There’s something about a hotel bar that I just really like.
It’s never strange to eat and drink solo. Tired travelers make chill seat mates. Bartenders are used to making tired people in transit feel at ease. In the Charleston episode of No reservations, Anthony Bourdain described Waffle Houses as “irony-free zones where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.” I feel like hotel bars have a similar vibe, except with more irony and very little judgement.
Last year Jake won a trip to see the Final Four in San Antonio over Easter weekend. Sunday was our only (mostly) free day. Jake opted for a group wine and rum tour. I gladly opted out of the wine and rum tour and found myself alone on Easter for the first time.
That morning, I pulled up a seat at the hotel bar, ordering two mimosas and an Easter buffet for one. The woman sitting next to me was also tagging along on her partner’s Final Four work trip and opted out of the group activity. We commiserated about introvert things and clinked mimosas.
