Saturday, May 19, 2007

voices down the corridor

Walking down an empty corridor, an endless row of similar doors on each side. Worn and stained carpet. A faint odour of mildew. Murmuring voices behind some of the doors.

Reminds me of a dream. But this is real, this is a hotel.

Getting to know all its rooms, its nooks and crannies, is acquiring control. Knowing the good rooms, the ones to avoid, the one that smells, the one with the funny wallpaper, the one that has been converted to storage space. Deciding which one I would stay in if I had the chance. I walk down the corridor with purpose, jingling my master key.

I know what writer Paul Theroux meant when he wrote about the hotel he managed: "Shared by so many dreaming strangers, every room was vibrant with their secrets... the left-behind atoms and the residue of all the people who had ever stayed in it... Assigning people to such rooms, I believed I was able to influence their lives."

My brother, after millions of business trips, claims that hotel rooms are cold and dreary. But for me, knowing intimately how alive and vital an organism the hotel is and being in the middle of it, the rooms are a quiet and peaceful refuge. Hurrying into an empty room to look for something, I often pause to breathe. Occasionally, on quiet days, the staff sneak into one to watch TV while the boss is away. Sometimes I have been allowed to stay overnight and enjoyed the luxury of marble bathrooms with soft towels and expensive, complimentary cosmetics, or been amused by the bygone-era-atmosphere of rooms too old to be sold to paying customers.

Weary business travellers, elated families on holiday, backpackers, couples in love, people who move in groups, drifters with nowhere else to stay, people with hope in their eyes and others with despair in their entire being. All away from home, for good or for bad, and I can only imagine their feelings and experiences in these rooms.

It's true, in a hotel you really see it all. Cosmos packed into a corridor with doors leading... who knows? And I hold the master key.

6 comments:

Aruni RC said...

somehow, dear PP, your life (neglected or otherwise) is like a poem in itself.

*Aruni RC bows (doffing hat, provided he possesses one)*

Thanks a lot for your comments. One of the rather too many reasons why I blog. And keep coming back to this one...

all the best,

Different Pen said...

Your praise brightened my (otherwise long and tiresome) day, most admired Aruni!

Aruni RC said...

Well, here's my usual pilgrimage to this page dear PP.
This is making me actually stop and think about the hotels that have sheltered me. Normally (yup, I can be normal at times; at least, I think so...) I breeze thru hotels with as much care as I would have for a broken kettle-drum.

But the prospect of the 'cosmic corridors' of your hotel is definitely making me sit up and take notice.
Maybe, I should ruminate a bit about the arcane identity of hotels. Then again, maybe I'm just musing at random (big surprise).

Prince K. said...

As usual... a gem.

Hmm. Never thought of hotel rooms at this angle. Really.
I thought hotels were dreary.
(At least, apart from the receptionists, who tend to be quite charming...)
Ah, maybe that's because I don't pay much attention to all the work going on.
{Even after seeing Dunsten Checks in... so...}

So. Next time, I shall meander about and talk to the people there.
Who knows, I might find some peripheral drifter like you!

Different Pen said...

Prince, you are on the right track! You might be surprised at what you find, wandering along the Corridor Between Worlds...

Prince K. said...

Corridor Between the Worlds... hehe!
Very well put.