The Kolbeck
Hey guys. This is a little out of sequence. Pardonnez moi.
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So now I now what a nineteen-euro hotel room looks like.
In twelve hours I’ll be halfway through a flight to Spain. It occurred to me that, even though I found a “reasonable” flight from Vienna to Spain, the cost of getting myself to and from Vienna from Graz, in addition to one night’s hotel stay in the Austrian capitol might push the cost of my Easter jaunt to the level of that fabled New York trip.
Oh horror.
I begged everyone I knew in Graz for offers for a ride to or place to stay in Vienna. No dice. Shit shit shit.
So I bought the tickets to and from Vienna. Sixty euros. Once I got to Vienna’s south station, I did what I do best: high-tailed it to the station’s bar and ordered up a quarter liter of white wine (white wine…never drank it until I got to Graz. Sweet Jesus, the time I’ve wasted…). I had to ponder my options. Carefully.
I’d gotten a hotel guide to Vienna from the Information desk at the station. The pickings were slim. And fucking exorbitant. Then I saw a tiny ad for a hotel called Kolbeck.
I called. They had one budget single left. Twenty-three Euro. They were only receiving guests for the next fifteen minutes.
Well, I chugged the last of that wine and sprinted eighteen minutes through the cutting rain until I found the place. Would I like breakfast? No. Well then. It’d only be nineteen euros.
It is impossible to explain to you the sense of triumph I felt as I slapped down my two tens and waited for change.
The room is the size of a modest walk-in closet…with a sink, a bed and a stool for suitcases. No toilet or shower, but hey…what do you want…they’re in the hall. The sheets look clean enough. The walls are marked by severe water damage…and are warping and cracking in many places.
It smells like the previous guest decided to rub himself down with raw eggs just prior to spending several hours fucking the shit out of an aged Great Dane. That’s not so nice. You know though, hey, I opened the windows, and my eyes have stopped tearing up from the stench now, for the most part.
And hey, there’s cable—and a 14” TV. And an ashtray. That’s about all I need for the next nine hours of bliss.
This Easter vaycay is looking up, tell you what.
