What’s the next level of “bone-tired”? Is it “cosmic exhaustion”? Or “cellular fatigue”? Burnout was in front of several cities. Running on steam feels like a middle ground between normal and now. I’ve never been so devastated, this is what I’m getting at.
It’s not just me Some friends – people who enjoyed a varied, fulfilling and adventurous life up to 18 months ago – write to me from bed at noon and say they are far too tired to go. I appreciate that this “life-weary” trope is becoming more and more banal, but still: There is a lot to say when you mourn for a year for a life that you built up over decades.
Whatever. Sleep and rest have become a kind of vice for all of us, and yet the blistering irony is that life has seldom been so sonorous or uneventful. Doing nothing shouldn’t be so strenuous. Could it be that the sheer monotony of lockdown life with our usual coping mechanisms and conveniences has simply exhausted our vital forces?
I think I found out. What I want more than anything is a hotel break. I don’t mean a tropical, sun-drenched vacation spot – the idea of navigating the airport is enough to provoke beehives – but the kind of warm, soothing hospitality that only an Irish hotel can offer.
I miss the afternoon slump where you’re not sure about getting stuck in red wine just because you can
“DO you NEED to go overseas to check into a quarantine hotel?” A colleague recently tweeted. It was no doubt joking, and I have no doubt that two weeks in a quarantine hotel is not exactly child’s play, but there is a tiny core of truth there. We just want a few days with someone else making the bed and dinner coming on plates that don’t belong to you.
When the then Taoiseach Leo Varadkar addressed the nation about the lockdown, my partner and I overheard it in a taxi on the way to the Wineport Lodge in Athlone. My sister-in-law was very generous in taking our daughter for the weekend, so this was our first break in which it was just us in a while. If you’re ever in the market for a Just Us weekend – and rumor has it that one day it might happen again – I couldn’t think of a better place. The rooms are named after the types of wine, so we penetrated Margaux, dropped onto the bed as is only possible in a hotel, and exhaled as we gazed at the shimmering lake in front of the window. We had no real idea what the rest of the year would be like at the time, so we ate at that moment of silence, happy with relatively few worries in the world and grateful to have time to do nothing (oh, LOLs ).
That said, there is something particularly relaxing about a typical Irish hotel stay (note that I am not using the word “stay” because that means to me to take a break, but to sleep in your own bed). I miss a hotel buffet with the heat of a thousand suns. Where else can you sit down for a feast of flatbread and Nutella, yogurt, cheese, croissants, coco pops and roast (and possibly seconds) and no one is even looking at you from the side? I miss the delicate balancing act between being polite and sociable that all Irish hotel staff seem to swear by.
We came home strengthened as a couple, revitalized and more than ready to step back on the hamster wheel of life
I miss the afternoon slump unsure of whether to get stuck in red wine just because you can or do something that is something more valuable like reading. I miss the cool crisp sheets that make you wonder why this type of bedding is never in stores. I miss a hotel pool. I miss wandering around in a dressing gown. I miss the kinky shampoo bottles. I miss trouser presses. I miss the Bible by the bed. I even miss that excruciating toasting machine through which the bread runs at a slow pace. I miss the strangeness and sense of adventure, however small and familiar they may be.
Why do you like all this stuff? After all, if you really wanted to, you could hang around in a bathrobe and have wine at home for lunch. But the no man’s land of a hotel room has something to offer. You can shake off life, make yourself comfortable, and be whatever or whoever you want to be, even if it’s just for a few days.
I’ve thought so often of that fateful weekend at Wineport Lodge and how tipsy and lazy it all was. It certainly got a bit hot during a Connect 4 game, but we came home strengthened as a couple, revitalized, and more than ready to get back on the hamster wheel of life.
I have no idea what the hotel will be like after the pandemic. Certainly the sector became bloody beyond expectations. Hopefully the experience we know and love comes to the other side unbowed. I now dream of trouser presses.
