Just like home, only better
I love hotels. There aren't any of the encrustations of real life. Just ordered anonymity and an abundance of possibilities. At home the postman might knock on my door, but I'm not going to run into Omar Sharif in an elevator (I did as a child years ago in Montreal). I love the throw-backs in the bathroom: shower caps, shoe polishing cloths. Even an ice bucket is somehow an anachronistic thing when you think about it. From when curlers were a beauty chore and ice didn't come out of the front of the fridge. Wallpaper. Bedspreads. I could live in hotels. Maybe I'm showing my princess roots.
Here's a link to an underwater hotel in Key Largo. It might be a lot like sleeping in a fishtank.
Here's a link to an underwater hotel in Key Largo. It might be a lot like sleeping in a fishtank.
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