Comments on: The Goldberg Variations: Inn Over My Head https://ecosalon.com/the-goldberg-variations-inn-over-my-head/ Sun, 29 Nov 2015 15:51:01 +0000 hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=4.8.25 By: Mswandas https://ecosalon.com/the-goldberg-variations-inn-over-my-head/#comment-34699 Sat, 29 Jan 2011 18:32:00 +0000 http://ecosalon.com/?p=70209#comment-34699 Each to their own – and I can understand why some people might not like the ‘cosiness’ of B&Bs…but Holiday Inn – really??? They’re such cold souless places, completely indistinguishable from one town to the next.

]]> By: Susan https://ecosalon.com/the-goldberg-variations-inn-over-my-head/#comment-34639 Fri, 28 Jan 2011 11:10:00 +0000 http://ecosalon.com/?p=70209#comment-34639 Thank you!

Susan

]]> By: Caitlin Fitzsimmons https://ecosalon.com/the-goldberg-variations-inn-over-my-head/#comment-34636 Fri, 28 Jan 2011 09:36:00 +0000 http://ecosalon.com/?p=70209#comment-34636 That sounds terrible – however in my experience that’s not a normal B&B experience at all! Usually they’re run much more like a hotel.

]]> By: Manufactured House https://ecosalon.com/the-goldberg-variations-inn-over-my-head/#comment-34623 Fri, 28 Jan 2011 05:32:00 +0000 http://ecosalon.com/?p=70209#comment-34623 I really loved this post. You describe this topic perfectly.

]]> By: Sara Ost https://ecosalon.com/the-goldberg-variations-inn-over-my-head/#comment-34611 Thu, 27 Jan 2011 22:40:00 +0000 http://ecosalon.com/?p=70209#comment-34611 Creepy B&Bs…is there any other kind? In college, I went with a mother and a group of middle school kids on a tour of various East Coast historical spots (Gettysburg, the Confederate White House, D.C., etc.). On the way to Richmond we planned to stay in some “historic” B&B just outside town, thinking it would be a good experience for the kids. Translation: after a very long dark winding road, then another long dark winding road, we came upon a decrepit, dank, moldering house seemingly built top of a muddy creek bed, with no light, much less sign of human life, around for miles. There was one little old lady who ran the grounds, or so we hoped there was no one else. There was no way the mom and I were going to stay the night there with four little kids in our charge who might choke on one of the million doilies covering every inch of quilt and tuft and horsehair. We made up some lame excuse and bailed for the Red Lion off the highway. Or was it the Radisson? I don’t know, but I do know that when my eyes burned and turned red from the amount of toxic chlorine in the air in the hotel pool room, and the kids woke up sporting chlorine rashes, I was never so glad to be a mindless byproduct of a mass produced chemical society.

Then there was the accidental rental of a B&B with a beau one weekend – we thought we were getting a romantic getaway, when what we actually got was the attic that had been converted into a suite and included a strange little room with a forlorn twin bed and – again – the abundance of doilies. We peered inside and he said, “I think this is where Grandma died.” Hot.

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