speechless

Are there words for how I love the Hotel Royal?

Are there words for how, after a long walk to the bus station in Szegev, and a two hour bus ride across the border into Subotica, and a long walk still with pack into the city center for an ATM dispensing appropriate currency, and a long walk back to the bus station during which 7000 Dinars of said currency disappeared from my pocket, and a three hour bus ride to Belgrade, and a one hour wait for tram number two, I love the Hotel Royal?

Are there words for how I love its giant protruding Latin-lettered sign visible from several blocks away? For how I love its English-speaking staff and its functioning internet reservation system? For how I love its 24 hour bar, its working elevator, its included breakfast?

For how I love my tiny white-walled red-carpeted room with its little shower and little TV and crookedly hanging Cezanne-like landscape painting, itemized on the room inventory as "1 art painting"?

There are not words.