WTF, Amarillo?

I don't really know how to describe the horrors that took place in Amarillo. It's still difficult to talk about to this day.

You might say it was Google's fault. Google had us get off the highway about 20 miles before the exit we should have taken for the hotel we had reserved. At our previous gas fillup, we had budgeted enough to get us comfortably to the hotel. But we learned soon after exiting that the hotel was nowhere to be found. In fact, it seemed like nothing was anywhere to be found. There were indistinct lights in the distance in every direction. So we constantly felt like we were near something, but we didn't know what. Farms? Oil fields? Or just creepy yellow lights erected to disorient and infuriate out-of-state vistors? As the dashboard gas light came on, we wondered whether we were about to embark on an adventure with AAA. But after 15 miles or so on the business loop (a highway we never should have been on), we discovered an oasis in the desert:


This gas station was our Ecstasy of St Theresa. It was Halloween, so there were a bunch of people in costumes, which made everything even weirder. At least I'm assuming those were Halloween costumes. In the grand scheme of things, I was about 39% relieved. We got gas, but our phone call to the hotel yielded very little directional information. We spent the next half hour driving west on what I assume is the main drag of the eastern outskirts of Amarillo, waiting for a sign of an actual city and growing increasingly disappointed.

And then, all of the sudden, we were bombarded with every sign of an actual city you could ever imagine, simultaneously. I wish I had taken a picture, but we were both awestruck and focused on finding the hotel. It seemed like the entire city was one enormous shopping center, extending for miles in every direction, with every chain of restaurant, electronics store, clothing store, everything you have ever seen. I wondered if perhaps at some point in its history, Amarillo was incredibly isolated and had only small local businesses, then the idea of chains was introduced and they just did it Texas style. Which I am assuming is "do it big, or don't do it at all." This was the exact opposite of the ethereal suspicious lights in the distance. Everywhere there was a store with a brightly lit and clearly readable sign. I had no idea where the people lived, or if they all drove in from the outlying areas. I am sure Amarillo is in fact a lovely city with a rich history, lovely residences and respectable citizens. But that night, it was our hell.

We had hoped to get to the hotel early to catch up on some blog posts and internet research for the days ahead, but we were rapidly getting behind schedule. We continued driving around this commercial orgy for probably half an hour, alternately deliberating about whether we should just get back on the highway and bypass this forsaken land, and cursing this terrible place. We had already reserved and paid for the hotel, and I really wanted Kacey to be able to rest. So after two more phone calls to the hotel and a bit more driving, we eventually found it.

The irony is that, in retrospect, it should have been very simple to get to the hotel. In the area around it, there are one-way access roads running parallel to the highway on either side. The hotel was located on one of these access roads, its sign visible from the highway. But because we exited early and the planets aligned to spite us, we were coming from a completely different direction and had no idea such an organization of roads existed.

In the end, the responsibility for this catastrophe is probably distributed among Google, the hotel clerk, and us. But that night, it was all Amarillo's fault.