July 22nd, 1990
Dated isn’t the word for this hotel. It’s like being on a film set from the early 70s, with brown and orange tones everywhere. Most of the wicker furniture is broken in one way or another, like the three-legged bedside table that houses the phone and the lamp with the burned-out lightbulb.
Each floor has a guard so at least I felt safe in my room the entire day, which was not my first choice but I couldn’t find anybody who wanted to venture beyond the hotel grounds.
Read lots, wrote letters and ate yucky food from room service.
What a waste of a day!