The bar at the Basel Hilton is decorated in that uniquely screwed up way you get when an American hotel chain attempts to combine the local culture with a corporate look and feel. Thus it is at once soulless, gaudy and looks more suited as a cheap set for an American soap opera. I'm told it was recently renovated. The renovation sasdly didn't extend to the exterior, which resembles a communist era block of flats.
But I'm being unfair. The room was very nice (although I've yet to work out why the bottle opener is attached to the bathroom sink unit) and the view from the window looking over Basel was magnificent. I never close the curtains in that sort of room, preferring to sleep with the illumination from the cityscape playing over the furniture.
I also tried a 'famous' club sandwich. I'm of the opinion that any establishment using the word 'famous' without a substantial proportion of the population having heard of it should be forced to give me money. In fact, when I rule the world, The Hilton, along with Damon's World Famous Bar And Grill (see posts passim) will be first up against the wall. People who sneeze over the salad counter will be next.
But I digress. The Club Sandwich is an interesting allegory for the Hotel's heiress; actress Paris Hilton. It is entirely pointless and my only reason for looking at it was a morbid curiousity. Why pointless? Nobody, aside from someone with a jaw able to open wide enough to accomodate a small kitten, can eat the thing as a sandwich. I understand the Paris' oral technique has been the subject of at least one film. All the practise eating those damn sandwiches, I guess.
Speaking of Paris Hilton, I wonder if her siblings have also been named after the hotels. It does my heart good to think that somewhere there might be a Scunthorpe Hilton running around.
