The Kon Tiki Room Key

I like old motels. Especially if they have a certain Polynesian flair. Which is why I almost dropped everything for a trip down San Antonio way. Almost.

Old motels. That’s what had me pawing through a box of grimy motel room keys. The old kind, with the plastic thing attached. Drop in any mailbox. We guarantee postage.

But I didn’t find the keys in San Antonio. Not even Texas. Nowhere near it. They were in Nevada. In an antique store right outside of Carson City. But I’m not from there, I’m from Kansas City. If you read my screen name, you already know that.

Antiques? Who are they kidding? Antiques and Junk. It says so right on the sign. My kind of Junk. A mug from The Tikis, tacky souvenirs from Hawaii, fish floats, loud shirts with tropical flowers. But none of it grabbed me enough to take a crowbar to my billfold.

That box of motel room keys though, that kind of blew my skirt up, if you catch my drift.
Fred, my companion, fidgeted as I methodically read and discarded each key. OK, he passed fidgeting 20 minutes ago. Now he was impatient and closing in on antsy.

This wasn’t his kind of joint. He didn’t bargain for a junk store that day. Just scenery and maybe a few museums. Museums at least have old guns and machinery he can look at while I study fancy dresses with lace and feathers, and vintage laxative boxes. Not that I’m especially intrigued with laxatives. I just can’t figure why those old timers needed so much of it. I thought they all had gardens out back.

Then there it was. Just a tarnished motel key attached to an ordinary black plastic tag with white lettering. But the words stamped on the tag, they weren’t so ordinary. Kon Tiki Motel 350 Aviation Blvd Universal City Tex. T E X period. Back from the days when you could abbreviate a state with three letters and nobody told you it was against the rules. TEX, ARK, FLA, like that.

A buck for a worthless old key and I paid it gladly. We both left smiling. Me with my key to paradise lost, and he in anticipation of collecting the extra browsing time fees I’d racked up.

Was I really the first to sniff out this clue to a long forgotten Tiki shrine? When it comes to Tiki hunting I’m just a bit player. But I don’t recall any of the big boys mentioning this place in Texas.

I checked the road atlas. Universal City is right there between San Antonio and New Braunfels. I searched the TC archives. Postings with the word Universal, no Kon Tiki Motel. Postings with the word Antonio, no Kon Tiki Motel. I stepped back and did a google search. “Universal City” +”Kon Tiki” +Motel. Seven listings. Seven? For a defunct motel? What the hell? There it is with a phone number.

I pick up the phone and my palms are starting to sweat. “If the owner answers and his nickname is Thor, you might be onto something.” Fred says, with gleam in his eye. He knows collecting the extra browsing time fees would be a piece of cake in a place called Kon Tiki down Mexico way.

A lady answers. “Yes” I say, “I’m looking for a motel with a Polynesian theme. Would that describe the Kon Tiki?”

“No honey,” she answers with a charming drawl, “other than the name, there’s nothing you could call exotic about the place.”

“What about the sign? Is the sign…”

“Not even the sign. We’re just a nice, neat, little ordinary place.”

“Did it used to have a Polynesian theme? I mean like a long time ago?”

“No it never did,” she answers wistfully, “I really don’t know where the name came from.”

“OK. Thank you then.”

“Bye now.”

So here I sit, nursing a Suffering Bastard and idly fondling an ordinary motel room key that once held so much promise. OK, so it’s not a real Suffering Bastard. I’m off the sauce. It’s apricot nectar with cranberry juice and key lime soda with a dash of bitters.

My latest concoction in an attempt to blend today’s reality with yesterdays dreams. Tomorrow I’ll drop the key in any mailbox. We guarantee postage.

Ack, kctiki, you got even closer than I did, and I spent an hour driving around trying to find the dang place!

There's a billboard on the highway, and I finally had the time on one trip that way to exit and try to find the Kontiki. "Try" being the operative word. I went up and down the road where it was supposedly located, and the billboard directions of something like "Exit 37, Turn left 2 miles" were wholly unhelpful. I tried left and right, at least 5 miles - you name it.

A room key is closer than I got - congratulations!

The key may not have amounted to anything but your storytelling skills are outstanding! What a great read - it reminded me of a pulp novel circa 1949!

i could almost smell the "junk store" smell from your story! great job! j$

Riveting read.....Let's have another story..

On 2004-02-16 21:02, Formikahini wrote:

There's a billboard on the highway ... I went up and down the road where it was supposedly located, and the billboard directions of something like "Exit 37, Turn left 2 miles" were wholly unhelpful. I tried left and right, at least 5 miles - you name it.

Alright Sis, take a good hard belt of that Mai Tai. Or better yet, drain it. ‘Cause I’m gonna give it to you straight.

You didn’t find the Kon Tiki because you weren’t ready to find it. But you already know that. Maybe some part of you always knew it. Could be it just didn’t want to be found. You read the directions, but missed the fine print.

Exit 37 (onto Renovation Ave. Bear right, past the Sports Bar, past the Walgreens) Turn left 2 mi. (that’s a hard left, onto the Boulevard of Broken Mugs). Hey kid, did that billboard say anything about shattered mugs? Nah. I didn’t think so.

Turn around? Give up? If we had any brains we’d give up.

But when I dialed the Kon Tiki Motel and had her on the horn, when she claimed there’s nothing Polynesian about the place, I swear I could hear exotic music in the background. Not that plinky plonky water torture stuff either. Slide guitar I think it was. Kinda lazy. Kinda sad. Makes you want to quit your job and stop shaving your armpits.

So keep your eyes peeled kid. That neon vacancy sign is just beyond the windshield, right over the horizon.

Or maybe the Tiki gods didn't find me worthy!!!!

Noooooo!!!!!

Noooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But --
Now that I know that there IS a disembodied voice on the other end of the phone, it gives me hope:

That perhaps ONE day - the next in its Brigadoon-like hundred year cycle - The Kontiki Hotel, TEX will appear on the horizon, and I WILL find the flower-strewn path to its door, enter its balmy entranceway, where lovely wahines place leis of plumeria and other fragrant blooms over my head, while handsome loincloth-clad Polynesian surfer boys hand me a mai tai.

I'll save you a suite, kctiki. You already have your key.

sigh

I am not too far from here... Maybe 45 minutes to an hour. Might be worth a little more digging as this old postcard does give some hope.

I found these images browsing around online for old Tiki near Austin... There has to be something!

On 2004-02-16 17:56, kctiki wrote:
I like old motels. Especially if they have a certain Polynesian flair. Which is why I almost dropped everything for a trip down San Antonio way. Almost.

Old motels. That’s what had me pawing through a box of grimy motel room keys. The old kind, with the plastic thing attached. Drop in any mailbox. We guarantee postage.

Best forum post of any forum. But you took a wrong turn, sister. You're too good for this place. You write pretty, like a 15 cent dime novel. Now beat it, before you get your bus fare swindled by one of the sideways beachcombers.

The Kon Tiki Motel used to have a couple of billboards on I-35 as one approached San Antonio from the north. The billboards definitely had a Polynesian theme to them--and advertised dirt cheap rates. I actually tried to find it back in 1997, when I was traveling and pretty broke, but I couldn't find the darn place. A decade later, when I lived in SA briefly, I tried to find it, but it was either gone or the name had changed. Being so close to Randolph AFB, I figured it was your run of the mill cheap lodging for visiting military families and the like.

Okay, so I have seen the place. They'd changed the name by the time I got to SA. An A-frame and palm are the only surviving "tiki" elements, and that palm doesn't look 40+ years old. I wonder how it looked new...