The Good, The Bad & The Ugly: the look behind the three hotel doors of a college student's spring break vacation.
VERO BEACH, Florida - It wasn’t until my friend, Julia, whom I traveled to Vero Beach with during spring break, said that the three hotels we stayed at went from nicest and most expensive, to sketchiest and cheapest. The hotels seemed comparable to our level of excitement from the first to last day—most to least excited. That is not to say all three did not keep our interest and excitement. As the story unfolds though, you’ll see that the excitement is not all on the same level.
Being a broke college student and having broke college student friends, we all know a trip anywhere more than two hours away can be an extremely difficult plan to accomplish. Julia and I were going to see my friend who I interned with in
Hawaii and meet up with her in
Savannah, Georgia. Unfortunately, she had a sudden change of plans that came quickly the night before our road trip, so we backed out of our Savannah plans and decided to bypass the overnight stay and sight-seeing in historic Savannah to have an extra beach day in Florida. Originally planning to book the cheapest resort we could find in Downtown Vero Beach, we came across another resort that was a tad bit cheaper with more of a unique appeal. My family’s timeshare at the Driftwood Resort along Ocean Drive would have been a safe haven since its been a familiar location to me since I was a child, but The Caribbean Court, which popped up on our
Tripadvisor website, convinced us to take the adventurous route. Just browsing through the pictures of the resort’s rooms and exterior facade was convincing enough for us.
We arrived to The Caribbean Court after an 18-hour straight-through drive from Philadelphia. Upon entering the humble front office, we were upgraded from our handicap hotel room that we chose since it was the cheapest, to a bigger room. The staff did this without any extra cost, since they wanted a handicap room to be available in case someone who really needed it came that night. Technically, I am not handicapped but sometimes those math and science equations I had to do in my physics class made me think otherwise. I think they call it “mathematically challenged” now-a-days. Regardless, we happily took the bigger and better room. Our front desk clerk personally walked us through the office, pool and lounge area to our room. If there is one phrase I would have to use to describe The Court, it would be “Spanish Villa”. The resort had a home-stay appeal from everything including the furniture to the hand painted ceramic tiled sink bowl. This was definitely not a typical hotel with the questionable stiff bed comforter and generic mass-produced IKEA furniture. We had a cute desk, vintage style Armour and one-of-a-kind kitchenette with plush green shrubbery outside our corner windows, allowing for privacy.
Not exactly beach front view, but walk down a path between two private condos for a minute and you are right in sight of all that watery blueness. Its location was only a 3-minute drive from all the shops and restaurants between the twin bridges along
Ocean Drive. Since The Court is located in a residential area, it is hard to get to that strip along
Ocean Drive since many of those beachfront houses—or shall I say mini-mansions, have closed off private streets or dead ends. That was alright with us though, only one night and two days were spent there. Not quite suitable for young adults to stay for longer than we did, but it was perfect for honeymooners or a weekend getaway. It makes me wonder if front desk personnel thought we were drifters or honeymooners coming for a quick stop since we were only there one night. At least we left him with something to ponder that night instead of staring blankly at a door and computer screen.
Our second hotel stay was probably the most cliché of travelers. We spent three nights and four days at the Holiday Inn, right on the beachfront. Even though it was lacking in the interior decorating, we did not mind this generic Holiday Inn appeal since we were able to get the room for only fifty dollars a night. Props to my aunt for that hookup. It was not on the ocean view side but we had a pleasing view of the street’s quaint boutiques and a daily sunsets peering through our grand front window.
It also gave us a great view of a college baseball team that was staying a few doors down from us for the week. Not too much to say here for good old Holiday Inn; it’s their own fault for looking so bland! Although, I do have to give credit to Holiday Inn for keeping a beach-themed and low-key look that simmers well with the town; having only two non-enclosed floors.
Last but not least, the most exciting hotel of the entire trip—Days Inn at
Fayetteville, North Carolina, off of exit 49. When I say “exciting,” I do not mean the kind of excited you get when you open your Christmas presents….more like the “piss myself with fear” excited. But to reiterate again, I am a broke college student. So is my friend, sort of. It was either a $75 and up hotel or a fixed rate of $30 for hotels on the other side of the road. Most of them offered a breakfast and had free internet, which is basically what we needed. Why pay double the price for getting the same thing? After a stay at the Days inn, I know why we should have paid double the price…
First off, I knew I should have started suspecting something when I saw a tall, suspicious male pacing back and forth on his phone on the side of the building--but, cell phone reception is hard to get sometimes, right? I’ll just leave that up for you to judge. When we parked our car and tried to open the hotel’s front doors, it would not open. It turns out that you have to take a couple steps aside to the window that resembled those booths you talk into when getting your movie tickets…or those windows that protect tellers and fast-food workers from bullets. It was really baffling as to why we were standing outside a window in the dark, when all the other hotels had their doors open. Maybe it was because it was midnight and the woman at the front desk was working solo that night. Maybe it was because we picked the sketchiest part of the street to get a hotel room. But we could not complain too much since there was a Burger King right next to the Days Inn. Despite the fact I like to avoid fast food at all costs, you really do not have a choice when you are driving 18 hours up the coastline.
Thankfully, we were let into the lobby when the woman saw us approach the window. It must have been the scared look on our faces that got us in. After swiping the credit card for a total of only thirty some dollars—courtesy of mis padres, we felt pretty good that we finally found a place. To back track—yes, I am twenty-one years old and used my parent’s credit card. It is given for serious emergencies like gas, lodging and those fashion rain-boots at the shoe boutique back in Vero Beach. At least I saved them a few bucks by finding one of the cheapest lodging rates. I just had to risk the possibility of being mugged or murdered Psycho style in the hotel room, but no biggie.
Our key to our room was one of those standard cards you put in the slot at the door handle. The only thing that seemed fishy was the fact that our room number was written on a post-it note and slapped to the front of the card. Classy. We started to walk toward the hallway because that is how you would normally get to your hotel room, right? No. The woman told us, “You have to leave out the door you came in and enter your room through door 'A' on the side of the building.” Wah-la! Sketchiness confirmed! Just picture two scared, suburban white girls clinging onto each other running to their car. I know I lived in
North Philadelphia for almost four years now, but this was on that creepy horror-movie level, where you can feel someone staggering behind you, watching. I would much rather take the inner city shootings around the block and the random house burglaries.
It did not help that my mother called my phone to see if I was all settled with a place for the night since the first thing she decided to say was “It’s your mother, Norman.” Creepy? Yes. Typical? Of course. The funnier thing was that she was not aware yet that we were in this questionable hotel. My friend and I had to share a queen bed for our first and second resort, but at our third here, we had two queen sized beds. Ironically, we would have rather slept in the same bed again. We ended up sleeping on the extreme ends of our beds so we could be as close as we could get to each other without falling off. Safety in numbers is always a positive.
Just like in scary movies, everything is always okay once the morning hits, therefore, we stayed up for most of the night waiting for the sun to peek out. It was our third and final resort. Well, not our “final” resort since we made it out alive. I knew that the moment we entered the hotel through a heavy steel door with a huge “A” on it, that this would be an unexpected ride for the rest of the night.
Don’t even get me started on the furniture. The Days Inn Company must have gone to a flea market and taken any abstract piece of furniture they could get their hands on. Perhaps it’s the $30 a night rate that keeps the company from putting in a little more effort? I pretty sure my old Barbie doll house used to have more of a complimentary arrangement than this place. I’ll just leave it to that.
The continental breakfast was a complete joke. Mini Entenmann's donuts laid out on the table with a loaf of bread next to it still in the bag along with a half gallon of milk sitting on top of a bowl of ice. We both looked at the breakfast selection, looked at each other and then left without even asking each other if we should stay or not.
Would I do my trip’s stay all over again at the same places? Yes, but I would upgrade to the Holiday Inn two minutes down the road for the last stop. But hey, at least it offered us a thrill and spiced up our trip back home.