This post is chapter from my new book which will be published this fall. It’s called “Strong Water: On Food, Wine, and Restaurants.” It’s a collection of essays written over the last ten-plus years. One of the sections in the book is about various experiences on wine trips. One chapter deals with showers in hotel rooms. It’s the stuff of comedy—and tragedy. Read on.
One of the unexpected challenges of traveling over the years is having to deal with countless hotel room showers. Other than remembering the room number—something I’ve forgotten more times than you would believe, the single most important thing I had to figure out about a new hotel room was how the shower worked. Odds are I wouldn’t be using it until early the next morning. But it was imperative to figure out how all the strange dials and knobs in the shower worked before I actually had to use them.
I could go on a rant at this point about hotel room design—especially hotel bathroom design. Some seem to have been planned by evil toddlers or chimps, with the toilet strategically placed so that the bathroom door won’t close. But it was usually the shower that defied logic and reason. More often than not, the fixtures controlling water and temperature required several minutes to decipher. I have to once again note that the mysteries of shower operation had to be solved before actually using the shower. That’s because I was always running behind in the early morning hours trying to get ready for the day’s class or event. I simply didn’t have spare minutes to stand there naked as a wee babby trying to figure out how the shower worked.
Beyond the garden variety hotel room showers, there were experiences in foreign climes. Combine jet lag with science fiction bathroom design and you have the makings for experiences unusual and bizarre, not to mention embarrassment and abject humiliation. Here, for your edification and amusement, are two of my finest shower moments in exotic locales.
April 2008 – Singapore: hello Sentosa
Our contact in Singapore had met me at baggage claim at the immaculately spotless and beautifully designed Changi International Airport. The MS Intro Course and Certified Exam that year were being held at a new and very swank yacht club called ONE°15 Marina. It was so named because it was literally one degree south of the equator. The club was on Sentosa Island across the bay from City Center. To say that it was exclusive was an understatement. The weekend we were teaching coincided with the resort hosting an annual sale of Ferraris and Lamborghinis that were fashionably parked on the lawn facing the harbor. No surprise that Singapore’s young and upwardly mobile were there in force, inspecting the uber-expensive wheels.
Our contact got me checked in and then headed back to the airport to pick up my colleague, who would soon be arriving. I went up to my room on the second floor and found it was large and immaculately appointed. One entire wall was floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the marina and across the bay to the City Center skyline. The view was magnificent. However, the room was also one of those high-tech affairs where everything from lights to curtains and beyond was controlled by a touch screen tablet. In my addled state, the buttons seemed like they were labeled in Sanskrit. Keep in mind that I’d been on a plane for the better part of the last 24 hours. At least I figured out how to open the drapes and how to turn on a few lights.
After unpacking, a shower seemed like the perfect thing. It goes without saying that the bathroom was also a marvel of design and technology. The bathtub/shower zone, and I have to call it that because it was so large and grandiose, was sunken below floor level and featured benches, cup holders, and a dazzling array of nozzles, shower heads, and dials. It also had another touch screen tablet built into the wall just as you stepped down.
I quickly undressed and stepped down into the shower. In my fragile state—and having no patience whatsoever–I started randomly pushing buttons on the tablet with the hopes of simply turning on the water and getting cleaned up after the long trip. The result was the stuff of high comedy. Water came blasting out from multiple sources at both extreme hot and cold temperatures. I squawked and cursed a few times before finally getting the water to a manageable temperature. I then went about my business of tidying up.
It was at some point during the final rinse cycle when I turned around to see the marina below and the gorgeous skyline in the distance. Moments later I also realized that at least a half dozen people who had just been looking at very expensive cars were now staring up at me. A young child holding his mother’s hand was pointing at me, no doubt saying something like, “mommy, why is that man up there naked?”
The realization that I was doing the personal hygiene thing in front of an unknown audience hit home with a force stronger than the jet lag I was feeling. I immediately knelt on the floor and reached up, pushing any number of buttons as I desperately tried to figure out how to close the blinds. Instead, I was rewarded with random blasts of ice cold and scalding water at varying velocities. I finally crawled out of the shower and found the “all off” button on the touch screen. Then I dried off out of sight next to the expensive toilet that also had an array of buttons and special features.
When I woke up from a nap a couple of hours later, I made myself a double espresso with the in-room Nespresso machine and then spent the better part of 20 minutes figuring out the tablet at the side of the bed and the one in the shower. Fortunately, there were no complaints to hotel management about the guy in room 215.
September 2008 – Jerez, Spain: the elephant car wash
This story takes place later the same year in a very different place. I was part of a group of industry people touring and tasting in Sherry country. A quick side note to say that Sherry is the most completely misunderstood wine on planet earth. Especially in the U.S., where the traditional idea of Sherry was long thought to be sipping multiple tiny glasses of Harvey’s Bristol Cream. Otherwise, everything about the wine from the styles (most dry), how to serve it, the right glassware, or food paring, is an unknown quantity. To the last point, Sherry is one of the greatest food wines there is.
Getting to Jerez from San Francisco involved three flights: San Francisco to Newark, Newark to Madrid, and Madrid to Jerez. A brief mention of the last flight and our approach to the tiny Jerez airport. The pilot, who no doubt previously had a military career, made the steepest bank in a commercial jet I’ve ever experienced. The plane almost turned on its side as we made our final approach. The rest of the passengers, mostly commuter types, paid no heed whatsoever. I almost soiled myself. Had I not been wearing a seat belt it would have been like the part of 2001 A Space Odyssey when Frank Poole gets blasted into the air lock without a helmet.
After meeting up with the group, we bussed it over to our accommodations. I was assigned a fully furnished two-bedroom apartment. It was large, spacious, and beautifully appointed with lots of local artwork. The bathroom was equally grandiose. The shower was enormous—the biggest shower I have ever seen outside of a gym. You and at least 10 of your closest friends could easily have shared a splashy without crowding. The glass walls of the palatial stall were also covered in a labyrinth of polished copper pipes and fixtures.
In my once again jetlagged state, I disrobed, stood inside the shower, and tried in vain to figure out the maze of dials and knobs. After many moments, I said “screw it” and went for it. What followed has become known as the elephant car wash incident. After turning the first couple of dials, I was blasted from all sides by ice cold water. It was as if someone had turned several fire hoses on an unexpectant—and quite naked—victim. I squawked mightily and jumped back out of the huge stall, swearing and sputtering. Water continued to blast from several of the shiny copper shower heads. I shook off the immediate trauma and then snaked my way back into the stall trying to avoid the jets of ice-cold water. After an infinity of fumbling with dials and knobs, I managed to turn off all the water. Then minutes of mindless experimentation followed, with me cold and dripping wet the entire time. Finally, I was able to turn on one of the many faucets and get the water hot. I then showered quickly, expecting the threatening array of pipes to betray me at any moment.
For the record, I never figured out the elephant car wash. I simply used the one dial I knew would get me clean without another traumatic incident. It was like owning a formula one car and driving it around the block in first gear at 15 mph. But at least I was safe. And I was clean.
The post The Perils of Showering on the Road appeared first on Tim Gaiser MS.