Dear Sandman Hotel, Vancouver
Thanks for understanding that after a day and a half hiking through Garibaldi Provincial Park, all I want is a quiet room that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg, and a shower. At first I shuddered at having a room between the elevators and the ice machine, but it was quiet as a tomb. Kudos.
Thanks also for having cheap (by this Chicagoan’s standards, 10 bucks is a deal) parking, and tipping me off that I can stay in my space past the official deadline because “they don’t check until, like, 9:00 anyway”.
I know you can’t take credit for this, but thanks anyway for arranging it so that in the lobby and elevators I didn’t run into a single American tourist (or amped up business traveller), and instead found myself joking amiably with Australians, and startling Germans with my ability to comprehend the secret code language they thought they could use with impunity before me :^).
To be fair, I gotta hit you with a wet noodle for directing me to a) turn left illegally on b) a street that was closed to traffic anyway, but you get props for having a very polite and patient reception desk who didn’t mind me quadruple-checking everything (should have gone quintuple) in order to make sure I got back to Seattle in time for my flight.
To quote the governor of a state located somewhat to the south of your fair city, “I’ll be back”.
Special bonus rave for Galileo Coffee in Britannia Beach. Dudes, your espresso was strong, your quiche inexpensive, and hospitality convivial. Letting me behind the counter with my backpack to steal 3 liters of your water was nice. And I like the way you laughed at me when I said “Oh yeah!” after that first sip of espresso :^)
“…your quiche inexpensive”
Real men don’t eat quiche.
Bah. Ham and eggs in a butter-laden salty crust sounds “manly” enough to me. :^)