Of the past 16 nights, I have spent 11 in hotel rooms. All this travel is for work and all is paid for by various organizations with which I work. It's the life I always craved, not to mention that I keep getting upgraded: from the bare basics of the inn at Sde Boker, to the decent hotel in Tbilisi, to the shiny monster that I now call home: Eilat's Royal Beach hotel, venue of the current chamber music festival.
I love it. I love being received in the lobby with champagne and a selection of fine chocolates, the little basket with fresh fruit and bottle of wine in the room, the perfect view to the sea, the palm trees and the desert mountains, the massive bed and en suite Jacuzzi. I love the slick design, how clean everything is, the Finnish sauna, the steam room, the hamam style sauna, the "Scottish shower" and what have you. I love that a hidden speaker plays the TV soundtrack in the bathroom so you won't miss a scene while taking a leak. I love having to wear a jacket for the evening functions, I even love the elevator music, though not nearly as much as the Mozart arias that are sung here onstage.
Somehow, I'll probably still vote for the Communists in a few days. None of the luxury lets me escape the fact that I'm a pennyless journalist. I am no less than a victim of the system that allows a fortunate few to pay for all this. But till then, how about some more marzipan over here, oh, and a glass of royal flush.