Here and there around the hotel.
Along the corridors lying on old wooden furniture, chests of drawers and cabinets, in the rooms crammed here and there, in the smoking room, on the shelves by the fireplace, almost everywhere it is easy to come across books of various kinds. Artists books, photo books, novels and poems, in different languages, old and new, are caressed, caught, leafed through without demanding anything in return. It is nice to pick up a book and start forgetting your own world to enter another, made of thoughts and images created by others, that we may know as famous or heard of fleetingly. Or may be they are totally unknown to us and are about to take us on a journey somewhere. It is nice to walk around the house and start wandering around with your mind. You always land somewhere, that is for sure.