“Well,” I say, trying to force a tone of fatherly consolation, “That’s good though. That brings the price of the rooms down. Sixty euro is inexpensive anywhere in Western Europe.”
I wasn’t in the mood for a swim anyway but a sauna would have been nice.
“I’ll have some dinner then.”
“We have no restaurant. Only breakfast.”
“Then order me a pizza. Frutti di Mare, post haste.”
“They have no post haste.”
“Never mind the post haste! I’ll just work on that one computer you have in your Business Centre over there. I didn’t bring my laptop. I’m on vacation cold turkey. “
She starts to write.
“Don’t write that down! Live a little!”
I slide sideways into the Business Centre. Then I notice a sign that informs the aspiring businessperson that the use of the computer costs 0.35 euro per minute of use.
She stands there like Helen of Troy, taken, brought to a world where things just aren’t right.
“I’ll have a beer,” I say, pointing at the glistening tap at the other end of the reception. Her reply escapes her on a high-pressure sigh of relief, “Light or dark or something else?”
“I’ll have whatever comes out of that pipe,” I say pointing at the tap. Rooms are only 60 euro per night. I’m learning fast not to be picky.
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