Hanoi's Old Quarter is filled with boutique hotels. Inside, they are very nice and the rooms are usually very well appointed. Most of them are old houses families renovated and turned into lucrative businesses. With the right flooring, furniture and decor a previously struggling Hanoi family is now moving out of the Old Quarter and setting up shop on Easy Street.
There's just one big hitch. Because the buildings are narrow and deep, there are only two to four rooms in each hotel that have windows. If you want natural light, you have to pay top dollar.
When we were shown to the deluxe room of our pleasant hotel and it had no windows. I wasn't thrilled. I was determined that our overpriced rabbit den in Singapore would be the last time we slept in a windowless room. I have to know when it's morning and the psychological difference of having a light, airy room is huge.
I looked up other hotels in the area and we went to one that was a little pricier and nicer looking than ours. Same problem - nothing we could afford had windows and their rooms were actually a little smaller. Walking through the streets, we realized that unless we wanted to move into the Metropole or the Sheraton outside the Old Quarter, we couldn't escape the problem.
We resigned ourselves to a dark room and after a day or two, Emily figured out that it helped to leave the bathroom door open since the bathroom has a small window. At least we have some vague awareness of morning.
The room itself is large, comfortable and has great WiFi. The included breakfast is good. The family that owns and operates the hotel is fantastic. They couldn't be nicer, really. So, we settled in and decided to work with it and we've been pretty happy.
I realized that one key thing made it work so well. The bathroom. It's huge, tiled with a light stone has granite counters, has brand new fixtures and a huge, clean, wonderful shower.
Two things I learned from my mom that have held true on this trip: the bathroom is a very important part of a hotel room and restaurants make their money on the drinks. In other words, a lame bathroom can spoil an otherwise good hotel room and if you want to watch your budget, order water. Most of our shocking, didn't see it coming restaurant checks have come from drinks.
So, following what scientists and mathematicians will forevermore call "Mom's First Law of Bathrooms," this hotel made the grade and the nice people got almost two weeks of business from us.
Emily and I love to talk about the many places we've stayed over the past 11 months and which have stood out for various reasons.
There are many things that can make and break a hotel with us. Charm counts for a lot. That's why Emily glows a little when she thinks back on our room in Udaipur with it's beautifully colored windows, comfortable bed and spacious interior. Our deluxe suite overlooking the lake was Emily's Rajasthani fantasy.
I also enjoyed it. While it was my favorite hotel room in India, it didn't rank as one of my tops for the trip because of "Mom's First Law of Bathrooms." The hot water wasn't consistent, the bathroom door had a portion that was just a mesh screen and one wall an open area at the top that essentially opened the bathroom to the adjacent corridor. Given that the one time we each got significantly sick was in Udaipur, I spent a fair amount of time in that bathroom, considering all of this.
Of course, there are moments when no amount of bathroom can save a place. In Singapore, when we got stuck with the $80 room with no windows, the bathroom was Singapore clean and nice. However, they short-sheeted the vinyl mattress repeatedly, the WiFi system kicked us out if we were inactive for three minutes and the maids never washed Emily's coffee mugs - which let me say, was a MAJOR sin.
There are also moments when people can turn a mediocre place wonderful. Hotel Evsen in Istanbul remains one of my favorite hotels of the trip. The rooms were small, the closets inadequate, the bathroom clean, good water pressure, but average. The WiFi in room was tops and the mattress was fantastic. We slept like babies.
But the thing that made it wonderful was the owner's son who ran the place and the really warm, friendly nice guys at the front desk. We chatted with them coming and going each day. They helped us figure out where to find things, they joked around and in our 17 days in Istanbul, they became friends. If we were to return to Istanbul, I wouldn't consider another hotel.
In Patmos, Greece too, people tipped the balance. At Nichola's Studios - our Patmos home that we adored so much - the nice size, bright room with the French doors and spectacular view were wonderful. A lot of people had similar size rooms and views. The mattress sucked. I didn't realize how bad at the time, but really, had it been anywhere other than Patmos, we might have left.
But Nicholas and his family who passed freshly made cake or fruit over our balcony wall with a "Hellas! My wife bake this cake. You have," and "Hellas! These from my garden!" as he passed a plate full of fresh figs over a ledge. We loved him and everything about that place down to the mattress whose springs I became individually acquainted with.
In Alleppey, Kerala too - we stayed in a thatched bungalow where occasionally animals ran across the ceiling beam and every night a mouse stole our shower soap from the outdoor bathroom. We needed mosquito net to sleep - and it didn't always do the full job. We always got bites anyway. But we opened those doors every morning to the Kerala backwaters. And George, the manager of the resort was one of our favorite people with his phrase, "If it can be done, we will do it. But if it cannot be done, well, we cannot do it."
The entire staff there was charming and helpful. They brought us incredible chai on our bungalow porch every morning and night.
The place oozed charm in every respect. Who cared if the shower had so little water pressure that Emily needed a bucket to wash her hair or that showering was sometimes a race against the mosquitos? We enjoyed it thoroughly.
When I think about what makes a hotel great and what makes a stay memorable, it isn't how nice the pillow is or even how large the room is. It's that intangible something that changes it from a place to sleep and shower to part of the trip itself.
Some of the places that most met the standards of home were the least interesting. We stayed in a perfectly nice, modern, forgettable room in Delhi. It had a great mattress and shower, but it was overall very "blah." The same goes for our room in Penang which had a superb mattress and shower and all the charm of a household appliance. To be fair, it was billed as a nice budget hotel and it wasn't going for charm. It - like our current hotel - will undoubtedly wash away into the ether of our brains, rarely to be recalled.
When we look at hotels, we still look first at WiFi and Internet speed. But after that, we try for a little something special.
The warm, cheery feel of the room in Bangkok with the staff to match and the espresso machine at the fantastic included breakfast buffet. The corner room with big windows, earthen tile floors and beautiful woodwork in Saigon that feels like a nice apartment. Or a man who after a month of staying in one of his 16 studios, takes you to the boat, hugs you each and says, "You come back with baby and no smoke hashish in Turkey."
There's just one big hitch. Because the buildings are narrow and deep, there are only two to four rooms in each hotel that have windows. If you want natural light, you have to pay top dollar.
When we were shown to the deluxe room of our pleasant hotel and it had no windows. I wasn't thrilled. I was determined that our overpriced rabbit den in Singapore would be the last time we slept in a windowless room. I have to know when it's morning and the psychological difference of having a light, airy room is huge.
I looked up other hotels in the area and we went to one that was a little pricier and nicer looking than ours. Same problem - nothing we could afford had windows and their rooms were actually a little smaller. Walking through the streets, we realized that unless we wanted to move into the Metropole or the Sheraton outside the Old Quarter, we couldn't escape the problem.
We resigned ourselves to a dark room and after a day or two, Emily figured out that it helped to leave the bathroom door open since the bathroom has a small window. At least we have some vague awareness of morning.
The room itself is large, comfortable and has great WiFi. The included breakfast is good. The family that owns and operates the hotel is fantastic. They couldn't be nicer, really. So, we settled in and decided to work with it and we've been pretty happy.
I realized that one key thing made it work so well. The bathroom. It's huge, tiled with a light stone has granite counters, has brand new fixtures and a huge, clean, wonderful shower.
Two things I learned from my mom that have held true on this trip: the bathroom is a very important part of a hotel room and restaurants make their money on the drinks. In other words, a lame bathroom can spoil an otherwise good hotel room and if you want to watch your budget, order water. Most of our shocking, didn't see it coming restaurant checks have come from drinks.
So, following what scientists and mathematicians will forevermore call "Mom's First Law of Bathrooms," this hotel made the grade and the nice people got almost two weeks of business from us.
Emily and I love to talk about the many places we've stayed over the past 11 months and which have stood out for various reasons.
There are many things that can make and break a hotel with us. Charm counts for a lot. That's why Emily glows a little when she thinks back on our room in Udaipur with it's beautifully colored windows, comfortable bed and spacious interior. Our deluxe suite overlooking the lake was Emily's Rajasthani fantasy.
I also enjoyed it. While it was my favorite hotel room in India, it didn't rank as one of my tops for the trip because of "Mom's First Law of Bathrooms." The hot water wasn't consistent, the bathroom door had a portion that was just a mesh screen and one wall an open area at the top that essentially opened the bathroom to the adjacent corridor. Given that the one time we each got significantly sick was in Udaipur, I spent a fair amount of time in that bathroom, considering all of this.
Of course, there are moments when no amount of bathroom can save a place. In Singapore, when we got stuck with the $80 room with no windows, the bathroom was Singapore clean and nice. However, they short-sheeted the vinyl mattress repeatedly, the WiFi system kicked us out if we were inactive for three minutes and the maids never washed Emily's coffee mugs - which let me say, was a MAJOR sin.
There are also moments when people can turn a mediocre place wonderful. Hotel Evsen in Istanbul remains one of my favorite hotels of the trip. The rooms were small, the closets inadequate, the bathroom clean, good water pressure, but average. The WiFi in room was tops and the mattress was fantastic. We slept like babies.
But the thing that made it wonderful was the owner's son who ran the place and the really warm, friendly nice guys at the front desk. We chatted with them coming and going each day. They helped us figure out where to find things, they joked around and in our 17 days in Istanbul, they became friends. If we were to return to Istanbul, I wouldn't consider another hotel.
In Patmos, Greece too, people tipped the balance. At Nichola's Studios - our Patmos home that we adored so much - the nice size, bright room with the French doors and spectacular view were wonderful. A lot of people had similar size rooms and views. The mattress sucked. I didn't realize how bad at the time, but really, had it been anywhere other than Patmos, we might have left.
But Nicholas and his family who passed freshly made cake or fruit over our balcony wall with a "Hellas! My wife bake this cake. You have," and "Hellas! These from my garden!" as he passed a plate full of fresh figs over a ledge. We loved him and everything about that place down to the mattress whose springs I became individually acquainted with.
In Alleppey, Kerala too - we stayed in a thatched bungalow where occasionally animals ran across the ceiling beam and every night a mouse stole our shower soap from the outdoor bathroom. We needed mosquito net to sleep - and it didn't always do the full job. We always got bites anyway. But we opened those doors every morning to the Kerala backwaters. And George, the manager of the resort was one of our favorite people with his phrase, "If it can be done, we will do it. But if it cannot be done, well, we cannot do it."
The entire staff there was charming and helpful. They brought us incredible chai on our bungalow porch every morning and night.
The place oozed charm in every respect. Who cared if the shower had so little water pressure that Emily needed a bucket to wash her hair or that showering was sometimes a race against the mosquitos? We enjoyed it thoroughly.
When I think about what makes a hotel great and what makes a stay memorable, it isn't how nice the pillow is or even how large the room is. It's that intangible something that changes it from a place to sleep and shower to part of the trip itself.
Some of the places that most met the standards of home were the least interesting. We stayed in a perfectly nice, modern, forgettable room in Delhi. It had a great mattress and shower, but it was overall very "blah." The same goes for our room in Penang which had a superb mattress and shower and all the charm of a household appliance. To be fair, it was billed as a nice budget hotel and it wasn't going for charm. It - like our current hotel - will undoubtedly wash away into the ether of our brains, rarely to be recalled.
When we look at hotels, we still look first at WiFi and Internet speed. But after that, we try for a little something special.
The warm, cheery feel of the room in Bangkok with the staff to match and the espresso machine at the fantastic included breakfast buffet. The corner room with big windows, earthen tile floors and beautiful woodwork in Saigon that feels like a nice apartment. Or a man who after a month of staying in one of his 16 studios, takes you to the boat, hugs you each and says, "You come back with baby and no smoke hashish in Turkey."
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