Travelling and the Hotel Bathroom

An unfamiliar bathroom at seven in the morning, with a flight departing at nine, is a poor place in which to discover that the toothbrush has been left at home and the razor has no serviceable blade.

Travel disrupts routine; it would hardly be travel otherwise. The disruption gives no licence to abandon standards, and the hotel bathroom, with its unfamiliar layout and peculiar plumbing, is where many men first misplace them.

Begin with a washbag of canvas or another washable material, large enough for the necessities and sufficiently structured that they may be found without excavation. Keep the travel articles together and replenish them after returning home; the night before departure is a particularly tiresome time to discover an empty tube of toothpaste.

Carry your own razor (the disposable horrors left by hotels are instruments of minor violence), your own toothbrush, toothpaste, a face wash or soap you know and trust, deodorant, a small comb, and any prescription items you require. If you use a particular shampoo or body wash, decant it into a travel bottle. Hotel products are adequate in an emergency. Do not make the emergency your plan.

On arrival, spend five minutes placing the washbag upon a shelf, setting out what will be needed in the morning, and learning the controls of the shower. This small arrangement prevents a hurried search among closed cases when the room and its occupant are both still dark.

The room is cleaned by the hotel staff, which does not excuse leaving unnecessary disorder for them. Wipe the counter after shaving, hang wet towels, remove hair from the drain, and put used toiletries in the bin rather than distributing them across every surface.

The chambermaid is a professional performing a task that most guests make harder than it needs to be, and the small courtesy of leaving a bathroom in reasonable order is basic decency. If you were raised to believe that someone else will always clean up after you, travel is an excellent opportunity to correct that belief.

The shower may have feeble pressure or controls whose logic was known only to the plumber who installed them. Allow a moment to adjust rather than treating an unfamiliar tap as a personal affront; domestic competence is most useful when the conditions are imperfect.

Travel alters beds, meals, and hours, but the familiar sequence of washing and dress may remain. Keeping that small part of the morning settled makes the rest of an unfamiliar day easier to manage.