About 166 Beds
A few years ago I started taking pictures of every bed I slept in and posting them to my (private) Instagram account. It was an activity borne from the feeling that – due to work travel – I was sleeping in a remarkable number of beds that were not my own.
I wasn’t kvetching. Despite being grateful each time I made it home to my own bed in Seattle, I liked spending time on the road. It gave me the opportunity to see new cities or to visit cities where I could spend time with faraway friends.
Instead, the photos were intended to share something more intimate than my status as a frequent flier. I wasn’t just traveling a great deal, I was making a temporary home for myself in all of these rooms, in all of these beds; getting undressed and under the covers, seeking comfort and respite from the planes, the taxis, the sidewalks, the world, gaining strength for my next excursion.
Eventually, taking a picture of every bed you sleep in does something to you. Or at least it did something to me. I felt driven to find new beds, pretty beds, remarkable beds. I resented hotels that looked like every other hotel — because so did their beds. (This does not make for a compelling Instagram stream.)
Eventually I wanted to document and share more than just the bed. I wanted to acknowledge what made the rest of the hotel a place of comfort, respite and, occasionally, joy.
And that is why I have created 166 Beds.*
This isn't going to be a review site. Instead, I'm interested in writing about remarkable experiences, about the small touches that make me want to return to a hotel — or to never leave. I want to write about the people who make my time in their hotel special, who know that good design does not equal "Instagram-ready," but is instead about having sincere empathy for your guests and their needs while they are under your roof.
Of course, not all guests are the same and what matters to me may not be as important to you. I’m a woman in my 40s with some disposable income who primarily travels alone. I like sleep. A lot. So while “roof deck bar” on a hotel website may read like “FUN!!” to someone else, I think thumping bass beats, crowd noise and extra puffy bags under my eyes in the morning.
In addition to a quiet room, I want quiet hallways. Hearing staff walkie talkies at 7 am in a hotel hallway is my version of fingernails on a chalkboard. And I like a good heavy duvet cover. I like strong water pressure and I want to put on a robe when I get out of the shower, just like at home. And the very first thing I do when I walk into a hotel room is to wet a washcloth and wipe the slime from my face, so I want a washcloth. Most hotels have washcloths. Oddly, not all do.
I like to feel welcomed and acknowledged by staff. Recently, I’ve taken to telling front desk staff about my love of hotels, letting them know I am excited to stay for the first time at theirs — or being able to return. I tell them about other hotels in their family in which I have stayed. Some smile and ask questions, others act bored or like they are robots who have not been programmed to have a conversation. When it’s the latter two reactions, I die a little inside.
I love a window or windows I want to look out of. I love something in the room I want to sit on besides the bed.
When I am booking, I always look for a common space in the hotel — a bar, lobby, sitting room — that will draw me to do my work outside of my room. I like people watching, good seating, a tasty treat and, of course, good wi-fi. I like not needing to find a nearby coffee shop (or worse, another hotel lobby) to do work if I don’t want to be in my room.
I want enough drawers and surfaces to be able to fully unpack my suitcase. I’m making a temporary home for myself, even if I am just there for the night. I love having a Bluetooth speaker that allows me to listen to my music and podcasts.
A good hotel gym with enough equipment and space to do my thing makes me happy. Even better is a hotel location that allows me to get my exercise while exploring: a climb up a hill, a run through the woods, or blocks and blocks of city sidewalks.
I appreciate 24 hour room service — even if I rarely use it — because there's nothing more pathetic than checking into a hotel 10 minutes after their service has ended and scarfing a can of $10 Pringles from the mini-bar. I want a coffee maker in my room, even if the coffee is not very good, so I can drink a cup without needing to put clothes on in the morning or without having to pay a jacked up service charge for delivery.
I like the little things. When I stayed at the 21C in Louisville many years ago — before I was taking pictures of my beds — I was smitten by the local Louisville artist playlist on the iPod in the dock by the bed. The red audio cord and wall outlet that enable you to play your music on the ceiling speakers in the rooms at the Wythe Hotel in Brooklyn made me downright gleeful. The “gym” elevator button at the NoMad in Los Angeles thrills me because it’s been one of the only times I didn’t need to ask where the gym was. At the Trunk (Hotel) in Tokyo, I loved the newsprint guide in my room that recommended spots to eat and shop — and that many felt like places where only the locals go. Having a freshly baked croissant from the bakery downstairs hung from my door in the morning is just one of the many things that make At the Chapel in Somerset a truly remarkable place to be and, currently, my favorite hotel in the world.
These are all examples of good design: thoughtful touches that made me feel welcome and made it easier to make myself at home.
So, I'll write about the good hotels I've stayed in and, only very occasionally, about those that don't quite hit the mark. I'm hopeful that what I write will lead you to check out the same hotel some day or to check out others and enjoy the experience as much as I do.
Welcome to 166 Beds. Thank you for being my guest.
*As I launch this website, I have photographed 166 of the beds in which I have slept.