Bed and breakfast inns aren’t for me

Last month, I thought it would be relaxing to stay at a bed and breakfast for the weekend. I booked one that checked all my boxes: rolling hills, fields, quaintness, a nearby winery, and a landscape I could sketch. When I arrived, it was definitely picturesque, but I couldn’t shake the odd vibe of staying in a communal house where I was the only guest that evening. It was just me and the owner. She was kind enough, but it felt strange being just the two of us in what felt like her home.

I tried to calm my nerves while drinking the wine she offered me, all the while wondering if she had spiked my drink and planned to hide my body in the vintage truck parked under the tree. Then, there was a donkey in the fields that randomly yelped. The eeriness was completed by brooding purple-gray skies promising a spirited storm.

While sipping the wine and doing a quick gouache painting of the field, I contemplated my escape. I quietly packed my bag while the owner was out of sight, slipped away, and took a loss on my pre-paid reservation. I made it home safely to my bed, telling myself that bed and breakfasts are not for solo trips.

The experience taught me that sometimes, no matter how picturesque the setting, the right atmosphere and sense of security are essential.