years and years ago, i was in switzerland with my father. we were walking through a very green landscape, when all of a sudden this grand hotel appeared like a fata morgana, with pale pink plaster, standing all by itself among fir trees and mountains. it had been there for years, a hotspot for the lucky few of yore. i imagined aristocratic old ladies in perfect dresses sipping tea behind the balconied windows. my dad and i made a promise to one day return to spend a night at rosenlaui.
the promise was fulfilled. again, the blistered pink of the hotel building rose suddenly from around a mountain corner, and i finally stepped over the threshold. the perfect remnants of past glory greeted me inside. creaking floorboards, majestic drawing rooms with stately pieces of period furniture. the rooms were large and empty, with spare army blankets piled on the marble-topped dressers. the communal bathrooms were the icing on the fairy tale cake.
rosenlaui is a magic place to always remember for me.
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