We were on our vacation, and Shirley said, “Let’s pool our money, cut the travel days, and stay one night in this grand huge big luxury royal iconic galaxy-starred hotel we’ve heard and read so much about.”

I said, “I hate decadence, as you know, and royalty and excessive wealth and the upper crust in a class society, but for you, Darling, anything.”

So I swiped my credit card which almost maxed out, signed the documents, and porters carried us to our room. They gave us the plastic key, but showed us every nook and cranny of opulence, glasses set out on the counter for tap water at reasonable prices, a little refrigerator you had to pay to open before you could take a look at the offerings to be added to the bill, paid in advance but a required final settlement before we were allowed to check out and leave the premises. All very Sheshe.

The porters extended their hands, expecting a tip. I shook their hands and closed the door.

We tried the bed. It was a bed, but overelaborated. There was a slot for a credit card which would trigger vibrations for the American tourists.

The bathroom had a lock on the toilet.

We decided to take a walk through the hotel and assess the surroundings. Too much gold leaf, which gives presidents ideas. Corridors so long we got lost.

We called room service. The voice on the phone said, “Room service is closed for the night, but what would you like? For a price, we can get you anything.”

“Never mind,” I said, and hung up.

The voice just had time to say, “The cost of this call will be added to your bill.”

We went back to the bed, looked at each other, and asked in unison, “Do you really want to stay here all night?”

“No!” we answered in unison, took our meager luggage and crept out the side door.

We went into the village and took a comfortable room where real people sleep.

When we got home, we got a call from the bank. “Just routine. We’re trying to verify some unusual charges on your hotel bill. Did you have a floating dinner in the pool?”

“No, we didn’t even know there was a pool.”

“Did you have unpaid debts accrued at the gambling tables?”

“What? No! There was gambling? What’s going on here?”

The bank voice said, “That’s what we thought. Those European hotels are always trying to cheat American tourists. I’m waiving all charges. That should teach them a lesson.”

Shirley and I looked at each other, sighed, and said in unison like a movie, “There’s no place like home!”