When I set out for Rome at the beginning of 2023, I did not—nay, could not know—that it was going to lead to two years of exploration and travel. This means I stayed in a lot of places. It may sound like I was incarcerated when I share that I “moved beds” 111 times in a two-year span. One hundred and eleven—typing that out for effect. But that’s just what I ended up doing on my own volition, no malfeasance or prison sentence involved.
If you’ve never experienced an extended time without a permanent home base, try it. That is, if you want to be endlessly grateful for things like being able to fully control the thermostat, open windows, redecorate, and don’t even get me started on the absolute DREAM of having your own very refrigerator again. Midlife is full of such exquisite joys.
My stays in various places ranged from countless one-night stints—like the one on the Greek island where I didn’t die—to spending several weeks at a time in various locations. Staying in so many different types of places turned me into a veritable Accommodations Critic. No one is paying me for this gig yet, but I continue to hope. Except then maybe I’d have to leave my newly-established home again extensively, and I’m not ready to do that. My big travel plan for the fall is a one-night camping trip to Capital Reef National Park. You could say I am still a bit traveled out and have non plans to go further than that.


Caption: What we’re looking at here is me wearing all black just in case you got me confused with all the other people. I’m photographed with an arch 5+ miles into my favorite hike. And the campground pictured is just yards from the world’s best pie shop. Can you see why I want to go back? Inquire for details.
Among the various places I stayed, some were downright sketchy. You or someone would need to pay me A LOT to return to them. I’m talking about hotel rooms that felt like the setting of a Dateline episode, hotels in the United States without hot water—I minded this less abroad as it added to the grand adventure—and Airbnbs in extremely questionable neighborhoods and very thin walls.
Thankfully, there were other places that felt home-ish. One of the holy grails of these temporary homes was an Airbnb in Raleigh, North Carolina. The hosts of said home don’t even belong in the same world as all the perfectly decent Airbnb hosts offering perfectly decent Airbnb rentals to perfectly decent people like us. They were par excellence and I don’t use that phrase lightly. In fact, I’ve never used it before. When I say that the hosts—for convenience, let’s agree to call them Charles and Charlotte, no relation to the spider on my front porch—thought of everything, they really did. To an almost neurotic degree, which I found most welcome even if a little excessive.
Two years of traveling taught me a kajillion things, including this gem: Not everyone keeps house like I do. Prior to staying at Charles and Charlotte’s place, I might’ve considered myself a candidate for the 4,000 Over 40 List of Tidiest Women. But they’ve shown me there’s an even better way—a next level if you will—to which I may strive if I ever choose.
The listing indicated that the main house was occupied by two work-from-home adults, but I’m not sure how one of them could possibly do anything other than manage and meticulously clean their Airbnb. You know how, in most places that aren’t your own, you minimize touching things like throw pillows and you absolutely NEVER pull the comforter all the way up to your chin?
Here, I went out of my way to do both with reckless abandon. I never even laid eyes or anything else upon these Raleigh folks, but you know what? I trusted them implicitly, and would not be surprised if they found a way to wash everything fabric and fabric-adjacent between guests. We’re talking about fabric covers, fabric wall art, rugs, every last towel in the place including the obviously unused ones, and anything else they could fit into the washing machine.
Because of its almost disquieting cleanliness, and their general thoughtfulness as hosts, it started to feel like a personal challenge to find a flaw. During my week there I conducted what might be considered a pathological investigation of the one-bedroom home just to see if I could find any dirt or dust or anything out of place or something they’d not thought of. I could not. And I really tried. I opened literally every possible cupboard and drawer and looked under things.
Like Dan says to Marie in my favorite movie, Dan in Real Life, “I’m going to focus on your flaws.” She says, “Oh, and my flaws are?” He responds, “I don’t know, but I’m going to find them.”
Caption: Several years ago, a friend gave, as Christmas gifts to his friends, a photo of them photoshopped into their favorite movie. His creativity and gift of being inserted into Dan in Real Life still tickles me.
But as I looked, I just kept finding things to compliment. They kept their front blinds drawn in such a way that prevented a guest from feeling like the hosts were creepily watching their comings and goings from the Airbnb entrance around back. Of course this standout team had tasteful lawn lamps lighting the path. The heaviest velvet curtains money can buy covered the locked-from-my-side door to the upstairs, to help muffle any sound. The fridge contained a perfectly-sized cube of butter, fresh eggs nestled in the immaculately clean ceramic egg holder, and they had thoughtfully-sized portions of other things you hope an Airbnb will have you, and none of the suspicious stuff left behind by other guests.
No, they did not have an ideal writer’s desk. But it’s positively amazing how much we can forgive in places and people when so much is so good. The only other flaw I could come up with was that their dryer exhaust smells like rotten eggs. There I was, enjoying a slice of Whole Foods’ chocolate cake—HIGHLY RECOMMEND—and a glass of cold milk on the patio.
The tranquil evening was interrupted by, you guessed it, the smell of leaking gas. When I texted Charles to report the smell, he responded—promptly, naturally—that unfortunately, it’s just the smell emitted by their dryer vent. This seems very unfortunate considering that I prefer my dryer exhaust to smell like pleasant chemicals. While I technically failed this my Third Gas Leak Identification Challenge, I still felt validated and this is kind of the same thing as being right.
Charles and Charlotte may never know just how memorable my stay in their downstairs was, even though I left a rave review for them. And texted them personally. They also may not know that I’m referring to them by the same names as the resident spider I continue to live, rent-free, on the front porch of my newly re-established home of my own. What I know is that I’m grateful for par excellence people who go above and beyond to make things better for others and worth writing about. I hope they get a “SOME HOSTS” award from Airbnb one day.
Isn’t life cool, and aren’t people interesting? See you in the next one…