I’m in L.A., in the swank Beverley Meridian at Rodeo and Wilshire Drives (“the center of glamour and grandeur in Beverly Hills”): everything costs … lots. I’m not paying, but it irks me to sign a $38.62 bill for a simple continental breakfast with stale croissants. It’s 5:00 in the morning, and there’s no coffee pot in the room. I’m a captive to expensive room service.

I’ve learned a few things on this trip:

The Denver airport is one of the largest in the U.S., the size of Manhattan. The line to get to the first stage of security was 600 steps.

The Hotel Monaco chains are great: ecologically sensitive, designed for comfort. In Seattle, there was wine plus a free Tarot card reading in the hotel lobby at 5:00: so west coast.


The Trump Tower hotel in Chicago was the best hotel I’ve ever stayed at in my life: it sets a new standard for comfort. (Not only Starbucks coffee makings, but a fully equipped kitchen.)

In La Jolla, north of San Diego, the La Valencia hotel was a treat. My room—#922—must have been one of the best in the hotel, a corner room overlooking ocean on both sides. A complimentary fruit basket and bottle of Merlot on arrival, lovely restaurants and shopping close-by (not to mention the ocean)—I could have stayed there a week. The most welcome thing was to be able to open the doors onto the balcony, hear ocean and gulls, feel fresh air. I’ve come to miss that, living in hotel rooms.


This was the view from my hotel room in La Jolla:

One nice thing about my suite here in L.A. is that it opens onto a roof terrace. (Should security concern me?) I’m going to stop complaining about the expensive coffee and stale croissants and simply enjoy it. I’ve the day off, and I intend to spend it creatively.