I never thought I'd end up here, working in a mansion with more bathrooms than I’ve had hot meals, but life has a weird sense of humor. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not complaining. After years of traveling, sleeping in hammocks, and living out of a backpack, I figured a change could be interesting. And what a change it is.

The mansion itself looks like someone gave a five-year-old an unlimited budget and a Pinterest account. Gold-tipped turrets, marble pillars, indoor fountains—yes, inside—and a driveway that probably has its own climate zone. From the moment I stepped through the door, it was clear the owners had no concept of restraint.

My first day, Iris, the house manager, gave me the grand tour. She’s essentially a CEO of towels, chandeliers, and artisanal soaps. As she led me through endless hallways, she rattled off room names like she was listing continents: “Here’s the ballroom, the drawing room, the solarium…” Then, without blinking, she adds, “And this is the gift-wrapping room.”

A **gift-wrapping** room. Come on.

I nearly laughed out loud. The room was fully dedicated to wrapping presents—complete with walls lined with colorful paper rolls, ribbons hung like works of art, and a little workstation that would make Santa Claus weep. It looked like a high-end boutique exploded in here. Apparently, the owners wrap a lot of gifts, though Iris never elaborated for whom. Do rich people just give each other presents all day?

As if that wasn’t completely over the top, it was just the beginning.

The next room Iris led me to was the shoe closet. And by “closet,” I mean shoe gallery. Shelves stretched up toward the ceiling, each pair of shoes a monument to extravagance. Hundreds of them, but apparently, the owner only ever wears five. The rest, Iris explained, are “just in case.” Just in case of what? A world where only designer heels survive?

And then there was the aquarium hallway. Not a room—an entire hallway. Lined with floor-to-ceiling glass, teeming with tropical fish that swam by like they owned the place. I walked through it feeling like I’d stepped into some upscale version of Atlantis. At one point, a bright blue fish glided right up to the glass and stared at me, as if to say, “Can you believe this?” No, little guy, I really can’t.

But the best part? The indoor hedge maze. Yes, a hedge maze inside the mansion. When Iris casually mentioned it, I nearly tripped over my own feet. “It’s for when you need a little adventure indoors,” she said with a smile that suggested this was perfectly normal. Adventure? Indoors? I’ve lived in hostels smaller than that maze, yet here it was, complete with meticulously trimmed topiary.

At this point, it was hard to suppress the laughter. It’s as if the mansion had been built on a dare, with every room more absurd than the last.

But here’s the thing—I can’t hate it. The place is so outrageously over-the-top that it loops back around to being kind of… delightful? There’s something oddly endearing about how unapologetically extravagant it is. If you’ve got the money to build a house where you could get lost for days, why not throw in a few fish tanks and an indoor labyrinth?

The absurdity doesn’t make me want to leave. If anything, it makes me want to stay longer—just to see what else this place has to offer. A room for brushing the dog’s hair? A fountain that dispenses sparkling water? At this point, nothing would surprise me.

And honestly? I’m here for it. This mansion might just be the most ridiculous—and entertaining—stop on my journey yet.