Hotel Hamilton

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As Fryday’s regular readers know, this blog is hardly enamoured with Hamilton. It has even been known to be mildly critical of the city, though always with compassion and sympathy for those forced to live there. Last week I was there and whilst I met some lovely people I found little else to change my perception of the place. In fact there were two distinct occurrences that simply reinforced my view that Hamilton is both surreal and sinister. The first is that for only the second time since I acquired it my GPS gave up the ghost—giving me totally erratic, repetitive and inaccurate information. That may not sound like much to you, but consider: the only other time it behaved in such a manner was also while in Hamilton. If Google Maps cannot comprehend the place, how can I? The second occurrence (one perhaps of my own making, given that you get what you pay for) was that I stayed in the worst hotel I have ever experienced. Now, Fryday is not in the business of name and shame (unless of course you are Donald Trump) so I won’t name the hotel. But consider this: the receptionist, though pleasant, spoke very little english; though the hotel boasted a “restaurant” I was not allowed to sit in it—I was curtly instructed that: “Not possible. You go to room. Get room service there. Pay three dollar.” The only heating in the room was a very small fan heater that emitted little heat and a lot of noise. And the shower? A shower curtain in this day and age? And as for the water temperature? It took fully four minutes for it to rise to warm. Warm, mind you, not hot. Never hot. Not capable. And then it fluctuated, as if someone elsewhere had turned on their warm tap. And finally the fixed shower head—in itself an anomaly in modernity—was positioned barely above chest height. Hamilton is the BDSM—bondage and discipline, sadism and masochism—capital of New Zealand. It is where the real Fifty Shades of Grey is played out. It happens nightly in Hamilton. Don’t ask me how I know. I do. If that is your thing, go there. However, if you are not yet brave enough to indulge yourself in the full excess of BDSM, particularly masochism, and a simple sample of inflicted pain will suffice, then I suggest you simply stay at a Hamilton Hotel—if your GPS can find one.