Before Crowley had the time to determine if he was facing the right direction to find the answers to his questions -if there even was a proper direction for that, his uncovered eyes were assaulted by a great deal of plaid. He was still trying to adjust focus from waking up and having tossed the curtains open, so his eyes didn't immediately focus on whomever the individual was that was wearing the offensive pattern.
It didn't even occur to him to cover his eyes lest he have a panic on his hands and when he didn't particularly know where he was or how he got there, starting a panic was far from ideal. He was panicked enough all on his own.
Then, he heard the voice. A voice he recognized.
A moment later his eyes focused on the face and if he had an expression of alarm before, it was now completely replaced by irritation. “What,” Crowley asked very pointedly, “did you do?” It made sense now, didn't it? Aziraphale had bumbled up some miracle he had attempted to work and somehow, unlike the minor errs previously done, this was on a grand scale.
Crowley certainly didn't send himself and the angel to this place. He sincerely doubted Down There had anything to do with it at all. The next logical step was to look at Aziraphale and his connections with Up There. Yes. He was stuck in a tropical paradise. Paradise and Hell didn't exactly go hand in hand. This was definitely the work of Up There... or the angel standing directly in front of him.