Out the window of our Mumbai hotel room, across the street: a beautiful building of apartments, or maybe it’s another hotel. On the roof were two lounge chairs backed right up to the ledgeless edge. Who could sit in them? Lean back too far and it’s six stories down!
The San Francesco al Monte hotel in Naples, Italy, a former monastery originally carved into the mountain in the 16th century, is a warren of rock tunnels and hidden staircases. The clean, newly plastered surfaces are a stark contrast against the ancient rough stone parts of the property. Nooks and crannies and almost-hidden accessways beg for exploration with a flashlight.
Our room—even our bathroom—had incredible views of the city, the bay, and Mount Vesuvius, from multiple windows. It also came with beautifully packaged amenities, including a large jar of fragrant bath salt. All the room lacked was a bathtub.
Back at the Jumeriah Emirates Towers in Dubai again. This time, in a cupboard, I find slippers in a can. Why?
Isn’t this a bit forced “high-design”? Or is it cute?
In the most staid of Dubai’s many elegant hotels, the most conservative and sedate, the Jumeriah Emirates Towers, provokes a little smile.
This after the awe of seeing Burj Kalifa right out our window, within waking distance. Unfortunately, Dubai is not a walking city. A long, convoluted taxi ride involving on-ramps, cloverleafs, and off-ramps was required to reach the block-away tower.
My favorite thing about Dubai: fabulous South Indian food. Second favorite thing: stunning architecture, fascinating by day, spectacularly lit by night. May as well mention my least favorite thing: giant malls. I don’t like any malls. The bigger the worse.
As we stood at our window wall gaping at the nearby Burj Kalifa, it slowly disappeared before our eyes. It was a dust storm, the likes of which I’ve never seen. The desert’s great magic trick.
Contrast Mamak with our New Year’s day dinner at Appetito, also in Sydney. Recommended by two people, nearby—and most important: open—it seemed a reasonable choice, if not exciting.
The sourpuss staff seated us promptly, took our drink orders, and quickly brought our glasses of wine. From there on it was all downhill. Granted, we were tired, having slept only after the people in the room next to ours checked out—or were arrested—sometime after daylight broke.
Noisy parties might be expected on New Year’s eve, even in an airport hotel. But that’s not what went on at the Sydney Ibis. Its paper walls projected every groan, cry, and vulgarity uttered by our neighbors, and of course their fighting, shouting, wall-punching, and door-slamming. All night.
SLAM! “Get your ass back here, you fucking junkie!” Sob. Whack. SLAM!
The couple moved to the parking lot outside our windows, where they joined others for rollicking beer festivities laced with anger. We later learned the others were traveling companions staying in rooms on other floors.
There were sirens. Police. Ambulance. The woman “was hurting herself.”
Here’s the problem. The Sydney Ibis Airport hotel has no onsite security. It contracts with an outside company, but pays for each “house call.” The hotel’s night manager, who received nighttime complaints from many others in addition to us, was loathe to spring for an officer call and confronted the rowdy couple directly; and only much later called police.
So we may have been a bit cranky as we waited 40 minutes for our New Year’s day dinner. It was an appetizer of seafood frito misto and two pizzas—all quick items to prepare. They weren’t bad. Nothing special, either. Certainly not worth the $102 bill. The place left a bad aftertaste. There must have been many, many better choices.
Research is vital. So is a decent night’s sleep.
Travel: not always what it’s cracked up to be.
This very cup, holding this very fine pen, sat on a desk in our room. The coffee cup was from the hotel’s restaurant. The pen is our own.
When we returned to our room, housekeeping had straightened up and the cup was gone. So was our pen. Stretching a bit, I can understand that the maid might take the cup and return it to the property’s restaurant, even though it was being used (as a pen-holder). But how could she take the pen along with it? Is she blind? Was she so rushed that she didn’t notice? Didn’t it rattle or clink as she carried the cup away?
She returned the pen eventually, before we had to ask for it.
I have no idea what this thing is. It’s on the floor in the carpet, in front of a window. About an inch and a half across, no screws in the holes that look like screwholes. I saw only one of them. With quite a bit of force, the rubbery center part can be depressed.
Where were we? Somewhere in England. In a hotel, of course. I forgot to ask the front desk staff what the thing might anchor or support.
Our hotel room in Paris had these gorgeous bathroom doors. Each door is made of one large plate of thick translucent glass in a wood frame. Bronze crossbars float above the glass without touching it, and there’s a little bronze ball of a handle on the inside. The doors are eight feet tall.
But what’s that little wire on the back of the door? It comes out of nowhere, emerging from the wall, loops a little, and connects to the door. I had to stand on the tub and stretch to take a photo of the top surface of the door. I thought I’d find a sensor for the lights, or trailing wires, or some clue. Nothing.
Still curious at checkout time, I asked the front desk staff who, of course, didn’t know. But they didn’t leave it there. They found a manager who explained.
Care to guess?
Yeah, we know already, like “leave a message after the beep.” But this is odd… “A towel on the rack means ‘I’ll use it again.'” What rack? In this Hilton Hotel bathroom, there wasn’t a rack, a hook, or even a peg for a towel.
Look at the photo. You can see the entire bathroom. No place for towels.
China World Hotel, Beijing— Very nice room. In an effort to think of every detail, there’s a little glass shelf installed on the bathroom wall, toiletside. Lest you load it up with toiletries, which might seem the obvious thing, it’s etched with the image of a mobile phone. And for those over-actively vibrating phones, there’s a tiny guardrail. Cute!