»Vienna has a naughty side.«
»Very special place …«
»An institution in Vienna …«
»One of the most original love hotels in the world.«
Three hundred years ago, the Orient had been built close to the water. The »Tiefe Graben« – the deep ditch – used to be a branch of the Danube, on which ships brought their freight to the city. At that time, the former tavern evolved into a collecting point for various goods from the East, spices, fabrics, jewelry. Eventually, the house itself became known as »The Orient«.
Since then, much has happened, empires have risen and fallen, but today, just as in the past, the Orient is a place where desires are fulfilled and reignited, time after time. And as long as there are desires, there will be the Orient, here at the »Tiefen Graben«, on land and sea, 365 days of the year, 24 hours of the day.
The Orient has its regulars, but you would never know. It is a silent servant, allowing its guests to slip, a while at least, out of the everyday. Every guest is welcomed as if it was his first time: The personnel, the receptionists, and maids are all related or linked to the Orient owner Heinz Rüdiger Schimanko and his family.
Discretion is one of the two main virtues at the core of the Hotel Orient; cleanliness the other. »But I am only eyes and ears«, proclaims the poem »At the Hotel Orient« by Marcel Beyer, maybe in reference to the silent walls themselves, the old paintings, or the mirrors without memory. In them, confessions of a century are sealed, vows, promises, some yelled, some whispered, »hot, elderberry-esque«, as Beyer put it. Hot, elderberry-esque, like the air in the twilight of the just abandoned suite. The stem of a grape in the ashtray. The slender cigarette next to it, a scarlet ring around its filter … A fallen towel … The abandoned drip-catcher … All those imprints on the lacquered table in front of the mirror: Remainders of a dream. Remainders of a dream, the maids are going to take care of.