Yes, in the town that smells like the inside of a springroll, we experienced a great many wonders. Not only did the Protea Hotel live up to their promise of a surprise free gift (it was a Valentine’s special, after all), but outdid themselves with a heart of chocolates on the bed and a bottle of not-too-shabby wine with a personalised note (a suggestion, indeed, that the wine was bottled just for us, but we are cleverer than that). They also broke the rules and lent us put-put clubs and pool queues for free, and we had fun with them.
We lay in the sun and splashed in the pool, we ate calamari at the harbour, and somewhat enjoyed overpriced room service in our room, and when we were tired of lounging about and drinking vodka in the sun, we picked ourselves up and drove to the nearest den of sin, where we threw money into slot machines and bet on cards and continued to drink vodka and even tasted a strange concoction they call Vawter.
When I wasn’t eating or sleeping or gambling recklessly, I read a strange little book called It happened in Boston? by someone I had never heard of, and that was very good too.
So, don’t knock the smelly places. That greasy springroll may just be a magic tonic for your soul. (Especially if you keep your nose in a glass of Vawter.)