Self realization #287492838:
I love, love, love swanky hotels.
Make no mistake, I can totally slum it. I backpacked across Europe for three weeks, sleeping in overnight trains and youth hostels across Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Rome, France, Austria--everywhere. There's something really earthy and neat about travelling on a penny.
But man, there is something about a ritzy, luxurious hotel that makes me swoon. I've loved hotels since I was a kid, but the really plush ones give me such a thrill that it's shameful. This all started awhile ago, but I think it intensified when I went to Halifax a few weeks ago. After two nights of sleeping on the wooden-board-lke beds in residence at Dalhousie University, I checked into the Marriott all alone. The giant, soft, feathery beds with a million pillows and blankets, the giant rainfall showers...ohhh all of it.
I can't wait to get out of this city again and just drive into the sunset. If all things go according to plan and exams don't get in the way, I'll be leaving on Friday.
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