Travel & Hotspots
Books at Booking
If you want a hotel, you book with Booking. Simple. Because they have the best photos, the best prices, and you can also cancel for free at any time. So my tip: if you see a hotel that you like, secure that deal, because you can also easily back out.
But still, still, still I have some points for improvement. Tonight I had to book another night for my stay in Milan where I, as you read this, am on my way to. Last minute is my middle name (just like Renske by the way) and my motto is: there is always a spot to be found and moreover, hotels are often much cheaper at the last minute. But it is of course an exciting game, just before the deadline, because everyone is in Milan from tomorrow (and it looks about like this) and it could very well be that I wouldn't succeed.
“Last minute is my middle name”
Now I must say that Booking.com doesn't make it easier for you at such moments. While I go through my favorite hotels, all the reviews pop up on the right. Sometimes it's nice to know what Jan and everyone thought of the bed and the showerhead, but I can't click it away and find it annoying, those blocks on my screen. Then every five minutes there comes a request to log in via Facebook. I don't want that either. How many times do I have to click away before Booking gets the message?
To raise the tension a bit, Booking indicates how many people have booked a room in this hotel today, how many people are currently also looking, and how few rooms are still available. To underline the seriousness of the matter, Booking writes all these texts in red. Alarm. Panic. The world is about to implode, because almost all the rooms are gone. Do something. Book something. QUICK.
When I finally find a hotel/apartment near the Duomo and start booking, Booking whispers something to me again. Well, whispering, I can almost call it the written equivalent of shouting. AT THIS MOMENT SOMEONE ELSE IS ALSO BUSY BOOKING THIS ROOM AND WE STILL NEED YOUR DETAILS.
Banners, balloons, and CHAMPAGNE!
With an accelerated heartbeat, I pull my credit card out of my wallet, click on agree, agree, and accept, exhale my held breath, and sit back exhausted. Booking confirms my ‘order’ with a pop-up screen with the text: ‘It worked! May-Britt Mobach, you have booked a room in Milan! Congratulations!’
Normally, this screen would be fodder for a piece about overly cheerful behavior by official agencies (I mean: maybe I should be going to Milan for a particularly sad occasion and I wasn't at all waiting for that overly cheerful ‘congratulations’) and misplaced and excessive use of exclamation marks. But given the tremendous battle I just fought to find a bed under my behind, I find the exclamation marks and the jubilation that ‘I’ succeeded completely appropriate. Banners, balloons, and CHAMPAGNE!
