The Peninsula Chicago

The Peninsula Chicago

The Peninsula Chicago is known for its wide array of bathing options. They must have at least a sink, a bathtub and a shower. My personal favorite is the shower and its traditional steady stream of water. I shower with purpose.

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The James Hotel Chicago

The James Hotel in Chicago is a vortex of the mind. It was as if I had crossed over into the future. I can’t put my finger on exactly why I felt this way. But I knew I should have packed my space pajamas and that question I wrote down to ask myself in the year 2041.

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South Padre Comfort Inn

South Padre Comfort Inn

Staying in the Comfort Inn on South Padre, Texas I have discovered a very curious development. Many things are small in size. The mini-fridge, of course but that is to be expected in any hotel. The pillows, however are small in my estimation. They may fit the head of your average travel writer, but they certainly do not fit the head of your average Von Novak. The towels, too, are designed not to dry a full-bodied man but rather the frame of a small Peloponnese child. Perhaps this hotel was designed for the pygmy tribes of Indonesia? Perhaps the pygmy tribes of Indonesia prefer to vacation in South Padre? I may never answer these questions, but I will dry myself if it takes seven hand towel-sized towels to do so.

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Flight from Newark, NJ → Brownsville, TX (South Padre Island)

Travel Haiku Dozen shrimp poppers.
Celebrity magazine.
Blue travel pillow.
Two-hour layover.
George Bush Airport in Houston
Trip of a lifetime.

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Flight From Newark, NJ → Krakow, Poland

I have discovered the most spacious seat of the 747 aircraft, the far left restroom. On long flights I immediately make my way to this area for some much needed R & R. I bring two hard cover novels, a body pillow, a map from the mid 1800’s, and of course a framed, life-sized portrait of Carlos. It accommodates all the comforts of home.

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Terre Haute Super 8

Terre Haute Super 8

Staring at the hallway walls of the Terre Haute Super 8, I am struck by a singular painting hanging on the wall. The image is of a pale horse, standing on a cliff looking out over a horizon which includes the sea. Who is this artist? Does the negative space of the ocean reflect their own anonymity, lost among the drab beige wallpaper of a mid-western luxury hotel. And as my mind wanders, I ponder why this signature painting hangs here and not in some famous private art gallery and if the complimentary continental breakfast is still available after 10:30am.

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