Motel Mediocrity

Sorry readers. I've been away from my desk doing a roadshow for most of this past week, and internet access hasn't been high on my agenda.

We were doing a little tour of country New South Wales, stopping in fast paced towns like Dubbo, famous for its zoo and not much else, and Tamworth, famous for its country music festival, in which a whole bunch of Australians who wouldn't know an American if they ran over him in their ute (pick-up) get together once a year and sing with American accents, because, apparently, country and western sounds a little odd if you don't.

Which leads me to the whole topic of country town motels. These are strange places that haven't changed since I was a wee todler.

To start with, there's always a strip of paper across the toilet seat that says something like "Sanitary and Clean", as if, somehow, putting a little strip of paper around the toilet makes it cleaner than it would otherwise have been.

The smell is ubiquitous too. Not really a bad smell... just sort of musty, and tinged with cheap carpet deodouriser. This is a universal motel room aroma and, probably because scent is the single most powerful memory trigger, a little comforting in a weird sort of way.

Then there's the TV. The programs are the same, but the advertising is often a highlight of the stay. Local car dealerships using scantily clad and over-endowed women are interspersed with ads for things decidedly rural... Bobs Drenching, or Post Holes R Us... that uncomfortably remind this city born-and-raised bear that the stuff in the middle of the burger used to roam fields and eat hay.

The establishment we stayed at in Dubbo rather misleadingly used the word "resort" in its name, as is often the way with these places. It did have a tennis court and a bubbling hot tub, but I'm sorry... any place where your car space is less than a metre from the door of your room has little in common with Le Moana Intercontinental Resort on Bora Bora, by which all such things ought to be judged.

I suppose the sign at reception should have provided the first clue... "Warning. The Gate Will Be Shut At 10:30pm. If You Require Access After this Time, Please Ask For The Code." The receptionist cheerfully explained that the town had a problem with an "undesirable element" breaking into cars late at night.

Airports in country towns are an interesting experience too. You know the places... way too small to take anything with jet engines, and where you walk across the tarmac, past signs that say stuff like "it is illegal to retrieve you own baggage from the rear of the aircraft". Like I'd want to. With the amount I paid for that ticket, I want the airline to supply my own personal butler to carry it and unpack it for me.

And the highlight, of course, is the allergic reaction to all those plants on the edge of town... runny nose, itchy eyes, tight chest... accompanied by the inevitable "you're so lucky to be here during wildflower season" from the desk clerk/motel owner as you sniffle your way through check-out. Yeah. Lucky.