I’m spoilt. I know that. Normally when I visit Catania, I stay with friends who have an exquiste place a stone’s throw from the Piazza Duomo. Beautifully and simply decorated, great furniture, stealable accessories and rain showers; oh the rain showers. The view from the balconies or dining terrace makes you want to stay forever, and you are treated like royalty, and I mean old style royalty.
However, my friends are away this week and I am on an intensive language course buffing up my Italian, and staying in a B&B called BAD Catania. I have to tell you, the abbreviation suits the ‘hotel’ better than the real name of Bed and Design. Oh it has beds, and they are OK in terms of comfort, the breakfast is across the square somewhere; I’d rather go to Prestipino – a little scared that the ‘recommended’ cafe could be like this place, and for sure some of the noisy Russian guests would be there too. We wouldn’t want hot coffee spilled on anyone now would we?
So, I arrive and a lovely chap called Cisco who is smaller than my suitcase, manages to carry it up, and up and up the stairs to my room; which, when I enter, seems cute. Until I had to go to the loo, unpack, plug in my phone and open the window. You see, the room is in the rafters, which normally would be quaint, but they haven’t considered, people may be over 4ft tall. I decide after about the 5th bop on bonce, to wear my hair in a bun as a shield, this worked for certain tasks, like getting out of bed, but opening the waist-high window, plugs, ablutions and getting dresssed, mean I have more bumps on my head than a Maltese road.
The lack of light and lack of air, let alone the pigeon deterrent alarm (that the pigeons ignore) get to me after 3 days and I ask to switch rooms; I bounce off to school, verb tables seem easier and I am looking forward to coming back that evening.
Never ask to switch hotel rooms. Ever.
Though to their credit they were very sweet about it, now I have a room with high ceilings, a balcony with a glass door the height of the room, the ugliest wall art I have ever seen, a claustrophobic shower room and the rudest, most selfish neighbours.
My umbrella thud against the ceiling eventually tamed one lot, but the Russians next door have the grace of sewer rats and seem to believe all other guests want to hear their conversation, at any time of day, and night. I’ll get them back – I’m planning to sing my socks off in the shower.
So while this has been a BAD stay, please, learn from my mistake.
