THE GLOBE AND MAIL. SOURCES: GETTY IMAGES.
John Lee is a Vancouver-based travel writer.
I booked my first hotel stay when I was a University of Victoria graduate student in my early 20s. My girlfriend and I, keen to swap the single-bed privations of our campus dorm rooms, were desperate for an indulgent night away. And although we had a far-from-fancy budget, we tracked down an off-season deal at a past-its-prime downtown property: $49 per person per night – dinner and breakfast included.
It felt wildly decadent at the time, in the mid-1990s. But looking back, I recall the room’s faded pink decor, bulbless bedside lamp and diminutive bath towels that were as plush as 40-grit sandpaper. None of that really mattered, though, since it also delivered an oasis-like respite from the egregious trials of everyday life. Which, in my case, was the unmatchable stress of trying to understand advanced poli sci texts (thanks a lot, Hegel).
Fast-forward to today and the idea of pausing from the world by booking a restorative hotel sleepover has never been more enticing. But with room rates soaring higher than ever in many areas, it’s also never been less accessible. Sure, you can still find some rooms for $200 a night in major Canadian cities, but if you want one downtown or at peak times, you will likely pay north of $300. Meanwhile, The New York Times recently reported that the daily average for a Big Apple hotel stay in 2023 hit a record US$301 ($414).
That means the all-important ability to run away and revel in a bed other than your own is being taken away from us. Or at least those of us who can’t afford a hotel stay that costs more than our weekly food budget or a significant portion of our monthly rent or mortgage payment. Is that a problem, or should we just suck it up and stay home?
I’m originally from the U.K., where paying to sleep somewhere else most likely became a thing in the Middle Ages. That’s when inns popped up above taverns to serve locals venturing beyond their humdrum hamlets for the first time. These were more like medieval motels: a safe-ish place to stable your horse, refuel on flagons of ale and lay your head on flea-bitten pillows during a short trip – most likely for work, trade or just to forget about that year’s terrible turnip harvest.
By the Georgian Era, leisure travel had arrived. The 1780s playboy Prince of Wales (who later became King George IV) made Brighton and the “dirty weekend” fashionable with his frequent and famously debauched visits. Then, during Victorian times and into the 20th century, the right to get away from it all spread to the masses, serviced by an explosion of family-run B&Bs and small independent hotels. There were plenty of posh and pricey accommodations, of course, but even the poorest newlyweds could now afford seaside honeymoons – complete with cooked breakfasts, shared bathrooms and permanently disapproving scowling landladies.
By the time I booked my own hotel stay in Victoria, city breaks, spa weekends and spontaneous last-minute escapes with partners, friends or family were well-established and widely accessible. And there was a diverse array of accommodations, budget levels and competitive deals to choose from. Now? Not so much.
Recently perusing mid-August rates for downtown Victoria, I found prices ranging from $300 to $450 a night. For downtown Vancouver, there were plenty of standard-looking rooms in the $500+ range. And for Banff, there were several $700 options – breakfast not included. That means a week-long summer stay in a well-situated hotel in Canada could easily set you back well over $3,500. Looking for mid-range hotels with affordable prices? Dream on.
And these are just the base rates, excluding the dark arts of additional charges. These days, your final bill might also include resort fees and destination marketing levies on top of federal and provincial taxes. Parking charges are also routinely above $50 a night at many properties. And there are plenty of other ways for greedy hotels to pick your pockets: I recall a small US$15 bottle of Fiji water that mocked me from the desk in my tiny San Francisco suite a while back.
The defence from the major hotel chains now dominating the market is that their operating budgets have risen exponentially. Everything from toilet rolls to Pringles tubes are pricier for these suffering behemoths these days. And staffing costs are higher than they’ve ever been – that’s if they can find staff willing to work for them in the first place. Room rates may be rocketing, but don’t blame the hotels entirely: They’re simply passing along the rising costs of doing business.
Luckily a saviour emerged a few years back to rescue us hapless holidaymakers from the misery of these surging hotel prices. And that saviour is – drum roll please – Airbnb. Launched in 2008, the platform enabled private owners to rent out their basements, spare rooms or second properties, providing travellers with cost-effective accommodation alternatives in tight, pricey hotel markets across North America and around the world.
But like many modern-day disruptors, the initial promise of Airbnb has not quite stood the test of time. It may have launched as a budget-friendly alternative to the Radissons, Marriotts and Westins, but it wasn’t long before superhosts became backdoor businesses operating lucrative strings of well-appointed condos. And oligopolies like that, of course, always mean higher prices for the likes of us.
Municipalities throughout Canada also began to take notice. Many of them are now cracking down on Airbnb operators with tougher regulations, expensive business licence requirements and court cases for those who fail to comply. Lots of independent solo owners have since abandoned the platform rather than deal with the headaches, which means the remaining properties can name their prices in high-demand markets. This reduced supply also means that, in some areas, available Airbnbs can be harder to find than hen’s teeth or hotel mini-bars.
The legacy hotel chains, of course, are laughing at this – and they’re coining it in better than ever. With postpandemic demand for accommodation surging and a growing shortage of rooms in many cities, the reality is that hotels will charge whatever they can get away with. And they’re getting away with prices that would make even the most profligate traveller think twice. Which is why Vancouver room rates during December’s three-concert Taylor Swift residency were reportedly as high as $2,000 a night – until they all sold out.
We’ve arguably been spoiled over the past few decades without even noticing it. Prices for hotels (like airfares) became accessible as competition proliferated and rates were lowered in the scramble to win customers and gain market share. But as operators have consolidated into bigger and bigger chains, there are fewer competitors and no need for enticing rates and packages any more. We’ve been successfully sold the idea that we deserve as many holiday breaks as we can schedule, and now it’s time to pay the price for this indispensable indulgence.
The well-to-do, of course, will always be able to pay for their hotel escapes. But what about the rest of us? Planning a family road trip? Start by selling your first-born if you want to afford a roof over your head en route (the other kids will stop crying once you find the cartoons on the big-screen TV). Craving a skiing excursion with your buddies? Save money with a shared sleeping arrangement. Alternatively, transform this trip into a three-in-a-bed romantic weekend – thrifty and saucy at the same time.
Traditionally, of course, there have always been plenty of accommodation alternatives to hotels. And they’ve often been cheaper. But when was the last time you stayed in – or even saw – a motel that didn’t look like a potential crime scene? And when did all B&Bs suddenly transform into luxury sleepovers with gourmet breakfasts, four-poster beds and premium rates? As for all those cheerful budget hotels and pension-style independent properties that were once ubiquitous in cities from Vancouver to New York, they’ve clearly all been demolished for condo towers or converted into much-needed homeless shelters.
Maybe it’s not all doom and gloom for our wallets, though. There are still some good-quality hostels with rare family rooms out there. (Book now for your 2027 vacation.) And there are some inviting summertime university accommodation deals, plus lots of nature-hugging campsites, which can be great value if you can find a spot on the dates you require and you don’t blow your budget on new camping gear. But even for these options, year-on-year prices are often rising much faster than our salaries are increasing.
Or maybe it’s just time to admit defeat and stay with relatives when you go on the road – preferably not the ones you can barely tolerate through gritted teeth during those gruelling Christmastime visits. Alternatively, you could finally embrace the much-derided staycation approach and pretend you’re not sleeping in your own saggy old bed (the one without the patented pillow-top mattress and the 1,000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets). Placing a mint on your pillow, and treating Uber Eats like room service might help with this endeavour.
Personally, though, I’m not quite ready to give up on hotel stays. These sanctuary-like escapes from the trials and tribulations of everyday life are still essential – we just need to be more selective about how often we take them. And that might make them even more beneficial. If we have to replace multiple trips away with one or two special jaunts a year, we’re much more likely to appreciate them and fully absorb their mental and emotional value. And if we’re not going away every weekend, we’ll also have much more time to line up a few handy side gigs to help us cover those egregiously increasing rates.
