I first checked in to this hotel, I was given the curse of all lone
travelers: the tiny room, with a single bed, and a bathroom with no tub.
Boldly, I marched back downstairs and said, auf Deutsch, naturlich,
have you any rooms with a tub? After a few minutes of computer this and
that, behold, a much better room, sans Balkon, but with a tub, and a
double Bett, turns up. I took it.
Then last night, when I was eating in the restaurant, I was stuck in
some way too bright room with overhead lighting, not to mention plenty
of families with children, all of whom were whining for a Coke in
various languages, none German. As I was leaving the dining room–the
food was very good, by the way–what should I spy, but a really nice
dining room, all dark and cozy with candelight?
So, this morning, after Fruhstuck, I announced to one Herr Ober that I
would like to reserve a place for this evening in that room over there,
the one with the candlelight. He rattled on about something or other,
possibly something about a buffet and a special do for hotel guests,
which I didn’t understand at all, but I just nodded, politely, as befits
a girl from North Carolina.
I arrive in the nice candlelit room this evening, wearing my best
outfit, which isn’t saying much, and I am ushered into a brightly lit
room and told to go geraudeaus, straight ahead, to the buffet. An
enormous room, filled with mysterious items, all under silver domes, and
you are NOT, mind you, NOT, to help yourself. Though I have to keep
lifting lids to see what it is I’m about to eat.
The great irony of the situation is that I sit in the brightly lit
room, looking out into last night’s brightly lit room, where, all of a
sudden, there is a private party. No children asking for Coke in
Italian. No families all in a fuss. No Japanese tour groups. All the
lights go down, OVER THERE, and the candles are lit, and there is music,
and lots of beautifully dressed people!
Unglaublich, as they say over here.