I think one of the reasons that I enjoy traveling so much is that I like exchanging the commonplace annoyances of home for the fresh inconveniences of anywhere else. I began “collecting hotels” in Chicago, where we stayed at the Travelodge. Their public elevator was so slow as to be effectively useless, so the front desk staff habitually snuck guests into the service elevator. This didn’t at all make me think of Disney’s Tower of Terror ride each and every time, so it worked out fine. For experiences like this, it’s important to avoid hotels with five-star ratings. Given our budget, this is easy.

Speaking of budgets, we’ve just blown all of it and more on an amazing European vacation with our daughter Catherine, and the hotels did not disappoint.

Our first stop was London, where we stayed at Barry House near Paddington station. Up the stairs we trudged with our luggage. At the end of a narrow hallway was a narrow door which opened into a space just large enough for one person to stand sideways and open another door. One by one we edged into the room and kept edging because there was no walk space. We had two beds with covers old enough to have belonged to Queen Victoria. We also had the luxury of a private bathroom here. This was a miracle of time-saving engineering in that it was possible to use the toilet, brush your teeth and take a shower all at the same time. There were soaring ceilings with crumbling plaster, a picture over Catherine’s bed (none over ours) done by a painter who — how can I put this kindly? — was not yet a master. In short, it was perfect. My only regret is that when we checked out, I left the room first and so missed the entertaining moment when Dave and his big backpack got stuck in the doorway.

Next up was Paris, where we stayed in the Premier Classe hotel, reasoning that it must be both premier AND classy! To our amazement, our “deluxe” room (more spacious by 16 euros’ worth than the standard) was even smaller than the Barry. This hotel had figured out that people are stackable, so Catherine slept on top of us in a bunk bed. On the ground, we moved in a carefully coordinated sideways single-file style, but so long as Catherine remembered not to sit all the way up, it was fine.

Actually, it was better than fine. The price included breakfast. There was an oven in the dining room that produced fresh, piping hot chocolate croissants and baguettes. In future, if you see me tearing up for no apparent reason, it’s because I’m remembering that an ocean is separating me from those chocolate croissants.

To our surprise, the Hotel Primavera in Venice had some space, at least until one reached the wardrobe, which blocked access to the bathroom. The room was bright pink, so it was a little like staying in Barbie’s Dreamhouse, except for the bathroom. The light was out, and we were too tired to hike back down to the front desk and wait for someone to fix it. Instead, Dave rigged up a tiny flashlight which filled the room with strange dark shadows. But at least I could make out where the shower was. Fumbling, I found the handle of the glass door. It slid open easily, but not very far. Luckily, by this time I was used to doing things sideways. So by holding my breath, and taking a moment to briefly regret all the chocolate croissants I’d eaten, I was able to wedge myself in. By this time, I was also practiced at picking things up without bending over, so the shower was a success.

Another time, I’ll tell you about the rest of the hotels. For now, I’m back home, with its off-center lighting and off-center lawn and demented cat. It’s lovely. It feels as big as a palace and twice as comfy. However exciting other places may be, there’s really nowhere else like it.

Anneli Byrd is an academic adviser in Weber State University’s Student Success Center.

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