Out of Town

by Andrew Collins

PET PEEVES ON THE ROAD

A veteran travel writer logs his protests

Although I've spent more than 50 percent of the past 12 years on the road, when people ask me to share with them my most horrible travel experiences and most common complaints, I usually can't think of much to say. I'm quite content. The constant waking up in different places, the occasional feeling of disorientation, the packing and repacking, the running to catch flights, the logistics of planning three-month trips-this is all stuff I actually enjoy.

Nevertheless, there are just a few things that get my goat, none of them especially weighty or devastating. I expect to be confronted every so often with crises-overbooked airplanes, hotel reservations gone missing, cars breaking down. That's all right. It's mostly the little things that drive me crazy.

1. Hotel bedspreads.

If you're lying on a bed in a hotel room as you read this, put down your magazine immediately and remove the bedspread. Stuff happens on top of beds. And whether in cheap motels or posh four-star resorts, hotel bedspreads are consistently grim. At many hotels, bedspreads are changed weekly; at others, it's sort of a seasonal tradition, like spring cleaning. I may be picky about hotel cleanliness (I was surely influenced by my mother, who has never allowed her bare feet to touch the floor of a hotel room), but I don't mind even no-frills motels. I won't, however, sit on that bedspread.

2. Hotels that change sheets and towels daily.

At the risk of appearing impossible to please, I also disapprove of hotels that change linens daily, thereby using far more water and laundry detergent than is necessary. I don't change my sheets and towels daily when I'm at home. Why would I need them changed daily when I travel? Fortunately, many hotels have begun instituting water-saving policies whereby guests are asked to indicate when they want fresh linens. If your hotel doesn't offer such a program, try asking that your linens and sheets be changed every few days. It's a fairly painless way to help save the planet.

3. Gay business-owners who blame the gay community for their own shortcomings.

I can't tell you how many times I've met gay innkeepers, shop owners, restaurateurs, and barkeeps who have complained to me that "the gay community doesn't support us." Fair enough. It's disheartening when a gay business can't make it, especially when it's a good one that deserves to succeed. But I've seen plenty of gay businesses fail simply because they weren't as good as their competitors. For example, I don't have sympathy for an innkeeper who runs a less-appealing B&B than a straight-owned but gay-friendly competitor and then complains to me that "the other place is just marketing to gays for the money." I've heard variations on this gripe dozens of times. In the end, being gay owned doesn't exempt any business from having to compete with the rest of the world for the gay community's hard-earned dollars.

4. Car rental insurance.

When I rent a car, I expect to be asked if I would like to purchase a CDW, short for collision-damage waiver. That's fine. But once I decline, explaining that my own auto-insurance policy covers my use of rental cars, I don't appreciate the often deceptive or aggressive pitches that sometimes follow. If you're not covered by your own car insurer or by a credit-card issuer (always check first), a CDW can make sense. Otherwise, it's basically a scam.

My favorite pitch? "Mr. Collins, your car insurance, with its deductible, leaves you responsible for the first $500 in damages in the event of an accident. For just $10 a day, the CDW eliminates your deductible by covering that initial $500 worth of damages. Personally, I never rent a car without opting for this coverage."

My reply: "So, let me get this straight. If your car insurer offered to waive your policy's $500 deductible at a daily cost to you of $10, you'd do it? You'd pay $3,650 over the course of a year to guard against having to fork over the first $500 in damages in the highly unlikely event of an accident?"

5. Super-sizing it.

Like many travelers, when I'm on a road trip, I often take advantage of the convenience of fast-food restaurants. It makes sense for restaurants to entice customers with "super-size" deals offering huge portions for just pennies above the cost of regular meals. But I think these sweet-sounding deals stink. They're just ploys designed to make us think we're getting something terrific for nearly nothing.

If you have a huge appetite or you're sharing your meal with friends, buying the biggest bucket of chow available might be smart. But if it's the idea of a doubling your fries and cola for just a few nickels that has you hooked, you're probably just wasting that loose change on nutritionally dubious food you neither need nor want. Try ordering only the standard portion from now on, and on those occasions you're still hungry, go back to the counter to order seconds. Sure, you'll pay more this way than if you super-size your original order. But my prediction is that you'll rarely feel hungry after consuming a regular-size meal-meaning that, over time, you'll actually save money and cut down on your calories. In a country where chronic obesity has reached epidemic proportions, super-size deals are a recipe for disaster.

6. B&Bs with a million rules.

If you're going to open a public accommodation, no matter how small, you should expect that some of your guests are going to do things that bother you. I don't blame innkeepers for posting a few household rules. At some B&Bs, however, I've been presented with hefty three-ring binders crammed with lists of dos and don'ts, or I've found terse admonitions posted on bathroom mirrors, guest-room doors, and every other imaginable place. Some innkeepers feel compelled to draft a new rule every time a guest does something that derails their sense of order: "Please do not feed orange juice to the cat." "Do not set the electronic-blanket thermostat above 5." "Always return the Trivial Pursuit game to the credenza behind the love seat."

Enough already! If sense of order is that important to you, don't open a business that brings strangers into your home.

7. Bellhops.

Me getting out of my car with my luggage at a fancy hotel, as I nimbly maneuver my bags past a phalanx of eager bellhops, vaguely resembles a complex military exercise. I know they're just doing their job, and I know plenty of travelers appreciate the assistance. But I'd be perfectly happy if bellhops went the way of telegraph operators. Too many times I've turned the other way for a split second, only to have my bags swiped and whisked away on a gleaming luggage cart. I can't stand being treated like an invalid when I check into a hotel-not only by bellhops but also by parking valets who look at me incredulously when I tell them I'd prefer to self-park, and by check-in staff who seem offended when I decline an escort to my room. When I need help, I'll ask.

8. Florida.

In all my years as a travel writer, I've never actually confessed on record that I don't care for a city, much less an entire state. But, hey, there's a first time for everything: I don't especially like Florida. Gosh... it felt good to say that.

Don't get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoy Key West, but that's not really Florida. It's a tiny island closer to Havana than to Miami. The state's other ultragay destination, Fort Lauderdale, has also grown on me over the years. But I still get itchy when I'm there for more than three days. And I've driven up and down both coasts and crisscrossed the state at many points, and I simply have not liked much of what I've found.

I'm not sure what the problem is. Some of my best friends are Floridaphiles. Some of them live there, by choice. True, I do tend to prefer places with dry, four-season climates and big mountains, but that hasn't kept me from falling in love with Louisiana. Could it be the miles of generic high-rise cookie-cutter condos and soulless strip malls that rivet the state's perimeter? That's partly what bugs me. But perhaps what I like least is the way Florida's tourism industry caters unabashedly to crowds. It's the land of cruise-ship vacations, theme parks, spring-break mayhem, circuit parties, and bodies crammed together along the shore like sardines. Florida not only puts up with herdlike masses of vacationers, the state actively courts them. Me? I'd rather spend a week in the Black Hills of South Dakota.

Andrew Collins is the author of Fodor's Gay Guide to the USA and eight additional travel guides. He can be reached at GayFodors@aol.com. For more Out of Town, visit www.gaytravel.com.

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