This journey to the bathroom fills me with foreboding. The hotel located in a narrow alley and to get to it you have to walk past a hangman’s noose crudely fashioned from a telephone cable. Any sense of foreboding you have increases tenfold when inside the hotel, the receptionist looks like the creepy desk clerk in Hostel Part II.
What will happen now? Will a rich Japanese man cut my achilles tendons> Will a rich American drill through my knees for fun? Will I get to gawp at and have a pre horrible death fumble with Vera Jordanova? As it happens none of these, I have a forgettable no2 in a pleasant but unremarkable bathroom.