Hanoi Mikes

I pulled up outside Hanoi Mikes Hotel in a taxi. The women at reception grabbed my passport and went through her checks as I stood silently. Finally, after several minutes waiting I was seen by the main receptionist. I paid $16 for an airport transfer for the next morning and he gave me a receipt. I got my key and it was room 101. It was the door directly at the top of the first stair case. Quite convenient then, I thought. I climbed up the stairs, turned the key in the lock and walked in. I was shocked. It was like a room at the torture museum in Phnom Penn. It was only for one night so I thought what the hell. It had only cost me 6. I went straight for the air con remote and tried to switch the unit on. It didnt work. I looked in the bathroom, there was no towel. I went back to reception. Theres no towel and the air conditioner doesnt work. The reception man shuffled behind the desk and produced another key. 204. I went back into 101, picked up my gear and climbed another three flights of stairs to 204. I slung my bag on the bed. I flicked the lights. They didnt work. I went back down to reception. The lights dont work in my room. The reception man shuffled behind his desk and produced another key. This was obviously some kind of game to him. 304. Now I was starting to get angry. He led the way through another hallway, past an open plan kitchen where a family were eating, and up another staircase. It took about three minutes to conquer the winding steps. The receptionist turned the key in the lock, and pushed the door open. I walked in and slung my bag on the bed. I paused and had a look round taking it all in. Again, it was like a room at the torture museum in Phnom Penn, but at least this time there was a towel. I turned around and the receptionist was gone. I decided to have a shower because I had been sweating a lot. Half an hour later I was washed, dressed and ready to go out. I had decided I would go and watch a water puppet show. I locked the door and started down the stairs. I had descended two flights when suddenly I realised Id left my camera in the room. I went back up the stairs and tried the key in the lock. It wouldnt open. I pummelled the door with all my

might for 3 to 4 minutes but it was pointless, it wouldnt budge. I went back down to reception. I Cant get in my room. Ahhh. Why not? Im not sure, the lock wont work. A young man on one of the computer terminals opposite the main desk turned round. He had a spiky, carefully designed hairstyle. I followed him up to my room. He pummelled the door with all his might, shrugged his shoulders as if to say This really isnt my problem and went back downstairs, singing some pop music as he went. I think he was gay. I went back down to reception. I had become unusually annoyed by this point. What do I do now?. The reception man shuffled behind his desk and produced another key. 607. Thats no good. Why not? All my stuffs still in my room. Why dont you go and get it? I cant get in the room. The locks broken Oh yeah. Jesus Fucking Christ.