Road Trip - Torrington
After a spot-on, picture-perfect New England day I arrive in the northwest Connecticut city of Torrington to check into my hotel. I had never heard of Torrington, but it's like many old New England cities: still going but seen better days.
I found the Yankee Pedlar Inn on the Internet. The Inn dates from 1891. The website made the place look inviting, hospitable, and awash in New England charm. I half expected Bob and Joanna Hartley to welcome me and help me with my bags.
But reality does not match the illusion.
At 6 PM I get to the Inn. Everything within eyeshot is dirty, chipped, faded, worn, peeling, tarnished, dull, leaking, or broken. My room isn't ready despite a 3 PM check-in time. The surly clerk simply shrugs his shoulders and says "I'm just a clerk. There's nothing I can do." He shows me a piece of paper with the room numbers remaining to be cleaned. There are dozens. At 9 I get my room. The bed is made but all indications are the housekeeper hasn't wiped the bathroom. Despite website assurances of air conditioning and heating, there is no way to adjust the room temperature other than opening or closing windows. Traffic noise and raucous bar patrons from across the street keep me awake till 2:30. If it weren't for the myriad other dissatisfied guests, I would have thought I was living in Elwood Blues' flophouse.
I've had better accommodations at Boy Scout camp.
K-
I found the Yankee Pedlar Inn on the Internet. The Inn dates from 1891. The website made the place look inviting, hospitable, and awash in New England charm. I half expected Bob and Joanna Hartley to welcome me and help me with my bags.
But reality does not match the illusion.
At 6 PM I get to the Inn. Everything within eyeshot is dirty, chipped, faded, worn, peeling, tarnished, dull, leaking, or broken. My room isn't ready despite a 3 PM check-in time. The surly clerk simply shrugs his shoulders and says "I'm just a clerk. There's nothing I can do." He shows me a piece of paper with the room numbers remaining to be cleaned. There are dozens. At 9 I get my room. The bed is made but all indications are the housekeeper hasn't wiped the bathroom. Despite website assurances of air conditioning and heating, there is no way to adjust the room temperature other than opening or closing windows. Traffic noise and raucous bar patrons from across the street keep me awake till 2:30. If it weren't for the myriad other dissatisfied guests, I would have thought I was living in Elwood Blues' flophouse.
I've had better accommodations at Boy Scout camp.
K-
This is turning into the Kem White 2008 Reality Tour. Excellent. Your thoughts and observations, while a little disquieting, are much appreciated.
Thank you, Marie. I wasn't able to go online for much of the trip. So I kept a journal from which the individual blog entries were composed.
K-
Boy, oh boy. This so reminds me of the Brookline, Mass., "bed and breakfast" I spent a night in, with wife and two young kids. Early summer, and Boston was in the midst of a stretch of very hot, steamy weather. No AC. No shower. A bed that likely had accommodated generations of sleepers.
Never has a Holiday Inn look so welcome.