Speaking of hotels.

I found the pool at the Hotel V downtown, and found its door open. So I went back a couple weeks later with my girlfriend, and we found its door still open -- the cardlock not engaged. We hung out in there to get out of the cold and the rain for half an hour.

I went back another couple of weeks later with my swimming shorts on under my business-casual exploration uniform. In the stairwell between floors, I stuffed my jacket and button-up shirt into my beach bag (having deposited my laptop shoulder bag, tripod, and camera at the art gallery coat-check across the street), and emerged onto the appropriate floor in T-shirt and sandals and looking, I thought, a lot like a guest who's just come down from their room for a relaxing swim.

The door was locked.

One evening my girlfriend and I rode the elevator in the FPR Hotel randomly up to the 18th floor, took the stairs randomly up another couple of floors, and stumbled completely at random upon the fancy staircase leading down to the Gold Members' Lounge. We had the nerve to help ourselves to a couple of desserts, but not enough nerve (or too many scruples) to take advantage of the honor bar. We nibbled our chocolate squares, trying not to look as uncomfortable and guilty and poor as we felt. It was lovely.

I've since gone back a couple of times and, of course, the elevators won't take me anywhere.

Earlier this week I finally got into a pool and went for a swim. The main, cardlocked entrance to the fitness centre at the FS Hotel was, well, locked, but for some reason the "back" door was propped open. I walked in. One of the trainers saw me come in but didn't say anything. Another asked if I was "John." I said I wasn't, and after helping myself to a cup of water, asked where the men's locker room was.

I splashed around in the heated outdoor pool, in the rain, with the smell of frying steaks wafting through the air. Fuckin' posh.

No photos. Didn't want to make myself conspicuous.