Imagine this ...

Following on from my last post (you missed it? I won a night in a luxury hotel!) the main review for my lovely hotel will appear on Silver Travel Adviser. As you might see from that, I had a wonderful time. Plenty of fluffy towels and pampering.

In that review I comment in passing on the wonderful jacuzzi - imagine, if you can, a metal cradle, big enough for a man to lie in. It is composed of just four pipes, side by side, slightly bent to accommodate a body-shape, with small holes in. A bit like a large, curved, cake rack - with holes. At one end there is a head rest, and at the other somewhere to perch your feet. 

Now - submerge this contraption in warm water. Does it look inviting? No - it looks like some sort of contraption the torturers might use. There is nothing comfortable about lying on metal pipes. Not even in warm water.

Next, press the switch - and the bubbles begin. Not polite bubbles, these. Rather they are great jets of bubbles, through every whole making the water foam so that you can barely make out the metal frame beneath. Even so, that rack looks less than uncomfortable. Grit your teeth and lie down ...

And it's wonderful. Those jets of water, so fierce you almost float in them, are aimed at exactly those places on your body that hold the tension: the back of your neck, across the shoulders, your lower back, even the back of your knees. It is like being pummelled with water, a water-massage, leaving your body feeling surprised and so wonderfully relaxed that you have no choice but to flop about on a lounger like a beached whale until hunger sends you to dress for dinner.

For, yes, I scrubbed up. It was worth it - the food was wonderful. I had bream, and it tasted of the sea - fresh and wonderful, and must have been bought at the market by someone who knows about fish. And to follow: a dessert that just called itself 'chocolate' (I didn't need the details, just 'chocolate' was good enough for me). All served by a lovely French waiter who was blissfully unaware how my friend and I loved his accent.

And then it was time to go home. Back to my jacket potato and cheese, but oh I never thought I'd have so much fun lying on a cake rack!

About the brothels ...

I've been asked about the brothels, so I'll tell you.

The first was in Morocco, so many years ago I can remember nothing but the madam sitting on the stairs - a huge woman smothered in sickly perfume, and an expression fierce enough to terrify any punter without money in his pocket. But she was kind to us.

The second was in Venezuela. I was with a friend, following an itinerary one of my daughters - then working in Caracas - had organised. We were late leave Canaima - the 'town' where we'd returned to after the trip up river to Angel Falls - because the pilot of the tiny plane taking us back to real towns was enjoying himself watching skydivers.

Which meant we were late catching the first of two buses to take us to Tucupita, where a hotel was booked and the next morning a guide would collect us and take us in a boat to the Orinoco delta.

We made it to a small town where the second bus should have been waiting.

It wasn't. There was no bus till the morning. And no taxi would take us to Tucupita as there was no hope of a fare to bring back, because ... the town was full of hoodlums and prostitutes. The manager at the bus station was as helpful as he could be (he offered us red plastic chairs in the forecourt of the bus station for the night), so we took a taxi and asked the driver to take us to a hotel ...

I doubt if there was a single conventional hotel in the town. The woman at reception looked a little surprised to see us, but gave us a key and we lugged our rucksacks upstairs. Why she gave us a key, goodness knows, as the door didn't lock. The pictures on the walls made it clear what this room was generally used for. There was a hole in the bathroom door where someone had put a fist through. And brown marks swiped across the walls - I didn't look too closely. Do I need to describe the smell?

We must eat, I said. So down we went to ask the woman at reception. No restaurants, she said. And not safe. Not even safe to walk five yards to the phone booth outside the front of the hotel to ring for a taxi.

We returned to the room and feasted on biscuits, catching crumbs in plastic and wrapping them up over and over to deter cockroaches. Then we turned the light off, and from the safety of darkness watched the street. Guns, knives, floozies, the trade of the city only too obvious.

We slept with rucksacks against the door and walking poles at the ready. And left at daybreak. From the bus station I phoned my daughter - I needed her to get hold of the guide to tell him we were on our way.

We were delayed, I said, and spent the night in a brothel. By then it was gloriously funny.

I won't tell you what she said - but what would you have said?

What do you look for in a hotel?

I bought the flight to Havana, so it's time to find a hotel.

What matters most to you, when you're looking for a hotel?

I've stayed in some interesting places. The room in Kuala Lumpur, as small as a cupboard. The hut in the rainforest where the bathroom smelled of germolene. The beautiful bungalow in Laos, with resident rat. The cabin in a national park in a remote corner of Nepal with instructions on the door about what to do if elephants came into the village.

So, where to begin looking for somewhere in Havana? There are a lot of high-end hotels, but I don't have an unlimited budget. There are a few hostels, but - given that I've not been there before - I decided to give hostels a miss until I know what to expect. For I do have a rough idea what I'm looking for:

• I need to be safe - I've ended up in brothels twice, and, while it has its funny side, I'd rather not spend too many nights with my rucksack against the door and walking pole on the table beside the bed.
• If the streets outside aren't safe, then I need a hotel with a restaurant.
• I need to be clean - the rat, I confess, was a low point. It's impossible to tell, in advance, if the shower is going to dribble so slowly that washing your hair takes an hour, or if there will be any warm water. But I do need the bathroom to be clean, and sheets washed between guests.
• I need a towel, but not necessarily a big fluffy towel - for if the laundry is done by women in the river it's impossible to keep anything fluffy. Nor do I need fancy shampoo, body lotion, shoe-cleaning equipment, shower cap. A bar of soap - that's all.
• It is impossible for hotels to get the mattress right for everyone. Some of us like to sleep on boards, while others would prefer to sink into feathers. But I'd like a mattress without lumps.
• Mosquito nets - in my experience, hotels always provide these for tourists if there's any risk of malaria. But often they are full of holes: I carry sellotape to deal with that.
• And I like walls thick enough to muffle conversations in the room next door. It's rare to find walls sufficiently sound-proofed to limit the noises of a little hanky-panky, so that never bothers me - unless it goes on for so long you want to bang on the wall and offer them a vibrator, it's quicker.

That's my list? What would you add?