Bhairavi Patel

Grew up at Caribe Motel…

Question 1: What was the name of your motel and where was it located? What years/ how old were you?

Caribe Motel - Homestead, FL
We moved into the motel when I was 8 years old. A couple years later, Hurricane Andrew hit and everything was destroyed. I was sent to live with my aunts in Atlanta, GA while my parents rebuilt. I came back to the motel during my school breaks, mostly winters and summers. 1989-1992 (full-time), 1992-2017 (school breaks and vacation days) 

Question 2: Where did you go to college? What did you study? What do you do now?

I went to Parsons School of Design in NYC where I earned a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Communication Design. I initially started college as an Illustration major—i grew up drawing and painting, but I changed majors because everything was moving digital at the time, and I worried I wouldn’t be able to make a living as an illustrator. For many years, I worked in editorial design for various magazines and book publishers at Time Warner, Disney Publishing and MTV Networks. After having my kids, I transitioned to freelance work, which gave me the flexibility to focus on my family. In recent years, I’ve found my way back to my illustration roots, rediscovered my love for oil painting, and started creating commissioned portraits.

I owe so much to my dad for letting me follow my passion for art. When he was growing up in India, he dreamed of being a singer, but back then, that kind of dream just wasn’t realistic. After moving to America, he and my mom worked hard to give me the chance to chase my own dreams—even when people in our community said he should’ve pushed me toward something “practical” like the stereotypical Indian doctor or lawyer. I’ll always be grateful that he let me be me.

Question 3: Favorite motel memory?

First off—back then, I wasn’t proud of living in a motel. In fact, I hated it and did everything I could to hide that the Caribe Motel was my home. But now that I have a family of my own, I see it all so differently.

It’s funny, but one of the first things that comes to mind about those days is the Coke machine. Every Sunday, we’d scour the sales flyers for the best soda deals, then stock up on as many as we could afford. We charged 50 cents a can, and I’d try to calculate how much we’d make based on what we bought that week. Loading the machine with fresh sodas and collecting the change from the week before became a ritual. I’d sort the coins, roll them in paper wrappers, and tally everything to deposit at the bank. Looking back, I guess that was my first job. It felt exciting, especially because it was a family effort—my mom, dad, brother, and even any extended family staying with us all pitched in. Seeing all the colorful rolls of coins neatly stacked was oddly satisfying to 9-year-old me.
The Coke machine also played a key role in the afternoons, when my parents’ friends from the community—other motel owners—would come over to “sit.” After finishing the daily work of cleaning rooms and doing laundry at their own motels, they’d gather at each other’s houses to relax and chat. I was always tasked with fetching cold drinks for the visitors. I’d grab change from the register, run through the parking lot to the Coke machine, and bring back ice-cold sodas for everyone. It wasn’t just about serving drinks; looking back, the coke machine was a symbol of community, connection, and even my earliest lessons in work and responsibility.

Another memory that sticks out is doing laundry. My husband would probably be shocked to hear me call it a “fond” memory! As a teenager, folding sheets and towels in the summer was my job. (Unpaid, of course!) My cousins, who visited often, would join in, and we’d turn it into something fun. We’d haul all the laundry to room 110, crank up the AC unit, and watch all the new MTV and VH1 music videos while we folded. At the time, it felt like such a chore, but now I look back on those moments with so much nostalgia. Honestly, I wish I could go back to those simple times.

Question 4: Worst motel memory?

Guns at the motel are some of my worst memories. One summer afternoon, I was folding laundry with my mom in room 110 when my dad suddenly ran out of the office. He looked scared, which was so unusual for him. He told us that a man, who he thought was there to rent a room, had put a gun to his head and demanded he empty the register. My dad gave him all the cash, and thankfully, the man ran off without hurting him.
Another time, while my mom was cooking dinner in the kitchen, the office bell started ringing frantically. I went to see who it was and found a man banging on the door with two gunshot wounds in his back. We quickly called the police. My parents told me to leave the office, so I don’t know what ended up happening to him.
Then there was the time my dad was cleaning a room and found a loaded gun. I’ll never forget how carefully he wrapped it in a towel and carried it back to the office. It was the first time I’d ever seen a real gun, and I was absolutely terrified.

Question 5: The lessons learned:

At the time, I didn’t fully appreciate it, but the sense of community and camaraderie among the motel owners was truly inspiring. Our street was lined with motels, many run by Indian families like ours. Technically, we were all competitors, vying for the same customers with similar offerings. Yet, whenever someone in our small Indian motel community faced a challenge—whether it was a broken toilet, a health crisis, or financial troubles—everyone stepped in to help. I remember seeing my dad go work at a competitor’s/friend’s motel because they needed an extra hand. And when our family was in need, the support was always reciprocated. As an adult myself now, I realize that kind of ever present supportive community is something really rare and unique.