While the descriptions vary (as does the quality, from appalling to appealing), the spread of "free" breakfasts in the US among mid-to low range "branded" hotels has been amazing. Meanwhile, among the upscale brands, even such modest amenities as the once "free' coffee in the lobby have flown, forcing guests to keep to their rooms, brewing up little packets in tiny pots. Only the "premiers" are allowed to socialize in their isolated lounges, while that great American tradition, hotel lobbies designed and employed for conviviality, have become stark and empty, a few scattered folks awaiting the next airport shuttle.

For comparison, my two most recent "Big City/Downtown" Hilton stays were in facilities as cold and impersonal as a retreat to a mountain-top hermitage. Sure, the amenities were nice, but the company? As cold and dead as last week's mackerel.

Meanwhile, under the same house flag, stays at a couple of Hamptons brought, admittedly, modest food - well, maybe modest is a bit high a rating - but hot coffee and convivial fellow guests, almost as convivial as the small hotel in Olomouc, CZ, where the morning conversation was friendly, informative and boundless (although, mostly in Czech, which beyond "pivo" and "svoboda" I'm mostly clueless, a bit tough to comprehend in full).

Meanwhile, the Europeans with whom I first struck up lodging acquaintance as far back as '62, eons ago, have regressed. Back then, there was hardly an inn, hotel, pension, or even "maison du tolerance" (SP?, brothel/bordello for the historically unlettered) which did not provide coffee (often of doubtful quality and less certain provenance, but it was soon after WWII and the return of real coffee) and "bread" (a widely encompassing term) as free provender for guests.

These days, breakfast, separately or on "inclusive' special rates, has grown in Southern Europe to match the more lavish offerings of the North, but is rarely 'free' and often priced as if the damn hotel was providing guests a gourmet adventure, instead of a simple breaking of the night fast.

To see a bill for 18 URPs or so for a modest spread, more color than quality, is off-putting. I weep for the return of a cup of (often bad) coffee (or best, those workmanlike bowls in small French places, topped with hot milk) and something from the local baker's counter, included in the cost of the room.