Sahara, the grandiose, shady and teetering mega-corporation that a million impoverished peasants built, has gone to town pushing the sort-of launch of the grandiose, shady and teetering Sahara Star Hotel – nee the Airport Centaur – the fate of which has been the subject of almost as much architectural speculation as the design of Stonehenge.
I’ve been to this mysterious, Bond-villainesque marvel – and it has to be seen to be believed – if only for the staggering 4-kilometer-long collection of fake flowers which bedecks its arena-styled atrium.
Hoardings are cropping up everywhere inviting wary Bombayites to “Experience the Fork power” – which is a reference to the multiple cuisines on offer and not, as you might imagine, the rallying call headlining some obscure political party’s election symbol.
While we are pleased to mark the upgraded return of a shady Bombay hang-out, we do need to remind the folks at Good Sahara that, although beauty is often skin deep, the word “skin” almost always refers to an outer layer…
beautiful - inside and out?
