{"id":33,"date":"2016-04-26T11:19:25","date_gmt":"2016-04-26T09:19:25","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sullivan.ba\/?page_id=33"},"modified":"2020-07-07T17:54:08","modified_gmt":"2020-07-07T15:54:08","slug":"rooms-with-a-view","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/sullivan.ba\/?page_id=33","title":{"rendered":"Rooms with a View"},"content":{"rendered":"

The Prisoner of Zenda<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

(photo by Jim Marshall)<\/p>\n

Ana and David Alexander Grant run a mountain pension in Southeast Europe. Life in the back of beyond is not without incident. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Les and Delia arrived in the middle of a downpour without their luggage.<\/p>\n

\u201cBit of a monsoon,\u201d Les quipped.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe isobars!\u201d Delia remarked.<\/p>\n

I apologised for our weather. \u201cIt was lovely yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOur luggage is still in Vienna,\u201d Delia said. \u201cThey\u2019ll send it on!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTomorrow or the next day,\u201d Les added. \u201cSo, we\u2019ve just what we\u2019re standing in!\u201d<\/p>\n

They both chuckled. I don\u2019t believe we\u2019ve ever had such engagingly upbeat guests. They appeared to view the loss of their luggage as nothing more than a colourful mishap.<\/p>\n

Half an hour after they arrived they were ensconced in the lounge. I brought tea and biscuits. Without their things and confined to the hotel because of the weather, we wondered how they would amuse themselves. We needn\u2019t have worried.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve never read this!\u201d Les said, holding up a copy of The Prisoner of Zenda<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t know we had anything so venerable<\/em> among the dog-eared paperbacks on the lounge bookshelf, an accumulation of books bequeathed by previous guests. There are bodice-ripping historical romances. (Some of these arrived with two botanists from Basel, neither of whom, in manner or apppearance, gave the slightest impression of literary or actual aspirations leaning towards the vigorous unfastening of bodices.) There are also a lot of romcoms, which is a bit surprising, since most of our clients are outdoorsy sorts whom I would imagine to be more in the market for first-hand accounts of skateboarding to the South Pole than tales of off-beat intimacy.<\/p>\n

But that\u2019s human nature for you.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve seen the film,\u201d Delia said. Then, to me: \u201cHe loves the classics.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRonald Colman,\u201d I said, pleased that I remembered who starred in The Prisoner of Zenda<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe looks a bit like Ronald Colman, don\u2019t you think?\u201d Delia looked at me and pointed at her husband.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo not!\u201d her husband said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe does <\/em>look a bit like Ronald Colman,\u201d Ana said when I went back to the kitchen.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd she looks like Gwyneth Paltrow,\u201d I said, \u201cA bit older . . . but with that statuesque sort of . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

I was going to say \u201cbeauty\u201d but my wife\u2019s expression suggested that waxing lyrical about the physical attributes of another woman might damage the fabric of marital harmony. My ruminations trailed away to that place where ruminations trail away to expire.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019s the book?\u201d I asked Les at dinnertime.<\/p>\n

\u201cAn absolute hoot!\u201d he said. \u201cThrills and spills! The film doesn\u2019t do justice to the printed word!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMine\u2019s not bad either,\u201d Delia said. \u201cThis was on your shelf. I\u2019ve never read it but I\u2019ve always meant to!\u201d She held up a copy of Thomas Piketty\u2019s Capital in the Twenty-First Century<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I considered two things:<\/p>\n

Someone had brought this undoubtedly original but very long analysis of globalization for holiday reading;<\/p>\n

And<\/p>\n

Delia, without her luggage and confined by the weather to a small mountain hotel, had chosen the Piketty ouevre<\/em> as a source of diversion.<\/p>\n

Again. Human nature. Who knew?<\/p>\n

\u201cDelia\u2019s an economist,\u201d Les said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe flatters me!\u201d She looked at her husband indulgently. \u201cI just teach<\/em> economics.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe teaches economics,\u201d I told Ana.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGwyneth Paltrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ana gave me that look. \u201cYou know what happpens in The Prisoner of Zenda<\/em>, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Actually.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRonald Colman plays the king and he also plays the king\u2019s cousin. They\u2019re lookalikes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI see,\u201d I said, not really seeing.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe king is a weak sort of character, gullible and flirtatious.\u201d<\/p>\n

My wife\u2019s gaze was appraising, perhaps even critical. I felt the situation moving in a slightly ominous direction.<\/p>\n

\u201cHis cousin is a perfect gentleman, brave and strong and faithful.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stuck out my chest. A character like me! \u201cThe gentleman prevails?\u201d I suggested.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe you should ask Gwyneth,\u201d Ana said a little tartly.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo need,\u201d I said, leaning forward to give my wife a tender peck on the cheek.<\/p>\n

And just then, in our own little corner of Ruritania, the sun came out.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Problem-Solving and Opportunity-Seizing<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ana and David Alexander Grant run a mountain pension in Southeast Europe. Life in the back of beyond is not without incident. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ana announced the conference booking with what seemed to me to be rather naive (if engaging) enthusiasm.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis could be a huge revenue stream!\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat would be a revenue river, then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf these people are happy, that\u2019ll attract more conferences!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe river will flow all the way to a revenue ocean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019ve booked lunch as well as dinner \u2013 which most of our regular guests don\u2019t do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA port call as they travel downstream?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can be quite exasperating.\u201d<\/p>\n

When a wife describes her husband as exasperating,<\/em> said husband should quickly moderate his tone.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many are coming, and for how long?\u201d I asked helpfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cFifteen to 20. They\u2019ll confirm tomorrow. They want three nights.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere on earth are we going to put them!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can bring up the bed frames from the cellar and do dormitory style.\u201d Ana looked sheepish. \u201cI offered them a concessionary rate for lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut if they\u2019re here anyway, why not charge them the full rate!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeemed mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

My helpmeet\u2019s absence of entrepreneurial zeal sometimes astounds me.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd where is the conference to be?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the lounge. We’ll move the sofas.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dino, our chef de cuisine<\/em> and general factotum, is in charge of sofa moving (and bed-frame lifting) but he cannot discharge his duties without assistance from the owner of the hotel \u2013 that would be me.<\/p>\n

Dino and I spent the next day lifting and laying. I\u2019d like to say the physical exercise was therapeutic, a sort of impromptu workout. But it wasn\u2019t. Sometimes I\u2019d rather own a luxury hotel than a modest pension. If I owned a luxury hotel I could hire a second Dino.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat sort of conference is it anyway?\u201d I asked Ana. (Till then, I\u2019d been concentrating on the furniture-moving side of event preparation.)<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s for entrepreneurs,\u201d Ana said. \u201cProblem-solving and opportunity-seizing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s actually called \u2018problem-solving and opportunity-seizing\u2019?\u201d I was sceptical about the revenue river generating propensities of people who gave their conference such an ungainly title.<\/p>\n

My scepticism, I feel, was vindicated. The conference participants when they arrived did not convey an aura of imminent commercial success.<\/p>\n

For a start, they arrived in a vehicle for which the word \u201cvintage\u201d would have been a euphemism. It was piloted by a man who, in the finest tradition of bus drivers the world over, looked as though the task of steering his ancient machine up our pretty but uneven mountain road had been a monumental professional imposition. The sixteen conference goers staggered onto our forecourt looking as though they had just spent an extended period on a particularly precipitous and unpleasant fairground roller-coaster.<\/p>\n

I felt we were dipping our toe in the commercial waters very much at the no-frills end of the conference spectrum.<\/p>\n

The group leader, a short bearded man in his thirties with the slightly irritating pushiness of the up-and-coming entrepreneur (I used to be an up-and-coming entrepreneur so I recognise the type), explained to me that his company was building what he described as \u201ca 21st<\/sup>-century creative community\u201d.<\/p>\n

He had to speak above the noise of the bus, which departed amid a cloud of petrol fumes. The creative community might have been in the 21st century but the bus was definitely still in the 1960s.<\/p>\n

When the weather was fine they held their sessions on the terrace. Dino and I moved the sofas out through the French windows (with no help from the creative community, I might add). They ate lunch, as advertised, and in the evenings they made responsible but robust use of the bar.<\/p>\n

Ana\u2019s revenue stream started to flow, and I began to entertain visions of a mighty river.<\/p>\n

On their last day, however, there appeared to be something of a dip in the collective confidence of the creative community.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey all look glum,\u201d I said. \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe bus hasn\u2019t come, and some of them have tight connections.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can ferry them into town,\u201d I said. \u201cI can borrow Sejo\u2019s van.\u201d Sejo is Dino\u2019s cousin, a man of many talents and about fourteen vehicles, in various states of disrepair.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat would solve their problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd we can charge the difference on the lunch rate.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re ruthless sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust seizing the opportunity,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

In the afternoon, feeling smug no doubt to a degree that was certifiably insufferable, I drove the creative community back down the mountain.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Helicopters and Hiking Gear<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ana and David Alexander Grant run a mountain pension in Southeast Europe. Life in the back of beyond is not without incident. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The helicopter began circling above us during breakfast. It was very, very loud, which didn\u2019t go down at all well with the two couples from Paris.<\/p>\n

The Parisians had arrived the previous day, one couple just before lunch, one just after. They didn\u2019t show any sign of wanting to establish a rapport<\/em> with one another on the basis of common nationality. Of course, just because they happened to have come from the same city to our little bit of the Dinaric Alps doesn\u2019t mean they had to become bosom buddies. Maybe they left France to get away from other French people. Both couples had indicated dietary requirements that were a tad health faddish (skimmed milk and such) and when they set off to hike (in different directions) they were in full kit.<\/p>\n

The Parisians sat at opposite corners of the dining room. The third corner, next to the door onto the terrace, was occupied by Mr Archer from London. He was quite a different kettle of fish.<\/p>\n

Fifties, quiet, and rather reserved, Mr Archer wore clothes too heavy for the season. He spent his first day (admittedly a rather wet and overcast day) in the lounge reading one of our Agatha Christies, and making notes from time to time in a little black book.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s got a little black book,\u201d I told Ana.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s something dodgy about him.\u201d I had Mr Archer down as an arms dealer or a spy.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think there\u2019s something dodgy about everybody.\u201d (This is true: I do.) \u201cHas he done anything bad?\u201d<\/p>\n

In the past we\u2019ve had guests whose behavior was not just bad but decidedly odd, like the pair who spray-painted an antique armchair bright pink.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, just let him enjoy his detective novel!\u201d<\/p>\n

On the second day Mr Archer went out and didn\u2019t come back for lunch.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2019s he gone?\u201d I asked Ana.<\/p>\n

She was exasperated: \u201cWhy are you obsessed with Mr Archer?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a bad feeling.\u201d<\/p>\n

He returned at dinner-time, looking as if he\u2019d just popped round the corner.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s it!\u201d I said as we watched Mr Archer take his seat in the corner of the dining room. \u201cHe\u2019s up here in the back of beyond to meet a contact . . . on the quiet!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat on earth are you talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe certainly didn\u2019t go for a hike in those shoes. I think he\u2019s had a rendezvous<\/em>, a clandestine meeting, maybe in one of the other hotels.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ana shook her head. \u201cHe\u2019s just an ordinary bloke who came for a bit of peace and quiet! Anyway,\u201d she added, \u201che asked one of the French ladies about a particular trail this morning and she was quite rude.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTold him he\u2019d need the right gear to reach that particular bit of the mountain. Gave him an up and down look too!\u201d<\/p>\n

Ana has a gift for inventing English idioms. I could imagine the French lady looking Mr Archer up and down.<\/p>\n

The third day Mr Archer stayed in and read his (our) Agatha Christie (the one where Miss Marple rescues Colonel Bantry after he\u2019s been wrongly accused of murder) and the next morning \u2013 as the French were at breakfast (still eschewing even a soupcon<\/em> of Gallic solidarity) and Mr Archer had just taken his place in the third corner \u2013 the helicopter started circling overhead.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s military!\u201d I said, looking up from the door of the terrace. There were NATO markings on the khaki underside. \u201cGood heavens!\u201d (I appeared to be the only person getting excited). \u201cIt\u2019s landing!\u201d<\/p>\n

The helicopter came to rest on our terrace. I\u2019ve never heard such a racket. The Parisians looked at me with irritation, as though I\u2019d ordered up the helicopter just to annoy them.<\/p>\n

Mr Archer got up.<\/p>\n

The helicopter kept its rotor blades whizzing. A man in a khaki jumpsuit and an enormous helmet with a black visor jumped out and began to walk towards the hotel.<\/p>\n

Mr Archer came out onto the terrace.<\/p>\n

I began to follow him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d Ana hissed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe helicopter\u2019s on my terrace!\u201d I said (with a fitting degree of proprietorial hauteur<\/em>).<\/p>\n

The soldier, his face still obscured by the black visor, saluted Mr Archer.<\/p>\n

I caught up. \u201cCan I help?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

It was Mr Archer who answered.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m terribly sorry,\u201d he said. \u201cI hadn\u2019t expected my things to be brought here in quite such dramatic fashion.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour things?\u201d I had to shout over the noise of the rotor blades.<\/p>\n

The man in khaki held up a black rucksack and passed it to Mr Archer.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy walking things,\u201d Mr Archer explained, and for the first time in our short acquaintance he smiled. \u201cI had forgotten to bring them with me!\u201d<\/p>\n

The soldier saluted again and left. When the helicopter was airborne, it swooped down the valley with the sort of dramatic flourish you see in James Bond films. Show off!<\/em> I thought. I looked back towards the dining room \u2013 but the French were still refusing to be astonished.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo he\u2019s not a spy,\u201d Ana said.<\/p>\n

\u201cA colonel in the Royal Engineers, apparently. They flew his things out to the NATO base \u2013 a perk of the job, it seems.\u201d<\/p>\n

Just then, one of the French couples emerged from the dining room.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe noise is very disturbing!\u201d the lady remarked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe colonel forgot his hiking boots!\u201d I said. \u00a0\u201cHe needs them for the more demanding bits of the mountain.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Coming Down to Earth<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ana and David Alexander Grant run a mountain pension in Southeast Europe. Life in the back of beyond is not without incident. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo!\u201d Ana said.<\/p>\n

Which was fairly unequivocal.<\/p>\n

But I persevered: \u201cIt\u2019ll bring in business. If we don\u2019t snap up the opportunity, other people will!\u201d<\/p>\n

We were talking about paragliding \u2013 and whether we should team up with an extreme sports club from town and offer weekend packages: dinner, bed and breakfast, and jumping off a mountain.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t care about the business,\u201d Anna said. Her tone was bracing. \u201cYou want to go up in one of those things, and if you get a taste for it, you\u2019ll want to go up every weekend, and\u201d \u2013 there was a little crack in her hitherto somewhat strident tone of voice \u2013 \u201cit\u2019s very dangerous!\u201d<\/p>\n

I had in fact already arranged with a friend of a friend of Dino, our chef de cuisine<\/em> and general factotum, to do a trial tandem jump the following morning to see what sort of experience we might be offering our guests. I had felt it prudent not to share this information with my better half, the wisdom of which decision was now clearly vindicated.<\/p>\n

We were scheduled to explore various grassy outcrops around the hotel at eight the following morning, and select one for takeoff.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s not quarrel,\u201d I said. \u201cBy the way, when you go to the bank tomorrow, best to leave a bit earlier. It\u2019ll be busy because of the weekend.\u201d<\/p>\n

Next day, Ana left for the bank about fifteen minutes before Dino\u2019s friend\u2019s friend arrived with the paragliding kit.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat it?\u201d Dino asked when Ricki opened the boot of his ancient Golf. A bulky nylon bag nestled inside.<\/p>\n

Ricki nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought it would be bigger,\u201d Dino said.<\/p>\n

Ricki\u2019s tone was measured: \u201cAerodynamics isn\u2019t just about size.\u201d<\/p>\n

This, I felt, was no bad thing because Ricki himself was a man of large appearance and considerable weight. Later, when we were kitted up in green overalls and ready to take to the air, I found myself considering the fact that I only accounted for about one third of the parachute payload. This preyed upon my thoughts.<\/p>\n

The pre-flight training took about three and half minutes. After that, I looked down at the red roof of our pension far, far, far below, and in the blink of an eye the chute rose above us and we abandoned the reassuring immobility of the earth for the precipitate unpredictability of the air.<\/p>\n

The metamorphosis that accompanies unassisted flight is utterly magical. The shock to the senses is profound and exhilarating. We soared, but not just physically. We soared to a new level of oneness with our environment. It was like touching the universe.<\/p>\n

Tapping me on the shoulder, Ricki indicated that I should have a go at steering. I reached up and took hold of the toggles. He had assured me that there was a clever mechanism, a sort of child lock, that would limit my capacity to disturb the chute\u2019s equilibrium. I could change our direction a little, but I was unlikely to send us, Icarus-like, to the earth far, far, far below.<\/p>\n

\u201cUnlikely\u201d! Never was a word more problematically inconclusive.<\/p>\n

I took the toggles and did what any child would do. I tugged on one and then the other. With a gut-wrenching shudder (and, alas, this is an anatomically accurate turn of phrase), the whole chute went one way and then the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou take over!\u201d I shouted to Ricki over the roar of a sudden inrush of air. I surrendered the toggles: the chute quickly stabilized, even as my sense of manly self-esteem took a knock.<\/p>\n

Still, I did enjoy the scenery as we zigzagged round and down to the terrace in front of the hotel.<\/p>\n

I had thought of this as a superwheeze. We could have dinner ready for guests, who would land \u00e0 la<\/em> James Bond, step out of the jumpsuit, and metamorphose from daredevil to diner.<\/p>\n

But as we made our approach, I saw a blue Peugeot pull up beside Ricki\u2019s Golf.<\/p>\n

A familiar figure emerged from the Peugeot.<\/p>\n

\u201cRats!\u201d I muttered.<\/p>\n

As we slid softly across the grass to the edge of the flagstones of the dining area I heard the irate voice of my disgruntled spouse.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was a sneaky thing to do!\u201d she said. Perhaps \u201cscreamed\u201d is a more accurate word than \u201csaid\u201d.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re back early!\u201d I tried to keep my tone jovial.<\/p>\n

\u201cForgot the bank book,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat the hell do you think you\u2019re doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

It took me several days to persuade Ana that my jump was a bona fide and useful market-research exercise.<\/p>\n

Now we are offering a popular paragliding weekend package. The business has \u2013 literally and metaphorically \u2013 taken off.<\/p>\n

Sometimes, I threaten to take to the skies again \u2013 just to keep the spark in our relationship.<\/p>\n

But to be honest, once was enough.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Three-o\u2019clock-in-the-morning Call<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ana and David Alexander Grant run a mountain pension in Southeast Europe. Life in the back of beyond is not without incident. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I was wakened up by the telephone.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat the hotel in the mountains?\u201d An American voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThinking of coming over. What\u2019s the weather like in June?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s three o\u2019clock in the morning,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s six in the evening here!\u201d The man chuckled at the quirkiness of geography. \u201cWe\u2019re thinking of mid June, but only if the weather\u2019s nice.\u201d Zero recognition of any sleep-disturbance issue, apparently.<\/p>\n

I mentioned again that it was the middle of the night. Then I asked if he knew he was calling a small hotel half way up a mountain \u2013 not an obvious venue for a trans-Atlantic chat about the weather.<\/p>\n

\u201cI saw you\u2019re listing in TripAdvisor.\u201d This seemed to suffice in his view as an explanation for calling in the small hours. I couldn\u2019t immediately see that it was anywhere near being sufficient.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you send an email, I\u2019ll make the booking and supply you with whatever additional information you may require.\u201d My tone \u2013 it must be allowed \u2013 was a tad brusque.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just that I\u2019m not sure we\u2019ll come if we can\u2019t be guaranteed good weather.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWeather is changeable.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you must be able to give me some sort of ballpark.\u201d He was clearly an individual of great \u2013 even disagreeable \u2013 persistence. My bare feet had begun to chill.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe weather in June covers a broad spectrum, from bracing to balmy,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it like now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCold and dark.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOK.\u201d<\/p>\n

This last OK was indignant.\u00a0 I felt the prospect of a June booking slip away to a different part of the TripAdvisor universe. The climate-conscious party from America hung up. I stood, forlorn and shivering, in the silent lobby and wished I\u2019d been a little more gracious.<\/p>\n

It was a long time before I got back to sleep and that was why I was grumpy as I watched the Czech hikers troop across the lobby the next morning.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do they need sticks?\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s absurdly pretentious.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf a thing\u2019s pretentious, it\u2019s already absurd,\u201d Ana said. \u201cAnyway, they\u2019re poles, not sticks.\u201d<\/p>\n

I ignored the quibble over terminology. \u201cWhy can\u2019t they just walk on two legs like everyone else?\u201d<\/p>\n

They wore hiking boots and canvas trousers and hoodies; and they had little belts to carry water bottles. But they had poles too, with straps around the handles: one pole in each hand. They looked as though they were skiing across our lobby.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s Nordic walking,\u201d Ana said. \u201cThey use twenty-five percent more muscle and they can walk much further.\u201d Then she glanced at me with a rather theatrical expression of mystification. \u201cThat\u2019s a well known fact.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t know it.\u201d<\/p>\n

She shook her head gently, gave my arm a fleeting and sympathetic pat and said: \u201cThere are so many things you don\u2019t know, my love \u2013 and this is not the biggest.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ana views our matrimonial chemistry with engaging confidence.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, at least they\u2019ll have worked up an appetite when they get back,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re not eating here.\u201d<\/p>\n

My face may have conveyed a certain perplexity.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re dining at the new place,\u201d she said. \u201cThe one just off the main road next to the river. Zoran is going out with one of the waitresses.\u201d<\/p>\n

Zoran is the local guide. When he\u2019s not taking tourists to the tops of mountains he works on his PhD \u2013 something to do with musical theatre.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought he was a friend of ours!\u201d I felt the sharp sting of betrayal.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot in the same way he\u2019s friends with the waitress.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou seem very relaxed?\u201d I sensed that Ana\u2019s equanimity might be based on one of those many things I don\u2019t know.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have another booking tonight. Party of eight. They\u2019re staying at the lodge.\u201d The lodge is a pension about the same size as ours, another twenty minutes further up the mountain.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy aren\u2019t they eating there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause Zita\u2019s oven is broken. The repair man let her down.\u201d Zita manages the lodge.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen did she get in touch?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis morning, at six. She was very apologetic about calling so early, but I told her not to worry. A booking\u2019s a booking \u2013 night or day. We have to welcome opportunity not chase it away.\u201d She gave me one of her knowing looks.<\/p>\n

I felt sheepish.<\/p>\n

We watched a little longer as the Czech hikers propelled themselves out into the spring sunshine towards the start of a demanding but very beautiful mountain trail.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Germans and Greeks<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ana and David Alexander Grant run a mountain pension in Southeast Europe. Life in the back of beyond is not without incident. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Germans arrived by Mercedes; the Greeks by bicycle. They checked in at around the same time.<\/p>\n

The six cyclists occupied the dormitory room on the top floor. Helmut and Magda took the ground floor suite, looking onto the terrace through French windows that offer a pleasing view of distant mountains.<\/p>\n

Cheerful and polite, the cyclists were on a tight budget. When I asked if they\u2019d like a late lunch they explained that they had brought their own supply of bread and cheese. Not music to the hotelier\u2019s ear, but I was nonetheless taken by their unselfconscious and commendable commitment to no-frills touring.<\/p>\n

The Germans were of a different vintage.<\/p>\n

Helmut was a short, grey man in his fifties. Magda was as colourful as her husband was grey. She wore a red and blue trouser suit of a kind last fashionable circa 1975; an Hermes scarf was tied around her head turban fashion and her large tinted spectacles made her look a bit like Sophia Loren.<\/p>\n

\u201cI would like you to tell me where I must walk,\u201d Magda said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere you must walk?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHelmut has to work.\u201d She looked at her husband with a combination of exasperation and indulgence.<\/p>\n

I glanced down at Magda\u2019s feet. Peeping from beneath her flared trousers were white patent leather shoes that looked better suited to dancing than walking.<\/p>\n

She followed my gaze and said. \u201cJust a little<\/em> walk.\u201d<\/p>\n

Helmut went off to the room. I accompanied Magda onto the terrrace and pointed towards the path that winds through the meadow to a stream half a mile from the hotel.<\/p>\n

\u201cFollow the stream and it will bring you back round,\u201d I said. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t take more than half an hour.\u201d<\/p>\n

Before she set off, she lit a cigarette. Not the average hiker.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it that he does anyway?\u201d I asked Ana when I returned to the reception.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s an economist.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWith a German bank?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe European Central Bank. He has to draw up a strategy paper while he\u2019s here.\u201d<\/p>\n

We looked together along the corridor at the end of which Helmut might at that very moment be saving the Euro in bedroom number three.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019ve booked dinner for seven,\u201d I said, \u201cI hope he can fix the debt crisis by then.\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda gave me a wide smile when she came back from her walk. \u201cSo refreshing!\u201d<\/p>\n

She was still smoking.<\/p>\n

The Germans had the restaurant to themselves until eight, when the Athenian cyclists trooped in.<\/p>\n

Magda had drunk quite a lot of wine. Her cheeks were red, like the jacket she had put on for dinner.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s such a shame you have to work when you are here,\u201d I told Helmut as I served coffee. I spoke as one harassed professional to another (though he was rescuing the European economy while I was just filling in for Dino in the kitchen \u2013 so, not absolutely comparable).<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, it isn\u2019t work,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s very satisfying!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe loves the endogenous zones!\u201d Magda remarked with, I felt, an almost disconcerting degree of playfulness. She exhaled and gazed at her husband through a plume of smoke. He had lit a cigar.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I imagine things are rather difficult at the moment,\u201d I said, \u201c what with the Euro and so on . . . there isn\u2019t enough money to go round . . . \u201d<\/p>\n

Helmut smiled. \u201cNo, no! There is enough money!\u201d<\/p>\n

I wondered if the ECB wasn\u2019t being a tad unrealistically bullish.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere is enough money,\u201d he repeated, \u201cbut it isn\u2019t going<\/em> anywhere. It isn\u2019t going up; it isn\u2019t going down; it isn\u2019t going round.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

I hoped our middle-of-the-range Dalmatian red wasn\u2019t about to reduce economic theory to a series of insupportable assertions. \u201cWell, what\u2019s it doing then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s waiting<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWaiting?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the banks.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ana was attending to the cyclists. They had ordered plain water. Magda, who, I was fairly sure, was four sheets to the wind, smiled at the Greeks in a beguiling way.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd how are you going to get the money to come out of hiding?\u201d I asked Helmut. A seasoned TV anchor could not have put it more succinctly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I\u2019ve been considering all afternoon,\u201dHelmut said. \u201cAnd I\u2019ve come up with a plan!\u201d<\/p>\n

I waited.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I will need your assistance.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve never been called upon to help rescue a whole economy before. I was rather gratified.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you can oblige us, we\u2019d like to stay another day,\u201d Helmut said.<\/p>\n

So, he wasn\u2019t after my Keynsian insights \u2013 but of course I was happy to oblige on the booking front.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd if you could bring us some more wine . . .\u201d Magda added.<\/p>\n

When I returned with the wine, Helmut raised the bottle in an affable and courteous way and called over to the cyclists, \u201cWill you share with us?\u201d<\/p>\n

At some stage in the evening, Helmut and Magda moved to the cyclists\u2019 table, and as is the way of things, Ana and I joined in due course.<\/p>\n

\u201cConsumption!\u201d Helmut concluded over a multilingual cocktail. \u201cWe must get people to spend!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh,\u201d I nodded sagely. \u201cThe German propensity to save?\u201d<\/p>\n

Helmut looked at me with surprise, and then at the cyclists with expectation. \u201cNot the Germans!\u201d he said softly. \u201cThe Greeks!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

A Wedding March<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ana and David Alexander Grant run a mountain pension in Southeast Europe. Life in the back of beyond is not without incident. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMarta\u2019s coming for the weekend,\u201d Ana said.<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t say, \u201cMarta\u2019s booked a room for the weekend.\u201d She said \u201cMarta\u2019s coming for the weekend.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was perplexed.<\/p>\n

Marta and Ana have been friends since primary school. Marta is an aspiring opera singer, short and round, and by turns breezy and melancholic.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s going through a bad patch,\u201d Ana said. \u201cShe got turned down for Carmen.\u201d<\/p>\n

I could see in my mind\u2019s eye, amid discarded castanets, the possibility of melancholia.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut there isn\u2019t a room,\u201d I said. \u201cThey\u2019re all taken!\u201d We had full house \u2013 a wedding party arriving, nuptuals scheduled for the south terrace at four on Saturday afternoon.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe can sleep in ours,\u201d Ana said. \u201cWe\u2019ll take the sitting room.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was momentarily speechless. Then, lamely: \u201cWhy are we <\/em>taking the sitting room and not Marta?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause she needs peace and quiet. She has to re-charge her batteries.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan\u2019t she re-charge her batteries in the sitting-room?\u201d<\/p>\n

Dino came in from the kitchen. \u201cI need help,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Who among us doesn\u2019t?<\/em> I thought, a tad sulkily.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d Ana asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cPotatoes,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n

Ana looked at me.<\/p>\n

And so, having been evicted from the bedroom, I was consigned to the kitchen, there to help peel potatoes. Such is the lot of the independent hotelier.<\/p>\n

I was still peeling when Marta arrived. She came in and bounded over to where I sat. When she smiles she looks like a sort of pleased pumpkin. She leaned forward and gave me a big kiss. \u201cAna says you are angry, David, and I told her I must sleep in the sitting room.\u201d<\/p>\n

She has known me for years but still calls me \u201cDah-veed\u201d. It\u2019s quite endearing.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not!\u201d I lied. \u201cYou are more than welcome to our room!\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked at me as though she\u2019d just been told the first choice for Carmen had come down with Spanish flu. \u201cI am grateful,\u201d she said. \u201cI yearn for the peace and the quiet!\u201d<\/p>\n

No more than five minutes later the peace and the quiet were rather dramatically disturbed by strange sounds emanating from our (now Marta\u2019s) bedroom. Marta appeared to be screaming.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat on earth . . .\u201d I began as Ana came in from Reception.<\/p>\n

\u201cLady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District,\u201d Ana said.<\/p>\n

I struggled to compute.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe didn\u2019t get Carmen in Sarajevo but she got Lady Macbeth in Bucharest.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd this is it?\u201d I asked, nodding my head in the direction of the strangulated high pitched sounds from above.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is it. She has to practise. It calms her.\u201d<\/p>\n

We did a roaring trade in the bar on Friday evening though at one point Ana came down and asked if I could do anything about the decibels as Marta was trying to sleep. Apparently the very same Marta who had introduced a large party of affable but not (in any obvious way) modern-opera-loving guests to the atonal intricacies of the Shostakovich ouvre. Ana appeared to find the paradox elusive.<\/p>\n

Marta was at it again first thing on Saturday morning.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019d better go and help Dino,\u201d Ana said as I came into the kitchen listening (along with everyone else) to the nearby shriek of Katerina Izmailova\u2019s celebrated \u201cdrainpipe aria\u201d.<\/p>\n

Dino was on the terrace standing amid a sea of tangled wire and four very large loudspeakers.<\/p>\n

\u201cWon\u2019t work,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat won\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSound system.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIsn\u2019t compatible.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWith what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe band can only play over there.\u201d He pointed to the dining area in the shade of the pension.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s where they\u2019re supposed to play.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut the wedding\u2019s here\u201d he said. We were on the edge of the terrace, where the surrounding mountains frame a glorious panorama of meadows and wooded hills. A little dais had been set in place for the exchange of vows. Seats for fifty had been placed in front of it.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you don\u2019t need speakers here,\u201d I said. \u201cThere\u2019s no music.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Wedding March!\u201d Dino said, baffled, apparently, by my slowness of grasp.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh,\u201d I replied, and then, to my own and Dinos\u2019s surprise, I added, \u201cI think I have a solution!\u201d<\/p>\n

The bride and groom were sent off on their honeymoon around eight and the last revelers abandoned the bar in the small hours, wishing copious and convivial goodnights.<\/p>\n

It was a wedding to remember \u2013 not just the picture-perfect ceremony against an Alpine backdrop or the banquet afterwards under the stars, but also the Schumann lieder <\/em>to which the bride walked down the aisle, rendered with consummate virtuosity by the talented Marta, soon to be Lady Macbeth in Bucharest.<\/p>\n

Things do work out, even when you have been evicted from your bedroom to accommodate a friend in need.
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Snakes and Grizzly Bears<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ana and David Alexander Grant run a mountain pension in Southeast Europe. Life in the back of beyond is not without incident. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ana says it\u2019s a matter of principle \u2013 you should always tell people the truth.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m inclined to be more circumspect. When visitors come to stay with us they should have peace of mind \u2013 and mentioning snakes on the website won\u2019t encourage peace of mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s local fauna, and they\u2019re not poisonous, so where\u2019s the harm?\u201d Ana asked. \u201cIt\u2019ll add to the allure!\u201d<\/p>\n

But there\u2019s little allure in the image of snakes slithering down from the rafters.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve only seen one or two, and they were very small,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cFive, and one was quite large.\u201d<\/p>\n

In the end, we did mention the snakes, and we also made much of our window netting, which is guaranteed to keep out anything that moves on its stomach, and every other class of creepy-crawly.<\/p>\n

The netting was a substantial investment \u2013 we have seven bedrooms, which is a lot of gauze. But we can boast (on and off the website) that undisturbed tranquillity is assured when you stay at the Mountain View.<\/p>\n

Tranquillity extends to the evening entertainment. We don\u2019t have any. The only live music to be heard in our precincts comes from Dino, chef de cuisine<\/em> and general factotum, when he is moved to whistle a popular melody while dicing vegetables.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe should at least have a folk singer,\u201d Ana suggested when we first sketched out the business plan. \u201cVisitors will go for that. I\u2019ll do it myself if you like.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy wife will not sing for money!\u201d I replied, allowing what I felt was an edifying touch of husbandly hauteur into my voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat or an erotic floorshow,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you be in<\/em> the floorshow?\u201d I asked, curious.<\/p>\n

She took umbrage.<\/p>\n

Anyway, we have no music (or erotic floorshow). Our guests come to ski in the winter and to hike and bird-watch in the summer. When they return at dusk they want nothing more than wholesome food and a good night\u2019s rest. If that sounds like something from a nineteenth-century health-spa prospectus, all I can say is that it seems to suit our twenty-first century visitors.<\/p>\n

It certainly seems to suit the Sch\u00f6nborns from Graz, who arrived at the start of the week.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have wonderful mountains,\u201d Mrs Sch\u00f6nborn told me. She spoke with a mixture of surprise and envy, as though I didn\u2019t look like the sort of person who would have wonderful mountains.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe dabble\u201d I quipped.<\/p>\n

She examined me with benign incomprehension.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy husband and I are going to explore!\u201d she announced, speaking quite breathlessly, as if she were Dr Livingston or Ferdinand Magellan.<\/p>\n

\u201cWatch out for the bears.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have bears!\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs Sch\u00f6nborn looked at me even more intently. I think I know what she was thinking \u2013 the presence of bears in my wonderful mountains might reasonably have been mentioned on my wonderful website.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, from time to time,\u201d I acknowledged truthfully, \u201cbut they rarely come down this far, and when they do, they stay well away from humans.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut how will we<\/em> know to stay well away from the bears<\/em>?\u201d Mrs Sch\u00f6nborn asked with disconcerting Germanic directness.<\/p>\n

She had a point, I suppose. I felt metaphorically pinioned to the pigeonholes behind the reception desk.<\/p>\n

I was saved from having to answer, by the timely appearance of Mr Sch\u00f6nborn.<\/p>\n

\u201cHelmut, there are bears!\u201d said his other half.<\/p>\n

He looked around as though he expected to find a grizzly strolling from the bar to the restaurant.<\/p>\n

\u201cFriendly ones?\u201d he asked hopefully.<\/p>\n

\u201cGenerally not at all unfriendly,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHave we to feed <\/em>the bears?\u201d Mr Sch\u00f6nborn asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wouldn\u2019t recommend it.\u201d I tried to sound emollient. I had only mentioned the bears in a moment of discomfiture, perhaps because of Mrs Sch\u00f6nborn\u2019s sceptical surprise at the beauty of my mountains. \u201cBut the chances of meeting one are very small.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe shall certainly tell you all about it if we do,\u201d Mr Sch\u00f6nborn remarked genially, extending a companionable arm to Mrs Sch\u00f6nborn.<\/p>\n

Like that, they set out to explore my mountains.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t tell them about the bears!\u201d Ana scolded.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a matter of principle,\u201d I remarked smugly. \u201cOne should always tell the truth!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have to go and help Dino in the kitchen. We have an intruder.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA bear?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wish!\u201d Ana said. \u201cIt slithered in through the kitchen window and now it\u2019s holed up behind the fridge.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Prisoner of Zenda   (photo by Jim Marshall) Ana and David Alexander Grant run a mountain pension in Southeast Europe. Life in the back of beyond is not without incident. \u00a0   Les and Delia arrived in the middle of a downpour without their luggage. \u201cBit of a monsoon,\u201d Les quipped. \u201cThe isobars!\u201d Delia […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":172,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/sullivan.ba\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/33"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/sullivan.ba\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/sullivan.ba\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sullivan.ba\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sullivan.ba\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=33"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"http:\/\/sullivan.ba\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/33\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":361,"href":"http:\/\/sullivan.ba\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/33\/revisions\/361"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sullivan.ba\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/172"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/sullivan.ba\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=33"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}