Lying on top of the bed in room 207 of the Villamarí Hotel in Barcelona, I felt a bit like Martin Sheen in the opening scene of Apocalypse Now. It was hot. Very hot, and while there was air-conditioning, it wasn't enough to coax me under the cover, even if the cover itself was a wafer thin sheet. Outside, the whirr of mopeds on dusty streets and I was thinking of nothing in particular, just lying there contemplating – somewhere in the back of my mind – how I was going to play things.
Breakfast was obviously top priority, as was a shower. It didn't take me long to remember that the Villamarí's was, arguably, the best in a long time. I'd certainly have to go back to Tokyo and the power shower that almost pummelled me in to the room below to get anywhere close.
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| The view from room 207, Villamarí Hotel, Barcelona. |
On my desk a large plastic bottle of Font Vella got me thinking about mineral water. Is it all the same, I wondered, but with different labels, the same water from a spring somewhere in the world but badged up differently? It was a thought I pondered while staring up at the ceiling on which there should have been one of those propeller-style fans, just like in Apocalypse Now. I almost felt the need to say, "Saigon, shit," but I refrained and instead got up and poured myself a 'glass' of water, even if I had a paper cup.
There was nothing much else on the the desk: a few papers, a pair of glasses, a notebook, business cards and a small USB stick, not forgetting a large apple I had purchased from a local super mercado the night before. I had already eaten two of them and now I found myself debating whether to eat the third one before breakfast or leave it until later.
Through the net curtains there was a tree-lined street, and beyond the leaves and branches, a peach-coloured building with black wrought iron balconies opposite making me wish (as I always do when abroad) that I lived here in the heat, perhaps living out some fantasy life, mistaken, perhaps for a spy and running from an eager assassin and hoping to catch the night ferry from the port to God knows where, just like in an Eric Ambler novel. I might own a crumpled lightweight suit and a battered leather briefcase, but not much more, just a family photograph and a portable typewriter.
Whenever I'm in a foreign country, and particularly in Europe, I often find myself in my own spy movie, although it's not the same without a watch. I didn't have one on me, they're all at home in my bedside cabinet sharing draw space with my miniature crystal ball, bronze pig and other stuff I keep meaning to sift through, but never do. Had there been a watch on my wrist, I might have glanced at it occasionally when out on the street for that all-important watch shot. It's not the same with an iphone as I would need something with a second hand and classic numerals; and the brand name would need to be visible too (for that all-important business of product placement). It doesn't have to be anything fancy. I remember Michael Douglas in Falling Down (my all-time favourite movie) wearing, if my memory serves me correctly, a Lorus watch.
The Villamarí is a nice hotel and there's very little to complain about, which is a good thing. But there is always something and, to be honest, it is quite a big thing, but it is not confined to the Villamarí.
One thing I don't believe there is enough of in this world is trust...and for good reason. The fact that I have to take my laptop out of my case at airport security, the fact that I had my shaving foam confiscated on Wednesday and had to spend the last two days shaving with soap (which isn't as frothy) is all down to trust. We can't trust each other to behave like human beings. There are people out there who want us dead. Who needs an eager assassin? Whenever security asks me to take off my shoes, I immediately think of Richard Reeve, the shoe bomber, and my thoughts are not pleasant.
On a lesser level, hotels tend not to trust their guests and I hate that. While the shower in my room is amazing, there is a problem: the soap dispenser is screwed close to the wall and there is no room to press the plunger in order to extract the soap in a sufficient quantity to make having shower gel worthwhile.With the water powering its way out of the shower head at force, and soaking everything in sight, including that little white towel that is supposed to be a mat on which to stand when exiting the shower, I'm stood there like somebody from a submarine disaster movie trying to close an airtight door, fiddling with the plunger of the shampoo dispenser and only managing to get a tiny amount of gel into the palm of my hands; and what little gel got through was washed away by the powerful jet of water coming from the shower. I surrendered and allowed the water to drench me for a few invigorating moments before leaving the cubicle, treading on the now soaking wet 'mat' and carefully making my way out of the bathroom.
The question is: do hotels really distrust their guests so much that they have to screw the shampoo and shower gel containers to the wall to prevent theft? Why don't they screw other things down too, like the bed? I could easily arrange an elaborate plot to steal my hotel bed. All I would need is a few colleagues in high-viz jackets to help me carry it downstairs and into the back of a lorry. And what about the kettle and the portion packs of tea and coffee, the awful non-dairy creamer and the aforementioned paper cups? They could all go in my suitcase. I could strip the whole room!
It's the same with coat hangers. Oh, for proper coat hangers with a hook! But no, it's those funny ones that take an age to hook up, and I always end up in the wardrobe (if there is one) jangling about with a gang of unruly coat hangers. Actually, talking of wardrobes – and bearing in mind that I have written a lot recently about hotels without them – the wardrobes here at the Villamarí are a little narrow, they're almost doors placed on the wall for no reason. I want a proper wardrobe, something I can hide in if that eager assassin passes by, although the noisy coat hangers might give away my location.
And what about minibars? This doesn't apply to the Villamarí, which had a small fridge with a couple of miniature bottles of mineral water inside, but don't you hate it when there's a fridge and it is locked, as if to say "keep out, we don't trust your sort with alcohol." What can I say? Have some trust and we will all be happier people.
However, let me put it on record that the Villamarí is a fantastic hotel. The above problems are common to most hotels. I would definitely return as the staff were very friendly and helpful, the bed was comfortable and the breakfast was good, as was the location – a short cab ride to the beach, but otherwise bang in the centre of town.
I have a flight to catch at 1255hrs, but there might be enough time to take a brief walk before hailing a cab and heading for the airport. There is a plaza de toros up the road and it's been converted into a shopping centre. I might take a look as window shopping beats killing bulls any day.
