After our performance in Trescore Balneario, Italy, on April 7th, we stayed in a hotel, the name of which escapes me at the moment. It was an interesting design-hotel, quite new, well appointed, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and with several interesting twists…
Many of the rooms had private elevator access from the back. Most rooms also had this little feature:
What is that you ask? Well, I opened the closet door (left) and in between shelves one can see a small gate (black rectangle) that can be opened with a key from the outside. We came to the conslusion that this enables the hotel staff to deliver room service items without being able to lay eyes on the people in the room!! The hotel employee unlocks and opens the little gate from the hallway and places the ordered items inside the closet. After they are gone, the inhabitants open the closet and remove the items.
Only one conclusion was possible, unless one imagines reclusive writers like Salinger typing away at novels… this was a hotel built with affairs in mind! Another clue was that the hotel was called a motel. My friend CJ explained to me that Italians do not use the word motel for motor-hotel, but somehow changed the meaning to a hotel that can be rented for less than a day. And sure enough, we discovered that rooms could be rented for four, six or eight hours in addition to full nights, and noticed a bunch of fairly tough looking Eastern European men with young women, who could, perhaps, be rented as well – or perhaps our imagination was getting the best of us at that point…
Rather than having affairs, CJ and I found a way to the roof of the motel, bringing with us a couple of hotel glasses and bottle of prosecco he had brought back from the venue. In the not-too-cold night we drank the bottle and talked about his and that.
Don’t think your imagination was running away with you at all. I think the eastern european looking men with the young girls in tow, would have bummed me out a bit…in the end, being a cop’s daughter, I think I would have had to try and contact Interpol.
An escape to roof sounds perfect, especially with a friend and prosecco!