| x | The suitcase hotel |
| x |
A daredevil pilot is flying me around a large foreign city in a helicopter, pointing out unusual local attractions. "Oh, you'll like this," he says, and we zoom toward a large hill a few miles away from downtown, past sunny highways and over soccer fields. We soon approach the attraction: 600 large suitcases on the side of the hill, in a formation 30 suitcases long and 20 suitcases deep. The suitcases are made of brightly colored vinyl, and they're sitting on four-foot pedestals. Each row is divided into groups of five suitcases of the same color: blue or purple or orange or red. As we hover, one of the suitcases unzips itself, and a rumpled-looking businessman crawls out and puts on a fedora. And suddenly I get it: This is a hotel. Each "room" consists of five suitcases in the same color. Two of the suitcases are for sleeping, and you can put your things in the other three. Brilliant. "It's very popular," says the pilot/tour guide. "200 bucks a night." We're close enough to the ground for me to jump out of the helicopter, so I do that to take a photo. But as I focus, khaki-uniformed soldiers keep getting in my way. More annoying, they won't get in focus -- they're blurry like snowy TV reception. I initially assume they're tourists as well, but I soon realize they're terrorists. I gasp and jump back in the helicopter; we fly away as quickly as possible. |
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