Last Day

“What about this place?” Sarah asked, handing me her phone. I saw a picture of a white stone farmhouse. There were very few reviews, all of them one liners. That should have alerted me. But we were trying to choose a hotel for the last night of our trip, in Dénia, and, well, I let my guard down. “Looks good,” I said, “book it.”
And so here we are, entering Dénia. The town has a dramatic location beneath a mountain range. As we turn away from the sea, I am imagining a farmhouse nestled at the base. But no, the GPS has other ideas. The further we go from the beach, the more the neighborhood declines. “Are you sure the GPS is correct?” I ask. “Yes,” Sarah says, “there it is.”
After reviewing hundreds of hotels around the world, I have found a simple rule to be true. The quality of a hotel is reflected in its sign. The sign for the Boho Suites is 4 boards framing a rusty metal plate. I am not sure if they are trying to be rustic chic, or were simply out of money. In any case the lavish photos on booking.com are not materializing. We are looking at a suburban corner lot, lots of traffic, very hot pavement. I ring the bell at the gate, only to discover that the advertised “free parking” was being offered courtesy of the town hall, i.e. on the street. We then dragged our luggage down a long driveway to the reception, where a young woman, call her Wanda, is waiting. Like a spider spotting a fly in a web, she scuttles toward us and immediately launches into a sales pitch for an Ayurvedic Massage. “Oh, this is great, just great, the woman who does it is great, you don’t want to miss this, she has been to India, she is — what do you call it? — a goo-roo.”
Wanda then takes us to the interior courtyard of the hotel, which looks like a suburban lawn that has not been cut in some time. There is no one to be seen, just a few yoga mats, various plastic chairs, and two banks of rooms. A distant pool peeks through a hedge, the only thing separating us from the street. Wanda leads us to the door of our suite and bolts, leaving us to discover its mysteries on our own. We open the door and there she stands, an enormous naked African tribeswoman. The photo dominates the sitting area, a powerful statement of how globally -minded Wanda and her goo-roo really are. COVID-19 seems to have put a dent in the furnishings, as the floor is entirely cement. Oddly, there is an ash tray, as we had previously received a special email from the hotel letting us know that no smoking is allowed under any circumstances. In the middle of the room is the bed, with little more than the headboard separating it from the bathroom. No walls at all. I wonder if I have ever slept with my head so close to a toilet. But of course this is a far more natural mode of living, a contemporary bush hut, imagined from a suburban garage, and all this for only 160 euros. I am starting to think I may need to speak to the goo-roo after all. The thought is confirmed when we spot the sign on the wall that says the solar hot water is being rationed.

Having had our fill of the room, we go to the pool, where we find three other couples socially distancing. Every few seconds the peace and quiet is broken by a car driving past the hedge. And so we slink back to our room, and out for dinner. It is late when we return and the lawn is dark. Now it is the morning and time to leave for the 6 hour drive to Soto. We are going to have to pass on the massage. Maybe next time. After all: the parking is free!Read more