Iowa City/Coralville, Feb. 2009, Part 1

February 5, 2009 – It figures! You get a good deal, but still you want more.

I had reservations in Iowa City for February 6-7 at the Iowa House for $80. It's a good location for Iowa City, but I thought for shits-and-giggles to hop on to Priceline and see if I could get a similar rate for the Sheraton downtown.

The Sheraton is conveniently located just a couple of minutes walk from most everywhere I wanted to be, and it was little over a block away from the bus station. What more could I want? Well, affordability for one thing.

I was lucky to get a room there a few years back for $60 a night, now you're lucky as hell if it can be had for $100. So out of curiosity I went on to Priceline to see what they had listed of Iowa City. Doing a search for Iowa City hotels turned up only one 3-1/2 star property, the Sheraton.

I placed a $75 bid for a 3-1/2 star hotel, knowing that the only hotel of that rating for Iowa City would be the Sheraton. I figured the worst thing that would happen is that mt bid would be rejected, but I'd still have a decent place nearby for only $80.

Well the bid was accepted, which was a bit of a surprise. But the shocker came when I found out it was a Marriott way out in Coralville!

...for getting stuck in Coralville.

I was stunned, flabbergasted, enraged. I called Priceline's 800 and talked to some poor schmuck operating from some call center in a faraway land, but found no way out of my situation. He also explained that when you go to place a bid, they're lists of potential properties extends beyond what Priceline's limited hotel search will show.

What that means is if you do a search for Iowa City you will only see Iowa City properties, and the same thing applies when you do a search for Coralville. But when you reject their listed deals and opt for a bid, then properties outside of your search range are included.

I've never had this kind of issue with Priceline before, but in the past I looked for places to stay in larger cities where Priceline breaks them down into neighborhoods.

If I ever decide to utilize Priceline again, I'm gonna make damn sure I do searches in surrounding communities first to see what the full pool of potential properties is. I don't want to stay in Moline if I'm shooting for Davenport.

After doing some research on cab fares I estimate my Priceline snafu is gonna cost me $25-45 in cab fare getting to and fro. So much for my getaway to Iowa City. I pray for a dive bar near the hotel to drown my sorrows in.

For all intensive purposes, the neighborhood around the Coralville Marriott is a virtual dead zone for the man on foot. It's a one mile walk to the nearest bus stop, with no service Saturday night or Sunday.

Then, finally, some good news. The Coralville Marriott does have a shuttle I can utilize so that will save on travel expenses. I hope a $5 tip is good compensation per trip.

Even more good news. I got my federal tax return overnight, however it's already spent. Bad news is that I bit my tongue while sleeping. A two-hole bleeder from the tip. So much for oral sex with some anonymous Coralville barfly.


February 6 – On I-80 abroad the Greyhound with plenty of elbow room. I'll have to remember this schedule the next time I go to Chicago.

The ride over was uneventful with one brief stop at some lonely little truck stop. I took a quick leak, some fellow passengers lit up, and the driver scored a coffee and a sausage and egg biscuit.

Pulled into Iowa City only five minutes late. I hopped out and made my way downtown to score some joe at the Java House, where there was a queue for coffee as I had expected. So I left and wandered about, finally ending up at the friendly confines of the Hamburg Inn, where I stumbled into a bit of a lull and got promptly seated.

Look at all that cheesy, beefy goodness.

Ah, luxury! A tall glass of ice water, a mug of decaf and all the little cream containers I could possibly use. I kept breakfast light and ordered up a Mexican Deluxe omelet with ground beef and an English muffin. The omelet was spicy, tomatoey, beefy, and cheesy, along with a decadent ribbon of sour cream, all packaged nicely within the confines of its eggy shroud. Yum, yum, yum.

Sated, I paid for the meal, left a decent tip, and made a most satisfying walk over to the Bruegger's Bagel Bakery where I arranged for the hotel shuttle to pick me up.

I had hoped the driver would take the most direct route over to Coralville, which would have afforded me an assessment of my walk to the city bus from the hotel, but instead she went up Dubuque and back over on I-80. Not a good sign.

I arrive at my swanky digs at the Coralville Marriott. For $75 a night it's a very nice room. The view, a wonderful tableau of fuel storage facility, Interstate 80 and snow, does leave something to be desired. But it does make me a little homesick. Sniff... it's just like being in Clive.

The beds are comfy and laden with an assortment of pillows. The TV is a big flat screen but all the channels are still analog. I am staggered though, by the vast assortment of porn available on the hotel's pay-per-view, and the amount of labor it took to design the teaser screens for each skin flick. However, the closest thing to gay porn is some dude wanking his schlong. I reckon the Mormon leadership of the Marriott chain has limits to what base entertainment it offers to the heathen masses. No scat either, but I must admit the only steamy thing I want a comely lass to dump in front of me is a hot bowl of chili, among other tasty food items.

Time to go roam the negro streets of Coralville, looking for an angry fix. Or a Thai transgender with a dainty package.

Supper at Pizza on Dubuque.

I had some concerns about whether the walk to the nearest city bus stop was doable. But I managed to negotiate the muddy pools and black ice, and snag a Coralville bus bound for downtown Iowa City.

Fortune favored me in a most destructive way. Upon exiting the bus at the Pentacrest stop I stumbled about until I came upon the Tobacco Bowl, a java and cigarette joint [see blog review] for coffee and smoke.

After my caffeine/nicotine double-shot I needed to put something on my belly. I ventured down the street a block and stumbled into Pizza on Dubuque where I lomticked on a couple of slices of their pizza, built on a half whole wheat, half white crust. I had a pepperoni and a veggie slice complimented with broccoli. I ate casually, enjoying each crunchy bite. It definitely hit the spot and took the edge off my buzz.

Sated, once again. I waltzed over to the Pentacrest.

I, for one brief moment, am free. But soon it passes

I was walking around the grounds of the Pentacrest taking pics of the Old Capitol and its ancillary buildings as the sun set over the skyline of the Medical Center across the river. The weather was pleasant, and I was blissfully idle. Only the truly libertine could experience such idleness every day of their lives. I got a ten minute slice.


I finally gravitate to the center of the universe and settle up to the bar at The Deadwood. I quaff a pint of Guinness while listening to the talk of fellow patrons. I'm trying to decide if they're Press-Citizen staff or not from the sound bites I pick up from their conversation. I decide not to muscle in on their talk. I enjoy my one and only Guinness for the night. Sláinte!

Whitey's chocolate malt.

In my wanderings around the darkening streets of Iowa City, a notion takes hold in my head, and I find the perfect compliment to the wisps of Guinness upon my mustache. I mosey into Whitey's, a Quad Cities/Iowa City chain of ice cream shops, and order up a large chocolate malt, extra malty. It comes as a surprise to find them using vanilla ice cream instead of chocolate, but dosing it liberally with the brown sauce. It must be all those times spent at Dairy Queens watching chocolate soft serve excrete down into the cup.

While enjoying my gritty malt, I came across a shop called Dawn's Hide & Bead Away and peered inside to see a familiar head. The hair was unmistakable! It was an old acquaintance, Karen Kubby at her newly acquired shop that she and her sister took over.

I hesitated to barge in, feeling like a cigar-stinking, malt slurping interloper. But my desire to say hello took precedence and it's a joyful reunion. Lots of hugs and well-wishes. I would love to stay further and monopolize her aura but she's got things going on, and I'm feeling rather self-conscious of my smokiness so I bed adieu.

On my way to the bus stop I ran into some young comely female in an Army jacket hitting me up for some change. I fish out an one and what change is in my pocket and wish her well. She finishes the transaction with a joke, "Why can't you hear rabbits fucking?" "Because they got cottonballs." I'm in love.
 

Photos from the Picasa Web Album: Iowa City & Coralville, February 2009.