Old hotels are haunted places. The rooms are small and tired and stuffy with history; the pipes sigh, the elevators rise and fall like souls condemned to repeat the same journey for eternity. I stayed here in 2011, and it was the usual old-hotel experience: grand public areas, middling rooms. This, of course, was the song that kept coming back to me as I wandered around the empty areas. Al Bowlly, from that hotel movie you may have seen.