In a ruling that has sent tremors through the Evian-drinking classes of Europe, an Italian court has declared that a hotel in Venice acted entirely within its rights to refuse a British tourist a glass of tap water. The verdict, delivered with the solemnity of a papal decree, confirms that in the eternal battle between hydration and profit, the minibar always wins.
The plaintiff, one Nigel Fortescue-Smythe of Tunbridge Wells, entered the Hotel Canale Grande expecting the sort of service that made the Empire great. Instead, he was met with a waiter who regarded his request for acqua del rubinetto with the same disdain one might reserve for a man requesting a chip butty at a Michelin-starred restaurant. ‘We do not serve tap water,’ the waiter said, proffering a list of bottled waters priced like rare vintages. ‘We have Acqua Panna, San Pellegrino, or a 2015 Château d’Perrier.’
Mr. Fortescue-Smythe, a man whose blood pressure is maintained by a steady diet of righteous indignation and Waitrose own-brand biscuits, did what any self-respecting Briton would do: he sued. ‘It’s the principle,’ he told reporters outside the courtroom, clutching a flask of London tap water like a holy relic. ‘We’re not talking about the price. We’re talking about the right to drink from the sodding tap.’
The court, however, was unmoved. In a 47-page judgment that parsed the finer points of hospitality law with the precision of a sommelier describing a wine’s bouquet, the judges ruled that a hotel is under no obligation to provide free tap water. ‘The provision of tap water is a courtesy, not a right,’ read the ruling. ‘Guests wishing to hydrate may do so via the minibar, which offers a delightful selection of still and sparkling options at reasonable prices.’
Reasonable prices. The phrase hangs in the air like a bad smell in a lift. Reports suggest a 500ml bottle of water from the minibar at the Hotel Canale Grande costs €12, plus a €3 ‘service charge’ for the privilege of opening the fridge. ‘It’s extortion,’ fumed Mr. Fortescue-Smythe. ‘I could have flown to Rome and back for the price of a glass of their fizzy water.’
But the court was having none of it. Citing a precedent set in 1987 regarding a dispute over olive oil in Tuscany, the judges argued that a hotel’s business model relies on selling ancillary products at a markup. ‘If a guest wishes to drink tap water, they are free to do so in their bathroom,’ the judgment continued. ‘But to demand it in a dining establishment is to fundamentally misunderstand the nature of the hospitality industry.’
The decision has been met with a mixture of glee and horror. The Italian Hoteliers Association hailed it as a victory for common sense. ‘Our members invest heavily in the curation of their water menus,’ said a spokesperson. ‘Each bottle is selected for its minerality, its terroir, its ability to make a tourist’s wallet cry. To offer tap water would be to undermine years of sommelier training.’
Meanwhile, British expats are stockpiling bottled water from Lidl and plotting a class-action lawsuit under the Geneva Conventions. ‘This is a violation of basic human rights,’ said one woman, fanning herself with a copy of the Daily Mail. ‘Next they’ll be charging for air.’
And indeed, the slippery slope is already greased. In Rome, a restaurant has reportedly introduced a ‘breathing fee’ for diners who inhale without ordering a second bottle. In Milan, a hotel is trialling a policy of charging guests for using the toilet unless they purchase a complimentary pack of designer loo roll.
But let us not lose our heads. This is Italy, after all, a land where coffee costs a euro and silence is free. The true scandal, perhaps, is not that a hotel refused tap water, but that a British tourist expected anything less. We are a nation that has embraced the concept of paying for water in plastic bottles as a sign of civilisation. We have elevated the act of hydration to a luxury experience, complete with labels and tasting notes. And now we cry foul when the joke is on us?
Mr. Fortescue-Smythe has vowed to appeal to the European Court of Human Rights. ‘This isn’t about water,’ he declared, his voice cracking with emotion. ‘This is about the soul of Europe. Do we stand for free tap water, or do we bend the knee to the tyranny of the minibar?’
It is a question that will haunt us all. For now, I shall raise a glass of London tap water to the Italian judiciary. It’s cold, it’s free, and it’s not going to cost me twelve euros. Drink deep, my friends, for tomorrow the taps may run dry.
Biff Thistlethwaite, reporting from a hotel bathtub with a glass of the good stuff.
