I’m not typically the type to evacuate for a hurricane. My house is elevated and sits on relatively high ground. However, given that massive ancient oaks loom from all directions and that I lost power during Helene, I decided to yield to my better half when she suggested we blow town for a few days.
Orlando seemed like a good idea at the time, although updated models quickly suggested we may have had better options. But hotel vacancy was scarce throughout the state, and that’s one thing the Big O has plenty of, so we headed out to one of my least favorite spots in the Sunshine State early Monday evening.
Traffic was thicker than August air, and we were immediately met with a dizzying array of impressively bad drivers. Barely managing a 30 mph pace all the way up I-275, things looked even more bleak when we turned the corner at I-4. Luckily, FDOT had opened the left shoulder just east of Tampa, and my trusty Prius—which had already earned its stripes by not requiring a pit stop at an overcrowded gas station before we left—was one of the few cars that could confidently negotiate the narrow path.
Cruising by sports cars and giant pick-up trucks at 60 mph felt surprisingly satisfying while they crept along the interstate at a snail’s pace, a site the Prius is not used to seeing. Notwithstanding a few hairy moments when an occasional guardrail left barely enough space to swipe a credit card between it and her side-view mirror, the three-hour voyage wasn’t all that bad.
When we pulled into the parking lot of our “international resort,” however, we quickly learned that we'd been duped by that old Florida trick of wide-angle lenses and favorable lighting. Orlando has always been rather liberal with the use of the word “resort,” but this billing was akin to calling Waffle House fine dining.
This isn’t the place.
Honey, this is the place.
No, this CAN’T be the place.
Dear, it’s definitely the place.
It was, in fact, the place, and the kind of place where one accesses their room from the street and not a hallway, which should in itself prohibit the use of the term resort. The fact that the soap is of the clam-shell bar variety rather than shower gel and shampoo is not on the menu would suggest that "motor lodge" might be a more apt description.
As if to prove it was, in fact, a resort, we were immediately informed that a “resort fee” had been tacked on. It was explained that the additional dough would allow us use of the pool, “high-speed” internet, and the fitness center—which is slightly larger than a broom closet and contains one ancient weight machine, a dumbbell rack, and an out-of-order treadmill. Creative cardio, it must be.
What makes the resort “international,” however, remains a mystery. As best I can tell, it is exclusively filled with Florida’s finest, the kind of characters you read about in news stories whose headlines start with Florida Man before describing a level of mayhem and idiocy that is unique to our state. There are many dogs, big dogs, and not the cute kind. The same can be said of the hordes of feral children who have rendered the pool obsolete.
Judging by the tattoos and bumper stickers alone, I’d estimate that a good 8 in 10 guests are armed to the teeth, which means we’ll be fine if things go sideways and the looting starts. On the other hand, if the litany of nearby liquor stores run out of Busch, White Claw, and Natty Lite, it could be a bloodbath—anyone’s guess.
Nonetheless, we are safe and secure, well-stocked with provisions (Carmenere and French Pinot Noir for the lady, Yuengling for the gent), and my Monday afternoon errands included a trip to a medical dispensary to pick up some doctor-prescribed medication should the anxiety of it all prove too much.
For those of you who decided to batten down the hatches back in the 9-4-1, my thoughts are with you. Stay safe, keep calm, be kind, and I’ll catch you on the other side.
Godspeed,
Mitch Maley
Editor in Chief
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mcems1986
Mitch, well written and glad you are as safe as it sounds. Your documentation of this journey, allows the readers to be a part of your journey. Harrowing to say.
We are all set in East County preparing as best as we can for decades. If you navigate back to the 9.4.1, we will surely leave a light on for you to stop in.
Wednesday, October 9 Report this
UteKegel
Keeping all of you in our prayers.
We moved back to Wisconsin from Bradenton early this summer, to be closer to family. Little did we know.
Wednesday, October 9 Report this
jimandlope
This was an incredibly entertaining piece ! I especially enjoyed the “Florida Man,” foray! Having driven away in past storms you nailed the futility and road rage of bumper to bumper traffic ending in a resort! Did it have a Tiki bar? Jim Tierney
Wednesday, October 9 Report this
Hamwoman
Love, love, love this. Thank you for making me laugh!
Wednesday, October 9 Report this
NikkiforPalmetto
We had a similar lodging experience. I am convinced that room was used for drug consumption, prostitution, or worse. If anyone is looking for a location to shoot a movie akin to Trainspotting, that motel is it. We are looking forward to the Google review... We have pics and videos to share.
4 days ago Report this