Bed and Breakfast Tips

Now that vacation travel has become more or less possible, gas prices notwithstanding, the issues of where to go and where to stay are top-o-mind with Americans. The Clown, being a fabled traveler but never a tourist, God forbid, has had a great deal of experience in the bed and breakfast (B&B) milieu.

Some of those experiences have been exceptional in both the sense of unexpected delight and of a blind-sided disaster. The Clown is offering his expertise in the art and science of selecting a B&B. It seems the least he could do for his loyal and often clueless readers.

There is an art to deciphering the promotional Internet material provided by B&B owners, as they try and make their product attractive. There are certain words and phrases that are codes for what one can truly expect upon arrival at the B&B.

“Cozy” sounds good. What it really means is, the rooms are so small that two people with luggage can’t really stay in the room unless they are both on the double bed at the same time, with their luggage. There will be no bureau for unpacking and no place to leave a suitcase open as an alternative. The Clown once stayed in such a place in Florence, Oregon where, due to space limitation, the bathroom sink was at the foot of the bed instead of in the bathroom.

“Charming” is another promotional adjective that gets tossed about but is often misleading. The question must be asked, “Charming to whom?” If it is charming in the eyes of the owners who are 1960’s relics of the Summer of Love, then their “charming” and your “charming” could be very different “charmings”. Unless, that is, you too are a 1960’s hippie relic, which would be “Far out, man”. Otherwise, expect your room to be decorated sparsely with Indian dream catchers, bean-bag chairs, a faded Jimmy Hendrix poster and two cots lashed together to make it both “cozy” and “charming”.

“Luxurious” means, “hold onto your wallet because our terry robes are very special”.

“Homelike” is a red flag. If you want “homelike”, stay home. The Clown once stayed in a “homelike” B&B and the host’s common area for happy hour was her dowdy front room where she lazed in her naugahyde recliner, mid room, and watched her favorite game shows into the evening, paying no attention to the guests. And just like home, there were no Macadamia nuts, Ritz crackers with cream cheese or wine attractively placed about for guests. Happy hour was actually a butt-clenching exercise in discomfort while forced to watch back-to-back episodes of “Wheel of Fortune”.

“Rustic” is tricky. One needs to investigate just what that means. It could mean unique and comfortable furniture made from rough-hewn timbers, game animal heads and fishing gear decorating the walls and a king bed so vast that finding one’s partner for a good-night smooch requires a search party. On the other hand, it could mean that all sources of fresh water and bathroom facilities are outside and not climate controlled. Plus, the only source of heat is a wood-burning pot bellied stove that you have to start and maintain yourself. Or, in summer, cool air means an old Vornado floor fan that squeals at any speed except “low”. Be wary of rustic.

The quality of the breakfast and your fellow B&Bers can vary wildly. The Clown has stayed in some B&Bs where the breakfasts were lavish and there were no other guests. This combo is simply the best. Even lavish breakfasts can be ruined by guests whose sense of personal space, political or religious sleeve-wearing and breakfast decorum lack a certain je ne sais quoi. While the Clown and his current wife have met interesting guests at B&Bs and shared outstanding breakfasts with them, they have also endured a fair share of folks who are in the area (“Out from Des Moines”) to attend a Republican National Party fund-raising event where, rumor has it, either Trump or DeSantis will make an appearance. “You should go with us,” they insist, in that friendly mid-western MAGA manner. Or, there was the outdoorsy couple, in coordinated REI ensembles, who droned interminably about hiking the Appalachian Trail in ’95. Good fare hardly compensates.

Many B&B breakfast menus disappoint. Among a certain cast of owners, the rule seems to be, if it wasn’t eaten yesterday morning, give it another go this morning. That model can last several days. If your arrival is at the tail-end of such a cycle, breaking a tooth on a scone is a real possibility. Combine this with the chance of the “guests from hell” joining you for weak coffee and stale scones and Holiday Inn Express starts to look extra fun.

Particularly along the left coast, B&B owners can be very progressive and their rooms reflect a rejection of bourgeoisie conventions such as window shades or door locks. These rooms often feature open floor plans in which bathroom fixtures are just a pedestal sink and toilet mid-room plus unisex outdoor showers “down by the ocean”. Such B&Bs also feature breakfasts that are heavy on health-conscience fruit/vegetable smoothies that often take on the color and texture of infant poop. Coffee is replaced with green tea, sweetened with honey because the owners don’t believe in caffeine or sugar in any form.

As for recreation at a B&B, do not gather your hopes. There is the occasional hot tub, the obligatory library with dog-eared books, mostly by John Grisham, table games with missing pieces and an upright piano with several de-laminated white keys. Often, the guest from hell will entertain the happy hour crowd with his special version of Bumble Boogie. If you are really unlucky, another guest will pull the decorative ukulele from the wall and join in. Kumbaya baby.

Still, with all the possibilities of an interesting train wreck, even those experiences add to the traveler’s sense of adventure and his or her pool of “travel tales” to share with the Hilton Garden Inn crowd. Which is to say, if your most interesting travel stories deal with the overpowering smell of chlorine from the indoor “pool and spa” at a Red Roof Inn, your stories suck, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Observoid of the Day: Is there any title more ludicrous than “Georgia Senator, Herschel Walker”?