Dis-Oriente-d

During my Barcelona Period (Well, it is the natal city of Pau Picasso), I used to stay at the Hotel Oriente. Here is a description:
The Oriente hotel enjoys a good location right on Las Ramblas, close to the famous Liceu Theatre, the Gothic Quarter and Plaza Catalunya. Shops, bars and restaurants can be found on its doorstep. This is an attractive lively area in the heart of the city centre. The Oriente hotel is traditional in style and very popular. The building is a wide 5-storey stone structure dating back to 1842, and was originally a monastery, it has managed to retain some of the features from this time such as the grand carved wood and glass doors leading to the breakfast room and an ornate ballroom with a beautiful chandelier. Wide marble hallways with lots of steps lead onto the newly refurbished, modern rooms. In the summer months there is an outdoor bar and restaurant providing the ideal place to people watch.

Well, never mind that. I knew it unrefurbished: huge rooms, huge iron bedsteads with shiny brass fineals and baths you could hide an aircraft-carrier in. Cavernous. Lovely.
Also the history appealed: it was the HQ for Republican Officers during the Civil War (Read Orwell's Homage to Catalonia).
And then I stopped using the Oriente and took up residence in the Hostal Continental just off Placa Catulunya. A modest place run by a gaggle of women, all of whom dressed alike in red front-buttoning dresses, looked alike and talked alike. Spooky. Different.
The reason I left the Oriente was that I got tired of being whistled at admiringly by the girls in the little bar next door to the hotel. Some of them were quite attractive, but as they were all transvestites, I thought it was time to turn mother's picture to the wall and get the hell out.
And that is all I want to say about that.