I was in a little old hotel in Saint-Cyprien, France last weekend. Tiny elevator, wooden floors that squeaked, towels so thin you could see through. I loved it.
But, nothing prepared me for what I found in the bathroom.
Above the sink, protruding from the tiled wall, was a strange metal arm with a wooden egg. A smooth, pale, oval-esque thing, just hanging there.
I poked it, turned it and smelled it. It didn’t smell like anything. Not soap, not wood, not even old pipes. Nada.