The Highs and Lows of a Transatlantic Loo

Devastating news.

Back story - I waited too long to book my room, so all the Guest House had available was a double for the first two weeks of my stay, which is $20 more per night. I crunched the numbers and eventually decided to book because I would only be paying $20 more per day for the first half of my trip. I could eat pita bread and bananas for 2 weeks...small price to pay for the trip of a lifetime, and I would eventually be able to move into the single and be able to have a reasonable daily budget.

Well, I just found out that the single is not en suite. That’s fancy talk for “no bathroom.”

I was stunned. When I called from America to book the room I asked several times if the room had a bath. “Yes,” she assured me. “All our rooms have a bath.”

She just neglected to tell me that the bath for that room was down the hall. In a converted closet. With a flimsy, unsound-proofed door.

And I didn’t bring a robe.

Today has been a roller coaster ride of conflicting options. I could change my ticket and go home early...I could try to book another hotel (my Googling found little possibilities)...I could brave the odds and run across the hall wrapped in a microscopic towel for 2 1/2 weeks...I could spend the extra $20 per day and continue to live on bread and cereal boxes I nick from the breakfast table.... None of the options were panning out. All of them left me feeling either disappointed and/or unsafe. Armed with my options, I went to the front desk to see if they could possibly book me into their sister hotel, which DOES have a single en suite.

The girl at the desk did not looked pleased to see me. I’m sure she had heard about my burst of incredulity in front of the maid this morning when I found out the terrible news. I told her that I had been assured of an en suite single when I booked and I started listing off my options aimed to deter the pain of having to poo within earshot of the other guests. I started to map the option of paying for the more expensive room and cutting my daily budget for her when she held out her hand for me to stop.

“Tell ya what I’ll do, love. The room’s available til the 26th. I’ll keep ya in yer room and I won’t chaage ya the diff’rence. Then ya can knock off down the Primark with the savings and buy yaself a robe for a fiver. You’ll only have to make the dash fer a week. That’ll do ya, love?”

Stay in my gorgeously massive room? Continue to poo in private? Not have to run down the hall half-naked in full view of the security cameras? It feels like a stay of execution, but I’ll take it. I can worry about the poo problem next week.

(Lesson for the day - Sometimes a Bad Thing is, in reality, a Very Good Thing. I can’t imagine what my stay would have been like if I’d been able to book the single straight away. Well, I can imagine...but then I stop.)

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Random fact - Pudding is also referred to as "afters." As in, "Whatcha wont fer afters? Biscuits or treacle pud?"

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