A good sentence from Taschen’s 2002 book "Cheap Hotels."
What are some of the things about a cheap room that make you, as you write in the book’s introduction, so “unexpectedly and inexplicably” happy?
It happens when I walk into a new room and sense immediately that someone has put a piece of their heart into the room, something that reflects either a proprietor’s personality, or local culture, or in the best case, both. In the book I mention, for instance, the way that in Fiji or the Cook Islands, even the most modest hotel will have the housekeepers put fresh ginger or pikake flowers on the pillow or nightstand. The flowers, as they wilt in the heat, give off the most intoxicating fragrance. You want to swoon. In Bali, of course, you will wake up and open the door and find a little banana leaf packet filled with rice and flower petals—offering to the spirits. I always am touched to think that, so far away from home, I am being cared for by a stranger concerned with my spiritual well-being.
In the less remote, more Westernized places, the quirks of a hotel room may not be so exotic or culturally rich, but they still make a difference. In the Caribbean, for instance, I’ve stayed in a few places (two of them are in the book, one in Panama, and one on the island of Carriacou) where the owners had clearly fallen in love with the local styles and customs. They’d created rooms made of local materials, with fans instead of air conditioning, bright prints and colors. True, high-end exclusive resorts do this too, but I feel much happier when I can enjoy really beautiful surroundings without all the pretension and without worrying every time I order a beer that it will cost $10.
