A Motel's Dead Dream
Updated: Nov 27, 2021
the more run-down the more we run to it . . .
staying somewhere temporarily is a unique experience. some feel anxious in a strange place. surrounded by neighbors they will never get to know. often near a busy road that never stops to produce the noise of travelling.
some feel excited in a new place. surrounded by strangers they might get to know. often near a busy road that never stops to produce a song of the road.
I've always drawn a lot of energy out of being on the road. maybe going to Denmark at very young age with my parents and their 80s Volkswagen Bus contributed to that urge to leave home.
I love my home but, often, I love leaving it behind for a while even more.
just that little bit of unexpected mixed with the big chance of not knowing anyone ahead, even though I've run into quite a few people I knew during trips but that's part of the unexpected.
the motel on the photographs in this posts is called the 'Riviera' located in Osoyoos, British Columbia. it's an interesting place where hordes of retired folks settle down to celebrate the autumn of their life in a climate that seems weirdly regulated by a bigger force than us. always summer, more or less. my wife and I have gone to the Riviera twice, once in the late summer and once in the middle of the winter (both 2020). it's a unique place and became to us a temporary home. it's easy to make a place home when you start out with meeting the person who runs it being a big but lovely personality while small in height with a raspy voice telling the story of a million cigarettes. wearing a tank top and tights like she's still in her 20s and you believe it. she also appears as the caregiver of a severely disabled woman in her 40s. they both live together in the room next to the reception and laundromat. they might be mother and daughter, we didn't ask and I don't think she felt the urge to tell the story.
we felt so home in this place that we inquired about staying for 4-6 weeks in the dead of the winter this past January - February 2021. they have monthly rates so we left that summer to return, but the owner decided to renovate the motel closing half of it for work while leaving the other half open to long time returning long-term residents.
we naturally lost our spot, but our old lady friend from the reception advised us over the phone that people pass away and a spot may naturally open up. it never happened and we never have lived in a motel longer than a couple of days yet.
still I reject the idea of becoming a 'home-body', but rather leave my comfort-zone on the little island we've been living on for years now. I reject it because I had to learn that your comfort-zone turns into an un-comfort-zone if you ignore to follow the urge that drives your life. I've practiced a rather minimal life-style (for personal and not so much viral reasons) with focus on the 'essential things' over the last year and a half which only grew the urge to get away. it feels a bit like being stuck inside a puzzle in which the pieces are forced into place upside down or rotated. you can squeeze them in but the big picture mirrors a distorted confusion. I'd rather go and look at organized tiles like the ones below, at least I'm far away from 'home'.
(all photographs Olympus Stylus Epic / Kodak Gold 400)