newelty

If you read my previous post (How Zen Is Citizen M?), you probably want to know the answer to the following question:

OK, how was it staying in a hotel room with a toilet in the middle of the room?

But hold on a second–there’s more to the story of the Citizen M.

When I checked in to the Amsterdam branch of the hotel, it wasn’t a good first start. I had made a reservation for the previous week, but had to cancel it. Unfortunately, they canceled BOTH reservations, and had no record of me in their system when I showed up for second reservation. Things were shaping up to be a fail.

In that way that sometimes happens, where computers actually make things less convenient, the front desk staff (who have no front desk, so actually seem like they’re just hanging out in the front), told me to go on the free computers, make an online reservation, and then come back. By the time all of this got straightened out and I made it upstairs, I was overheated and grumpy.

Then I encountered the hallway, which seemed to be a width of about six feet:

It actually made me feel both nauseous and claustrophobic. I realized those doors were frighteningly close together. Oh, my god. What the hell is this?

And note: This is all before I encountered the toilet-room.

When I arrived in the room, the shades were drawn. Because they were automatic (and run by the in-room computer), I couldn’t figure out how to open them. I was trapped in an airless, artificially-lit six-foot-wide box.

Out of a little bit of panic, I started playing with the remote control below, which was strapped to the wall. I freed it, and started button-mashing.

After having the room change color six times, I finally got the hang of it and opened the blinds. It felt a little ridiculous to have to wade through four screens of information as if I was setting up an Xbox in order to get my hotel room to work. Hotel rooms probably shouldn’t require a technical manual.

But then I stumbled on the intro video at the top of this blog post, and was won over. The light was pouring in (at last), the giant room-sized bed was comfortable, and I was charmed by the simplicity of the layout. Everything in the small space was right where it should be: The side table for the bed was at the right height. In short, the room was gezellig (cozy) and downright fantastic, and not at all like other hotels that try too hard to be cool and fail to be comfortable.

And since I know you’re dying to know, as it turns out, the toilet thing is pretty darn weird, but since I was staying there by myself, perfectly fine:

Here’s the deal with the toilet. I would totally stay at this hotel again with someone else, because the room itself is great and the hotel is hyper-convenient to the south train station (it’s literally a three-block walk and 10 minute ride to Schiphol Airport). But during bio breaks, we’d take turns enjoying the luxurious, wi-fi-full downstairs lobby. Just keeping it real.

And that claustrophobic hallway turned out to be one of my favorite features. As someone who requires quiet for a hotel to be successful, this was a huge win. Because people have to walk single-file, it was quiet out there. No one giggling and partying their way from the elevator to their room, kicking over last night’s room service. Tight spaces–like fences–make for good neighbors.

You got to give it to the Citizen M: It’s definitely the most novelty-filled hotel room in existence. It might not be great if you’re craving familiarity. But now that I’ve read the manual and am a power-user, I can heartily endorse (and will visit again).

But I did look over at one point, as the room was changing colors, and thought that it looks like I was getting ready to be beamed up (and, no, the only thing I might have been high on is the cold medicine I was taking at the time):

That’s the shower stall in the foreground, and the toilet in the back. Yes, the toilet has its own lighting, too.

From within the shower stall, I stared up at the rain-water shower head and figured it out:

The M in Citizen M stands for mothership. As in, beam me up, please.