Well tonight I have a heartwarming story to share of a Lodge.
It's a good sign when I'm not nervous about writing
the name of a budget hotel.
The name 'lodge' can be a deceptive moniker as I
have found already. There are many shades of meaning that lurk within its
monosyllable, and amongst the pleasant associations of constructive usefulness,
there are the parasitical meanings that park themselves like bed bugs, in hard
to see places, piercing the pale neck skin of the unsuspecting guest, as they
sleep. I encountered one of those in a recent hotel stay near Central
Station. But my meandering tonight is triggered, not by a bed bug, but by the
taxi driver who drove me here.
I gave him the name when I got into the cab.
When we pulled up outside the place he started to laugh as if in delight and
relief (or is it just that I imagine everyone is always thinking about me?)
Ah it's accommodation, he says in a
lovely Asian enthusiastic smiling way.
Accomodation!! Accomodation!! (he repeats the word,
several times, I'm not writing this for effect.)
Yes I say looking for my purse.
It's accommodation, accommodation! Ha! I thought
when you say lodge you mean a drinking lodge!!!
There a Lodge just down the road –for drinking I thought you meant that!
I could practically hear the sweat of relief
pouring out of his ears.
I paid him with a (bemused) smile as he sped off
smiling more broadly than me.
No, I can say this lodge is far from a drinking
lodge.
It's another world away from last night's horrors.
When I tried to stay at one Lodge, and ended up having
to stay at the dis-lodged tavern.
Tonight, I was greeted at the door by a charming
senior gentleman who courteously led me to my room. There was already a heater turned on in the room, to
warm it up for me, he explained, and he told me how to use it. (Turn it on or
off at the socket in the wall. Simple. Not like the kind of heater that is so
complicated to use that you give up or it has an automatic timer that lasts a
maximum of 2 minutes; as happened LAST NIGHT).
It's so cold today, it's been so cold I exclaimed
conversationally.
After he'd shown me the room he left and came back
twice.
Knocking discreetly on the door.
The first time he was carrying tea bags to give me,
and a jar of sugar. Then a few minutes later, he knocked again.
When I opened the door I saw he was bearing a
SECOND fan heater.
He brought it in and plugged it and turned it on.
"My wife." He said as he bent down and
plugged in the second heater. "My wife is recovering from illness from
cold".
That's all he said. The rich emphatic Eastern
European vowels roll around my mind as I write this on a small umber formica
table top. Next to both the whirring heaters.
It was as if he could read my mind (or the blogs I
posted last night about the horrors of the frozen hotel room in the Randwick
...name withheld to protect the author from the wrath of a million imaginary
jockeys waving riding crops)...
Or maybe the universe has read my blogs and decided
to show me that budget accommodation has a bright side after all.
That all comes down to human care.
So here I am now. Sitting in a clean, pleasantly
furnished, non flashy, non trendy, non classic mahogany sled-bed freezing room;
it's warm and cosy and there's lots of tea.
Tonight I will sleep. I may have a hot shower
and a mini bath in the deep shower basin. ..Venus has transited, she was causing
some kind of mayhem last night down on Earth as she prepared to pass us by.
This haven on the highway is run by a family who have been running it for years, and who treat you,
unobtrusively, like an honoured family guest.
Bliss.
So even though there's no shower hat or hair dryer,
I give it 4.5 stars for a warm room and for treating a woman travelling alone with courtesy and consideration.
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