Breakfast Trouble

I find that when traveling, breakfast, especially on the weekends, is always a little bit of a challenge for me. I'd prefer to eat in my room but find it impossible to justify paying 20.00 for coffee, juice, yogurt, toast and a tablespoon of fruit, even if someone else is picking up the tab.

Leaving the hotel is tricky. For some reason I'm not comfortable taking a shower before breakfast. I have no idea why. But the result is that I'm forced to put clothes over my unwashed body, which also does not thrill me. Then there is the hair thing. You might think that not having much hair would eliminate worries on this subject. However, unless I keep my hair cut short (and I was not able to work in a haircut before I left Indy), it kind of sticks out in the morning. If I've had a restless night's sleep I can wake up looking like Crusty the Clown, as I did this morning. I have to spend time figuring out a way to flatten it all down again while talking myself into not caring how I'm going to look to the 25 unknown British Columbians that I'm likely to see on the street at 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

Finding a place is even more difficult. I don't want fancy, but after all I've gone through before even leaving my room I do want tasty. I feel guilty about asking Doug, the perpetually cheery concierge about where I should eat because I'm afraid he'll think I think there is something wrong with the hotel restaurant, which I do, but I don't want him to know that. Yes, I know that is what concierges do for a living, but Doug looks like his feelings might be fragile. Instead, I compliment him on his new glasses, which he says he got to make him look smarter.

So I set off on my own. I feel okay about having to trek block after block looking for a place since I need the exercise to walk off the great Indian food we ate last night. While I'm walking around, a woman on the street asks me for money. I obviously have not figured out Canadian coinage yet. When I handed her what I thought was a dollar she looked at it and asked for more. After about 25 minutes of walking I start to get a little impatient.

Up until this time I've ignored the fifty Starbucks I've passed. Have you ever seen the movie Best in Show? There is a point where a consumerism-choked couple who own a trendy Weimaraner are describing how they met. She was sitting in one Starbucks and spotted her future husband sitting in the window of the Starbucks across the street. I've always gotten a chuckle out of that line because I thought it was a satirical jab at how ubiquitous Starbucks is. Yesterday as my friend Colleen and I were walking down the street I actually saw two Starbucks across the street from each other. That kind of scared me so this morning I decide not to give into the temptation of predictability.

I finally find a non-chain where I can get a decent scone and a cappuccino. While there I read in a local paper about another place two blocks from my hotel (not on the route I walked of course) that offers a toasted brioche with Nutella and raspberries. Case closed. I know where I'll be having breakfast tomorrow.