I hate hotel rooms. They maybe posh, fancy, upmarket, sleek, exotic, erotic etc. but I’d rather curl up on my side of my own not-so- fancy bed at home with my favorite pillow, breathing in its familiar smell, letting my head nestle on it at the end of the day rather than spend a night at the poshest hotel room anywhere in the world.
I am not exactly that fat pocketed that I can afford to stay in expensive hotels but having had some such occasional opportunities thanks mainly to my paid job (an occupational hazard I ‘d say) , I have realized how much I hate staying in these rooms. One such was in Dubai, in a very fancy high-rise hotel from where one had a panoramic view of the city but the room was as sterile as the city of Dubai itself. Then there were hotel rooms in Pakistan (all five-star), India (some five-star but some very ordinary), Denmark, Belgium, Norway, Singapore, Thailand and a few other countries, all pretty decent places but one common factor in all was that I could not wait to get away from them to get back to my bed at home. The same for the few times I’ve stayed in hotel rooms in Sri Lanka. Nice places to spend the day in but not a night. However late I’d much rather find my way back home than stay a night in a strange room that had been occupied by one stranger after another. Which is why the last time I was up north for five days, I cut short the trip and took a night bus from Jaffna and endured a nine-hour ride to Colombo to get home. Most of the next day, I spent like a baby in my good old bed.
The thing with hotel rooms is how do I know what kind of people have slept on the same bed as me and put their head on the same pillow that I put my head on. Its possible someone died in it or was murdered or some other unsavory or savory things happened inside the same room. The bed linen maybe clean, the towels maybe well laundered but the fact remains it’s not really mine. What other nameless, faceless individuals have used those same sheets, pillows and towels that I also use as my own? I‘ll never know.
It’s funny but people do have an intimate relationship with their rooms, beds, pillows, towels even though they do not fall into the ‘living things” category.
So while I enjoy looking at the beautiful pictures in magazines, on television and all the pictures that get emailed to me about fancy and posh hotels that boast of being places akin to paradise, my paradise is my room, my bed and my pillow.(Actually it’s not exactly my room. I share it another person so it should be our room).