So, we were at the hotel by around seven in the morning. The first thing we did was go to the front desk to register. We were handed a form and, for some reason, a red ballpoint pen, and a "leaky" one at that.
What immediately impressed us and practically knocked us off our feet was the porter. I don't know, maybe it's more correct to say "duty manager" or "reception clerk". For some reason, the word "porter" is either unknown to people or has a negative connotation. Since I don't know what a connotation is, I'd better say "nuance" so as not to get into a *prosak*. By the way, oddly enough, I actually know what a *prosak* is. It is not at all a loanword from the English PROZAC, although the meaning fits. After all, Prozac is an antidepressant, and to get into Prozac, therefore, means "getting into the funny farm". In a way, this kind of wordplay reminds me of the work of writer Sorokin with his book "Blue Lard" — there were plenty of various *laowais* there too. But here is what a *prosak* actually is:
Prosak — a machine for weaving ropes and cables. It was a complex network of ropes stretching from a spinning wheel to a sled, where they were twisted. The machine twisted the rope so tightly that getting clothes, hair, or a beard caught in it could cost a person their life.
In any case, that very manager was famous for very deftly and casually juggling words in as many as six languages. Perhaps, in good hotels of the tourist world this is a common occurrence, but in America I never got to see anything like it. As is well known, Americans imagine geography roughly like this:
Those who aren't a lost cause, like this:
But those who are completely hopeless cannot even imagine that people in other countries speak anything other than English. As sad as it is, this is not a joke: things like that happen.
So anyway, the clerk behind the desk spoke with us in Russian. Naturally, he had to search for words, but on the bright side he understood numbers, even though he asked us to repeat them one digit at a time. In the exact same way he communicated in German — with Germans, French — with the French, English — with anyone willing and with snobs like me, who find it easier to always speak English rather than rack their brains over whether your conversation partner understands Russian. Obviously, the porter also spoke Greek. That makes 5 languages. I'm not sure about the sixth, but I heard some other language that didn't seem to be Greek, and the rest listed above I can certainly tell apart.
So, the porter informed us that the room wouldn't free up until 12, or even 1 PM. But to make up for it, he banded us. For those who, like me, are out of the loop — in hotels, guests on an "all-inclusive" program are like cattle. Not because they get drunk like pigs every day, but because they constantly wear a brand in the form of a colored wristband. This is needed so that the staff is aware that this important white master can eat and drink as much as he wants. Anarcho-punks wouldn't approve of this — they can't even stand barcodes on CDs, considering them a globalist mark of the devil, and here they tag you with a ribbon just like a slave. On the other hand, it immediately shows that you're a serious person, a first-class citizen, and you should be served without waiting in line. It's some kind of doublethink, straight out of Orwell.
We were issued red ribbon wristbands with holes along them. We also saw people with blue ones, which piqued our interest — are Russians really tagged separately, to quickly distinguish suspicious characters from cultured Europeans? Unfortunately, this mystery remained unsolved.
But later on, we learned two more amusing facts about the wristbands: first, ours faded over time. For me, as someone particularly twitchy and fond of swimming, the wristband turned pink in a couple of days, and almost white a couple of days after that. Andrey was less lucky — his wristband stained his snow-white resort shirt with little drops of blood. And secondly, in other hotels the wristbands are prettier — transparent and featuring the name.
What else is there to say? The hotel lobby featured:
- many armchairs and sofas
- tables with bouquets of dried plants and glass installations with all sorts of stuff inside
- a large transparent plastic pillar for used batteries, three-quarters full of them
- a door to the lobby bar, which only opened at 11 AM
- corridors to the two wings of the hotel
- the main entrance and the exit to the courtyard
The entrance and exit doors were wide open — you couldn't tell whether the lobby was air-conditioned or not, but it was always hot in there, although seemingly not as hot as outside.
Next to the lobby in the corridor, there were also two telephones and an internet room, but more on that later. All that's left to say is that we were advised to just dump our suitcases right in the lobby near the desk; the possibility of them disappearing wasn't even considered by the porter. Make a second mental note for yourself: you remember the first one, right: the dude who was detained by the police and immediately let go?
They are connected, albeit partially. If you have as much trash in your head as I do, and for some reason the phrase "All Cretans are liars" pops into your mind, I'll hasten to reassure you: the porter wasn't messing with our heads at all with the intention of fencing our luggage to stolen goods buyers. This quote is from a famous paradox, and I'll provide an excerpt from its lengthy description.
The original (ancient) formulation is a story about how a certain Epimenides, a native of the island of Crete, exclaimed in the heat of an argument: "All Cretans are liars!". To which he heard the objection: "But you yourself are a Cretan! So did you lie or not?".
If we assume that Epimenides told the truth, then it turns out that he, like all Cretans, is a liar. And therefore, he lied. But if he lied, then it turns out that he, like all Cretans, is not a liar. And therefore, he told the truth.
But exactly which traits of the Cretan national character the cases I mentioned actually reflect, we'll find out in the next episodes.