Post Title

The hotel

As I didn't quite know what to name this post, I decided to just use what Blogger suggests: Post Title. I had several ideas floating around in my head. Foggy being one. Others were: The taxi; the hotel; back to the past; do I really want it anymore? All explaining some part of what happened to me over the last two days. But let me start at the beginning. That usually seems to help explain things to people who might otherwise be lost in a jumble of words. 

On Thursday I was asked whether I wanted to pick up some 'speiders' (scouts) today (Saturday). Well, getting the chance to do something else than drive according to timetable again was very tempting, so I said yes. Then yesterday I got a phone call: could and would I go to Stavanger earlier and take passengers with me? Since it was very foggy over here, I couldn't see the airport. And if I can't see the airport it's not safe enough to fly apparently. So, I headed to the airport with a big bus, picked up the remainder of the passengers (there were three other buses) and we drove to Stavanger airport. Where it was foggy.

My 'designer' room

I had to drive from Stavanger today, so it was decided I would stay in a hotel. But when I got to the hotel, there was no record of me. Nor did they have a spare room. The receptionist phoned around and a hotel around the corner had one room left. I walked to the hotel around the corner (it was) and found that they did have indeed a room free. But it hadn't been cleaned so couldn't be used. Which meant I was still without a place to sleep. The receptionist phoned another hotel in their aquaintance and lo and behold: a room was available. I did make sure he asked about it being clean though, I didn't want to be caught out again. It was after all 11.30pm! The hotel was about ten minutes away, so I decided against walking and got him to phone me a taxi. 

The taxi arrived and started driving. Eighteen minutes later it stopped at the hotel! I payed the taxi, got into the hotel and got a key to a clean room. This morning I had to pay for the hotel, got into another taxi back to where the coach was parked. Unfortunately I wasn't that familiar with the area. Well, I had never been there before, so I basically knew nothing. I had however been quite clever the night before and asked the first taxi-driver about the address. And we did find it, albeit after turning around once. 

I had been told where I had to go, but since I didn't even know where I was... But Lady Luck smiled on me again as there were two coaches waiting in the parking lot going to the same place I was! I got there in good time, got my people half an hour before they were due and left to take them back home. After dropping everybody off where they wanted to be dropped off, I drove back home. Missed my exit, had to drive the long way round, which turned out to be a really good and possibly faster option.

So, was it all it used to be cracked up to be? Apart from the fact that I didn't really know what was going on, having to sleep in a hot hotel room and having to pay for the lot? Well. Probably. Would I like to return to the touring part of driving a bus? Ehm... Probably not. It was a lot of waiting. It was irregular. It was lonely. And I missed my own bed. On the other hand: the driving part of it was great. Just being able to drive without having to stop every other second because somebody wants to get on or off was fantastic. The different scenery was lovely to see. And I even saw a motorway!! But for now I am happy where I am. 

R is for...

Le Relais de la Fôret, Normandie, France (March)

Room

Bickley Manor, London, England

When I first started this job as an international busdriver, a friend of mine told me it was 'nice to stay in a hotel'. 

Ferry Newcastle-IJmuiden (Amsterdam)

Well, okay, if it's not usual, I guess it probably is. 

Best Western Bondeheimen, Oslo, Norway

But for me, it's pretty usual and in the end all the rooms start to look alike. 

Lifjell hytte, Lifjell, Norway

And in order to show you how alike, I have taken photos of every single hotel room I stayed in this year! 

Van der Valk, Eindhoven, Netherlands

Most specifically of the beds. 

Der Wilder Mann, Aschaffenburg, Germany

So you can see how not special it is to stay in yet another hotel!

PC Goussainville, near Paris, France

The rooms start to merge into one.

Étap Chevilly Larue, Paris, France

Bedcovering for one (Norway, Germany) or two (France, UK)

Hotel Seeblick, Klietz, Germany

Out in the country or in the middle of the city.

Quellenhof, Bad Helmstedt, Germany

Cheap or expensive.

Best Western Hordaheimen, Bergen, Norway

Small rooms or big rooms.

Gersfelder Hof, Gersfeld, Germany

This is the letter R for ABC Wednesday. 

Hotel Kaiser, Hammelburg, Germany

Why not join?

A room with a view

Well, the photo above shows you exactly what I see when I look out of my window. A window I can't even open, even though I am only on the first floor (second floor for all you oversea people). But it doesn't really matter: I am not planning on spending too much time in my room. I am not too far from the old center (Bryggen) or the old Fishmarket. Not even a five minute walk I would say.

Anyway, I arrived on time and it was really easy to make my way from the airport to the center of town. I left the airport and hopped on the very first bus: ten meters away from the door! It dropped me off at the fishmarket from where I had to walk. Unfortunately I had misunderstood slightly, so in the end I ended up asking. At the hotel they misunderstood my last name and it took some time to actually figure out what he wanted, especially since I didn't want to speak English!

Speaking of English: this Norwegian lark is going to be a bit tougher than I originally thought. I have learnt the language of Oslo and am now in Bergen. They speak, sound and write completely different here! Help!! Why does a country with such a small population need two languages and a gazillion dialects? To confuse well-willing tourists?

Ah well, I will get used to it, hopefully by Friday, because that day (drum roll please) I have an interview!!!! It was hard to understand what the woman on the other end of the line said exactly, especially with the background noise of Amsterdam Airport. But I do have an interview Friday morning. Phew...

Now I just have to get this Norwegian down!

I made it!

So, I made it. The plane was a bit late, but that didn't matter too much. I had plenty of time anyway. As we arrived at Gardermoen airport, the clouds lifted and I was able to see Oslo from the sky. I had been talking to a Dutch woman (who looked very Norwegian by the way), who herself had lived in Norway for about 7 years. As we got off the plane, the luggage arrived soon and I then made my way to the car rental place. 

I had decided that I would not speak English if I could in any way help it, so I started off in Norwegian and fortunately the guy behind the desk didn't mind too much about my atrocious accent or my wrong usage of the words. I understood him (kan du gjenta det?) and he understood me. My car is a really nice Toyota Auris and apart from the missing cruise control and many many chips on the outside of the car, I am quite happy with it. 

As I drove into Oslo, it was a bit confusing. First of all I didn't have a map and I hadn't really bothered with printing out a route, so I had to depend solely on my gps. Which have the tendency to not work while in tunnels. And Oslo has a lot of tunnels. In the end I just took an exit and lo and behold: I was nearly there! When I finally managed to park my car and ask in the hotel about where to park, they didn't have any record of me! None whatsoever!! Turned out I needed the hotel 250 meters away. *Sigh*

That hotel was even worse to park my car in front of though, since there were tramlines right in front. So, I drove around, found a parking garage and parked it in there. I got all my stuff out, then walked up to the exit and was completely lost. According to my gps I was less than 400 meters from the hotel, but I couldn't find my way. In the end I asked a lady and she showed me, all the time talking in a mixture of Norwegian and Danish (she was from Denmark). Of course I didn't understood most of what she said, just something about the Norwegian government having enough money for some fancy something or other and nothing else. 

Anyway, I am in my hotel now and haven't once spoken English. I have mixed my limited Norwegian knowledge with Italian (si si), but I have a car and a hotel room. Oh and a map, so I can go explore the center of Oslo tomorrow. Today only a photo of my hotel room, tomorrow I hope a few more photos. 

You are fired! And then what?

The Manor House Hotel, seen from the lawn

Since I told you all about my job as a receptionist at the Manor House Hotel in Castle Combe (England), I bet you would like to know what happened to me after I got fired.

First of all I need to set the scene of course: the manager of the hotel had called me into his office at the back of the hotel. Nothing glamourous at all, just a tiny little office guarded by his secretary. I was asked to sit down and then he told me about the complaints and how they could not keep me on at reception. I was of course shocked and also quite outraged: why had nobody said anything sooner so I could mend my ways? I never did receive a satisfactory answer to that, probably because he wasn't my biggest fan in the first place, but he did continue to say that: 'even though I don't feel that you would be suitable for reception over here, we would like to keep you working for this company. So, where would you like to work?'

Excuse me? Was he offering me a job in the hotel he just sacked me from? Well yes, he did! In retrospect I think it might have something to do with the fact that me working the front desk and him being out in the front so often and us meeting quite often wasn't something he wanted. However if I were anywhere else in the hotel he wouldn't be running into me every day (and before you ask, there was never anything more going on than mutual antipathy). I think he gave me a few days to think about it.

The restaurant

Needless to say I did some severe thinking. First of all: did I want to stay at the hotel? And that was a yes. And second: where did I want to work? I went over all the different departments in the hotel in my head. Housekeeping: nope, getting up early every morning and having to turn down the beds every night didn't appeal to me at all. Gardening? No need really, there were already three gardeners and they could handle their work with ease (although speaking of the gardeners, every Christmas I would be invited by the head gardener Tom to have dinner with him and the other two gardeners). Kitchen then and become a chef? Godfried of Bouillon no! Having to deal with the head chef from reception was bad enough, having to deal with him in the kitchen would be hell! Besides, I didn't want to be stuck on peeling potatoes and carrots every single day!

In the end I decided on the restaurant. Become a waitress. I would work from 10am to about 2pm and then again from 6pm until the last guest had left. I would set the tables, fold napkins, polish silver and glasses and serve food. I got into quite a few fights with the head chef, he made me blush even more often (and before you ask: no, there was never anything going on between us, apart from reluctant sympathy) and basically enjoyed my life as a waitress.

There were weddings, Japanese coach parties and the occasional VIP, the worst being Mr Orzabal from Tears for Fears. Not that he wasn't nice or friendly, his problem was he would arrive on a Sunday night at about a quarter to nine! And the kitchen would usually close at nine. Our one night where we might actually get off early and he had to spoil it!!

The uniform

The best thing about the job were the hours. You could have a lie-in in the morning and you were off during the afternoon, unless you were serving afternoon tea which was brilliant: nobody looking over your shoulder. The worst part was definitely the uniform. A black short sleeved dress and a white pinnafore with the bands crossed at the back. It looked nice and olde worlde, but the chamber maids wore the same uniform! It was extremely hot during the summer months, where tea would be served outside and so so cold during the winter when you had to take roomservice to the cottages on occasion (which had numbers by the way).

The restaurant team, the fourth person from the left is the restaurant manager

After a while I got a promotion which meant no more afternoon tea service for me and I was allowed to boss my colleagues about. Which was brilliant. But after a year and a half, the monotony got to me and I wanted to get out. I should have asked my boss to get me relocated to a different restaurant, but in the end I quit and went home to my parents.

By the way: when I went to ask the hotel manager for an advance on my wages, he refused. Until I told him I was leaving and he couldn't get the money out of the safe fast enough!

I think it would be fun to be a hotel receptionist

The Manor House Hotel in Castle Combe

That was the comment Cry gave on my last post. So, is she right... or is she wrong....

When I worked for Club Med years and years ago (well, in 1991-1992), I realised fairly soon that working all week and spending all your time with the guests was on the one hand a great thing, on the other hand, it made me loose sight of the world in general. When I lived in Tignes (French Alps), I didn't know there had been an earthquake in the Netherlands until several days later. And the only reason I knew anything about the Olympics taking place that winter, was because we were smack bang in the middle of it! So, I realised that as fun as the job was, it was time to find a different job. Without children because the next time I would look after children would be when 'I had my own' (yeah right).

Anyway, thanks to a very lovely Scottish chef, I wrote an application letter to six different hotels in England. For some reason one of them decided the letter was good enough and after a further fax and a short phone call, I had a job at the Manor House Hotel in Castle Combe (about an hour and a half west of London). Brilliant!

My very first room, not so glamourous

At the beginning of June, my brother accompanied me by train to the Belgian port from where I would sail to England with my two ginormous suitcases. After arriving in England I took another train, then another (do you know that trains in England drive on the left as well?) and fortunately was helped at Chippenham trainstation by someone who realised it would take me the better part of an hour to get those two suitcases up and down the stairs again! The last bit of my journey was in an Easy Taxi (nothing to do with EasyJet) and finally after a whole day of travelling, I had arrived at my new job! Since I was to live in, the porter made short work with my two cases and carried them up to my room which was decidedly ehm... unglamorous. Especially compared to the hotel itself.

The next day my training as a receptionist started. Since I had been working with children for about 2 years by then, I hadn't worked with computers since leaving school (where I hadn't been very good at it either), so that took some getting used to. All the different words for change (alter, amend and I probably forgot a few now as well), made my head spin, but after a few weeks, I was deemed to be good enough to do a quiet shift on my own.

The hotel I worked in was a four star hotel and there weren't that many rooms (about 25 at the time), however, some clever clogs had decided room numbers was for sissies and had given names to all the rooms in the main house, no numbers, just names. Lordsmere and Horse Tyning for example. The rooms were also all different, not one was the same as the next, which of course made it even more special. When I took reservations, I had to remember what room was which size and what price etc etc, but I managed.

Bored anyone?

There were still some things that baffled me. The question about the Christmas Crackers for example. Asked by a Welsh person on the phone, I didn't have a clue what they were going on about. Wellies was another one. Also, the person at reception had to type and print the menus and the times where I phoned the chef to ask whether he was having me on, are too many to count on one hand. Spotted Dick, Bubble & Squeak: did he really believe that I would fall for those? (By the way, they are both proper dishes, the first being a custardy dessert and the second being heated up cabbage and other veggies, which bubble and squeak, hence the name.)

So, what made me leave and work in the restaurant then? Was it the utter boredom on days where you started at seven in the morning and the first phonecall arrived at seven minutes past twelve in the afternoon? Was it the inactivity of mainly sitting down all day and not being allowed to read or knit or do a crossword? No, I got fired! Yes, you read it right: I got fired! For the best reason ever: my English was too good!! I admit, when I heard that I couldn't believe my ears: English too good??

It turned out, there had been several complaints about me over a couple of weeks and instead of the manager showing them to me, so I might be able to change my ways, he just brought them all on me in one fell swoop and told me enough was enough. The thing is though, my English is very good. It's English with an English accent and only if you talk to me for any length of time or with specific words, do you realise I am not in fact English. But of course by then the damage had been done, since even if I spoke the Queen's English (well, not quite), I didn't have the English sensibilities to complaints. So, if someone phoned down to complain about their tea being served cold, I would tell them I would note it down and inform the waiting staff. WRONG!!! I should have sucked up to them big time, got the restaurant manager involved, do everything in my power to get the guests happy again. Which is very unDutch and since I am Dutch, it was not something I was used to. Enter complaints against me and me being fired.

Don't get me wrong, I did love my job as a receptionist (apart from the occasional boredom): the dealing with customers, both on the phone and in person. Making reservations for rooms and restaurant. Giving people information about the surrounding area. Handling money. And of course the interaction with colleagues from other departments (most notably the maids and to a lesser degree the restaurant staff).

My clogs

I think it would be fun to be a hotel receptionist again. Hopefully in a hotel where they believe in room numbers and where it's busy enough. A hotel where I would be able to use my language skills and where my English would be perfect as is. Perhaps I will wear my clogs though, just so people know I will not be getting the Queen down to sort out any problems...

H is for...

Hotel

So, what is your preferred place to spend your holiday in? Tent? Youth Hostel? Caravan? Your own bed? Or do you prefer a nice and comfy hotel?

Well, they say nice and comfy hotel, but I can tell you from a lot of experience over the last couple of years, there is a massive difference between a hotel and a hotel. I've stayed in tiny family-run hotels where they know your name and provide service and I've stayed in large anonymous hotels where you pay over the top for no service at all!

Maid's closet bed at the Open Air Museum Arnhem, NL

The few things that make a stay in any hotel better are firstly: a good bed, preferably double. This bed has to be kitted out with proper pillows, not those airily fluffed up pillow covers in Germany. There also have to be extra blankets in the wardrobe, in case you get cold. I hate having to turn the heating on or closing my windows: a sure thing for a headache in my case.

Seventies style bathroom in Hotel Hessenhof, Winterberg, D

The second thing every room needs is a good clean bathroom. Having three drops a minute from your shower or having to stand in the toilet bowl while showering is not acceptable. You don't want to wait ten minutes for hot water either! There needs to be enough toilet paper (well, there has to be!) and a good mirror. Little soaps, shampoos, cotton buds etc are nice, but not necessary. To me anyway.

Spare ribs at the Hard Rock Café Paris, F

Thirdly the food. Breakfast does not consist of a piece of stale baguette and a small container of jam, accompanied by a cup of coffee! I want cereal or toast, a choice of drinks (coffee, tea, milk, juice), fruit. I don't want restrictions! Dinner has to be good as well. The restaurant doesn't need to have three Michelin stars, but I want enough food on my plate. If I have finished dinner and then have to find the nearest Burger King: no good!

Manor House Hotel, Castle Combe, GB

Number four on my list is quietness. I don't want to spend my night (and occasionally my day) listening to builders or the motorway. Hearing your neighbour snore or getting it on: NO! I want birds and crickets!

Then the fifth: a good television. Since I spend most of my time in hotels profesionally, I want a good television so I will have something to do after dinner. I recently stayed in a hotel in London with a brand new flat screen with more channels than I do at home! Heaven...

Washer woman at the Efteling, NL

And lastly: service. Family hotels tend to be more service giving than the large hotels. Probably because they know that no service means no business! If I get treated rotten at a hotel, I will not return. If everything goes wrong, but the people running the hotel will still do everything in their power to minimise: I will return!

For more H-words from around the world, please check out ABC Wednesday and join in the fun!

Photos:

*Eden Parc Hotel in Bad Schwalbach, Germany, March 2010

*July 2009

*February 2009

*May 2010

*autumn 1992

*April 2010

Learning moments

The aliens have landed

I had a study trip during last week, hence the radio silence. Or blog silence if you wish. And what a study trip it was. I saw a lot and I did learn a lot. Mostly how not to do things, but still, I learnt stuff... I might tell you a bit more next week, but first I will show you some photos!

The very first place we visited was Burg Hülshof, a so-called water castle. A lot of castles and mansion houses in Münsterland, Germany were built on islands in small lakes. During my first year of foreign trips I passed this water castle six times, but was never able to see it, because it's shielded by trees. I was very happy to be able to finally see it and was glad the weather worked with us as well. It was the childhood home of one of Germany's famous poets: Annette Droste-Hülshof and it's still lived in by descendants of her brother.

We visited several hotels in different classes. After all, when you pay a lot of money and have a tourleader and someone carrying your suitcases to your room, you don't want to stay in some shabby three-star hotel! But if you pay a bit less, have a driver/tourguide and have to carry your own suitcases to your room, a three-star will do just fine. This room was in one of the three-star hotels we saw. It had a bit of fairy-tale theme running throughout (we were in Grimm-country) and the rooms had names like 'Snowwhite', 'Cinderella' and 'Sleeping Beauty'. And some of the rooms had a lovely mural in the room depicting fairy-tale castles.

On our way to lunch on day two we stopped in a small town that was made up of beautiful half-timber buildings. I could have made at least fifty photos and each would have been beautiful. We only had twenty mintues though and fifteen of those were spent trying to get rid of a group of Polish teens who where in front of the 'Rathaus' (Town Hall). Half timbered buildings are made using a wood skeleton with horizontal, vertical and diagonal beams on a stone base. Then the spaces in between the beams would be filled with a mixture of cut up straw, water and lime (and on occasion manure as well). After it would be dried thoroughly, it would be covered in a white lime wash to finish it off. The roof would usually be hanging over quite a bit to prevent the rain from hitting the walls, making them soggy.

You're fired!

After finishing high school and a short college course (which I failed), I went to work at the ripe old age of 18. It was my first job and immediately I was thrown into the deep end: Yougoslavia! All the way by myself. I lasted the season in the Mini-Club and came back home. Stayed for three months and then it was off to Brussels, Belgium for three months as an au-pair. From there it was on to Sicily, Italy and Tignes France, both for six months. And then I had had enough with the seasonal work, I wanted to do something a bit more permanent.

In France I had had a colleague who was from Scotland originally. Andy worked in the kitchen and had worked in hotels in England before coming to Club Med. He helped me compose an application letter (which I completely changed) and I sent it off to six hotels in England. One of them hired me!

I was hired by the Manor House Hotel in Castle Combe as a receptionist. It was hard going, especially at first, to alter, to amend, to change all meant the same thing. Other words I didn't know and only found out about when I was there: Christmas Crackers (I thought they were some sort of edible crackers) and Wellies. I learned though and did enjoy my time behind that little desk.

We weren't allowed to read behind that desk. Or knit, embroider, do crosswords or anything else. We had to be on the alert at all times. And that could be so boring! When your shift starts at seven and the first phonecall you get is sometime after midday...

My English improved and in time I even got an English accent. Which in turn caused my downfall. Because my accent might be English, the language spoken might be English, I was still Dutch. After nine months two complaints were lodged against me within the space of three weeks. Both for more or less the same reason: rudeness. I never thought I was rude, but then again, I wouldn't have been considered rude if I had been working in the Netherlands. So what did I do that was so bad?

Someone came up to the desk and had a complaint about something or other. Dutch way: "Thank you, I will note it down and get it dealt with as soon as possible." English way (especially four star hotel English way): "I am so sorry, sorry, sorry, I will get the supervisor, manager, Queen herself!"

Now, if those people had heard a Dutch accent, they mightn't have bothered complaining: I was Dutch and therefore didn't know any better. But because they couldn't hear that, they thought I was just plain rude. So, I got two complaints and a call to come to the manager's office.

I got fired because (here it comes): 'My English was too good!' Have you ever heard such a thing? It must be one of the best reasons to get fired for in the world... All was not lost though: I was allowed to stay in the hotel and pick the department I wanted to work in! I picked the restaurant and worked there for another year and a half before finally returning home to the Netherlands!

So, what was the best or worst reason you ever received for getting fired?

Stupido!

The 'best' view of my day

Venice. The city of the canals. The carnaval masks and the gondolas. Glass, expensive drinks on Piazza San Marco and Rialto Bridge. And what did I see? Right, the parking lot on the mainland, the hypermarket and more parking lot. Because I didn't quite understand what was going on and the situation had changed at the parking lot.

When I was last in Venice two years ago, you paid through the nose to cross a bridge and then you parked. Now, you still had to pay through the nose, but it was only a set-down/pick-up area. Which meant I couldn't leave my coach there. So, off I went in search of a place to park. I followed an Italian coach who knew his way around (and whose driver afterwards 'complimented' me on my driving, because after all: I am a woman...) and found a nice spot. Near a hypermarket with a restaurant and nothing else really.

It wasn't until I returned to pick up my passengers that I spoke to another Dutch driver: if I had dropped them off, driven about 100 meters/yards, I would have been able to park and go along to Venice!

As it was, I spent my afternoon getting hotter and hotter, while the temperature went up and up and up. The temperature inside the coach also got hotter, I think he wanted to move into the sauna business: it was 51 degrees Celsius when I needed to go get them! It took me an hour to get it down to 29. Mind you, the outside temperature was in the high 30's! If I was that hot, I would be staying at home, feeling very miserable.

The hotel we're staying in is a farm-hotel. It used to be a farm, but they've done the place up to become a very nice hotel. Even the sockets have the name of the hotel on them! The food was all home-made and lovely, even if the spinach came well after the main course. The main problem with this lovely hotel is the A13 motorway which is situated right outside! But having the windows closed means stifling temperatures in the room, despite the airconditioning.

Next time I go to Italy I want normal temperatures!

PS: I will stop going on about the heat, it will stay hot for the rest of our stay anyway, so think of me while I'm slowly dissolving behind the steering wheel or while walking around in Rome!

Rotel

You have several options while travelling. You can stay in hotels, motels, b&b's, youth hostels, guesthouses, inns, tents, caravans, your car or even sleep out in the open. Or you can stay in a Rotel! A rolling hotel.

This coach has space for twenty passengers and one driver. During the day you go and visit the sights of a certain area, during the night you could park almost anywhere and out comes the hotel part. Apart from the beds in the rear part of this coach, there's also a kitchen where meals can be prepared for all passengers. There's probably a toilet area as well, although I couldn't really find out where that would be supposed to go.

I have seen them out in Italy with the trailer which held many more people than this, but in my mind, it just looks like a lot of coffins one on top of each other and very uncomfortable. I know the Irish aren't too fond of them either. They don't add anything to the Irish economy, because they bring everything themselves, right up to their dinner. This one I saw in Saintes Maries de la Mer in Southern France.

I wonder where they stay during the night though...

Hotel

Something that goes with my job is staying in hotels a lot. When I first started a friend of mine commented that that was great! Well, after a while all hotelrooms look alike. They are not your own home, the beds are usually slept on by a gazillion people before you, the pillows are horrible, not enough blankets, the rooms are small, too hot, too cold, too noisy, the television only broadcasts local programmes or very snowy foreign ones, the food is questionable, the service is not service and all in all, hotels are not my favourite part of my job.

Having said that, there are always exceptions to the rule. I once stayed in an ordinary chain hotel (Mercure or something like that) and was given the best room! Flat screen tv, huge bed, great bathroom including slippers and bathrobe. Shame about the motorway that was quite close and the food served there was atrocious (French, need I say more?)...

Last night on my quest for the perfect hotel I stayed in a small hotel somewhere near Magdeburg (Germany). The room wasn't overly large, the bed was a single (half of the twin) and the bathroom wasn't too big either. But, instead of a pillowcase filled with fluffed up air it was a proper pillow, albeit quite large. The television wasn't a wide screen, but there were about 25 channels to choose from (24 in German, granted) which gave me a lot of choice. There were no goodies in the bathroom (I've got a drawer full of soapies etc), but it was clean and new. But the food... To die for! Grilled trout with head, tail and bones, boiled potatoes in butter and a lovely salad. Simple, but great! And the pudding... mmmm, lovely. Apple beignets with vanilla sauce. But I think most importantly the service was fantastic. I was shown up to my room, they didn't mind me having breakfast at 6am (which was a huge problem in a four star hotel with over 200 rooms), even though I was one of only four guests! The only thing was, I would have loved to see it during daylight. Arriving in the middle of the night (half past five in the afternoon, but pitch dark) didn't do much for the surroundings, neither did leaving at half past six in the morning.

Hotel "Waldschänke" in Hohenwarthe (near Magdeburg, Saxony-Anhalt, Germany) gets four stars in my rating!

Next week I will have two more chances of hotel-gazing. One in Germany and one in London.