Travel Smart: Designed for death

The gastronomic travel Editor thinks hotel décor should not be hazardous to your health.

Smoked salmon looked good thus took a step in the hidden face of the buffet to put some on my plate. But my foot landed on a small decorative piece of moulding of ski jumping, and I nose-dived almost in a bowl of capers instead. Now I understood that it was all part of the DNA at the Hotel Q Berlin, which leans strongly towards the Merry Prankster School of Interior design. The Q (as in eccentric?) was so hip, sort of-the-art, you would not dare anything in question of fear that you were the maniac kind which should not be there in the first place remains.

On the floor in my room, the same Alpine touch was next to my bed, curve gently speech platform which held the mattress. Every morning, after I have increased my foot hit the ESS-curve, get rid instantly balance and me straight in the bag, as if back overlap fingerprints in the kisser by Cary Grant in the history of Philadelphia. And then there was the tub, mounted as a Greek across the bed platform temple, which meant that every drop on the side went to cascade to the mattress. A big splash and you request if you have taken out insurance registration flood.

What happened to the form follows the function? Why is there no rules to rein in the gross excesses of the design hotel? In fact, there are now: Mine.

Rule 1: Don't turn decor in a deadly weapon. This can happen to even the most traditional institutions. Once, I stayed in a hotel in London with oh-so-clean furniture, but there was simply too heavy parts in the room. I kept slamming in the bed of the canopy, bouncing on the ancient bedside table and ricocheting off the coast of the TV cabinet as I returned it around the room. By check-out, my leg looked like a Xerox of starry night.

Rule 2: Don't make oversized furniture just cute (Philippe Starck, this means you). No one wants to feel like Edith Ann when you try to look glamorous in the entrance Hall.

Rule 3: Make sure that there are many mirrors. It's really hard to press a full reflection of the body in a shaving mirror. But don't go all Versailles, causing guests to think that there are more people in the room that there is really not.

Rule 4: Don't turn the elevator in a Bates Motel. A spot creepy, tight is the last place you want to be before retiring for the evening. And, please, no videos projected on the walls and ceiling in the car. Amusement park rides belong outside.

Rule 5: Simplify the bathrooms. Cascades urinals and fountains for the washing of the hands are downright confusing. No one wants to know who is who, after a martini or both.

(Note that anyone caught breaking these rules is banished to the House of glass of Philip Johnson in New Canaan, Connecticut, to pay for their sins).

View the original article here

Travel Smart: Designed for death

The gastronomic travel Editor thinks hotel décor should not be hazardous to your health.

Smoked salmon looked good thus took a step in the hidden face of the buffet to put some on my plate. But my foot landed on a small decorative piece of moulding of ski jumping, and I nose-dived almost in a bowl of capers instead. Now I understood that it was all part of the DNA at the Hotel Q Berlin, which leans strongly towards the Merry Prankster School of Interior design. The Q (as in eccentric?) was so hip, sort of-the-art, you would not dare anything in question of fear that you were the maniac kind which should not be there in the first place remains.

On the floor in my room, the same Alpine touch was next to my bed, curve gently speech platform which held the mattress. Every morning, after I have increased my foot hit the ESS-curve, get rid instantly balance and me straight in the bag, as if back overlap fingerprints in the kisser by Cary Grant in the history of Philadelphia. And then there was the tub, mounted as a Greek across the bed platform temple, which meant that every drop on the side went to cascade to the mattress. A big splash and you request if you have taken out insurance registration flood.

What happened to the form follows the function? Why is there no rules to rein in the gross excesses of the design hotel? In fact, there are now: Mine.

Rule 1: Don't turn decor in a deadly weapon. This can happen to even the most traditional institutions. Once, I stayed in a hotel in London with oh-so-clean furniture, but there was simply too heavy parts in the room. I kept slamming in the bed of the canopy, bouncing on the ancient bedside table and ricocheting off the coast of the TV cabinet as I returned it around the room. By check-out, my leg looked like a Xerox of starry night.

Rule 2: Don't make oversized furniture just cute (Philippe Starck, this means you). No one wants to feel like Edith Ann when you try to look glamorous in the entrance Hall.

Rule 3: Make sure that there are many mirrors. It's really hard to press a full reflection of the body in a shaving mirror. But don't go all Versailles, causing guests to think that there are more people in the room that there is really not.

Rule 4: Don't turn the elevator in a Bates Motel. A spot creepy, tight is the last place you want to be before retiring for the evening. And, please, no videos projected on the walls and ceiling in the car. Amusement park rides belong outside.

Rule 5: Simplify the bathrooms. Cascades urinals and fountains for the washing of the hands are downright confusing. No one wants to know who is who, after a martini or both.

(Note that anyone caught breaking these rules is banished to the House of glass of Philip Johnson in New Canaan, Connecticut, to pay for their sins).

View the original article here

Travel Smart: Designed to Death

Gourmet’s travel editor thinks hotel décor should not be hazardous to your health.

The smoked salmon looked good, so I took a step over to the far side of the buffet to put some on my plate. But my foot landed on a decorative little piece of ski-jump molding, and I nearly nose-dived into a bowl of capers instead. By now I understood this was all part of the DNA at the Hotel Q in Berlin, which leans heavily toward the Merry Prankster School of interior design. The Q (as in quirky?) was so hip, so cutting edge, you wouldn’t dare question anything for fear that you were the kind of nerd who shouldn’t be staying there in the first place.

Upstairs, in my room, the same Alpine touch could be found next to my bed, curving gently from the floor up to the platform that held the mattress. Each morning after I rose, my foot hit the ess-curve, throwing me instantly off balance and thrusting me straight back into the sack, as if socked in the kisser by Cary Grant in The Philadelphia Story. And then there was the bathtub, mounted like a Greek temple on the other side of the bed platform, which meant every drop over the side went cascading down to the mattress. A big splash and you wondered if you should’ve taken out flood insurance at check-in.

Whatever happened to form follows function? Why are there no rules to rein in the gross excesses of hotel design? Actually, now there are: Mine.

Rule 1: Don’t turn décor into a lethal weapon. This can happen at even the most traditional of establishments. I once stayed at a hotel in London with oh-so-proper furnishings, but there were simply too many heavy pieces in the room. I kept slamming into the canopy bed, bouncing off the antique nightstand, and ricocheting off the TV armoire as I ping-ponged around the room. By check-out, my thigh looked like a Xerox of Starry Night.

Rule 2: Don’t make oversized furniture just to be cute (Philippe Starck, this means you). Nobody wants to feel like Edith Ann when trying to look glamorous in the lobby.

Rule 3: Make sure there are plenty of mirrors. It’s really hard to squeeze a full-body reflection into a shaving mirror. But don’t go all Versailles, either, causing guests to think there are more people in the room than there really are.

Rule 4: Don’t turn the elevator into a Bates Motel. A creepy, tight spot is the last place you want to be before retiring for the evening. And, please, no projected videos on the walls and ceiling inside the car. Amusement park rides belong outside.

Rule 5: Keep bathrooms simple. Cascading waterfalls as urinals and fountains for washing hands are downright confusing. Nobody wants to have to figure out which is which after a martini or two.

(Note that anyone caught breaking these rules will be banished to Philip Johnson’s Glass House in New Canaan, Connecticut, to pay for their sins.)

View the original article here