May 7, 2014 Kingman Update.

I heard the cleaning ladies saying this morning that the room next door had a burnt cover, and blood all over the sheets, and the pillowcases were gone. Commas intentional.

This would be the 2  guys and a girl from last night who came in on bikes and spoke a harsh French. Loudly. Outside. In front of my door. So from this I draw the conclusion that all French people are not snobby. Some are not even couth. Possibly they play bloody games in motels. And that the Lés Miserables crowd can afford to travel abroad. Anyway, they left early, so I missed a chance to make friends.  For all I know, only 2 of them left alive. God knows where the owner of the spilt blood is. Perhaps the third one was carried off in bits in the missing pillowcases to be disposed of along Route 66.

This is one of the reasons I love to travel. The various people in the world. 

There is a breakfast bar with every carb in captivity. Waffles, french toast and pancakes with many syrups for them. 

Sweet rolls, cakes, donuts, bagels, toast, raisin toast and cinnamon toast with butter, margarine,a variety of jellies and jams to spread on them.

Cooked oatmeal and several dry cereals and raisins and brown sugar. 

Milk; whole, 2%, skim, soy and coconut. Also lo fat yogurt.  

Coffee, cream and sugar, of course.

Juices, you name them. 

 Cantaloupe and orange wedges. 

Sausages in various shapes. And gravy and biscuits. Shades of Granny! No bacon. Scrambled eggs for fairly nonfat protein. 

The crowd is a mix of Europeans and people from the UK along with the bikers, truckers--pick-ups, that is-- old car Willies and wives. A number of quiet old people appear once in a while. I have seen a walker with wheels and several canes and a couple of wheel chairs.

I am surprised at the mix of people from other countries who come here to see the sights. I love hearing the different languages at breakfast. They are all ages. One Japanese family; parents with 5 young daughters. Must cost an arm and a leg.
The young Europeans eat everything there is to eat. They eat as if they are fueling up until their next stop. They eat like Irene's boys must have eaten when they were all young, strong and hungry. They are charming and lighthearted.

One old German couple, he silent, she chats away happily. Sort of like the blonde woman in The Bagdad Cafe. Cheerful and undauntable. She directs her happy observations to him, whose face is in his plate and who never looks up. She brings him more food. No verbal exchange of any kind.They seem very happy, in a sort of benign way.

An historical note; Bagdad Cafe was filmed just down the road a piece, on old Route 66.

And then the dog people. They mostly seem to be on the road in order to walk their dogs in different climes. Heads together in consultation,  they are focused on the happiness of the pooch.

There aren't many motor homes here. That makes sense. They have somewhere to sleep.

The desk staff are all older women. One is the epitome of prim little old lady-hood. Tight white curls, mien rather vague and ineffective. When she answers the phone—only if everyone else is busy—she hems and haws and hands off to someone else as soon as possible. I think she is the token old lady, but it is pretty cool. Won't I be surprised to discover she is actually the resident, um, private services person. Hooker on hand, so to speak.

This is NOT the little old lady at the desk. It is her evil twin, who ate all the food and sold HERSELF for smokes.

The cleaning staff wear charming white pinafores over their clothes and look like fugitives from an English hospital in the 40s.

 Uniforms of cleaning ladies.