On my recent visit to London, I stayed in very classic hotels, where a detail reminded me of the past: the offer of daily newspapers, which was once an inseparable part of the ritual of waking up in a foreign city.
Today, the most common thing in the best hotels is that they offer you an application through which, identifying yourself as a guest, you can access dozens of publications, such as newspapers and magazines — and not just from that country.
It’s a flood of information, within reach of your cell phone, tablet, or laptop.
This technological practicality was what I found in the historic Brown’s hotel, which maintains a traditional aura, but has not stopped in time.
In The Dorchester, equally classic and endowed with this modern resource, I also found the physical habit of delivering newspapers.
In Brazil, I no longer subscribe to the paper version of the diaries (although I keep the habit of “flying” the editions of Folha, page by page, on my tablet screens every morning).
Then, resume the practice of waking up for a few days; opening the bedroom door and finding, hanging outside, the small leather bag stuffed with newspapers; and lounging back, soaking in the ancient scent of paper and ink, balancing the leaves that seem increasingly awkward to handle—it was a delightful journey back in time.
The joy was multiplied by another factor: the weekend copies were immense. As they once were in Brazil, where, today, we are condemned to scrawny editions even on Sunday, a day in the past of glorious volumes of paper and information.
The Daily Telegraph. The Guardian. The Sunday Times. Pounds of pages, hundreds of them. Supplements in all formats—standard (the regular page), newsprint tabloid, glossy magazines.
And it gives you a topic: in addition to the supplements on economics, politics, culture, sports, topics covered daily, on weekends we are also graced with extra notebooks on food, gardening, real estate, literature, decoration. , Tv programation…
It makes you want to not even leave your room, and stay there following the city, the country and the world through the information and analysis brought by the newspapers.
Like that indecisive person who spends hours marathoning the index of streaming channels, reading the description of dozens of movies without deciding on any, on the first day I felt compelled to enjoy not only the news, but also all the art programming available. in London: the galleries and museums, the movies being shown, the newly released books, even the new restaurants.
It’s more or less like I did so many times in the past with the physical magazines I subscribed to, European and American. Through reports, reviews and criticisms, he was savoring from afar a new restaurant that had opened in New York, a new wine launched in Bordeaux, the latest bar opened in Milan.
The difference was that, now, everything was there, within reach, just a few meters or kilometers from the hotel. London was not on the other side of the sea, it was at my disposal just beyond the door.
On this first London morning, after more than an hour wallowing happily, and still half in disbelief, through those newspapers, of course I snapped out of my trance. And I went out into the street to do my errands.
But the joy of seeing live newspapers didn’t leave me, imposing itself even by its biased look (each one has their political preferences and don’t be ashamed of it), reflecting the pulsating life of the city that, after this brief and invigorating aperitif, I went live.
