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One Night Stand
Err Travel · February 22, 2000

When I travel, I use hotels as shelter where I can rest and clean up. Except for serious "couch travelers" (as in couch potatoes), I know of no one whose goal is to try to maximize room time.

Most of us would rather be doing something other than being stuck - in every sense of that word - in our hotel rooms. To me, a fancy schmancy hotel room is an unneeded luxury.

Spartan accommodations are fine as long as they are safe, secure, clean, quiet and reasonably comfortable. If a hotel room meets these minimum requirements, I'm generally content.

For me to complain about my accommodations is unusual, but it happens. If there is some problem with my room that can be remedied by a maintenance person, I'll get someone in to fix it.

For me to request a change in my accommodations is even more unusual, but that too happens. If there is some kind of un-fixable hitch in my room (e.g., a broken lock) or if its location is undesirable (e.g. too far from the main traffic flow or too near an emergency stairwell), I'll have myself placed in another room.

For me to check out of a whole damn hotel is rare, but… well, that happened again just last week.

To say that everything about my room in the Hotel Jorge V in Torremolinos, Spain was unacceptable would not be fair. No. The telephone was operational, the shower worked, and there were no bugs in sight - probably something to do with the potpourri of insecticide wafting through the room.

Other than that, however, my room was a real dive. The bed had the spinal support of a hammock, but made even less comfortable by the springs poking the skinny mattress. And every time I took a deep breath I could hear the muffled twanging of the springs stretching to find my back.

Sounds traveled through the hotel like a Bose radio. I could hear my next-door neighbor flip the light switches on and off, I could hear people moving furniture in rooms at the other end of the hallway, and the noise of the rush of water from flushing toilets in the rooms above me sounded like an overfly by the Blue Angeles. (I'm almost glad there were neither a radio nor a TV in the room because they probably would not have worked well -- if at all -- and only added to my irritation.)

It was an uncomfortable and noisy room.

But the real kicker was the insufficient security. The in-room safe was kaput, and the only protection against intrusion was a wimpy lock to prevent the doorknob from turning.

For that first - and last - night, I jammed my carry-along, rubber doorstop under the door and set up a "burglar alarm" by piling up a couple of water glasses and an ashtray.

In the morning, I checked out of the Hotel Jorge V and into the Hotel Alay just down the road a bit. I found a much quieter, more comfortable, more nicely appointed, more secure room overlooking Puerto Deportivo. And it was less expensive.

I did what I tell participants in my workshops they must do when they travel. I accepted the responsibility for my own safety. I changed conditions to lower my risk. And I'm here to write about it.

Dr. Terry Riley is a psychologist and travel security authority. His column appears on Wednesdays. He is author of the popular book Travel Can Be Murder. Visit his site at http://www.appliedpsychology.com or e-mail him at terry@ticked.com.