Three vouchers, four queues and a minivan later and we find ourselves resident in a Day Room at a hotel, somewhere near Kuala Lumpur.
It’s enormous, this hotel. Enormous. Four pavilions. And the architects are having a right old laugh, they must be. “Let’s throw as many different luxe surfaces together as we can in this joint eh, see what we can get away with” .
We have distressed marble, metal fretwork, crazed glass, frosted glass, coloured glass. We have parquet walls and ceramic tiled walls and papered walls. We have striped carpet on marbled tiles. Oh yes, and I’m just spying a massive wall made of beveled edge mirror panels.
In our Day Room (which isn’t configured any differently to a Night Room that I can tell), the walls seem to be covered in sand that appears to have been glued to them. I can’t even begin to imagine why this could ever be considered a good idea. They’ve thrown some mosaic tiles in too though; it’s not the Sahara remember. The chief bathroom surface seems to be a painted particle board. I guess all that marble cut into the rooms budget.
But it’s okay.
Maybe one day I’ll learn how to curate the journey home from an adventure. But I have’t cracked it yet.
Homeward bound seems to me to be the travellers equivalent of a diver being thrown in a chamber in case he gets the bends. Not pleasant, but necessary. We have to stay here for twelve hours; there’s no avoiding it. It’s how we safely re-enter the real world.
I am at one with this.But honestly? Only just.