Where Oh Where Is Our Hotel? (Subtitle: Riding Around in a Shuttle Van for Three Hours? Not a Fun Way to Start Vacation!)

So we just returned from a 7-day cruise to the Caribbean with stops in Nassau, St. Thomas and St. Kitts. We went on Royal Caribbean’s Allure of the Seas, which – lemme tell ya – is one friggin’ big boat!

We got a little sun (not too much, which is good for us pale faces), did a little sightseeing (and still had time for a little shopping, which is really good for us shopaholics), and ate and drank a lot more than usual (but not so much that we worried about hangovers or our clothes no longer fitting). So, all in all, a great time.

But our voyage did not begin smoothly.

We took a direct flight from Columbus to Miami and that went okay. I’d say it went “great” – but you know how it is when you’re wedged into a tiny airplane with many people and much luggage. You feel like a sardine and are quite grateful when the doors open and you can finally un-pretzel your legs.

There were eight of us traveling together – five adults and three small children. As in a 5-year-old boy and his 3-year-old twin brothers. We arrived in Miami at 8:20 PM, gathered our mega-pile of luggage and proceeded to the nearest shuttle to take us to Ft. Lauderdale and the Hyatt hotel we had pre-booked.

For future reference, please note that there are a LOT of Hyatt hotels in Ft. Lauderdale.

Once we got that mega-pile of luggage crammed into the back of the shuttle bus, the eight of us (plus the driver) climbed into the vehicle and prepared ourselves for the approximately 30 minute drive to the hotel.

Only it took M-U-C-H longer than thirty minutes.

Why? Because the driver was an idiot. Er, I mean, the driver got lost. Multiple times.

We told him from the start that we needed to take a small detour to a pharmacy as one of the twins was sick and a prescription had been called into a particular pharmacy in Ft. Lauderdale. So he managed to find that pharmacy and the dad jumped out and quickly fetched the prescription. 

We were all still relatively awake and anticipating our week-long getaway, so we were mostly in a good mood. We may have been getting a little hungry and the kids were getting a tiny bit antsy, but that was normal. Right? So the driver takes us a bit further to a Hyatt Place hotel and announces we had arrived.

Ah, relief and anticipation! I couldn’t wait to wash my face, brush my teeth and change into comfy PJs. I wanted to get to bed early so I would be fresh and well-rested the next morning to start our vacation.

Not our luggage cart. Ours was wayyy fuller! Ha!

Once all twelve (count-em!) suitcases and carry-ons were piled onto the luggage cart, we generously (and I mean REALLY generously) tipped the driver and then trudged into the lobby with our hotel confirmation sheets in hand.

That’s when it all started to fall apart.

The clerk haughtily told us we were at the wrong hotel. When we sighed in frustration and then asked if they had any available rooms he said, (a) no, and (b) we’d be paying a “cancellation fee” at the other hotel, which was basically the entire night’s rate.

Fortunately, the shuttle driver was slow to leave and we were able to flag him down and tell him his job wasn’t finished. He was probably cursing himself for taking the time to greedily count his tip instead of hightailing it out of there. But he grudgingly loaded all those bags back into the shuttle while we all climbed back into our seats and prepared for another short drive to the correct hotel.

As they say, “hope springs eternal.” Right?

Wrong.

Our hopes were dashed when the second Hyatt was still not the right hotel. This time we had only started to take the bags out of the vehicle when Vince told us to hold off; he wanted to make sure we were at the right hotel before we unloaded.

Meanwhile, one of the twins who was not feeling well vomited on the floor of the shuttle bus. Fortunately, I was in the row behind him and neither saw nor heard it so my sympathetic gag reflex was not activated. Big “whew” – as the shuttle driver was already looking a little panicked by this point.

And Girl Scout Jane had Wet Wipes at the ready so all evidence of barf was quickly cleaned up. (And, really fortunately, Girl Scout Jane wasn’t the one responsible for cleaning it up!)

Meanwhile, the driver was on the phone calling Dispatch to find out the exact location of our pre-booked hotel. He had that information, of course, because we had given it to him back in Miami and he even had the correct address on the GPS screen in his vehicle, so it was hard to fathom what his problem was.

Maybe he had never been to Ft. Lauderdale before? Maybe – like me – he was directionally challenged, but – unlike me – he didn’t know how to follow the GPS instructions?

Maybe we should’ve checked to see if he had a legitimate driver’s license?

Nevertheless, he climbed back into the driver’s seat and said he was certain he had the correct hotel this time. And off we went.

But that would be a big N-O.

This time we stopped in front of a Hyatt hotel where a formal wedding had taken place and men in tuxes and women in fancy gowns were standing out front.

Again, we opted to check to make sure we had the correct hotel before off-loading our luggage and the kids and ourselves, so Vince was the only one to exit the vehicle. But yet again, he was told we were at the wrong hotel!

By this point, it was almost 11 PM and I was royally pissed. I mean, come on. THREE wrong hotels?!  And two extra hours to get us where we were supposed to be?

I wanted to ask for our very generous tip back!

By this point, our driver had zero credibility with us and, even though there couldn’t possibly have been that many Hyatt hotels left in all of Ft. Lauderdale, we wouldn’t even let him try to figure it out. Instead, we grabbed a cell phone, hit the GPS app and directed the driver to the correct hotel. Sure enough, our fourth stop was finally the right one.

When I stumbled out of the van, I very nearly kissed the ground, but I thought that might be a little too melodramatic even for me!

But it truly was a great relief when I got to our room and was finally able to wash my face, brush my teeth and change into comfy PJs.

But our evening wasn’t over quite yet. We all couldn’t decide if we were more tired or hungry at this point, but hungry won – so we ordered pizzas and calzones to be delivered to our rooms. If I could remember the name of the restaurant I’d tell you because the calzones were THAT good. But, yeesh – eating food that late at night was crazy. And we didn’t sleep all that well. But we DID sleep.

And I was ever so grateful I wasn’t still riding around in the back of a shuttle bus!

So I figured our trip could only get better from there – right?!

Well…

The Great Road Trip of 2011

I’m leaving tonight to begin The Great Road Trip of 2011. Well, okay, that may be a tad overblown, since it’s not like I’m driving cross country and plan to stop in each of the 48 contiguous states to check out the biggest ball of twine or the Jimmy Carter Peanut Statue or something.

Instead, I am driving to Cape Cod with my parents so they can spend the summer there. We have several stops to make and I’ll be driving a little over 900 miles, though, so it’s not like it’s a quick little jaunt. One I’ve (safely) deposited my folks at their cottage, I will fly from Boston back to good ol’ Central Ohio.

Fortunately, I’ve reached a level of maturity (I think) where I don’t require the stereo to be loud enough to break the sound barrier. Nor do I need the internal vehicle temperature to be sub-zero. Because, believe me, neither of those scenarios will be tolerated. A little music and A/C might be nice, but I suppose the eight to 10 hours of radio silence will be a good time to reflect on my life and try to figure out why I’m not stinkin’ rich so I could afford to hire a real chauffeur to drive us to the northeast. And perhaps the sauna-like conditions will provide some health benefits, too. Like maybe I can sweat off a couple of pounds. Hydration is overrated.

Our destination is known in the family as simply “the cottage.” It was built by my grandparents back in the ‘50s and has since been passed on to my parents. I’ve been there nearly every year of my life. In fact, there have only been maybe two or three times I can recall not making the trip.

I was driven there as a kid with my parents back in the day when my siblings and I had Buckeye Market paper grocery bags that served as our “luggage.” I’ve also driven up there with my parents when I was old enough to ditch the paper bag and could afford to buy my very own suitcase. As a young adult, I drove up there with my sister and with friends at various times for a week of sun and fun. And, most astonishingly, I’ve even driven up there all by myself. And I can proudly say that I didn’t end up in Nova Scotia.

So, after all that, driving it now shouldn’t be a big deal – right? Uh, no, the correct answer I'm looking for here is "wrong."

It is a big deal because, first of all, it has been quite some time since I’ve actually driven there. Personally, I find the skies much friendlier, particularly when someone else besides me is the pilot and/or the navigator.

I mean, you know about my directionally challenged affliction, don’t you? If you don’t, read here. Or, heck, just take my word for it – I nearly get lost trying to find my way out of my own neighborhood. And the older I get, the worse it gets.

Plus, it’s not like we’re going from Point A to Point B. First I have to drive to my parents’ place in Alliance. This is about the only leg of the trip that doesn’t concern me. Been driving this route since I was barely old enough to vote (and that is a LOT of Presidents ago). I don’t even need Mapquest or Gladys Garmin to help me along on this portion of the journey, thank goodness.

However, we’ll leave Alliance and head to Connecticut to visit relatives. We plan to spend the night there before driving to New York State to visit my brother and his wife for a couple days. After that, we’ll make a detour in Massachusetts to visit an uncle before finally ending up at “the cottage.”

I’m not even sure Mapquest will allow that many stops. If they do, I imagine the detailed instructions would be the size of the…well, I was going to say “phone book” – but it has been a while since I’ve actually seen a phone book – so I don’t know how thick they are anymore.

Nevertheless, I’ve been preparing for the trip by studying maps. I’ve Googled and Mapquested and GPS-ed the trip to death. This, in hindsight, may have been a mistake. Why? Because I’ve been given a multitude of options and routes. And now I’m even more confused.

And in the end, we will take the route that my dad has been taking for, oh, about 40 years now. Do I take comfort in this? Of course not. I am not a driver who can afford to take things for granted. Like I never assume that my co-pilot is actually paying attention to road signs. The worst thing I could hear is, “Oh. I think we were supposed to take that exit we just passed.”

No...on second thought, I take that back. The worst thing I could hear is, “Uh. I think we’re lost. Do you know where we are?”

My universal response in that situation? “Are. You. KIDDING. Me??

I’m not one of those people blessed with internal compasses who can reconfigure the route in their heads. Consequently, I’ve driven many a country road not knowing where the heck I was going or how to get back to where I started.

So I need a piece of paper in my hand and a Route or Exit number in my head so I’m comforted. At this point, I’d even be okay with Gladys Garmin telling me she is recalculating for the gajillionth time.

But I think I’m ready. I’ve shared all our destinations with Gladys. And I’ve printed out what Mapquest has to offer (And, yes, the printout is indeed the size of a small phone book.) I’ve also entered the route into my iPhone GPS. (Although this is usually a mistake as Gladys and iPhone rarely agree.) And, finally, I’ll have to rely on Dad to keep an eye on the road – and the exits.

So I’m looking forward to spending some quality time with my parents. And who knows? Maybe I’ll get so confident in my navigational skills that I’ll schedule another trip sometime soon to see that big ball of twine – or the Jimmy Carter Peanut Statue.

Or…maybe not. Probably I’ll still prefer to fly the friendly skies.

Meet Gladys Kravitz...er, Garmin!

I got into an argument the other day with the Garmin lady. You know, the one whose mechanical voice comes out of the GPS box? And, yeah, I’m not that blonde…I DO know she’s not a real person. But she can still be annoying from time to time.

We’ve used the GPS for a few road trips, but our habit has been to pop the thing on the windshield just as we’re heading out. Thus, I have spent many a frustrating moment in the passenger seat growling at the Garmin because I’m not really sure how to operate it.

So this time I decided to do a test run. I was near Cincinnati heading back to Columbus and I pretty much knew where I was going. I figured that once I made it to I-71 North, all I had to do was stay on that route until I hit Columbus. So I plugged in my destination and took off.

The Garmin lady, who I’ve christened Gladys because she reminds me of that annoying neighbor on Bewitched, was fairly helpful for about five minutes. She handled the first couple lefts and rights with aplomb and threaded me through traffic toward the exit for I-71N. I was pleased because it is usually those first complicated twists and turns that get me lost. So I was happy with Gladys and even thanked her for her assistance.

And then she got bossy.

Since it was early morning and I hadn’t gotten much sleep due to the wailing tornado sirens that woke us up at 1:30AM, I started searching for a McDonald’s so I could get a quick caffeine fix.

Gladys wasn’t happy with me when I veered off course. When she said “recalculating,” I thought it sounded a little snippy.

What’s worse is that, while I saw the towering Golden Arches from the freeway and turned left where McDonald’s was supposed to be, it wasn’t immediately visible. Sure, there was a Wendy’s. But I wasn’t sure if all Wendy’s locations had started serving breakfast – or if it was only a select few test stores.

As I drove along, Gladys continued to recalculate. Because Mickey D’s is usually right off an exit, I decided I’d explored that particular road long enough. When Gladys told me to turn right, I did as she commanded. And then she managed to direct me through some more side streets until we arrived at a main artery and I saw the sign for I-71N again, just as Gladys piped up with the same information.

Okay, Gladys, I thought, you win this one. I didn’t get my caffeine, but I also didn’t get lost. Left to my own devices, I would have wandered around suburbia for another 20 minutes before eventually (by chance) locating a main artery that would lead me back to the freeway. So thank you, Gladys. I appreciate your help

A few miles later when I decided I really needed a stop to feed and water myself, I saw another sign for McDonald’s. Yet again, Gladys protested. And recalculated. But this time, I saw the fast food joint immediately to the right and headed in that direction. Gladys kept trying to get me back on course, so by this time I was talking back to her. Out loud.

“I KNOW I’m off course, Gladys,” I said. “Just hold your horses. I’ll get back on I-71N in a minute – I swear!”

But did Gladys listen? Nooo. She can be very stubborn and inflexible. I briefly considered silencing her, but decided to put up with her for a few more moments. And, okay, it would have taken just as long for me to figure out where the volume control was as to put up with her recalculations.

But when I drove up to the window to pay, Gladys interrupted the drive-thru guy and started telling me where to go. This sort of interruption is very annoying to a person who only has one working ear since it’s impossible to hear two people at the same time.

Fortunately, I held my tongue and didn’t yell at Gladys, though I was tempted to tell her to shut up. I didn’t – but only because I don’t think I could’ve taken the pitying looks the guy from McDonald’s surely would have given me. But as soon as I drove away, believe you me, I gave Gladys a piece of my mind!

I think that put her in her place, too. Because for the next 89.1 miles, I didn’t hear a peep out of her.

She started yammering at me again as I drove into Columbus – on the very same route I’ve taken 5 days a week for the last 9 years. So I was rolling my eyes and saying, “Yeah, yeah – I know I need to take the Livingston exit, Gladys!”

But when I pulled up to my office safe and sound (and without getting lost), I decided to throw her a little compliment. I said, “Thanks, Gladys…you rock!”

And then I unplugged her.

Ah. Sometimes silence can be golden!

We're Lost. Again?

Vince and I went to an out-of-town party on Saturday, which necessitated an overnight stay. Sure, it was “only” a three hour drive – but I’m not one to drive three hours somewhere, stay for a short while and then turn around and drive three hours back home. That makes for a very long day. And I for one don’t want to be thinking about the upcoming three hour drive the entire time I’m trying to enjoy myself at a party.

The funny thing is that the very friends we were visiting travel for their business – and a three hour drive is “nuthin’” to them. They scoff at three hour drives. A three hour drive is merely a “jaunt” and they can make that kind of trip with their eyes closed.

Well, okay, so not really. Driving with one’s eyes closed could be a little dangerous.

Nevertheless, they are the sort of people who roll their eyes whenever I make any reference about how long a drive it was. What they don’t take into consideration, however, is the fact that “lost time” must frequently be built into my travel estimations.

Vince decided to take matters into his own hands this trip and he printed out Mapquest directions. He figured that might alleviate some of the stress his Navigator (me) feels whenever he says, “Do I turn left or right here?” and in a panic I cry, “I. Don’t. Know!!”

I admit it. I don’t make a very good Navigator.

In truth, I don’t really remember applying for the job – but apparently my driving also makes Vince nervous so I’m relegated to the passenger seat where the title of Navigator is automatically assigned.

I was semi-confident about this trip, however, as I used to live in the town. I hadn’t driven from downtown to my friend’s house in years, though – and it IS out in the seeming vast wilderness that is the outlying areas of the ‘Ville – but I figured I could find it all on my own.

Except Vince’s Mapquest directions were not the way I’ve ever driven. And, yes, we got lost.

Vince was a little, um, testy by the time we’d had to turn around for the third time on narrow, winding roads that were barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass side by side. So he called my friends. And, fortunately, they navigated him properly and we arrived safe and sound.

In my defense, I have to say that I’d never come from the direction we came from. I know one way – and one way only – to get there. I’m confident that I could have gotten us there without a problem. Except that my credibility by this point with Vince is totally shot – so he insisted we follow the Mapquest directions.

Oh well. I can’t really blame him. But I told him, “You watch. When we leave here, we’ll turn right. At the dead-end, we turn left. And then we turn left again onto the highway.” And that was exactly right. So sometimes it’s my own fault for not being more self-confident when it comes to directions.

Despite being a little frazzled by the time we arrived at the party, our moods quickly changed and we ended up having a lot of fun. We drank some adult beverages and greeted old friends and met some new ones. We watched the kids as they ran and played in the Bressler playground (pony rides, trampoline, jungle jim and inflatable bouncy thing). And we were even serenaded on the accordion. And the food. Sheesh. It was a veritable Italian feast – lasagna, gnocchi, meatballs, pasta and stuffed things like mushrooms and peppers.

We also went on a scary hayride. Not because it was spooky, but because we were driving on actual roads. There were no streetlights and our wagon was not lit. So we held our drinks in one hand – and our cell phones up in the air with the other in hopes that any drivers would see the lights from our cell phones before they plowed into the back end of the wagon and dropped us all like bowling pins.

Happily, we didn’t have any mishaps – unless you count the time we all almost landed in a ditch and the one time we all had to get out so our driver could get the wagon up a hill.

So, as usual, it was a great time. And we’re looking forward to Fall Fest 2011. But I’m thinking we should probably start saving our pennies and purchase one of those GPS Navigational things. Unless they - like my cell phone - read "No Service" when you're out in the sticks and you really need the assistance.