Steve picked me up at the airport in Kentucky. We have worked together before; he is a lovely young man. He was down from Connecticut for this film. I had flown in from Austin.
“ What is the deal with the hotel? Kitchenettes? I ask hopefully
“ Yes. Refrigerators and I think a stovetop. Definitely microwave.”
Aha jackpot! That was excellent news. Refrigerators are of course very helpful but a cooktop is Nirvana for me.
“ Ah okay. Any chance we can hit a grocery store?”
Steve radioed in to ask for the time and production signed off, so I was able to shop and stock up before I even checked in. I would have found my way to rations one way or another, but it was nice to get it handled right out of the gate.
If it is in any way possible, I cook for myself when I am on the road. There are good reasons to do this, pious ones, but they are not mine. I don’t do it for my health or out of frugality or watching the waistline. I am terrible with money and meals on the road are not all that wholesome or dietetic. I often default to pasta, something I don’t indulge in much at home. The reason I cook is that it grounds me because the act of it makes me feel normal. Not exactly at home but, home-ish … homelike.
The days, weeks, and months that I have spent in hotel rooms on a job have added up to years. Some locales are old familiars in a good way, others are just been there, done that, here we go again.
I have haunted random rooms in the Sutton Place Hotel in Vancouver on and off for over three decades. The place is like an old friend, its lobby and hallways are always a welcome sight. In the early years, I hung out with the cool kids in the restaurant downstairs. The joint was always hopping with LA actors up for a shoot. We were mostly young and we all smoked and drank whiskey on ice in the worn leather seats of the bar lounge. Shooting in Canada was new and novel then and it all felt very clubby and glamorous.
These days when I go there I cook in my room. I gave up smoking ages ago and if I drank straight whiskey now there is a better than good chance that I would fall down and hit my head. I know how to navigate the nearby grocer. Its two stories of goods are arranged in patterns that are not at all like most American markets. Finding the soy sauce in that store once took the better part of an afternoon, but I’ve got the gist of it now. The produce is fresh and they have a lot of the specialty items I require in my dotage, gluten-free pizza and pasta, and non-dairy sour cream. (I hate that I need them, but it is what it is.)
The hotel has a well-sourced wine store downstairs that stocks mostly Willamette Valley and BC bottles. All of them are delicious and affordably priced. Heaven.
The Sutton is my jam. They take their job as a home away from home very seriously and the kitchens are fully operational. I have agreed to appear in some not-so-great movies because it meant I could stay there. That’s some good hoteling!
Others are just familiar. Residence Inns, Homewood Suites not to be confused with Homes2Suites, Fairfield Inns and TownPlaces, and on and on. I have stayed in and cooked in them all a gajillion times. Some are better than others, but none are consistently so. It’s always a crapshoot.
The one I stayed in last week was a bit of a wonky deal. They were not well invested in the home away from home concept …that was definitely not on offer. The “kitchenette” was poorly appointed and barely usable. The room was equipped with 2 pots, 2 plates, 2 water glasses, and a few random pieces of silverware. No cutting board, no sponge, no colander but, there was one ancient-looking steak knife. I would have to wash the dishes with bar soap from the bathroom and drink wine from a tumbler. Not ideal but, I have learned to make do.
There was a Panera restaurant across the street and I admit I was sorely tempted to get take-out, but I persisted. I managed to cut up broccoli on a plate, the steak knife pinging against the cheap ceramic each time it hit. The stovetop would turn on but not stay hot. I finally got water to boil by removing and then replacing the pot over and over again to trick the burner into activating. If you are thinking that this sounds tiresome, you would be correct. I boiled the vegetables then dressed them with garlic from a squeeze tube and some plain cashew yogurt and added it to gluten-free pasta. It took an hour and thirty minutes to make this meal but it was not bad. It was not good, but it was also not bad and that counts for something.
That is how I cope with the constant travel required by the job I am well privileged to do. If I have to walk down the side of a fast-moving highway to find a market and yes I have been the crazy lady walking out there, where no one walks, I do it. The habit is so ingrained that I don’t know any other way now. My overwhelming need to be self-sufficient is admittedly odd … bordering on weirdo, but it is how I roll.
I think of Katherine Hepburn getting down on her hands and knees to scrub the floor of Spencer Tracy’s dressing room hoping to make him feel more comfortable and at home. I have worked with folks who bring knitting and scrapbooking projects in their luggage, others their favorite bread for toast. I once did a movie with a slew of wildly talented Asian actors, each and every one of whom brought a rice cooker to Montana. We are all happy to be away and filming on location while longing the whole time to be home.
Millions of Americans travel constantly for work. We have it down. We are very calm in airports, watching with rolled eyes as people assault the airline personnel over flight delays or cancellations. We have endless ways to amuse ourselves in airports or in traffic if we are driving. We just deal with it … we will get there, that much we know. How and more importantly when we will get there is a matter that we have learned to leave up to the “Travel Gods.” Those lofty cherubs who toss out storms, accidents, employee absences, mechanical failures, and a host of other obstacles to flights and drive times on a random basis. They love them some willy-nilly those damnable devilish Gods and they are utterly impervious to prayer. We know that we will get there either because of or in spite of them and that it’s always a toss-up. That’s life on the road.
During the year or so that we were all in various degrees of lockdown I was astonished to learn that I missed travel. My body and mind have become so acclimated to being in different environments that it felt odd to be in the same place for months and months at a time. My friend Pat who is a fellow road/sky warrior reported feeling the same strangeness. Being home for so long felt ironically disorienting. I missed the sights and smells of a new locale, the feel of flight, and the challenge of making a temporary home of sorts in new quarters.
Travel is a big part of what has shaped me into the person I am today. It has taught me to expect the unexpected and to breathe through the drama of it all. I am able to maintain myself anywhere I go. If I can walk I will do it, for miles if possible. If there is a gym I will go at any weird hour, does not matter. I will go. And I will cook. If there is only a shitty stovetop and one rusty knife I will find a way to make a meal. It has made me resilient and taught me how to entertain and feed and take care of myself.
It has also kept me from learning how to truly feel at home in my own home. That’s life on the road.
Steve starts a full-time job in June. It is time he feels, to settle down into a more predictable work schedule. He wants to be a family man. The film industry is not conducive to that, but even so, it is never easy to say goodbye to show biz. Many of us have tried to imagine a different life and failed to do so. It will be bittersweet but he will be working for an airline, so he will still be in constant motion. The skies will be friendlier with Steve sailing through them.
The last night in the not-so-great-actually pretty terrible hotel, I had a gluten-free, dairy-free pizza to cook and no oven. I had only the above-mentioned shitty stovetop and a microwave. There were some vegetables already cooked that I could put on top of it. As you might imagine this sort of pizza is not a dazzler under ideal circumstances, so I was pretty sure it would be terrible, but I persisted. I nuked it for one minute then put it on the crap-assed burner and covered it with a lid. The crust actually browned a bit and the not-cheese melted, sort of. The veggies on top helped the situation some.
It was not bad. It was also not good but, it was also not bad and that counts for something.
On we go …
Remember the great kitchen I had at the Rainbow Valley Motel when we were in Montana? You baked a pie. Cooper and I made pasta...we had such a good time. The owners trusted us so much to take care of the property that they took the day off. A lot of the cast and crew showed up for the party.
I’m with Robbie Robertson on “the road.” Sooner or later it gets you. Your fine accounting of the inferior motel chains, makes the loneliness echo even more for me. Unless the role is challenging and potentially rewarding, and the pay is equal, I choose to be free at home, at play, or in Europe.