Wednesday, March 18, 2015
The room for morning coffee sits across from the check-in desk. Oil paintings of steaming passenger ships and tri-masted gunboats, pastoral scenes, and old white men with hefty gray muttonchops fill the walls on two sides of the squarish room; a fireplace with gas logs warms the other, and the fourth is a series of glass panes half-draped with heavy, gathered fabric and tassles giving a limited view of the small inlet to the south. A glass coffee table anchors room center above the beige-y flowery rug and is topped with an oversized chess board with pieces brown and tan. Worn leather (light and dark) or elaborate upholstery cover the couch and chairs. A refined, gentle roar of the spiffy modern coffee machine (espresso? steamed milk? decaf? mocha?) occasionally cuts through the banter of the doorman and front desk clerk. It is a room to feel boldly comfortable in, which he does.