The Langham Huntington

Under normal circumstances, I would never stay in a hotel in Los Angeles but my wife won a room at this place a short while ago. Ever suspicious of anything free, I was wondering what the gimmick was. As it turned out, there was no gimmick. Absolutely no catch at all. I really dislike the Eagles and think they should all have their fingers smashed with a ball peen hammer for composing that song Hotel California. Especially the one who wheedles on the pedal steel. I can taste the vomit in my mouth just thinking about it. But in any event, this place is Hotel California more than any other hotel I have stayed in here in our Golden State. Spending a little time here will transport you to a different era long before we were an information society. When things were much nicer for the traveler as long as you were White. Where you could get a proper fucking finger sandwich with your afternoon tea. The cactus garden alone is worth a drive out here and the grounds are the epitome of tranquility. The pool is fantastic, the rooms comfortable, the food ranks among the best hotel meals I have eaten. I felt that the hotel employees were without a doubt the classiest ones I have dealt with ever. They succeeded in making me feel very welcome. A true oasis in the frequently plastic desert of Los Angeles.