<p>I didn’t need to travel in the time machine, to reach my weekend getaway of sorts. The sole connecting flight from my city had transported me to my destination. The hotel I was supposed to check-in was not merely my lodging, rather the sole attraction of my short vacation. Getting off my Uber, I noticed that the hotel’s entry door resembled the hardcover of a bulky book. </p>.<p>Opening the ‘book’ revealed a lobby with a plenitude of books lining all its walls. The front desk had its own ornate ceiling with faux bookstacks for pillars. The ambience did not belie the great expectations I had carried with me. </p>.<p>I mentioned my preference to be put up in the ‘Shakespeare’ room. ‘As you like it,’ replied the friendly receptionist. I expressed the hope that it was a room with a view to which she smilingly nodded in affirmation. The bellhop picked up my bag and walked me along a long hallway. The walls were adorned with portraits of literary giants -- Shakespeare, Milton, George Eliot, Dickens, Jane Austen, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Frost -- you name it, they were there. “You have quite a thing here,” I exclaimed before asking him the year the hotel was built. “1984, Sir,” he replied with an understanding smile.</p>.<p>As was my wont, I had had a skimpy dinner the previous night and woke up the next morning with hunger pangs. The lady at the front desk apologetically said, “We don’t have a restaurant on premise but you can walk a couple of furlongs north and after passing an animal farm, you will find Tiffany’s. It’s a nice place.” I thanked her and headed out.</p>.<p>On the way, I saw a field full of daffodils swaying in the wind and paused to let my eyes feast on them. The walk was invigorating. After a sumptuous breakfast at Tiffany’s, I started back to the hotel but this time took the road not taken earlier. I came across a carnival with a mirthy crowd rollicking to loud music even at that morning hour.</p>.<p>“Vanity fair, this!” I said to myself and changed course to be far from the madding crowd. With no specific agenda for the rest of the day, I wandered for some time all by myself and felt like the solitary reaper until I was greeted back at the hotel by the cheery eyed <br />receptionist. Sinking into one of the enormous sofas in the lobby, I reached out to the nearest book, which happened to be The Call of the Wild. Dusk had fallen by the time I had finished reading the novella.</p>.<p>It had left me teary eyed. I packed my bags the following day to head back home. The weather gods had other plans, though. The tempest that was supposed to merely skirt the town was now headed right into it and all flights had been cancelled for the day. This meant an extra night at the hotel, which was a good thing. Returning home the next day I thought, all’s well that ends well.</p>
<p>I didn’t need to travel in the time machine, to reach my weekend getaway of sorts. The sole connecting flight from my city had transported me to my destination. The hotel I was supposed to check-in was not merely my lodging, rather the sole attraction of my short vacation. Getting off my Uber, I noticed that the hotel’s entry door resembled the hardcover of a bulky book. </p>.<p>Opening the ‘book’ revealed a lobby with a plenitude of books lining all its walls. The front desk had its own ornate ceiling with faux bookstacks for pillars. The ambience did not belie the great expectations I had carried with me. </p>.<p>I mentioned my preference to be put up in the ‘Shakespeare’ room. ‘As you like it,’ replied the friendly receptionist. I expressed the hope that it was a room with a view to which she smilingly nodded in affirmation. The bellhop picked up my bag and walked me along a long hallway. The walls were adorned with portraits of literary giants -- Shakespeare, Milton, George Eliot, Dickens, Jane Austen, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Frost -- you name it, they were there. “You have quite a thing here,” I exclaimed before asking him the year the hotel was built. “1984, Sir,” he replied with an understanding smile.</p>.<p>As was my wont, I had had a skimpy dinner the previous night and woke up the next morning with hunger pangs. The lady at the front desk apologetically said, “We don’t have a restaurant on premise but you can walk a couple of furlongs north and after passing an animal farm, you will find Tiffany’s. It’s a nice place.” I thanked her and headed out.</p>.<p>On the way, I saw a field full of daffodils swaying in the wind and paused to let my eyes feast on them. The walk was invigorating. After a sumptuous breakfast at Tiffany’s, I started back to the hotel but this time took the road not taken earlier. I came across a carnival with a mirthy crowd rollicking to loud music even at that morning hour.</p>.<p>“Vanity fair, this!” I said to myself and changed course to be far from the madding crowd. With no specific agenda for the rest of the day, I wandered for some time all by myself and felt like the solitary reaper until I was greeted back at the hotel by the cheery eyed <br />receptionist. Sinking into one of the enormous sofas in the lobby, I reached out to the nearest book, which happened to be The Call of the Wild. Dusk had fallen by the time I had finished reading the novella.</p>.<p>It had left me teary eyed. I packed my bags the following day to head back home. The weather gods had other plans, though. The tempest that was supposed to merely skirt the town was now headed right into it and all flights had been cancelled for the day. This meant an extra night at the hotel, which was a good thing. Returning home the next day I thought, all’s well that ends well.</p>