I was happy to discover that all three windows opened in my beautiful room at Hotel Luna Baglioni. So many hotels seal up bedroom windows, forcing guests to rely on air conditioning.
My room at the gorgeous Hotel Luna Baglioni on St. Mark’s Square in Venice.
This hotel, right on the edge of Piazza San Marco in Venice, was near perfect in every way. (I won’t gripe about the concierge’s bad restaurant recommendations.) Snuggled within the thickest, most luxurious bed linens ever, flanked by Fortuny chandeliers, I could almost forgo the streets of Venice for the comfort and ambiance of this room. Almost.
The windows opened from the top, tipping down slightly—just enough to get a little breeze going. It was both the heavy curtains and the window hardware that prevented a wider opening.
I had a daily battle with housekeeping: I’d leave the windows and curtains open. Housekeeping would slip in and close the windows and curtains.
One day I returned after breakfast, re-opened the layers of curtains, and re-opened the window. Lo! It opened sideways, and all the way!
WTF??? Is this my room? I felt almost dizzy with confusion, having opened this very window repeatedly with a different outcome each time.
The window tips down from the top. Notice the handle is vertical.
Turning the handle to a horizontal position opens the window horizontally. Brilliant!
Closing and opening the window a few times, paying close attention, I figured it out. Notice the handles. Straight up opens the top. Turning the handle further to the horizontal position opens the window sideways.
What complicated hardware! I rushed around to try the other bedroom window and the one in the bathroom. Both worked the same way. I like it!
Dozens of tiny pellets were in and on the dry toilet before it was flushed.
The mysterious case of the dirty toilet
This time, the “hotel” is my own six-star guest room. We’d been away for six weeks and it was summer in the desert. The water in the toilet had dried up.
In the midst of some unrelated home improvements, the plumber wanted to check the toilets for leaks. I brought him into the guest bath and immediately noticed some spots on the closed lid. Opening the lid, I was repulsed to see a large number of tiny brown pellets in the bottom of the dry toilet. And all over the toilet. On the seat, on the rim, on the tank top.
My knee-jerk reaction: “Oh, disgusting!” And I flushed it. Stupid. Would have made a much more dramatic photo if I hadn’t.
At first I wondered if someone had been in my house (possible) and messily dumped something into the toilet (highly unlikely). What else?
What’s in and all over my toilet?
After a visit from the friendly family entomologist, mystery solved. It’s… oh, ick… cockroach poop. There were many intruders—or one that stayed for a long time.
When the toilet water dried up, direct access was opened from the septic tank. The trespassers took full advantage of the new expressway and invaded, looking for food and water. My six-star accommodations being spotless, their exploration proved fruitless and they departed.
My plan of attack, or is it defense, will be to deploy a team of flushers to attend regularly to my toilets when I’m away on extended travels. And maybe a little strategically placed diatomaceous earth.
NIGHTMARES, ANYONE? These curtains look ordinary at first glance. Who scrutinizes the design on hotel room curtains? But your eyes have registered the subtle depiction that your conscious mind has failed to process: insects are crawling up the drapes.
Nightmares, anyone? Insects crawling up bedroom curtains.
Bugs in hotels
Later, the insidious images creep into your cognizance. You’re sleeping—or trying to sleep—and from from the depths of your subconscious rise ugly apparitions of insects—giant insects—marching upwards. They’re frolicking among… what are those? Larvae? And the larvae begin to metamorphose, and the juveniles become adults, and the adults swell to the size of full grown boxers, all brown, marching, swarming up the curtains and on to…
In your drowsy agitation, something touches your skin—a corner of the pillow case, a lock of hair, the antenna of an oversized beetle. Your eyes fly open. Now every dark or bumpy thing in the room looks like a creepy-crawler: the handles on the windows, the drawer pulls, a hook on the wall, and—is that a shoe or…
Hallucinations in hotel rooms are as unwelcome as bugs in hotels. Why did this brand-new, otherwise fabulous villa in Florence choose an insect motif for its bedroom curtains?
Larva: The active immature form of an insect before its metamorphosis to adulthood. Suitable as a motif for bedroom curtains.
“Overlooking the pool” at the Esplanade Hotel in Fremantle, Australia
Hotel speak
“Welcome! We have a lovely room for you in our resort wing, overlooking the pool!”
Reality: Yeah, directly opposite the looming parking garage. True, there was a little pool down there. Actually visible if you lean over the balcony.
That’s hotel speak at the Esplanade Hotel in Fremantle, Australia.
We ran into a couple of cops in the lobby. They’d been summoned because of noisy guests. Is this a common Australian thing? The last time we stayed at an Australian hotel, two years ago, we couldn’t sleep until the people in the room next to our checked out—or were arrested—sometime after daylight broke. The hotel’s paper walls projected every groan, cry, and vulgarity uttered by our neighbors, and of course their fighting, shouting, wall-punching, and door-slamming. That was the Sydney Ibis Airport Hotel.
To be fair, I have to say that, besides very creative hotel speak, one thing at the Esplanade Hotel in Fremantle greatly impressed me, especially for a hotel “of this calibre.” Its breakfast buffet, which was pretty much on par with the sad state of American mid-range hotel breakfasts, included a total do-it-yourself delight: an industrial-sized juicer and an array of carrots, ginger, and apples. Magnificent!
8+ hotel room gripes that shouldn’t exist but are all too common.
The Hong Kong Novotel—a spectacular room.
As a hotel-dweller (some 200+ nights per year for the past 20 years), I can tell you: there’s a lot wrong with the hotel industry. From the frivolous, like inept service staff, to the serious, like the insecurity of guests’ physical belongings and personal data. Today (while dwelling in a hotel room), I’m going to dwell on my personal hotel room gripes. That is, things that bug me inside the hotel room. For the most part, fixable things. Things that should not exist.
1. Thievery hangers
Thief hangers
Yeah, those hangers that don’t come off the closet rod, or that you have to fiddle to get the little hookless tops into sliding brackets. Those tell me, from the first moment, what the hotel thinks of me, its clientele: Aha! thought you’d steal these hangers, did you? Haha! We’re a step ahead of you, you thief! I’m offended by the very inference. Of course I understand that the hotel is trying to limit the appeal of its hangers and therefore shrinkage. A better solution, one that is not troublesome for us guests, is the little-hook hangers—the ones that only fit on a narrow rod. While I get the same offensive message from those, they do not punish me with fiddly inconvenience.
2. Dysfunctional design
For security, the hotel name and room number should never be attached to your room key, like this Egyptian hotel room key.
Sometimes I’ll accept form over function for the sheer delight and novelty of the design. Dysfunctional details can be due to a lack of foresight, planning, or funds. Shower knobs too smooth to turn with soft-water-wet hands. Sink faucets too close to the edge of the sink. Tub drains easy to accidentally close while showering. Lighting and accessible electrical outlets can fall into the bad design category, but they’re more likely due to lack of thought and lack of funds.
3. Housekeeping oversights
Start with dead lightbulbs. In most cases, housekeeping could have and should have caught these. Dead tv remotes. Same thing, and way too common. Slow sink and tub drains. Housekeeping: how could you not notice? Sticky or unclean furniture. Well, lack of cleanliness is a total turnoff, but even in otherwise clean rooms I often find sticky bedside tables.
4. Alarm clock that goes off
This could have gone into Section 3, Housekeeping oversights, but it’s egregious enough for a category of its own. I do not want to be awakened at the previous occupant’s time. Hotel staff should be sure that every clock’s alarm is turned off. And by the way, make sure the clocks are set to the correct time.
5. Noisy refrigerator
Maddening. I pull their plugs
6. Linen issues
I’m very picky about bed linen. I detest poor quality sheets, but that’s a function of the quality (and cost) of the hotel. So, skipping over linen quality, let’s go to How to Make a Bed. I don’t want the bottom sheet to come untucked when I first open the bed by pulling out a tucked-in top sheet. I don’t want sheets that are tucked in so tight at the feet that they are hard to loosen. I definitely don’t want short sheets, where I feel the bare mattress or blanket at the foot end because the sheets aren’t the right size for the bed. Sheets should not loosen and get all wrinkly after one night’s sleep.
Slippery pillow material makes pillowcases slide off. Too-small pillowcases are just as bad.
And my number one bed linen gripe: pillowcases that aren’t long enough for the pillow, or that slip off. Lately I’ve run into some awful type of pillow covered in a slippery paper-like case, like a non-tearable Tyvek envelope. Pillowcases start slipping off these immediately, and you end up sleeping with your face on the bare pillow that 2,000 people have already used in ways we don’t want to know about. One of the worst pillows is made of something called Technology Fabric, made by the English Trading Co. Pillowcases do not stay on them; not even the pillowcases that have tuck-in ends. They’re disgusting. Unhygienic.
7. Signage
Some signs are probably a good idea, like this one on a Turkish hotel bathroom mirror.
I’ve previously made myself clear on those towel-on-the-floor signs. I don’t want to see them. Neither do I like an overabundance of CYA signage: “watch your step,” “check water temp,” “don’t flush this/that,” “use safe at your own risk”… Not to mention inhouse ads, intimate tips, and personal suggestions.
8. Hopeless hotel room gripes
Windows that don’t open. Shower water without flow control. Low water pressure. Noisy air conditioning and heat.
No, I would not be happy with cookie-cutter hotels. I enjoy the quirks and surprises of hotels, most of which are delights. Did I miss any important complaints? What are your hotel room gripes?
We had a huge suite at the Eurostars Grand Marina Hotel in Barcelona. Surrounding the spacious bedroom, there was a sitting room, an office, a giant closet full of blond wood drawers and cabinets, and a multi-room bathroom. The suite had 12 sliding doors within it.
That’s why I had to laugh when I found the soap. Look how tiny it is! About an inch by an inch and a half!
To be fair, I should say that the personal products in the bathroom were plentiful, of high quality, and even tied up with a bow. But what made the strongest impression on me? The ridiculous bar of soap!
You can see three sliding doors and four rooms here.
Here’s another hotel oddity. The Marine Plaza Hotel in Mumbai got it a little wrong. The nice fabric shower curtain is on the inside, and gets soaked. The clear plastic curtain liner hangs on the outside.
Is there some logic I’m not getting? Are all the bathrooms done like this?
I’m not complaining—the hotel was otherwise nice enough. Just… the odd things I find in hotels! It never ceases to amuse me.
The floating sign. As if the preponderance of signs in hotel rooms were not in-your-face enough.
For this hotel in Berlin, messages stuck on walls and set on tables are not loud enough. They have to be SHOUTED, thrust at us, rudely forced forward into our airspace.
And they are everywhere. Poking from the minibar, floating in front of the television, rising above the telephone.
Important messages, like this one: “Have you thought about breakfast?”
Yes, I always think about breakfast in the bathroom. At this moment in the bathroom, I can’t help but think of breakfast. Thank you!
Our hotel in Naples was on the second floor (they call it the first floor). We didn’t notice it had an elevator until the day we left. We usually take stairs when we can and, when we arrived, we were luggageless anyway. Two days later our suitcases joined us and at the end of our stay, we dragged them all to the elevator. It was the first time we’d seen an elevator meter. It required ten euro cents to operate.
Would an elevator toll be tolerated at a U.S. hotel? Hard to imagine.
ANOTHER hotel getting personal, just trying to help. This one’s in Berlin. The sign’s in the shower, where we’re exhorted to pay attention to our tension.
