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Breakfast at the GB Corner of the Grande
Bretagne is worth whatever they charge (ours was free). There is a buffet
table that looked like it came out of Martin Scorcese's The Age
of Innocence with so much food on it I didn't know where to start.
They called it the American Breakfast Bar and sure enough the restaurant
was full of Americans as well as Europeans who looked like they just stepped
out of a John Le Carre novel planning the overthrow of nations or corporations
over bacon and scrambled eggs. And indeed in the past (and for all I know
the present), the GB Corner Bar and Restaurant has been a place where high
stakes players, spies, diplomats, princes and oil ministers have rubbed
elbows with normal people like you and me.
The type of service they provide at the
Grande Bretagne is something we had never experienced before. It seemed
like everytime we used a towel a new one arrived to take it's place. We
would return home to our room from the Plaka and find the bed covers folded
over neatly so we could just climb in and a small chocolate candy placed
on it. Not only that but they would place a cloth napkin (or whatever the
word for it is. I am sure there is a name for this) on the floor by the
bed so we could go from our shoes to the bed without our bare feet ever
touching the actual carpeted floor. One day we arrived home to find a big
bowl of fruit with a note from the manager sending his best wishes. OK.
Maybe it was because they had heard of me and wanted to give me a good
impression, but for all I know everyone gets this treatment, in fact they
probably do and my feeling special was just self -delusion. And what other
hotel do you wake up to find the International Herald Tribune and
the Athens News hanging from your doorknob.
So the last couple days we spent most
of our time in the hotel. We would venture out for lunch meetings and maybe
to shop, and one night Andrea and I went around the corner to the Cafe
Neon for fresh pasta while Amarandi went with her grandmother to MacDonalds,
two of the many fast food restaurants within a block of the hotel. That's not exactly a selling point with me either but for some
people this is important. If you are not into Greek food and you have the
money then don't bother leaving the hotel because the GB Corner restaurant
will make you feel right at home. And with us the only arguements we had
was over which room to eat our breakfast or have coffee or tea in, the
GB Corner or the Winter Room.
When it was time to leave the hotel we
were pretty sad to go. Even Andrea was realizing how good she had it and
we had long discussions about our difficult re-entry to the real world
where unknown people did not come around to make your bed or pick up your
dirty socks or leave breakfast menus for you to check off and leave hanging
on the outside of your door before you went to sleep so that you would
have it when you woke up in the morning. Perhaps we would never again be
satisfied in the real world. But before we could sink into deep depression
we were informed that we did not get seats on our wait-listed flight and
we would have to stay another day. Yay!
We celebrated with breakfast on the balcony.
Of course Mike Constantinou could not have
been very pleased. Remember him? He's the guy who was paying for this and
at this point he was probably wondering if we wouldn't get on the next
flight either. Well we did. I was not to thrilled about leaving but it
was either the Grande Bretagne or my family. I could not afford to support
both. And I don't think Mike was ready to put me up in the old hotel for
the rest of my life.
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