Hotels of Equestria

by NorrisThePony

March 5th, 981

A quick word, before I deliver my review of The Frozen Pines Inn, as observed in the winter of 981.

All of my previous reviews, dating as far back as 984, have been published for the Canterlot Herald. For almost 200 issues they have hosted my criticisms, and I have patiently worked under the limitations their editors have thrust upon me.

The following is one I have been attempting to get published for at least that whole time, and they have rejected it continuously. I understand why and have no faults with their decision. Ponies reading my reviews are looking for me to humorously tear into the unsuspecting—to deliver cold, sardonic insults in as bland a monotone as I can manage.

What follows is none of the sort.

Regardless, I believe I have built up enough of a follower-base from you dear readers to begin self-publishing my reviews, and not relying on a larger publishing body to cling to like a deep-sea barnacle.

I have communicated these desires to my friends at the Canterlot Herald and they understand entirely. Out of mutual respect for our partnership over these exciting few decades, they have agreed to publish this often rejected review as my send-off. Thank you, Canterlot Herald, for helping me through thick and thin with these reviews, and for giving them a home in your magazine.

~ The Frozen Pines Inn, Whinnesota – March 5th, 981 ~

Have you ever noticed how strangely self-contradictory the nature of 'reviewing' places are?

I noticed it reading over one of my old reviews, in which I make it very very clear that I have become disillusioned with 'outside voices.' I have become convinced, if you will, that my opinion is the only one by which I should ever critique anything, and therefore my experience should be the sole experience required for me to adequately enjoy (or detest) something.

The hypocrisy therein lies; whilst saying this, I am saying it in a format designed specifically to shape your own experiences when you go to the hotels I have reviewed. Indeed, unless you are reading these reviews solely for entertainment, you are facing a clear contradiction: understand all that is right and wrong with these places, and then consider the fact that you should never value any opinion beyond your own.

Interestingly, one 'outside voice' that is near impossible to ignore is that of younger incarnations of oneself.

This brings me to my review of the Frozen Pines Inn, during the winter of 981. It was never my specific intention to stay in this motel. But, as it usually goes with motels, I was stranded and without a choice.

When this occurred, I was no longer an intern peasant, but instead an employee of the Equestrian Committee of Sports and Activities. I was still a mere assistant to somepony getting paid far more than me, but I was simply happy to finally be on route to what would surely one day be the life I'd been seeking since I was a filly.

This route, as it happened, brought me to the province of Whinnesota to deliver a quick presentation highlighting our interest in building Northern Equestria's youth ice-hockey representation at the Equestria Games. It was a casting call and nothing more, and if any job screamed 'delegation!' it was apparently this one. I believe that "sending the ex-intern" was the most logical course of action for a committee of ponies who surely did not wish to lift a hoof themselves.

I say this all with negative written intonation, but at the time I was merely thankful for any semblance of responsibility. It happened to be one of the first out-of-Manehattan assignments I'd been given, so I could not help but be excited.

My goal was to stay with a cousin who happened to live in some small town whose ludicrous name I forget—and no, I am not going to harshly critique her house in another review, so don't go asking—but, as is the luck of a travelling mare, my train just so happened to break down in the middle of absolutely nowhere. And I do not mean a mild malfunction easily repaired in several minutes—there was quite literally black smoke in the passenger cars themselves.

I should note for posterity that the midnight train through Whinnesota is not primarily a passenger one—rather, it is one passenger car and thirty-seven freight cars—and as such I don't quite believe the crew knew how to handle us in what must have been a unique event. Fortunately, the train broke down a mere kilometre from the nearest motel. I cannot begin to imagine what would have happened if it had broken down any earlier, considering the winter of 981 was one of the coldest in the decade.

The Frozen Pines Inn ended up being my refuge. A motel of a dozen rooms, it is surrounded by nothing but fields and the small wagonroad leading into town.

It wasn't until I'd checked in, received my key, and made my way to my room on the second floor of the motel that I realized I'd been here before.

It shifted my entire perspective for the night, admittedly. I could not focus on any task, because once that realization had struck me, I couldn't shake it. I kept trying to reconcile every bit of this motel with whatever fragments of memories I still had. One never knows how much to remember while living their life. It isn't until later on that you realize you should have been paying more attention.

Still, over the sleepless night and into the lazy morning spent waiting for my cousin to arrive to bring me into town, the fragments formed into something more cohesive. I couldn't remember when I'd been there last, but I knew it had been when I was rather young. Even then for a period, I'd travelled a fair bit, you see, but it all passed in that same sort of blur that our nostalgic memories normally do, with our projected expectations of a destination acting as a strange, inverted place impossible to return to in the present.

The more I thought on it, the more it became clear that when I had stayed here last, it had been with my parents, which narrowed it down to some time before my tenth birthday.

I thought it was funny, to be reminiscing like this, when I was still in my youth. Sure, it would be more befitting of the Florina Harshwhinny writing to you ponies now, but then? It felt funny, but it wouldn't simply go away with that realization.

Why was this motel in particular such a strange leyline of emotion? It seems to me like the most mundane places are the best fortress against the poltergeists of the past, and what single place in Equestria is more mundane than a hotel room? Even the passport office or the walk-in clinic has the capacity to pose some manner of surprise.

My room in the Frozen Pines Inn was pleasant, to be sure—oftentimes, these small, independently operated motels are more pleasant than they had to be. There is a stigma around them; they are a cheap place designed for the desperate, and nopony staying in them really gives a damn about them at all. It was such a shame, then, to see so much potential wasted in a rather beautiful room. It was a motel whose primary denizens were tired, grouchy ponies like myself, and yet it looked as though somepony had put legitimate effort into its decor. Beautiful paintings signed by an artist I didn't know (but met myself when I was checking out, arguing with her father behind the checkout desk while he apologetically accepted my keys with a smile). As a whole, the motel seemed a strange sort of chameleon, shifting its decor to accommodate for the relevance of the era, while still keeping a charm of its own that seemed strong enough to stick with me even where so many of my other memories had failed. When it comes to interior design, eclecticism is something many think they understand, but truly do not. The Frozen Pines Inn is a pleasant exception.

They even had a small restaurant in the lobby, and the food there was also delicious. With only a few residents ever present at a time, it seems the motel's cooks had more time to focus on the quality of their dishes.

I know not many who stay at the Frozen Pines Inn will care, but on the strange chance that one of the staff members there are reading this review, please know that I legitimately feel you have a talent for interior design, specifically in the hotel subcategory.

What more can be said about it, other than that it is a pleasant and welcoming little retreat that I would be glad to revisit one day, and perhaps I could enjoy my stay a little better without some ghost of my past stirring up trouble once again, haunting me in the most mundane of places.

★★★★★— Published in the Canterlot Herald, Issue 196, December 1003. The hotel in question, the 'Frozen Pines Inn', was demolished in May of 988.

Author's Note:

It's back, bitches!

Comments

[QueenMoriarty]

whose primarily denizens

primary denizens

Also, do I detect a trace of the Grand Budapest Hotel?

[Seether00]

motels are pretty shady sometimes.

[Ice Star]

I wonder what strange trails will lead her back there.
8489747 See this.

[Rune Soldier Dan]

It's back, bitches!

fuk yea
derpicdn.net/img/view/2016/4/27/1141341__safe_artist-colon-valendart_ms-dot-+harshwhinny_beach_bipedal_clothes_explicit+source_one-dash-piece+swimsuit_pony_semi-dash-anthro_solo_sungl.png

Bit of a sad note at the end, but such is the way of things.

[Ice Star]

8489884
That wasn't a very professional comment.
derpicdn.net/img/2016/11/24/1302275/large.png

[Rune Soldier Dan]

8489909
It had a picture of Miss Harshwhinny. Ergo, it was sufficiently professional.

Just... shocked that you don't understand that. Wow.

derpicdn.net/img/view/2017/7/27/1496141__safe_artist-colon-plunger_ms-dot-+harshwhinny_4chan_bust_clothes_drawthread_ear+piercing_earring_earth+pony_jewelry_mad_piercing_pony_scarf_sh.jpeg

[Ice Star]

8489916
It simply didn't have enough Harshwhinny.

[Rune Soldier Dan]

8489940

It simply didn't have enough Harshwhinny.

A statement true in all places, all times, and relevant for all conceivable situations. Well Done.

[Ice Star]

8489959
An AU where everypony is Harshwhinny and everyharshwhinny is ruled by the majestic Harshwhinnylestia and Harshwhinnuna, her younger harshwhinny who was banished for one thousand years for being... unprofessional in most treasonous ways. I apologize in a totally professional way if that image was too graphic.

[Skywriter]

Glad to see this back in action!

[artofwar77]

8489969
But is it more graphic than the thought of Disharshwhinnycord, that most undignified Spirit of Unprofessionalism, escaping her imprisonment to spread her impropriety across the land?

edit: I forgot we don't speak of that.

[Ice Star]

8490992
We don't speak of that.

[Bugsydor]

It was nice to see she'd gotten a good stay at least once in her life.

[Neece]

That ending was extremely bittersweet. I hope the people from that little motel did read it, and felt good about it. Too sad if they didn't

On the other hand, yay, it's back

[Orbiting Kettle]

Wohoo! It's back

[FanOfMostEverything]

A poignant note to reopen on. I look forward to seeing further reviews, though I don't expect any will lay Ms. Harshwhinny's soul quite as bare as this one.