My least favorite moment on a trip: Leaving a nice hotel room.
That last click. The key card left on the dresser. Letting go of the brief, private kingdom—a luxury space that is mine for a day, or two, or three. A space where there’s no need to clean or cook or negotiate any part of everyday life.
Sometimes, when I come home, my clothes still smell of the room—Aromatherapy Orange Ginger Shampoo. The scent of freedom.
On a recent trip to Denver, I hoarded seven of the tiny bath bottles—a couple lotions, conditioners, and three shampoos.
Such nostalgia can linger in unforeseen ways.
At the airport, I got stopped and searched at Security. I had failed to put the liquid-containing bottles into their own, private quart-sized plastic bag.
And so, I missed my flight home.