Halley’s bed-and-breakfast rant
Halley is hilarious (and ribald) about why she hates b&b’s.
I hate them too, but my reasons don’t require me to use the phrase “doggy-style.” In part it’s because, as Halley puts it so well, “The kooky couples who decide to run them are eavesdroppers at best and psychotic quaintmongers at worst.” Ok, that’s a tad harsh (but funny), but it’s true that, in my experience, the owners often trangress the lines. For example, the owner of one b-and-b carefully pointed out to us a coffee table book the cover of which had a photo of a baby emerging from a vagina. “That’s our daughter,” she said proudly, leaving it to us to decide if she was referring to the baby or the vagina. Some questions are better left unasked. (Of course, that left our coos of “Gosh, so beautiful!” unfortunately ambiguous.)
Even when the owners are not characters played by Kathy Bates, I have other issues that make bed-and-breakfasts only a little more appealing than sleeping on a tarp spread out in a parking lot. For example:
The owners pretend to be delighted to see you.
You have to pretend to be interested in their collection of 19th century compass tips.
Your strained conversations with the owners come precisely at the moments when you don’t want to have a strained conversation: When you’re checking in after a long trip and when you want to read a newspaper while eating breakfast.
The obsessive orderliness of their house silently rebukes my own slovenly appearance.
Apparently I am supposed to be so fascinated by my room’s knotty pine paneling that I won’t want to watch TV.
Before you leave in the morning, you have to examine your room to see what kind of impression you’re making.
Stealing the towels takes a special kind of courage.
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And you are forced to stay in one… how? This kind of silly rant reminds me of the self righteous fools who rail about “crap on TV”, never seeming to comprehend the fact that you can change channels or turn it off.
You know, I never understood the attraction of the B&B’s. It always seemed to me that the morning “performance” by the owners was unremarkable. “And here’s our special blah-blah-blah pancakes that everyone can’t get enough of.”
Then there’s the listing of the “house rules” when you arrive. “Don’t even think about raiding the kitchen at night; that’s OUR domain.”
It’s even worse when you have another couple there who start an interminable conversation about being “born again” to the concept of B&B’s.
Go Halley.
Fine. Then you can all stay in generic chain hotels and have quiet, generic breakfasts in their plastic coffee shops, leaving the B&Bs for those of us who enjoy what they frequently can offer:
Like last week when we were in Taos NM at a B&B with a beautiful view across to distant mountains, where one of the breakfast dishes had been featured in New Mexico magazine (and deserved it). And where, after a breakfast meeting and conversation, we had dinner the next night with a recently-retired architect and his wife from Milwaukee. They were fun to spend part of an evening with, and he helped us understand adobe construction and its design challenges far beyond a guidebook-article level. Try *that* in your Marriott Courtyard!
I like B&Bs but I do have one funny story.
Once, staying in San Francisco in a B&B that was right out of the mid-1950s, the hostess talked endlessly about her blueberry syrup. “You’ll love it for breakfast tomorrow…” she said, following up with a knotty finger pointed at a framed SF Chronicle article from September 1957. “It’s been published.”
Come breakfast time the next morning, we were joined by a French man who really just wanted to be left alone. Breakfast consisted of eggs poached in butter (seriously) and a huge stack of pancakes and the infamous bluberry syrup. Our French friend took some pancakes but refused the syrup, saying that he cannot tolerate sweet things. The hostess insisted and a veritable fight broke out, resulting in her “accidently” spilling some syrup on his pancakes. He shifted back in his chair and pushed the plate away from himself, disgusted.
An awkward silence fell over the table.
“So where are you going today?” our hostess asked us a minute later.
“Gay Pride Parade,” we replied to her popped eyed astonshiment. Seeing her reaction, the French guy said, with amazing European derision. “Meee toooo. I’m going with them.”
It was very quiet visit the rest of the time. Didn’t see the hostess after that at all.
I just had to laugh at all your comments about B&B’s ! I own and operate one myself, but must admit haver never (and probably never will) stay in one myself.
There is quite a bit of truth in the posts, both the negative and the postive.
Most guests do not wish to be caught up in a tedious conversation when arriving after a long day of traveling, or be pestered with a ‘famous dish’ over breakfast. On the other hand, you do meet some incredibly wonderful people. Those are the ones that confirm my belief that most people are good, and it is that small percentage of nasty critters who spoil it. I have never had one towel, or any item, taken and most guests leave the Suite in immaculate condition ! As for houserules: we have none, except for a couple of “no smoking” signs.
I believe it takes a very special and adventurous person to stay at a B&B, because you sure never know where you might end up ! So yes, a B&B can be a great experience, provided you do some research and pick one which provide the tv, vcr, dvd and all the other must have’s.
So .. be sure to visit beautiful Chilliwack, British Columbia and check us out ! We are Tourism BC approved with a Canada Select 4 Star rating.
This blog is fun reading, lot of truth in it, I enjoyed it. I will link to it if you do not mind.
I just returned from a trip to the UK and stayed at 3 different B& B’s.. It just isn’t my style. I sort of felt like I was staying at Old Aunt Hattie’s and PAYING for it. I’ll take the Motel Six anytime. B& B’s do not offer any sort of privacy. If you are a private person avoid them.
My wife has a B&B in Victoria BC yet when I travel I stay in a boring hotel/motel as often as a B&B. The reason is the mindless chatting which can arise, so I sympathise with some of the other comments. I have learnt that there are two things to look for to avoid this plus a few other clues:
1. Does my room have a private entrance so that I can slip in or out whenever I want,
2. Are the innkeepers amateurs or professionals. If they are retired and look like an aunt/uncle I avoid them. If they are doing this professionally they usually have more rooms and are too busy to yak.
Other useful hints are that if they have spent money on good amenities, high quality decor and a good website they are doing it professionally. You learn to “read between the lines” of a website.
A good professional innkeeper should recognise what their guests are seeking. If my wife’s guests want peace this is welcome to her since it becomes exhausting to answer the same questions all summer long.
Lake house in Rhinebeck, NY
Superiority complex – high
hospitality – low
I have never experienced a place where you intend on spending substantial money on accomodations only to have the Inn keepers look down their nose at you as if an inconvenience. The Lake house in Rhinebeck, NY is such a place. Judy is an absolutely unpleasant person. I would not even remotely think of staying here as I would not intend to support the thought process of the Inn keepers “Treat people like crap and they’ll still pay top dollar to stay here!”
Most of the above must be from NY where they they do not talk to anyone. They should stay at Motel six and enjoy.
“The kooky couples who decide to run them are eavesdroppers at best and psychotic quaintmongers at worst.”
That’s pretty intense. Akin to Priests are secretly gay. I don’t believe either statement to be true in general.
I’d like to say that it is a fact they are isolated cases, but I have no scientific studies at my disposal to support my argument, only personal experience.
I found a number of B&Bs who were excellent at this canadian bed and breakfast site, although it only lists bed and breakfasts in Canada.
Cultural thing?