HotelChatter

The Courtyard had put me in a king suite – perhaps 2.5 times the size of a typical Manhattan hotel room I’m accustomed to. It’s hard to find fault with so much space, even if I wasn’t inclined to sit on or touch the vinyl-slick furniture.

The Marriott tried to pawn me off to a queen room, despite booking a king. The desk clerk told me flatly, "That’d be near the elevator." I didn’t expect those words to be so ominous and didn’t expect being "near the elevator" to shock my eardrums, nerves, and sense of sanity. Each rumble caused the bedside tables to vibrate. Which was extra disturbing because the bedside tables were bolted to the wall.

In both, the bathrooms were made for men. Where was the packet of cotton? Why so skimpy on the towels? And were those the world’s smallest built-in hairdryers?

Also, not found at Myra's Recessionista Hotels--bathrobes.

Wait, WHERE WERE THE BATHROBES? (Ok, I wasn’t totally surprised about no bathrobes but I am recommitted to that booking standard. It’s a woman’s reward for a day in heels and business attire.)

And I suppose it’s the subtle psychology of no-minibars that make $2 bottles of bedside water seem like a great deal.

I'm going to generalize: women need bathrobes, cotton swabs, a hair dryer bigger than a cell phone, and to feel comfortable touching the furniture. And gender notwithstanding, that late night glass of wine would have been nice.

The savings was notable but not enormous. The second, the elevator room, for example, was $209 a night.

Anyway, here’s what went right:

The properties’ antiseptic lobbies and robotic staff made for easy if wholly unmemorable arrivals and departures. There was absolutely no fault to be had with their in-town/airport shuttles and friendly drivers. The first suite room was perfectly quiet.

And there were plenty of outlets. But still, for my next trip, I’m back to luxury finds for less on Quikbook.