I pulled on a t-shirt this morning, one I’d bought a couple of days ago and washed before wearing. As feared hanging the laundry to dry in a smelly hotel room has left my ‘clean’ clothing stinking of stale cigarettes. Not impressed at all, but also can’t sensibly redo two full laundry loads. Guess I’m using a lot of deodorant for the rest of the trip.

I didn’t get properly dressed, just the t-shirt and swimming trunks. I chilled in my room until ten to nine then headed to the watersports centre. No, not that sort.

So much for going out on a kayak. I got there a couple of minutes early and was told that I can’t have a kayak. Apparently there’s a coast guard issued small craft warning. It’s windy. Actually, fair enough, they’d be sued if they gave a kayak to a random muppet during a weather alert and let them go out on the open sea.

Less fair is charging me for not renting a kayak. So I went to check out and ask for a refund on the resort fee. Obviously I didn’t expect to actually get one but I had a kayaking sized gap in my schedule to fill and sharing my annoyance seemed an appropriate use of the time.

It took quarter of an hour to even talk to someone in reception. The queue was moving more quickly than check in but didn’t help my mood at all, so when I did get to the front the conversation didn’t start well.

“Good morning, how was your stay?”
“Shit.”
“Umm. Sorry? I didn’t catch that.”
“Shit.”
“Erm. Oh. Can you share some more, I mean, that’s pretty strong right there.”

He was a short man, stocky, muscled arms stretching the cuffs on his short-sleeved shirt. I briefly summarised that I couldn’t rent a kayak, couldn’t get one last night because of the 50 minute check-in. We had a difficult conversation around whether I’d even tried yesterday, mainly difficult because he was struggling with my accent and was trying to understand the full context.

He looked at my room bill, said there was a $41 charge. This surprised me, I’d done nothing chargeable, but he said it was probably the resort fee, which he was going to remove because of the kayak absence.

That was very nice of him but I complicated matters by pointing out that Expedia had already charged me the resort fee. I showed him the booking on my phone and he logged into the hotel’s Expedia account to check that. They’d lied to the hotel about it, which is why the hotel had added the fee too.

I got the impression he isn’t any happier with them than I am.

To be fair to the guy, I now have his business card, his direct dial number, his cell phone number and instructions on how to get Expedia to contact him so that he can tell them to give me a refund on the resort fee. He seemed genuinely keen to help me go away with a better impression of the hotel, was doing his best to help, basically handled the situation superbly from a customer service perspect. Credit where it’s due; getting the right person on reception makes all the difference, along with a single four letter summary of your stay.

It all meant that I started my four hour drive earlier than anticipated. So I stopped to take some photos.

I stopped later on for coffee. They had a sign saying they don’t speak Pig Latin, Klingon or Starbucks, so ask for a coffee properly. Small, medium or large.

I asked for a stupidly large enormous coffee please. “Regular coffee?” she asked then at my confirmation turned to the person making coffee, “Large coffee.”

“That’s not what I ordered,” I suggested, a raised eyebrow making her laugh.

“An enormous large coffee please,” she asked the barista so I let it slide.

You can’t visit the Keys without trying key lime pie so I ordered a slice of that too, not knowing what it is.

It’s lemon meringue pie, but with lime.

Another stop to prove that there’s either an island called Morado or someone’s seriously taking the piss with a theme park.

That still left me getting to my hotel 40 minutes before check-in. Luckily I’d planned ahead and found a distraction nearby. It’s a secret wood, so secret that I’d found it while four hours drive away and spotted it before I saw my hotel, even though they’re about 400 yards apart.

It proved more awesome than I’d expected. They had little shy fiddler crabs that scurried into little holes in the sand or mud as you approached, cute little lizards, a strange yellow and black striped butterfly that moved too fast to photograph and a grey squirrel that made me laugh.

Squirrels like nuts and spend much of their lives foraging, hiding and eating them. This squirrel had hit jackpot and wasn’t going to let minor inconveniences like the nut being three times its own weight get in the way. Yes, I have photographs of a squirrel trying to eat a coconut.

Things went wrong again when I reached the hotel. What is wrong with the global hotel industry? I’ll summarise: It took one and a half kilometres of walking, one hour and two uses of ‘fucking’ to get into a hotel room in a hotel I’d pre-booked and pre-paid.

The room faces the highway and has poor sound insulation, although it still manages to be quieter than the last cruise ship. Apart from that it’s basic but adequate, plenty of space and a bed I should be able to sleep in.

The hotel has its own restaurant. Reviews are fairly consistent on the food but split towards both extremes on the service. I gave it a go, find that there’s just one waiter, he’s stretched and doing his best.

On the way out I spot the chef taking a break out back, tell him his quesadillas were good.

The hotel has a strict no pets policy. I guess the adorable bundle of playful cuteness is feral.

Tonight’s hotel is convenient for the airport and cruise docks, but damn it needs some competent management. It’s also responsible for a third of the 6km I’ve walked today.