I went to Barcelona today – allegedly for a work conference where I have to masquerade as somebody important, and even worse – knowledgable. Mainly though I went because I love Barcelona. It’s all Gaudi and pickpockets and serrano ham. What’s not to like?
The hotel star rating on the continent is arbitrary at best and this four-star “establishment” really left a lot to be desired. When the best description you can offer of your hotel room is “clean” you know you’re in for a treat. As it happens, I was in a pure white room. Everything was white. The walls weren’t padded, but by fuck they might as well have been. This room is how I imagine a jailcell to be. Well, all except for a bizarre locked door in the ceiling (I am not kidding – I suspect it leads to Narnia) and the fact that my shower has a has a “champagne” setting.
Of course I twisted the dial, anticipating Veuve Cliquot, but prepared to settle for some non-vintage Mumm....but its only normal water that comes out. Neither is it some sort of sexually deviant shower in a Kim Kardashian or Paris Hilton kind of way. A champagne shower is something I wouldn’t be shocked to see on YouPorn or similar. Disappointingly though its only a measure of water pressure that likes somewhere between “Dribble” and “Fuck That Hurts”
That was my first let down in this otherwise fine city.
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