There is no place like home. Well, it’s true. Thank you, ruby ​​slippers.

But honestly, there is no place like a hotel.

Is it even a contest?

Right now I’m sitting in a hotel cafe. It’s 6:30 a.m. and I’m the only one here. It’s like having my own personal Starbucks.

I sip strong black tea from a recyclable cup. The sound system plays a mix of artists that I don’t recognize because I’m old, but the music is soothing. I have a comfortable seat, a nearby outlet to charge my laptop, and a delightful feeling of freedom.

I’m traveling for the first time in, well, years – to visit my daughter, who currently lives in a faraway country called California. And while I may complain about the misery of the trip – the crowded planes, the ridiculously expensive airport food, the confusion of moving across three time zones – I won’t.

Because I am currently enjoying Hotel Life. In other words, the best way of life possible. In my next life, if there is another life and I have the choice, I will be a modern-day Eloise, the most cherished personality of children’s literature who lives with her nanny, her pug and her turtle. at the Plaza Hotel in New York.

And yes, I brought work with me. (These are the bumps and bumps of independent living. If you’re lucky enough to have a job, you can do it. And the idea of ​​earning a little money on vacation isn’t a bad thing.)

Anyway, Hotel Life. Of course, there are the amenities – the workout room, the pool, the reliable Wi-Fi. But the real jewel in the crown? Complete freedom from tedious day-to-day responsibilities.

There is no need to take out the trash. No need to remember when is garbage day. Every day is trash day in a hotel, but that’s not your responsibility! We do not care!

Food? Not your problem. Every meal is a meal out.

Clean up after dinner? What is that?

Laundry is not a hassle. Just put your dirty clothes back in the suitcase and hope they get better when you get back to the real world, whatever that is.

There are no grocery lists. No need to wonder if you have already picked up the kitty litter or not. No cleaning of any kind.

In a strange sense, living in a hotel is a throwback to the carefree days of childhood, when (even if you had chores in your life of fun and games from time to time) you didn’t have the boring and boredom of adulthood that makes everyone gloomy and worried, or at the very least, tired.

And yes, people say it gets old. Life on the road is no picnic, pontificated every rock star of the 1980s, from Bob Seger to Bon Jovi. (And that was decades before they could peek into 2022 and see the state of air travel in the 21st century.)

I understand. Maybe Hotel Life would lose its charm after a while. But I’d like to live it long enough to find out.

Charlotte is a columnist for The Times. You can reach her at [email protected]