I think it was Conrad Hilton who first had the idea that travel would be greatly improved if as much of it as possible were spent in familiar surroundings. Faraway places with strange-sounding names are all very well, provided there are scrambled eggs for breakfast, air-conditioning, toilets that work, and people who speak English, even if they speak it with a curious accent. What the weary traveler needs after being up to his neck in foreigners all day is a drink with plenty of ice, a straightforward dinner menu that doesn't require all interpreter, a decent bathroom and a king-sized bed. Just like home.
The Hilton theory was, as everyone knows, a worldwide success. And this was for one very simple reason: even if you didn't always know where you were, you always knew what to expect. There were no surprises. A few touches of local color would creep in from time to time -- mangoes instead of orange juice, waitresses in sarongs instead of skirts -- but for the most part it didn't really matter whether you fell asleep in Tokyo or Mexico City. There was a certain standardization about the board and lodging that provided comfort and reassurance and familiarity even in the heart of the most exotic locations.
If the idea had stopped there -- as one among many travel options -- it would have been fine. Unfortunately, it proved to be so popular that it was adopted by one hotel chain after another, with varying degrees of local camouflage designed to add personality to a multi-national formula. With loud protestations that they were preserving the special character of each hotel they bought up, the new owners standardized everything that could be standardized, from bathroom fittings to color schemes, until the only sure way of knowing which city you were waking up in was to consult the phone directory as soon as you got out of bed.