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We arrived at the hotel after watching our stuff get packed up and dissappear into one of those nameless, rusty, gaping things they call in moving lingo a “can”, short for container.
The cab driver didn’t know where it was until he looked at the map and double-checked the address. When we got near, he said “Why did you choose to stay at this hotel?”
“Because it was cheap.”
“Yeah, it’s a cheap area,” he laughed.
He left us at the curb with our 300+ pounds of luggage. I went to check in while Maria waited with Sebastian and Sabine. A friendly Indian girl greeted me like she was expecting me. I asked if a ground floor room was available but she said they were fully booked. We got a room on the third floor. At least there was an elevator.
The hotel is one of the marvels of 60s architecture, one of those structures shaped something like the beginning of a game of dominos, maybe a T with an L connected or something like that. The rooms all open out to the balcony/walkway, the floors connected by stairs and elevators. There’s a swimming pool on the back side with some brackish water at the bottom. When I first came up it looked like there was a family or maybe a cult group having a bible study on the lounge chairs down below.
The elevator is the elevator to Hell. It whines as it starts up, the fan changes tone, a telephone sounding “beep” goes off between each floor, and then all settles into quiet as it approaches its destination.
I opened the door to the room to that smell of old hotel, of thousands of days of use by an infinite number of beings, the smell of succesfull, frequent cleanings that somehow begin to leave their own old smell, an old just-cleaned smell.
Sebastian thinks the place is great and enjoyed the shower and the thin, sand-paper like towels they supply. I especially liked the shower curtain.