I’ve been sent to London for “two months” (58 working days) to stay at these self-proclaimed “corporate studios” at XXX (*), together with a few other colleagues of mine. Mind you, it’s not that I was expecting Versailles, but last time I was sent to “corporate studios” I stayed here, which looks like this:


Of course I was not expecting the same – this is Europe at the end of the day, and we love to be crammed in tiny placed, don’t we? – but at least I was hoping I could cook a little and feel “at home” during my “two-month” stay.
Guess what? When I arrived at XXX (*) I found this:


What you see above is the whole “studio”, from door to window.
Note the details of the flooring and the nicotine-stained curtains:


After some bitching, and after being told by a number of people that I’m picky, I got relocated to this other room in the same complex:

Not bad, right? Still not a “studio”, looks to me more like a “small hotel room”, but at least I got a sofa. I guess in Europe a sofa makes a studio. Good to know, when I’m back in Amsterdam I’ll cram a sofa in the elevator and rent it out as a corporate studio.
It took me a few seconds to start enjoying the details of my new abode:


Notice the tape on the kitchen floor? About that kitchen, I have to remove the garbage bin in order to use the washer. Seriously, the washer door can’t swing open otherwise. And do you see the two taps on the bathroom sink? One is hot water and the other one is cold water; my left hand is scolded while the other one is getting frostbites. And people say I’m picky. Gabe, what’s wrong with these corporate studios? You’re the only one complaining.
I’ve also found out that no one here eats salads: the “apartment” has no bowl to mix a salad in, and when I asked my colleagues – who didn’t have it either – they looked at me suspiciously. I had to buy a bowl myself. One of my colleagues found dirty sheets, and another one had his kitchen floor flooded by a faulty washing machine. But everyone is wondering why I’m bitching while the other colleagues at the same place are not bitching. Gabe, you are picky.
Some more details from my “corporate studio”:



Oh, these are supposed to be “serviced apartments” (check their Web site), do you think they’d refill the toilet paper? Think again. They’re supposed to – they did once, but then one evening I came back and was welcomed by this:

Apparently the service maid thought this roll would be enough for the evening and for the morning after. Either she’s anorexic or my ass is too big. I had to run to the petrol station and buy toilet paper, but hey, Gabe is picky – or his ass is too big.
Another useful piece of information in case you plan to spend a romantic weekend in this cozy alcove. When you use the in-room phone to call toll-free numbers (and I mean UK toll-free, not US toll-free or Jupiter toll-free) they charge you 1.18 pounds plus a 10% administrative fee, regardless of the duration of the call (I have a receipt showing charges for calls that lasted 3 seconds when I found the other number busy). When I inquired with the reception, they said it’s for “connection costs”. Wow, switchboards in November 2009, I’m paying fees for the cost of…doing what again? There must be a midget-in-a-box somewhere that’s getting rich at quickly swapping phone sockets with tiny little fingers.
And after a few days of bitching left and right (hey, how picky is Gabe!) I realized that Trip Advisor features reviews on this place, with titles like “Filthy Dive” and “Astoundingly Bad Experience” and gems like this:
If ever an apartment block is due for refurbishment, this is it! Getting out of the lift, the smell in the corridors took me back 20 years when i was living in digs as a student! You’ll have to be a midget to get around the studio apartments! kitchen and bathroom looked really old, the bed mattress was way beyond its use by date…….we booked for a week, I ran out after one night……….shame as the location is great.
Well, apparently there are other bastards as picky as me. Real assholes they must be!
And at last, the crown jewel feature. This place is crowded with prostitutes and transexuals; I was originally told about it by a cab driver, but I didn’t think much of it until I saw a scene at 8am in the lobby. And in fact, it’s not a secret. Just search for “XXX (*)” and interviews to prostitutes come up, together with this nice excerpt from an article on “spoiled russians abroad” (sic):
Another sign that Sergey’s dad was a good guy is the fact that he didn’t have a Belgravia mansion and the best Sergey could afford was a moldy bedsit in XXX (*), a grotty prison-like complex populated mostly by students, prostitutes, silverfish and enslaved Arab wives who are only allowed out for a walk at around 5.30 am.
“The prostitutes… they are actually not so bad,” he told me.
“Both of my neighbors are prostitutes, they all speak Russian, so I can hear what’s going on. They have a Kazakh pimp who once came around and broke into their room with an axe. They must have owed him some money or something. He made a giant hole in the door, I never saw them since.”
“Are you serious? Isn’t there supposed to be security?” I asked.
“Yeah, but they only care about what’s going on in the nicer apartments above. For those in the hellhole below… it’s just you and the rats.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re very happy there, with the rodents and hookers and all.”
But hey, what the heck – I’m picky.
November 12 Update
This is the “skylight” in my bathroom – you know, I belong to the “privileged” class of people, so I’m staying on the top floor and can enjoy some light through this luxury fixture:

These days it’s been raining quite a lot in London, and I get water and wind gusts from that hole in the bottom right corner, detailed here:

But hey, I’m picky.
November 15 Update
After these rainy days, water began dripping from the ceiling:

Hey, what would you expect? It’s been raining quite a lot lately, it’s normal that some of that pouring rain drips into your room (sorry, “corporate studio”), isn’t it? Well, it’s not normal to me, but you know – I’m picky.
So I went to the management, and here’s their fix:

Hey, shit, Gabe is really picky.
(*) Yes, I’m a coward, and I will not disclose the name of this place until I have left for good. I’ll update the post with the name of the place in February.