
The lights are on
before you arrive.
Seven rooms cut into a slope at fourteen hundred metres. There is no lobby and no front desk. The door is open, the fire is lit, and someone has left the kettle warm. Everything after that is weather.

One room, sixty metres long
The main room runs the length of the ridge behind a single wall of glass. In the morning it holds the whole valley. By four in the afternoon the cloud is usually level with the floor.
Seven rooms, no two alike
They share a ceiling height and a floor and nothing else. Four face the valley, two face the rock, and one has the whole east end to itself.


| Room | Area | |||
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Ridge 01 | 42 m² | West | 2 | 4,200,000 |
| Ridge 02 | 42 m² | West | 2 | 4,200,000 |
| Cut 03 | 38 m² | East | 2 | 3,800,000 |
| Cut 04 | 38 m² | East | 2 | 3,800,000 |
| Long 05 | 56 m² | West | 3 | 5,600,000 |
| Long 06 | 56 m² | West | 3 | 5,600,000 |
| Fog 07 | 74 m² | South | 4 | 7,400,000 |


The window is not a picture
Nothing in this room has moved since it was built. Everything you can see from it has moved twice today.

The corridor is cut hard against the rock. Moss holds that wall all year, and the light reaching it has bounced twice on the way. It is the coldest and the quietest part of the building.
The east side never sees the sun
Afternoons are for doing nothing
The water is held at thirty-six degrees all year, because the air out here rarely climbs above eighteen. The hearth is lit at five whether or not anybody asks for it.



Fog is the fourth season
It comes up the valley most afternoons between October and March and takes about twenty minutes to swallow the ridge. Nobody here counts that as bad weather.

Two nights minimum
Check-in from two. Dinner is at seven — one table, whoever happens to be here. The last four kilometres of road are unpaved, so tell us when you are coming and we will meet you at the turning if it has been raining.