The curtains shut to an absolute black. There are freshly laundered and ironed sheets. The rooms are quiet; the walls are solid; the world is distant.
Hotel beds are where sleep is soundest; they are palaces constructed for a pure, perfect night of sleep.
More: 15 unusual places to spend a night
3. The morning after
Even better than sleeping in a hotel is waking in one.
My favorite is the Beau Rivage in Geneva. It has a bedside remote control that opens the blackout shutters, so one can lie in bed watching the slow reveal of a sunny Swiss morning looking out over Lake Geneva.
It's a performance of everything enticing about a freshly made day.
Hotels are built with location in mind, and always a few of the rooms have desirable views.
I prefer arriving at hotels in the middle of the night, meaning the morning parting of the curtains exposes an entirely new twinkling city before me, its new adventures beckoning.
4. Dignified breakfasts
For me, the wildest luxury is to ring for breakfast.
"Cut-up pineapple and a double latte, please."
It's a ritual that's surprisingly easy to keep.
Hotel breakfasts are sublimely elegant, arriving on silver trays with china; white, ironed linens; a budding rose in a crystal vase.
There might be edible flower garnishes on your pineapple, or flourishes in the latte foam.
More: World's least romantic hotels
5. The lobby
My favorite place to work (that is, write novels) is the lobby of a luxury hotel.
I'm at my most productive surrounded by that dignified, hushed bustle.
Hotel lobbies are filled with exotic strangers. As someone who met her husband in such circumstances, I can attest to the life-changing power of that.
You never know when a handsome man will send over a drink, and that possibility changes everything.
6. Domestic harmony
My husband and I have a domestic routine in hotels.
He goes to work; I eat breakfast in bed and then work in the hotel lobby. In the afternoon I go for a run around the city while the room is made up.
There's nothing like coming home to a perfectly clean hotel room: a pleasure of a 1950s husband, along with the higher-order pleasure of not being the 1950s housewife producing it.