It does appear as if Samantha's 'Great Hotels' has finally checked into that Junior Suite in the Sky (although I hope they will revive again in occasional re-runs). And although I must confess that I was never personally that caught up in the subject of hotels, and not a frequenter of those places (I did once stay in the hotel NEXT to San Francisco's St. Francis) and some of those great hotels probably weren't that great anyway, I will miss that grand old series. But it had a great run, didn't it?
For me the joy of the series of course, the reason to watch it so devotedly, was its host, centerpiece and bundle of electric energy, interest and fascination that is Samantha Brown. She took a most inanimate object - a background piece to anyone's vacation or business trip - and turned it into a vital and almost breathing entity. And for some of those places that took titanic effort and immense imagination.
Yet for three years Samantha famously hopped onto beds, pretended to eat prodigious meals all alone, was shoved out into public view frequently sporting only a bikini (thank you, Sam

) or even less for back rubs, mud applications and hot stone treatments. She was tossed down waterslides and up rock walls, sent parasailing, snorkeling, hawking, on mule backs, and to cowbell ringing for recording studios, all in the good humored quest to show us endless hotels. She even carried her own bags at Costanoa. Half Moon Bay was for some reason perhaps my favorite. Sam simply seemed so sublime there, even golf-less. But also San Francisco's Fairmont, the Inn at Montchanin Village, the Del Coronado and the legendary Little Palm Island... there were dozens more.
So for me it was never the hotels; it was the charm and vivacity of their ambassador, their presentation by someone we came to feel we knew as a travel mate. They kept her in the national view for three years for our viewing delight and launched her into greater projects since, and I celebrate 'Great Hotels' for that alone. But now it seems it's time to say farewell to the odd raspberry pant suit with the big bow in back, the trusty black suitcase rolled through countless lobbies, the endless stream of bathrooms that all looked pretty much the same to me but somehow each got different descriptions from her, and all those gourmet dinners I'd never want to pay for personally.
Mother Orange might even compose a poem on the subject if she ever gets the chance (my poetic attempts never went over too well here), but I do feel obliged to send out a farewell post to our old daytime companion, Samantha's 'Great Hotels'. There's much more depth and dimension to Sam's travel topics since, but for a subject so bland and forgettable as a mere hotel, what memorable and charming half hours they were, and I shall remember them very fondly.