The hotel couldn't have been more high-end. Fourteen-foot ceilings in the room, robes and slippers in the wardrobe, a marble fireplace in the corner. The bathroom was equally luxurious: all marble, twin sink, heated toilet seat and towel rack. There was a large tub with a hand attachment, and all manner of lotions, soaps and shampoos. And next to the tub hanging from the ceiling was a shower head the size of a dinner plate.
It was not surprising: rain showers are supposed to be the ultimate in elegance. More than just size, they are designed to be installed directly overhead to simulate, well, rain. But it's not as easy as bolting one on. For starters, it takes extra ceiling clearance to fit it in. There may also be some additional plumbing, requiring bigger pipes to pump out more water. Finally is the valve inside the wall. Plumbers recommended that you put in a thermostatic model, so that someone flushing the toilet downstairs doesn't trap you in a cascade of nearly boiling water.
Then there's the "splash zone." Most regular showers are contained in a tub or enclosure, or there's a shower curtain to contain the bounce. Rain showers are often installed in larger spaces that may be lacking a moisture barrier of any kind, even a flimsy plastic curtain. Since the water drops straight down, the splash pattern goes in every direction. Which means that everything gets wet, wet, wet.
Of course, none of this is an issue in a hotel room. You're a transient there, hopefully experiencing the best the establishment has to offer. It can be designed to deal with the quirks, with no need to consider the cost and headaches of installation, not to mention the soaking of the floor and walls repeatedly over your living room with potentially catastrophic results.
Still, I had multiple issues. This particular installation was designed to be open and airy. On one side was the tub: ok for that to be splashed. Next was a marble wall with a cutout shelf for shampoos and soaps, a third was a glass partition, both impervious to any moisture. The mythical fourth wall was non-existent and open to the room, but as long as I didn't leave a towel or robe there, it was just more marble to drench.
Ancillary to this deluge was the runoff. All that water had to go somewhere. In keeping with the open indulgent feel, the floor was... well... floor. No lip or tray to denote the shower area. Other than an intricately patterned inset metal drain, nothing to hold back the rising tide. I had to roll up the bathmat and place it across the opening to the shower to save the bathroom rugs from getting soaked. I felt like I was sandbagging New Orleans from a breached levee.
While the cascading water has a gentle feeling and is certainly relaxing, by definition it is lacking in punch. So when you shampoo you face two challenges. Unless you step out from under and get cold, you have to crane your neck like a giraffe to be clear of the vertical flow. Likewise if you use some manner of conditioner and need it to stay in for a minute or two without being rinsed away. And when it's time force it out, good luck getting enough pressure. The longer and thicker your hair, the harder this will be. Thankfully (?) that's one problem I don't have.
It did seem that the designers had considered this issue. Their solution was to provide a hand sprayer in the vicinity. We won't talk about the fact that the control for that contraption was on the far wall, distant from the center point of the shower, necessitating a Victor Wembanyama-level wingspan to get to it. And even if I had turned it on, the results would be predictable. Perhaps it is my lack of situational awareness, but whenever I use one of those while standing I inevitably wind up soaking everything within a 5-foot radius, spraying water like a madman with a machine gun.
With all that I managed to get cleaned up and dried off. I considered leaving a note for housekeeping suggesting that I had a dog that needed a bath. Why else would the bed have but one side slept in, but every towel in the bathroom was soaked. I guess they've dealt with worse problems.
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Marc Wollin of Bedford likes a hot shower in the morning. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.
