, I think the prognosis is much better than I thought it would be. And I am feeling just a bit better every day.

Family, Food, and Friends

Now that I'm just about over what must have been the flu, (and yes, I did have a flu shot) I'm finally feeling up to writing a bit about our February trip to England. (Yikes! That was nearly a month ago.) Given the problem with my knee, and my inability to walk very far, this trip was mostly about family, food, and friends.

We were able to spend some time with Mark's dad, kids, grandkids, cousin, and an aunt and uncle. We accompanied the kids to Eureka!, an interactive children's museum. We even got to spend some time with a couple Mark has known since his days at British Aerospace, but whom he hasn't seen in years. For me, it was making new friends and putting faces to a couple of those folks we exchange Christmas cards with each year.

We did manage a quick visit one afternoon to the John Rylands Library in Manchester - a lovely old building with a number of interesting exhibits. We'd planned an outing to the Turner Contemporary in Margate, but for some reason, we came to believe that it houses more contemporary artists than Turner and we ended up just having a leisurely lunch at the Tartare Frigate in Broadstairs instead.

So let's talk about food! There are some things you just have to have when you're in England. (Well, some things Mark has to have - like steak and kidney pie, or kidney and bacon pudding. Things that I will never feel compelled to eat.) But let's be realistic. First of all, you have to have fish and chips. You have to have food served in a pie. You have to have curry. You should have Italian. Chinese and/or Thai food is optional. And of course you must have a roast dinner at least once.

So how did we do? We had fish and chips when we visited his dad. Being a seaside town, it's always good and fresh. We had traditional English fare at lunch several days and a dinner or two. For Mark this translates into lamb dishes or dishes with kidney and something in pies or "puddings". For me it means corned beef hash or Lancashire hot pot, or something served in a pie. We had curry four times. Good for me! I love it, and given that when we were there last September, Mark's condition was deteriorating from it's normal "cast-iron" into "delicate", and we had zero curry. (I threatened him with a week of it when we returned home, but after that whole episode in the French hospital, I couldn't actually do it.) We went out for Italian one night, as well as middle eastern. Ordering the mezzes is wonderful. Lots of little dishes so you can try an assortment of things without feeling over stuffed. We even ordered fajitas one night. Not the Tex-Mex version we're accustomed to, but they were good and it was just the right amount for us to share. Our daughter in law made the Sunday roast dinner and it was way better than the roast dinner you'd get in a pub.

On our last night in Manchester, we got the folks at the Church Inn to do us some sandwiches. Ham and cheese with mustard for me. And when you get them to leave the butter off the bread, it's wonderful. Nothing ruins a good ham sandwich like buttering the bread. And when you have the best mustard in the entire world, I don't know why you want to ruin the taste of it with butter. But all you have to do is ask them to leave it off.

Stop! Thief!

I hear about it in the media all the time. Target, Neiman-Marcus, and Home Depot all had security breaches within the past year. Just this last week Anthem Healthcare announced that the information for approximately 80 million people has been compromised. I've just never been that worried about identity theft. I know they're out there, just didn't think I'd ever be a victim. (Really, out of 80 million people, why would they pick me?) So I was a bit taken aback when I got the letter from Ally Bank (an internet-only bank, I think - no physical location) that said they were unable to open an account for me because they were not able to confirm that it really was me.

Well that's a relief! Because it wasn't me. But when I called to speak with the good folks on Ally's Fraud Prevention team I learned that whoever had tried to open the account had my name, my address, my date of birth, and my social security number. There was one thing they didn't get quite right, which is what tipped off the bank that it might be an imposter. (I'm not going to mention what that was, because it would be too easy to do a little extra research to get it right, and I'm really not interested in helping these thieves figure out where they went wrong.) I wondered if it had anything to do with the folks who hacked my Facebook account last November.

To the best of my knowledge, I haven't lost any money. Although it is scary to think what might have happened had they actually been able to open the account. But my time for the next day and a half consisted of printing out a 98-page credit bureau report (I started with Experian) and calling everybody I have accounts with to make sure that there are no applications pending and that there were no additional accounts that I didn't know about. I also had to file an identity theft police report. A copy of this police report will need to be forwarded to the credit reporting agencies so they can keep the warning on my account for seven years, instead of just 90 days.

The other thing we did was look into some of these companies that offer identity theft protection. As near as we could determine, they charge you to do things that you could do for yourself at no charge and they are not as effective as they would have you believe. (It seems the guy who was hawking Lifelock and publishing his name and social security number just to "prove" how ironclad it was got hacked. So much for that.)

But like with any kind of theft, you're left a bit angry. You want something, you go work for it. You don't steal it. Build your own identity. (Don't these people have mothers?) And if you seriously want to steal mine, you should be forced to take my bum knee along with it.