Rising like a slender beacon from the stonework streets below, The Paradise Hotel is a vertical slice of city life—luxury above, grit below, and stories packed into every floor. The structure, elegant in its warm sandstone tones and adorned with sun-faded pinks, leans slightly nostalgic, like a once-grand dame that still turns heads. Iron-latticed balconies jut out with personality, some with curious residents peering down, one even shaded by a violet parasol.

At ground level, the building hums with life. A small but vibrant fruit stand is nestled just beside the entrance, the vendor busy arranging stacks of plump mangoes and sun-bright oranges. He calls out cheerfully to passing customers—locals and travelers alike—beneath the protective shadow of two gently swaying palm trees. The scent of citrus mingles with the dry, sun-baked dust of the street.

Flanking the entryway, a weathered man in dark attire stands silently, clutching a sawn-off shotgun. His presence is not ostentatious, but unmistakably clear: this hotel may be called “Paradise,” but it's not without its perils.

Inside, guests ascend into luxury—each floor a little more refined than the last. Warm golden lighting glows from within, revealing glimpses of plush interiors and residents living their own quiet dramas. High above, on the rooftop, figures gather in an open-air alcove, gazing out across the unseen sprawl of the city. Up there, the mood shifts to one of calm reverie, where golden hour light lingers just a little longer.

Below all that bustle, two monks sit in quiet meditation against the building’s base, untouched by the noise around them. Their presence is grounding—an eternal stillness in the flow of commerce, gossip, and armed vigilance.

This is The Paradise Hotel—not just a place to stay, but a vertical stage where peace, danger, indulgence, and reflection all coexist in perfect, precarious balance.

As part of a larger collaborative project, this building was designed to be viewed from multiple angles while still maintaining specific sightlines where key details are clearly visible. The primary vantage point is from the front, showcasing the building’s defining features—its signage, tiered balconies, and welcoming facade. In contrast, the rear of the structure is intentionally more understated, featuring only a few air conditioning units and minimal duct piping running along its surface, maintaining visual balance within the larger cityscape.

The top level of the building is intentionally more open and prominent, offering sightlines that look out over the surrounding city. This elevated perspective was one of the focal points I wanted to emphasize in my contribution to the overall collaborative build—it captures a sense of atmosphere and narrative that invites the viewer to imagine life within this part of the city.

The building’s signage, translating to "Paradise," is a central visual element. Its design employs multidirectional building and shaping techniques, anchored by a hidden grid of bar connection points behind the lettering. This system allows for more freedom and precision when attaching each letter, giving the sign its bold and striking appearance without disrupting the structure’s overall harmony.

While the build includes detailed architectural elements, it was deliberately crafted not to dominate attention within the larger scene. The inclusion of palm trees contributes to the "paradise" theme suggested by the signage. Their greenery complements the sign’s color palette, the club entrance canopy, and even the window mullions on the lower facade, creating a consistent and subtle visual identity. Altogether, these choices help establish a laid-back, tropical vibe for the club and hotel without overwhelming the surrounding collaborative environment.