I got up at 4:30AM earlier this morning, packed my bags and arrived at the airport just in time.
I guess it’s goodbye to all things Scandinavian. Goodbye Sweden. Goodbye Copenhage. Goodbye Scandinavia.
Hello Eastern Europe. Hello Baltics!
As someone who is addicted to travelling, I’m no stranger when it comes to hotels and resorts.
From the Sanderson Hotel in London (where I booked a massive penthouse to celebrate my 19th birthday party) to the Sheraton Laguna Nusa Dua in Bali (where I spent New Year’s Eve with my Indonesian friends and had an enormous 2-floored suite and my own private pool), I know how to detect good and bad service.
I’m currently here in Riga, Latvia staying at the Ainavas Boutique Hotel.
I got out of the cab, left my luggage outside the hotel entrance (AKA the sidewalk) and went straight to reception.
I told the girl I want to check-in and I need help with my luggage.
She then gave me this smug look on her face and asked me for my last name.
(THE HOTEL LOBBY IS EMPTY, FYI.)
I wanted to slap the fat blonde receptiobitch, pull her hair, drag her to the ground and spit on her face only a rapist can.
I have 5 huge bags with me. She didn’t acknowledged my request for help with my luggage. There was no doorman/bellhop/nothing.
After 2 or so minutes, I decided to take matters into my own hands and went out of the hotel to carry my bags one by one.
THANK GOD I tipped the taxi driver about 8 Euros – no wonder he watched out for my bags.
He carried all my bags to the lobby and it’s only at that time when the hotel boys arrived.
Fucking slow bitches.
The misery doesn’t even end there.
Once I settled into my room, I called the female receptiobitch and asked whether or not they have internet access.
She said yes, they do have internet access and I need some codes if I have my own laptop.
I told her, ok, will you please send someone to my room so I’ll have those codes?
She said yes.
Why are they taking so long?
I read the hotel’s room service menu and decided to call the restaurant so I can place my order.
Nobody picked up the fucking phone after calling them several times. I figured they might be busy so I’ll call them later.
20 minutes. Still no person to help me with my internet problem.
I said that’s it. I’m going downstairs and get those codes and borrow a LAN cable.
So I did.
Receptiobitch gave me the codes and the LAN cable.
I went upstairs back to my room and to my dismay, I still have no internet access.
I called reception and a guy answered. He said one of his colleagues will go up to my room in 30 minutes. Since he was there, I complained how nobody at room service is picking up their phone. He said he’ll get the chef to call me.
The chef called after a couple of minutes and it was only at that time that I got to place my order.
UGH! My blood is boiling.
No wonder my European friends asked me "WHY RIGA?" or "WHY LATVIA?" or "IT’S EASTERN EUROPE!". A Swedish acquaintance even said "that’s the 4th world".
IF YOU’RE GOING TO RIGA, LATVIA, PLEASE, BY ALL MEANS NECESSARY, PLEASE AVOID, AVOID, AVOID THIS HOTEL. You’d be in for a shock.
In fairness to them, their rooms are quite clean and cozy to be honest. They’re not the best but they remind of some hotel rooms in the Philippines.
I also like my courtyard view…
not sure about the view above it though…
It was the chef himself who delivered the food to my room. It was scrumptious.
I’ve been here for about 3 hours and the only thing that has been good so far is the immigrations officer who stamped my passport.
Boy he was hot.
So yes boys and girls, I don’t have internet access in my room.
I’m completely disconnected from the rest of the world.
Thank god there’s an internet cafe (wi-fi) about 50 meters from the hotel.
I’ll sleep early tonight, wake up early tomorrow, roam around, take pictures and fly my ass to Paris. I’m really looking forward to it.
For some strange reason, I’m feeling quite depressed.
I have no idea why.
It’s like, I have this lump on my throat or something.
Hopefully Paris will lift my mood up.
I love you all and I miss you all.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax to Death
My sincerest apologies to each and every one of you for not doing a Random Cheesemax post in ages as I have been sailing the seven seas only a solo traveler can.
1. My Copenhagen photo album is up. Click here for photos. I told my gal pal Tina D. earlier than most of my pictures in Copenhagen were taken during the night time because that’s the only time I’m with someone. In response, she told me that all I have to do is to wait for Paris (she’ll arrive on Thursday), we’ll create a spectacle of ourselves and then we’ll camwhore to death.
2. Someone book me for an impromptu liposuction as soon as I get back. Damn European cold weather fucked my Daria Werbowy weight-to-height proportion. It’s bathing suit season in the friggin third world and the Anorexia Anonymous gang will bawk at the weight gain I suffered in the past month.
3. Despite the fact that it has the same color as a first-world citizen’s snot, I value these little booklets filled with stickers and stamps as if they’re my birth certificate. I thought I dropped them at the Tivoli Park the other day and I spent no less than 4 hours looking for them (only to realize it’s in the safe).
I swear to god, I would die of shock, awe and horror if I lost my passport. I don’t want to be stuck in this beautiful yet lonely (and cold) city. I’d rather smuggle myself in FedEx boxes, one body part at a time, just to be back in the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives.
4. I’m leaving for Riga, Latvia first thing tomorrow morning. It’s 8:58PM here and my flight departs at 9:35AM. I almost missed my flight from Stockholm to Copenhagen. God knows what time I’ll wake up. I’ll finish this blog post, pack my stuff and get my beauty sleep.
I really need to leave Copenhagen. Please, for the life of god, pray that I get up before 6AM. I really don’t want to miss my flight.
5. I’ve sent far too much stuff via FedEx over the past few years and the only time they failed me is when I sent a package from Moscow to Stockholm. Speaking of which, I most definitely need to come back to Moscow so I can pick up that package. Even for 1 night (which isn’t what I promised my friend Jane.).
I sent a box today to my hotel in Paris which contains William (my white dead fox), a Vuitton bag, my Birkin and a Gucci bag. I figured out that I’m not gonna use them in Riga, Latvia (I’m only there for 2 days) and it’s best to send it straight to the motherland of all things fabulous, Paris.
They better not fail me.
6. I can’t, for the life of god, find my cellphone charger and my Filipino SIM card no wonder I’m incommunicado. I hope I’ll find them when I pack my stuff.
7. OH MY FUCKING GOD. My younger-by-2-hours Olsen twin Hannah (who I promise to marry in a couple of years time provided we have a clause on our prenup that I can have sex with any guy I want without her asking for $$$), is a total nutcase.
You’re absolutely right Hannah. Just like what you said, we’re gonna be just like the two of these when we get older.
8. It’s always polite (and trust me, it doesn’t hurt) to say Goodbye.
9. They better have internet access at my hotel in Riga. Oh god.
10. Bryanboy loves people from San Diego, CA, Stevenage, UK, Reston, VA, Tranbjerg, Denmark, Fort Worth, TX, Berlin, Germany, Benninghofen, Germany, Nashville, TN, Jamaica, NY, Allston, MA, Kingston, ONT Canada, Milan, Italy, Hoevelaken, Gelderland Holland, Summit Argo, IL, Beacon Falls, CT, Assendlse, Roskilde, Denmark and of course, people from Heidelberg, Germany. Bryanboy loves each and every one of you. Identify your asses bitches by saying hi.
And there you have it. I’ll post as soon as I arrive in Latvia.
I love you all.