After a wretched week travelling around Taiwan -- negotiating train timetables and ticket offices, finding cheap hotels and temples -- I returned to Taipei to crash before a flight home the next day.
I dragged my suitcase along Chungshan Rd and at the end of the noisy, motorbike-jammed street saw, on the 6th floor of a building opposite, the welcoming word “Hotel”.
I made my way through the traffic and got into the lift up to an attractive lobby with a marble floor and two women behind a desk, clearly surprised to see me. Neither spoke any English but through gestures, a lot of giggling on their part, then some figures scribbled on paper I got myself a room. It was more than I had expected, but I had no energy to walk the streets again.
I was shown to my room, opened the door, and gazed slack-jawed at vivid red walls, carpet, bedspread and curtains. The fittings were gold, and there were mirrors everywhere. The bath could accommodate three people comfortably. I was testing the vibrating bed when there was a knock and a young woman offered me towels, then stood waiting for a long time. And waiting. Suddenly she ran off laughing.
After my bath there was another knock. Another woman standing there smiling. And smiling. One of the older women from the desk bustled her off with what I took to be apologies.
I came back after dinner and the place was busy with people coming and going. All night high heels clicked outside my door.
But I slept well and in the morning paid my bill and made my way down to the street.
In the bus to the airport I did the maths and realised I had got a pretty good deal. I’d had the room all night.
Most people only took theirs for an hour.