Nope. I read it and laughed. I love the New Yorker. It just got me thinking about if my father owned a rubber empire in South America and I did have a trust fund, how long could I really travel, and where would I go. Then it got me thinking about my own travels.

One thing from my travels is this: I hardly have any decent stories about fancy places we stayed. All the memorable stories happened in hostels, sketchy hotels, or plain resorts. We met interesting people and workers and they tended to be in interesting neighborhoods. All the fancy stuff is good for R&R, but it is mostly boring and forgettable.