I was on book tour a few years ago and the Miami Book Fair, the crown jewel of American book festivals, put me up in a high-rise downtown—or at least that was the idea. My flight arrived an hour late. The hotel gave away my room and said they didn’t have any more. Eventually, the manager admitted he did have a suite available, top floor, the penthouse, but I could only have it for one night.
Inside was a vast layout. Walls of glass overlooking Miami Beach, a bed the size of a small yacht. It was perfect but for a few oddities: the bed was unmade, and a suitcase was on a rack. Scraps of sandwiches and room service plates littered the floor, silver domes overturned. A door shared with another suite had a chair propped under the knob, why? In the bathroom, the bathtub was filled with what looked like milk, though it was hard to tell because the surface was black, fully carpeted with thick curly hair, as if someone had just shaved their poodle.
Horrible things take place in hotel rooms. Wonderful things take place in hotel rooms. Sometimes I wonder if I’d like my ashes scattered in a hotel room, any hotel room, I enjoy them so much. Occasionally, like in Florida, the love turns to pain, but even bad hotel rooms have things to recommend them. I get good work done. I’ll take a nap under the sheets, fully naked, and not set an alarm. No matter how cheap, how expensive, I unpack my bag and my mind immediately starts to grasp less at what’s worrying me. As if, in a room sufficiently unfamiliar, I begin to feel unfamiliar to myself.
It’s been a long time since I stayed in a hotel room. Last weekend, on a trip for a travel magazine, I stayed in two Airbnbs. The first was parked on a ranch, a covered wagon big enough to sleep a small person, plus a sandwich. The second was an Airstream trailer installed near a rehabilitated saloon. Both were oddballs, really lovely. They weren’t home, and not-home feels decadent right now.
Back in Miami, fearing I’d wandered into a murder scene, I stepped outside and called the front desk . The manager said housekeeping was busy but would stop by soon. I said great, I’d wait in the bar, he could cover my dinner bill. No, he could not, the manager said sternly, however, was I interested in a coupon for a free bagel in the morning? Yes, I said, not to seem ungrateful, yes I was.
Sidebar: My new narrative nonfiction book, Everything Now, is available for pre-order via Amazon, Bookshop, or your local store. Early reviews and nice people have said nice things. I'm told that pre-ordering is the single most important thing you can do to help a book succeed, so I'd really appreciate it if you gave it a shot! And hold onto your receipt, I’ll be sending out some signed bookplates to newsletter subscribers.
What the what? An occasional newsletter by Rosecrans Baldwin of (very) short essays about things he finds beautiful. Any books mentioned are on a list at Bookshop.
Rosecrans’s next book, Everything Now, forthcoming June 2021, is available for preorder via Amazon, Bookshop, or your local store.