Sofitel, Brisbane, QLD
Oh, Sofitel… It’s not you, it’s me. Well, maybe it was a little bit your fault. I’m just glad we made it through all this and we’re still friends.
I remember how it all started. I’d flown in for Future Music festival 2011 where I’d meet up with the Presets. Do you remember how it rained and rained? You were such a warm place to recover from the 24-hour journey! Well, I told you that then but the truth was I was staying in Darlinghurst Sydney before that in a managed apartment. I just couldn’t bare to tell you when you’d done your best to accommodate me, overcompensating with the vast, nicely lit room and comfy bed. I honestly can’t remember how comfy the bed was that first time, but again, I wouldn’t have told you back then. I was a little shy.
Do you remember that sort of passable food in your basement pub with the incredibly awkward, but I suppose traveler-friendly atmosphere. I wonder if you saw me sneak off and help carry a couple pints over to that “ladies’ night out” next to the speaker amplifying that bad live music. I mean, it was fun. All-in-all my time with you, despite the $34 breakfast and overpriced coffee in the bar was pleasant. I have fond memories. I never did get to see your pool or fitness room.
This second time around, again, was a little mysterious. This time I DID come in from a long, all-day/night journey from Tokyo via Singapore. You didn’t have my room ready. I was already overwhelmed then found out how much you were charging for internet. What happened to us? Thankfully, the festival comped us for the internet. I could connect with the outside world, since our date was starting to get really WEIRD.
With all the people around it was hard to focus on you. And I felt the same from you. The big banquet buffet we had together was yummy, but quickly I wanted to make an exit. I kept getting up to go outside and around the corner to your impoverished smoking area to choke down these horrible (yet amazingly packaged) Japanese “Echo” cigarettes, even though I didn’t REALLY want to smoke. Eventually I just moved on back to my room to try to have some alone-time.
So many mixed messages. The bar staff was blank, not friendly, while reception was full of sunshine, especially the concierge who joyfully scanned some drawings I’d done. “Bonjour!!” all the time, oh I get it, you’re French. The Aussie accent tricked me, but ok, it’s cute.
I have a confession now. I slept with your sister Sofitel Wentworth in Sydney. I mean, since we’re just friends now… It was weird at first, really weird. I’d never been with an interior, corner room facing a courtyard, much less a 20-storie, grey brick wall. I felt trapped, yet unable to resist. I basically locked myself in that dark cave of a room for 2 days. And slept, I just slept, ok? I hated that room at first and all I could think of was you and your massive, nicely lit room. Your bathroom had a real door, not the weird closet/saloon doors your sister had. How many people threw open those doors?
But something happened. Her bed enveloped me. Sure, I went downstairs, down to City Convenience around the corner, braved the rain while Sydneysiders ran around as if a hurricane was hitting, coming back through your lobby to “BONJOUR!!” But I have to be honest, I really, really, eventually… I really got into that bed.
Others with whom I’d been traveling had nothing good to say about her, grumbled in the lobby having been forced to get internet dongles so she wouldn’t grab all their money from their pockets. But not me. I’m ashamed to tell you this, Brisbane Sofitel. But even though I think you’re a bit of a better hotel, I kinda like your sister better. At least she’s got a chocolate shop next door.