There is a brief and beautiful moment when I enter a hotel room and appear to be an exceptionally organised person.
The bed is perfect.
The bathroom contains only the products selected by the hotel.
The chair is still functioning as a chair.
I place my suitcase on the luggage rack and, for approximately twelve minutes, the room believes I travel with only the essentials.
Then I open the suitcase.đŸ˜‚
Shoes begin migrating towards different corners.
Beauty products establish an independent government in the bathroom.
One outfit becomes three possible outfits because apparently dinner may require several interpretations of the same person.
A second bag appears, despite my clear memory of travelling with only one.
The hotel room slowly discovers the truth.
I do not unpack.
I expand.
I admire people who travel with one perfectly folded outfit, a toothbrush and the confidence that nothing unexpected will happen.
I travel prepared for a change of weather, a change of plan and possibly a change of personality.
This is not disorganisation.
It is strategic wardrobe flexibility.
By the following morning, the room contains evidence of every decision I considered and at least two I never made. The elegant chair has accepted its new career in fashion storage. The desk is negotiating with jewellery, chargers and objects I apparently considered essential when leaving home.
And yet, I always know where everything is.
More or less....
Hotel rooms are wonderfully optimistic. Every new arrival gives them another opportunity to believe that this guest will respect their clean lines and carefully designed minimalism.
Mine usually maintains that belief until the suitcase opens.
After that, the room is no longer untidy.
It is simply better informed.
Silvia
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