One thing about traveling is that you rarely know in advance about the bed. This can lead to interesting and, sometimes, sleepless nights. Perhaps not such an issue if you travel the 5 star route but also less interesting. Where is the adventure in a predictably comfy hotel?

One begins with the “look” of the bed.  Some cultures take great pride in creating clever animals out of your towels or elegant flowers out of your pajamas that you find on your bed when you return from a day of traveling.  Beds can look comfortable and lovely. Looks can be deceiving.

When traveling with a friend, we alternate in choosing the bed so no one gets preferential treatment. For instance, always by the window. It’s a fair process but doesn’t always end up equal. Or, perhaps it does. Two examples, one in Zanzibar the other in Havana.

There are beautiful beaches on the north coast of Zanzibar with primitive huts right on the sand. We found a perfect one with a large window (inadequate screens, so big mosquito problems) looking out on the Indian Ocean. One large bed with beautifully draped requisite netting and one twin with sort of requisite netting. Luck was mine, it was my choice time, so, quite understandably, chose the large bed. These were inelegant beds. Rustic is a kind word. My friend decided to move her bed to a more desirable part of the room with more air. It was quite heavy and help was required but she was satisfied after the move. Perfect. Until she rolled over in the middle of the night and the bed collapsed leaving her on the floor. I owed her one.

It wasn’t until a second trip that I was able to repay. In Cuba, we were fairly even. One would have a thin, hard bed, the other a lumpy one requiring a nestle down into an un-lumpy crevice. I may have been a bit ahead on the luck side with the front room with balcony, two double beds to her twin beds but none of them fell apart.  Payment was due. Then came Havana and the bait and switch apartment, (another story all together) and her turn. A double and a single.  Both nicely made up, but obvious choice.  Left with the single, it didn’t look so bad. Dinner out. Collapse onto the bed. It’s a blow-up bed and too short by several inches. This is not one of the newer, smoother inflatables. This is the one with grids and ridges. It squeaks every time I move.  I move a lot as I roll from ridge to ridge.  Two nights. One cannot drink enough mojitos to become numb to the discomfort. The ultra-short living room sofa is luxury by comparison so that’s where I land. Payment in full and home to the bed I really know.