Walden World

The wacky and wonderful tales of Beth's and Catherine's global adventures. And all things Walden too.

Thursday, February 20, 2020

Hotel Unhappy

The hotel we had stayed in the last few days will not be identified. However it was owned by two Northern Europeans who were also clearly Buddhists but do not reside there.

I don't know how many times it is possible to get your self photographed with the Dalai Lama, but these two seemed to have broken some record.

Strangely enough for Buddhists, they make it clear  that they will not employ Portuguese.

Therefore the managers were Polish, the grunt staff Nepali and Tibetan and a weird assortment of international men of mystery ran other things; I still don't know the nationality of Pretty, the bizarre cat who stalked the back garden to near bird extinction, but I assure you she could not be of Lusitanian origin.  No Portuguese staff.

Perhaps the most disturbing is that the absent owners decided that the art to adorn the walls of the cafe/lobby were sketches done by a friend who underwent intense Gestalt art therapy.

I did ask about the "art"..to a Polish manager suggesting maybe guests didn't want to eat "breakfast included" subjected to some person's inner demons. I shall post them tomorrow.

In fact I commented that, given the etchings, I think their friend should be in jail. The weird  Polish manager burst into a quiet snigger.

The strict rules of the hotel forbid tipping anyone except collectively. 

Then there was the soap: in the effort to reduce all things of waste and the world  we were alloted what appeared to be a chocoate cube sized piece of soap.  We did make it last three days but I was getting tired of scratching the shower floor for Quality Street size remnants.

The staff all seemed out of it, including the Polish manager who just yawned all the time or said she was confused, and I began to think might be on opioids, because she asked me one day whether she should show me my room or put our stuff in the safe. 

And we had ummm been there two days.

The male kitchen staff glared at us; the central Europeans just played on their phones, and couldn't answer basic questions: "what is at the ancient art gallery?"

"I don't know...art?.."






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