There is something about staying at a hotel that just tickles my fancy. I don’t know what it is. You can even ask my parents, I’m a hotel nerd. I think my fascination comes from the fact that I get to stay overnight in a new place and enjoy amenities like little shampoo bottles and in-room coffee. When I was little, all I cared about when it came to hotels is the pool. Swimming while staying in motel was almost too much – the combination nearly sent me to the moon.
And truth be told, it really doesn’t matter if the place has a five-star rating or not. I just like being away from my normal routine and seeing something new. Last weekend Parish and I traveled to Hot Springs for the annual Arkansas Press Association convention. Due to the hour commute, The Daily Record reserved us a room at the Embassy Suites. Parish worked late the day we left and we arrived in Spa City at about 7 p.m. We were able to catch the last part of the manager’s reception that featured snacks and $1 drinks. It was so nice to sit in the courtyard, sip a Bahama Mama and people watch.
After our deeply discounted cocktails, we headed over to Bistro 400 for dinner. For appetizers, Parish ordered his signature dish – hot wings; and I indulged in mine – crab cakes. For dinner, I ordered the grilled grouper with a sea salt baked potato and Parish chose a chicken sandwich. We almost had the place to ourselves – a rare treat on a Friday night. The server told us part of our meal might take a couple extra minutes, and we told her we weren’t in a rush and to take all the time she needed. My husband has been working long days that usually start around 3 a.m., so the time to catch up was so appreciated.
Following dinner, we decided to explore downtown Hot Springs and attempt to fit in with the locals. The hotel had a complementary shuttle that took guests downtown and to Oaklawn. We thought about going to the horse tracks, but decided to keep our money in our pocket and stay close. The shuttle ride took about two minutes, and I felt silly wasting the shuttle’s gas and driver’s time. Phillip, the friendly driver, pointed out a few hot spots to check out moments before opening the door and letting us out.
For those of you who haven’t visited Hot Springs, you are missing out on a great Arkansas town.
Nicknamed Spa City, due to the bathhouses that line its streets, Hot Springs is a quintessential, historic downtown. Old buildings and unique facades filled panoramic views of my imaginary camera lens. We walked up one side of the street and eventually found a shady little bar to snug into. Based on the fact that everyone knew each person who walked in the door, we realized we had stumbled upon a local spot. Smoke filled the air as we found a small table crammed between other dazed patrons.
As we were sipping our libations, a group of shady characters stood up and walked to the stage. The band? In a matter of seconds, the sound of a blaring, brain numbing electric guitar shot out of the speakers. The speakers were about six feet from my head. I looked at Parish, he mouthed something, and I burst out laughing. Are you serious? We tried to sit there and act like we didn’t mind the horrendous sound that was pouring from the sketchy stage. Two songs later, I had had enough. I took a deep breath and shouted at the top of my lungs, “Let’s get out of here!” So much for trying to fit in with the locals. Thankfully, we had a nice (quiet) room waiting for us.