For a week, this was our window on a little bit of London; I think that's the Lancaster Gate Hotel right across the street; if you could lean forward, and look left, you'd see Sussex Gardens; we walked that way to go to Paddington Station. If you'd look right, you'd see Bayswater -- we'd walk down it to get to the Marble Arch, and Oxford Street, and Lancaster Gate, where we could enter Hyde Park, or take the tube.
I loved this window; my twin bed was beside it, and the sounds of the city came breezing in, day and night: the traffic, the sirens, the people. Because our room, like so many in London, had no air conditioning, and we didn't miss it. The overhead fan keep the circulation going; the curtains were almost always in motion, the light wind all the cooling we needed.
Lighter sleepers, someone who hadn't traipsed around Windor Castle, or Buckingham Palace, or, for goodness' sake, Paris-in-a-day, might have been annoyed by the way London came calling through our window, but I wouldn't have shut it for anything. It was like sleeping with the city, every night, and I wanted to embrace it and breathe it in.