You might remember that I openly mocked a Tripadvisor reviewer in a previous entry . The reviewer said:

“My wife and I stayed at Hotel Belmondo - Salzburg for 1 night in Sep, 2007. This is the worst hotel I have ever stayed so far. The staff there is very rude and not helpful. It was raining heavily outside when we arrived at the hotel. My wife and I each was carrying a big baggage and had to hold an umbrella, but the staff there just watched us open the door and got soaked without giving a hand. Also, when we asked for check-in, the 2 staff at the counter were talking to each other. They just told us to wait and we had to wait for more than 10 minutes.The room is small though it is clean. However, our room has a painting with a spooky woman. I was so scared that I would be frighted to death when I woke up at midnight. So, I took it off the wall. We already saw the sharings from others that this is not a good hotel. However, we did not expect that it is so bad. We DO NOT recommend this hotel to anyone."

OMG, you guys: GUESS WHICH ROOM I GOT, RIGHT? I did not even have to expose myself as a crazy nutjorb from the interwebs by asking about or for it! It came right to me! Which, yeah, if this was a movie of any sort – especially Japanese – would be very bad. In fact, I think that guy might have seen Ringu before staying here because actually? The painting is pretty deeply creepy.


In horror movies, the protagonist is almost ALWAYS shown openly mocking the silly, superstitious dread of the supporting cast about the specific subject of the horror movie in the first 15 minutes of the movie. There is no such thing as werewolves, videotapes that kill you, ghosts, cannibalistic hillbillies, or museums of wax made out of actual dead body parts! Of course, then that same protagonist will spend the next hour of your life screaming and being generally humbled out of their previous position of intellectual arrogance on that particular topic, and the very last 15 minutes either surviving (if it's an American horror movie), being killed anyway (if it's a Japanese horror movie), or discovering that it was all just personal psychosis (European horror movie).


Seriously I should stop looking at it. In the ambient lighting of the room at night it is registering about a 7 on the creepometer, with 1 being "weird shadows" and 10 being "shadows that are actually pretty definitely someone holding an ax."

I no longer have the heart to mock that guy from Tripadvisor because: yeah, not so funny anymore.
arcanamundi: (Default)
( Mar. 18th, 2009 10:57 pm)
I’ve been travelling for a month and three days. Since I started the trip with three pairs of pants and three shirts, it’s probably to be expected that they’re starting to show the damage of being in heavy rotation. Yesterday I bought a new pair of jeans and threw out the black Dockers that were looking *really* bad (man, you’d think those could handle some travel) out. I also bought a couple of new shirts – unfortunately (or fortunately), they’re also black. I would have been more than happy to get some color working in my wardrobe at this point, but I couldn’t find anything I liked in any other color.

The only part of my today that was predictable was that the hotel alarm clock didn’t go off at 6 AM. Usually I use the alarm in my Europe cell, but since it was going to be so early when I was up and about I wanted absolutely everything packed before I went to bed, so there wouldn’t be any chance of sleepwalking away from something important. My bodyclock woke me up at 6:15, so it wasn’t so bad. I’m always amazed at how good the body is at knowing what time it is. I’ve never overslept and missed a plane, train, lecture, or important meeting – but I’m totally capable of oversleeping when I’ve got something less “you snooze you lose” in the morning. I was downstairs ready to check out by 7:30, so I was already running a little late, but it could have been worse. I took a tram. Then I took the subway. Then I took a bus. Then I was in Klosterneuberg. Some very nice ladies on the bus told me that there were two stops that were possible to take to the cloister, and suggested that the first would be better - a nicer and shorter walk. So I got off and started to hike. For half an hour. Straight up a mountain road. In winds that were gusting up to 70 kph. According to my pedometer I walked nearly 7000 steps, so I think I walked for about two miles? As it turns out, my sweet ladies were not particularly well-informed, as I discovered that the bus actually goes up the damn hill on the other side and drops you off more or less at the door. Oh well.

Look how close the clouds are once you get there:

And I had been told to find the porter to be given directions to the reading room. But before I found a porter I found a door that said it was the Stiftarchiv. Rock!

So I rang the bell. Once, twice, thrice. Finally a pissed off dude answered the door and gave me holy hell. I told him I had an appointment to see a manuscript and he calmed down. He told me to go find the porter to get directions, so I set off in search of the elusive porter. Again. A sardonic inner voice muttered that the whole experience of trying to get to this particular manuscript was kind of like The Da Vinci Code except that it sucked WORSE and was MORE BORING, which cracked me up, so then I was walking along cackling to myself. Not good. If he had actually been an albino monk when I found him I think I would have gone into absolute hysterics. I wandered aimlessly looking for the porter who really ought to be an albino monk, which mostly involved opening every door I passed and looking inside. So I saw some pretty things.

If I'd had some tape, a piece of paper, and a Sharpie, I would have made Saint Columanus an office hours sign for his door. It would have amused nobody but me, but it would have amused me A LOT.

I quite like a nice ceiling.

Wait, there's MORE!  )