Vacation Planning is No Day at the Beach

Have you ever noticed that making plans for air travel and hotels can be more complicated than launching a space craft? People run small countries with less restrictions and red tape than I’ve found when making travel arrangements this summer. I mean, there oughta be a law.

Call it women’s intuition, but I believe the travel industry has hatched an evil plan to drive us all crazy. They know that once we’ve gone utterly over the edge we’ll squander money like drunken fools, throwing bills of large denominations in the general direction of anything that moves as long as there are promises of palm trees or large rodents named “Mickey” in the general vicinity.

Take last week for example. I was looking into air travel to visit our older daughter in Los Angeles. “Amazing Deals!!!!  Lowest Fares Ever!!!” trumpeted the ad on the internet for trips to LA from the Bay Area. Of course the fine print, which I never take the trouble to read because I’m too excited about the promise of low fares, provided about 276 disclaimers.

Already onto the site and searching for the Deal of the Century, I discovered that seats on this ridiculously low-priced flight were – surprise! – sold out waaaaaayy into the future. In fact, I’m willing to bet you couldn’t book a low-fare flight to LA for your unborn grandchildren in the year 2067 because the cheap seats are already sold out. However, I found no shortage of flights to Los Angeles that cost approximately the same as the outstanding amount of our mortgage. 

Since it’s hard to throw a tantrum on the internet, I decided to take up the challenge by telephone for another mission I’ve undertaken. I needed to find a block of hotel rooms in Carmel for a family event in September. My handy travel guide displayed an ad for what appeared to be a reasonably nice hotel for about a third of the price of other hotels in the area. Of course I immediately smelled a rat. Going on “Fine Print Alert,” I discovered that Saturdays and Sundays were $20 extra. Holiday and “special event” rates were higher. And the granddaddy of Cover Your Backside clauses: lower rates were “based on availability.”

I meticulously planned my maneuver. Checking the calendar carefully, I determined that the weekend I wanted was not Labor Day, Grandparents Day, Groundhog Day or Canadian Geese Fly Over Your House and Poop on Your Roof Day. So that should cover the holidays and “special events.” This left the question of “availability.” 

Phoning the inn, I was greeted by a pleasant male voice with a slight accent of indeterminate derivation. I couldn’t put my finger on the origin but wherever he was from, it sounded expensive.

“What do you have available on the second weekend of September?” I inquired cleverly. He responded that he had an ample number of rooms open that weekend. Aha!! There went the availability caveat right out the window!          

“So with the $20 extra for weekends, I can book these rooms for $89 apiece I asked?” confident that the answer would be a resounding yes because – oh boy – I’d done my homework.

“No, that would be $195 per room,” he replied serenely. “The Tomato Festival is that weekend.”

Oh, for the love of God. Tomatoes? Do you know how many varieties of tomatoes there are?  This could get tricky. Not one to give up easily, I proceeded to inquire about the special rate for other weekends. Nope, nope, nope and nope. We breezed right through the festivals for gourds and the squash family, and I was preparing to launch into root vegetables when I had an idea.

“How about….um…mushrooms?” I asked sneakily, knowing that Morgan Hill has mushrooms covered. “Any festivals for mushrooms?”

“Yes, on Memorial Day weekend, which is also a holiday,” he pointed out unnecessarily.

“No way!!” I shouted. “We have the Mushroom Mardi Gras right here in Morgan Hill!”

“Of course,” he purred smoothly. “As I said, we have the Mushroom Mardi Gras that weekend, and Carmel is only one hour and ten minutes away from Morgan Hill. We’re already swamped with reservations for next year.”

“Ok, ok,” I whimpered; I know when I’m beat. “Book the rooms for September.” 

And when we finally get to Carmel in September, we will all fling large bills about liberally because there are bound to be a few palm trees down there somewhere.

Gale Hammond is a 23-year Morgan Hill resident. Reach her at

Ga*********@ao*.com











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